#harry welsh x oc

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 7: The Boys Back Home

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Chap. Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's most valuable soldiers disappear?

Words: 2,135

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Author's note: Hey everyone! Apologies for the delay with the chapter lol 🫠 This chapter is the point of view of the men in Bastogne!! Also, because this is my fanfiction and I can do whatever I want, there will be some soldiers who somehow survived their demise in previous episodes (Miller? Dukeman? PERHAPS) Anywho, thank you as always for reading and be on the lookout for Chapter 8! 🥰

"Luz!" Carwood cried over the last shell to drop. He watched the radioman dive into the foxhole - George met the same fate as the nine others who dropped into that hole, none of them came out. Lipton was astonished. At most, a foxhole could fit three of the men comfortably, perhaps four if needed. But ten men in one? Lipton should have seen a dog pile of olive drab stretching above the opening. Instead, he saw an empty hole in the ground. The First Sergeant blinked and rubbed his eyes, making sure what he saw was indeed reality. The foxhole stayed empty when he opened his eyes.

Lipton sprinted from where he was taking cover, desperately searching for Lieutenant Dike. He knew that Dike was the least preferable choice, especially in a situation like this, but the officers Lipton would have preferred to ask for help had disappeared. After an agonizing search mission, Lipton finally found the Lieutenant - Dike was absentmindedly strolling along, looking at the trees around him with a glassy, thousand-yard stare. “Lieutenant Dike!” Lipton called out, scrambling over tree roots and broken branches. Dike snapped back to reality, his posture automatically improving when he saw First Sergeant Lipton.

“What is it, First Sergeant?” Dike asked, trying to be authoritative. The yawn that followed his words worked against him. Carwood began to speak, but his words were caught in his throat… how in the world was he going to tell the lieutenant what just happened?

“Sir… we um…” Lipton tried to force the words out of his mouth.

“Spit it out, First Sergeant Lipton!” Dike ordered, irritation evident in his voice. Lipton paused, taking a breath before responding to the officer.

“Sir… several men are gone…”

“First Sergeant, this is war, we're going to have casualties every day.”

“Not like that sir, I mean… they've disappeared…”

Dike stared blankly at the NCO, wondering if he heard him right.

“Where did they go, Carwood?” Hearing Dike use his first name gave Lipton a feeling he could only describe as ick, but nevertheless, he continued.

“Sir, I saw ten men go into a foxhole, but when I reached them, the foxhole was empty.”

“And you’re sure you went to the right foxhole?” Lipton had to pause and take a breath before answering.

“Yes, sir.” In a flurry of urgency that Lipton had never seen from Dike before, the lieutenant had rounded up Compton, Peacock, Shames, Foley, and Welsh, as well as radioed to Colonel Sink. Lipton hastily repeated his experience to the officers, who were just as hesitant to believe Lipton as Dike was. 

“So they’re just… gone?” Harry asked, still skeptical.

“I wish I had more information for you sir, but all I saw was the men go into the foxhole and not come out,” Carwood replied, defeat evident in his voice.

“Shit…” Welsh muttered under his breath. The Irishman stared at the ground in front of him, wondering how he let two of his closest friends just disappear.

“So who all are we missing?” Buck interjected. He stood with his arms crossed, instinctively taking command of the conversation.

“Captains Winters and Nixon, Lieutenant Speirs, and then Roe, Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, Malarkey, and Randleman,” the NCO listed off the men he saw disappear, and prayed he would see again.

What Lipton did not see was Skip Muck quickly scrambling back to his foxhole. He had originally made his way to CP to ask Captain Winters a question, but when he overheard the discussion between Lipton and the officers, panic consumed the soldier’s thoughts. Muck all but fell into Penkala’s foxhole, unaware that he inadvertently elbowed his best friend in the face.

“HEY! What the fuck!?” Penkala yelped in surprise, his hands shooting to his cheek.

“Keep it down, Penk! I gotta tell you something,” Muck hushed the soldier, looking to make sure no one else was around. “I just heard Lipton telling Buck that we lost a bunch of men.”

“Like, to a sniper?”

“No, like they fucking disappeared.” Alex rolled his eyes, figuring Skip was just up to his usual mischief.

“Yeah, and I’m marrying Rita Hayworth.”

“Penk, I’m serious. Winters, Nixon, and a few others are gone and they have no fucking idea where they went.”

“Wait, what’d you say?” Muck and Penkala looked up to see that Shifty Powers had joined them in their foxhole. The rifleman looked at his two friends with shock and concern - how could the soldiers just disappear, especially vital officers like Winters and Nixon?

“He said we’re missing half the fucking company!” Penkala’s voice raised again, becoming more distressed by the minute.

“I said keep it down, you ass-hat!” Skip punctuated his interjection with a sharp whack to the back of Penkala’s head. “Look, we all know Dike isn’t gonna do shit. When Colonel Sink gets here, we need to back Lipton up and make sure Sink knows what’s happening.”

“I can go round up some of the other NCOs and tell them,” Shifty offered, gathering up his rifle to go find the rest of Easy Company’s leaders.

“Alright, we’ll come find you once Sink gets here,” Penkala replied before Shifty set off on his solo mission. Before long, the Virginian had gathered up Alley, Christianson, Grant, Martin, McClung, Perconte, Sisk, Talbert, Popeye, and Smokey Gordon. Of course, the trio of Hashey, Garcia, and Miller wanted to tag along as well - even if they did not have a leadership role, they wanted to help their company however they could.

“I really hope Bull’s okay…” Hashey muttered to no one in particular, crossing his arms to conserve the little warmth he had. “First he went missing in Holland, now we lose him in Bastogne…”

“Yeah, we need to keep a leash on him or something!” Miller snickered to his friends before Babe Heffron bumbled up to the group. The redhead resembled a baby horse learning to gallop as he jumped and weaved past tree roots and foxholes making his way to the group of soldiers.

“The fuck is this I hear about Gaurnere missing!?” Babe’s respirations were loud and labored as he attempted to catch his breath. Before anyone could respond, Lipton came across the group of soldiers all congregated near CP.

“Hey fellas, everyone doing all right?” Carwood asked nervously - he loved his men, but he knew they were up to no good if too many were in one place without a good reason.

“We heard about the men going missing,” Smokey replied, Mississippi accent thick in his words.

“We want to help, Lip, however we can,” Floyd Talbert added. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, Smokey glancing a look of concern at his best friend. 

Lipton was about to express his gratitude to his company before Colonel Sink’s Jeep was seen pulling up beside the rest of the group. Lipton quickly went to grab the company’s officers as Sink nodded in thanks to his driver and stepped out of the car. With a loud, abrupt command to “Ten-Hut!” from Buck Compton, the gathered men snapped to attention and saluted the colonel, who offered a gentle salute in return.

“At ease men,” Sink instructed before turning to the officers, “I knew it was bad when I was getting a call from Dike.”

Lipton and Welsh needed to bite their cheeks to hide their amused smiles. “We’re not sure what to do, sir, or if anything can be done…” Buck replied to the colonel before taking a step back - the blonde gestured for Lipton to step up, an instruction to inform Sink of their predicament.

“Carwood, tell me exactly what you saw.” The rest of the gathered men leaned in as Sink spoke, anxious to understand what was happening.

“Ten men went into a foxhole while we were getting shelled, sir, but the foxhole was completely empty when I went to check on them afterward. There was absolutely no trace of anyone being in that foxhole, sir, and now we can’t find any of the men I saw go in.”

The older man nodded in understanding, silently processing Lipton’s words. “Who all went in?” The NCO repeated the names from earlier, ending with Captains Winters and Nixon. Sink simply looked down at the snow. “And you have no idea where the hell any of them went…”

“No sir,” Lipton replied quietly.

The colonel simply let out a sigh and shook his head, “I’m sorry boys, but since it was during a shelling and they were last seen going into a foxhole, the higher-ups probably aren’t going to authorize a search party,” he sent a determined look to the men, “I’m going to do everything I can to push the request through, but I better not hear of anyone taking matters into their own hands.” Before getting back into his Jeep, Sink turned to Lieutenant Dike, or rather, where Dike should have been. “And where the hell is Dike?”

“We don’t know, sir, we looked for him before you arrived but didn’t find him,” Welsh chimed in. Sink rubbed his forehead in irritation before turning to Buck and Welsh.

“All right, I’m making this an official order. Lieutenant Compton, if Dike isn’t to be found and a decision needs to be made, your company comes to you. Harry, you’re second in command. You kids do what you think is right. You’re good soldiers with smart heads on your shoulders.” Sink nodded to the officers and saluted the men before getting back in his Jeep and driving back to Regimental HQ - the poor man put his head in his hands, his most trusted officers were gone without a trace, and there was virtually nothing he could do to help them.

As if on cue, Dike returned to the company, “What are we all standing around for? We have a line to protect!” Dike crescendoed his voice to try and be more authoritative, but his efforts fell flat. Eyes rolled and voices groaned as the gathered men all dispersed and returned to their assigned duties - well, all except for Babe, Talbert, Smokey, McClung, Shifty, Alley, Grant, and Popeye. As everyone was trying to leave, Smokey grabbed the sleeve of whoever he could.

“Y’all, this isn’t right, we need to do something,” the machine gunner pleaded in a hushed tone.

“You heard Sink, though, there’s no way they’re gonna authorize a search party,” Moe replied, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Popeye took a beat before he chimed in, “...why do we need to wait for authorization?”

“Because only a general can authorize a search party,” Talbert answered the Virginian - while he did not agree with the policy at all, he knew that there was no getting around it.

“But didn’t Sink say that he left Buck and Welsh in charge if Dike isn’t around? They’re not the type to snitch,” Grant offered to the conversation, scrunching his shoulders up for warmth like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“Hell, they might be happy to help out,” Gordon affirmed the NCO. The men looked around at each other with uncertainty - what if Dike found out? Or Peacock? To be honest, it was probably worse for the latter officer to discover the plot. Thomas Peacock tries his best to be a good captain, but these efforts cause him to be rather heavy-handed with the rules. If Peacock were to hear of the plot to find the missing soldiers, he would surely either tell his superior officers or try to stop the soldiers himself.

“What if we get caught?” Shifty asked nervously - while he wanted to help his friends, the poor boy was nervous to hatch a plot like this.

“We can’t just do nothin’! We all know they’d do the same if it were any of us out there!” The man from Philly interjected, earning Babe a smack on the head from Grant.

“Where would we even start?” McClung asked the group.

“Well, best thing to do would be to investigate the foxhole and see if there are any clues,” everyone turned in shock to see Lipton returning to them. “I needed something from CP, and then I noticed all of you still over here, I figured you were up to no good,” the first sergeant said with a smile, earning him a loving slap on the back from Grant and Johnny Martin. The rest of the afternoon was about to be spent brainstorming, at least until one of the men needed to take their turn watching the line.

All of the men felt nervous, but especially Babe. Guarnere is his best friend, it would be one thing if Babe knew that he was wounded, even killed, but not knowing what happened to Bill was eating away at Babe worse than anything he had ever felt before.

~~~~~

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 (coming soon!)

Taglist: @b00ks1ut , @blueberry-ovaries , @bucky32557038ww2 , @claudycod , @dontirrigateme , @easycompany123 , @emilee1421 , @executethyself35 , @hanniewinnix , @ithinkabouttzu , @jump-wings , @panzershrike-pretz , @stolen94 , @themysciraprincess , @xxluckystrike

Thank you so much as always for reading and stay tuned for Chapter 8! 😁

#band of brothers #hbo #hbo war #easy company #should've been born later nix #band of brothers fanfic #easy company x oc #my writing #emily shut up #edward heffron #babe heffron #BaaaaAAAaAaaaAaaAAAAbe #carwood lipton #clifford carwood lipton #buck compton #lynn compton #harry welsh #chuck grant #floyd talbert #skip muck #warren muck #alex penkala #smokey gordon #darrell c powers #shifty powers #earl mcClung #one lung mcclung #popeye wynn #robert wynn #James alley

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

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

[wexhappyxfew]

Landslide | Chapter 92 | Where The Enemy Once Stood

"There is no teacher but the enemy. No one but the enemy will tell you what the enemy is going to do. No one but the enemy will ever teach you how to destroy and conquer. Only the enemy shows you where you are weak."

- Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game

Natia spent more time than she wanted in the Eagles' Nest.

Sometimes, she just wanted to climb up to the top of the mountain and inhale some of the fresh mountain air and feel her muscles burn from the work it took to get up the mountain. Sometimes, it was because it was far quieter than down the mountain in the main area of Berchtesgaden and more often these days, she longed for some quietness. Sometimes, it was just because she wanted to stare at the mountains. Just sit and stare and listen to the wind blow overtop the mountains and down into the valley, hitting the trees and rustling their fresh summer leaves.

Today was because she was bored. Not that there wasn't plenty to do, but today, she had finished all the assignments Captain Speirs needed to have written up, some of the enlisted were already downing some bottles of wine and champagne they'd scrounged, and things for the most part were settled in.

Years ago, this would have bothered her. Being in a place such as this where the enemy once stood all alone with herself - of course, some of the officers were here and there were people in other rooms, but the great large room that served as the residential sitting room it seemed, remained in her occupancy. And she was all alone. She didn't mind being alone as much anymore.

[read the rest on AO3 + Wattpad]

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hellloooo!!! long time no see! and i’m updating a consistent week later woooo!!! vv excited personally bc it’s been a bit since that’s happened lol! :) natia’s story continues to toss and term and trickle its way to its ending and this last big chunk of chapters are all just very satisfying to see posted bc it’s an ending idea i’ve had in my for at least a year now so, it’s very rewarding to see these get published! if you ever have any questions about the fic or natia, im always open, but in any case, thank you to everyone that reads, i really do appreciate it so much! and once again, happy reading! :)

taglist: @chaosklutz @juliannetoinette @huenoclue @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @tvserie-s-world @liebegott @wecomrades @thoughpoppiesblow @cetaitlaverite @rogue-sunday @legally-devorak @alejodi0nysus @mrsalwayswrite @supervalcsi @heffrcns @xthefourthx @whoahersheybars @kryzes @papersergeant-pencilsoldier @whovian45810 @sergeant-spoons @geniedocroe @holdingforgeneralhugs @martinsrestingbitchface @pipster4107 @mads-weasley @hinkel-im-home @heirsoflilith @icantdecideofthename

-> as always, let me know if would like to be added/removed from the taglist! :D

#band of brothers #bob fic #bob oc #band of brothers fic #band of brothers x oc #landslide #natia filipska #richard winters #lewis nixon #harry welsh #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #joe liebgott #george luz #natia is actually vv funny once u give her a bottle of champagne #chatty - and i quote from harry welsh himself

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 11 // 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, Violence, War wounds

A/N: I don't know what to say... be prepared still ;)

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

Later that afternoon, we're still sitting by the fountain, and George suddenly stands up. "Well, look who decided to show up, Floyd," he says, and I look up. Tab and some of the other guys who were still missing are coming toward us. We all stand up to greet our new arrivals. "Hi there, Luz. We thought we'd never find you guys," Tab says, then looks at me. "Liv, good to see you," he says, and I give him a quick hug. "Likewise, Tab." Now Liebgott pushes past me. "Hey, Tab, get a load of this. You like that? It's the real stuff," he says, unwrapping his flag with the swastika. "Yeah, of course. You like this?" asks Tab in return, pulling out a German raincoat. "Oh, nice. That's a beauty, Sarge," Liebgott replies, and now Don pushes through as well. "My Luger's gonna put you all to shame when I get it," he says, and I have to laugh. "Yeah yeah, Don. You almost got yourself shot for one. So let's hope you're still alive when you finally get your hands on one." Don nudges me from the side and laughs.

"So, have we lost anybody?" asks Tab, looking at each of us in turn. "Tommy Burgess took one in the face. Popeye Wynn got pinked in the behind. But they're gonna be okay," George replies. "That's good." "You run into Lt. Meehan on your travels?" I ask, and Tab looks at me quizzically. "No, why?" "Company HQ's still missing. They think the plane crashed," I reply, lowering my eyes. "They say he's gonna turn up," Liebgott now interjects, and I look at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, I ain't holding my breath," I reply, "Why, they just showed up now, too; why not Meehan?" "Because his whole plane is missing, smartass. You think that's a fucking coincidence?" Liebgott glares at me. "Looks like cuddle time is over," George grins, and Liebgott and I look right at him. "Shut up, Luz!" "How nice that this hasn't changed, huh?" grins Tab sarcastically, looking at both of us before turning back to me. "Who's in command, then?" "Winters for now. Lieutenant Welsh is 1st Platoon," I reply, and he nods.

Then Don puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to the side. "It's funny, you two. In the morning, you're cuddling with each other, and now you're the bickering couple again. Unbelievable." "Can't you just stop that? Liebgott and I are nothing! If possible, I'll stay away from him, okay?" "Yeah, right, because that works out so well," Don laughs.

Up ahead, I see Harry clearing his throat. "Let's go, 1st Platoon! Easy's moving out! On your feet!" he calls, and I exchange a glance with Don. We are in 2nd. Platoon. "I'll see you guys later," Muck says, walking past us toward George. "Stand up, lift up. Let's go," Boyle calls out, the 1st Platoon Sergeant. Buck now stands up next to me. "Listen up! It'll be dark soon. I want light and noise discipline from here on. No talking, no smoking. No playing grab-fanny with the man in front of you, Luz," Harry calls out, and we all laugh. "So, where we headed to, Lieutenant?" "We're taking Carentan." "That sounds like fun," Don says next to me, looking at me. "It's the only place where armor from Omaha and Utah Beach can link up and head inland. Until we take it, they're stuck on the sand. General Taylor's sending the whole division," Harry still explains and looks around.

"Remember, boys, give me three days and three nights of hard fighting, and you will be relieved," George says, imitating General Taylor, which makes us all laugh. "1st Platoon, fall in behind Fox Company. You people from 2nd and 3rd Platoon, follow us. Let's shake a leg." I look at Don for a moment, then nod at him. "Come on, Liv. Let's get these guys on their feet," Buck says beside me, and I nod. "Another thing to remember boys flies spread disease. So, keep yours closed," I hear George still saying in General Taylor's voice. "Okay, come on. Joe, Bill, on your feet. We're moving out." Bill nods to me, and our platoon gets ready to move out.

June 12, 1944 - Carentan, France

When we finally take on Carentan, a few days have passed. It is now D-Day plus 6. This morning, Winters informed us that it is our turn to intervene as support. Behind a small hill leading into town, we hunker down behind the 1st Platoon. "You guys ready?" Buck asks Don and me as we crouch next to him. Winters and Harry are upfront as he gives the order for the first platoon to move out. "Fuck," I curse as I watch Harry run off, closely followed by George. We make out the first shots and duck a little more.

"Okay, Buck, let's go! Get those men out of the trench and start clearing the buildings!" Winters then calls out to us, and Buck looks at me. We both nod at each other. "You heard the lieutenant, boys! Let's go!" I shout and run off with Buck and Don. We are immediately fired upon. "You better not die!" I call to Don, who winks at me. "Come on, get out of the ditch! We have to go!" I shout to the soldiers who are entrenched in the trench. "Jesus Christ! Move!" I shout, grabbing a soldier and pulling him to his feet.

Then I run into town and take cover next to Buck. He looks at me. "Liv, take Tipper and Liebgott. Start clearing these buildings. Right. Let's go! Second two, go, go!" Buck calls out to me, and I nod. "Tip, Liebgott! Come on. We're clearing those houses!" The two nod and follow me. From a distance, I see Don looking after me. I nod to him again before running on. "Ready?" I ask the two, and they nod. "All right, let's go!" I shout, and we run into the house.

After we clear a few houses, I suddenly hear Lip's voice. "They got us zeroed! Spread it out, spread it out! Go! Get the hell out of there!" he shouts, trying to get his men off the street. "They got us zeroed! Get out of there! Go, go! Get the hell out of the street!" he shouts again as I see him get hit. "Lip!" I shout and immediately want to run to him, but Liebgott holds me back. "No! Liv, we have a job to do! Tab takes care of him!" I look up again, and Liebgott is right. Tab is already with Lip, helping him.

I nod and follow Joe and Tipper into the house. "Okay, quick now," I say. We search everything and then run back out before the house goes up. I quickly look around. "Dammit, where's Tip?" I ask, looking at Liebgott. Startled, I wheel around to the house, and then I can see Tipper coming out of the house. With my mouth open, I stare at him, and Liebgott's eyes have also widened. "Tipper," I breathe. Joe slowly puts his gun on the ground and then walks toward Tip. He puts an arm around him. "Joe?" asks Tip back. "Looking good, Tip." "Is that you?" "Looking real good. Come here; you gotta sit down. Come here, come on. Easy, easy. There you go, there you go," Liebgott says, helping him sit down. He hugs Tip to him and has his arm around him. I swallow hard and slowly kneel. Tip is bleeding all over. His legs are torn open, and one side of his face is also ripped open and bloody. "Jesus," I breathe, looking Liebgott in the eye.

"Oh, Jesus. You hang in there, buddy. Okay, we're gonna get you fixed up. All right?" he says then, and I've never seen Liebgott so caring as he is right now with Tipper. "Okay. Guys, you wanna give me a hand here?" he then asks, addressing me, and only now do I realize that two more soldiers are standing behind me.

"Fuck!" I then curse. "Medic!" I look around briefly before turning back to Tip. "Hey Tip... It's going to be all right yeah? As Joe said, we'll get you fixed up." Liebgott and I exchange another look. "Where's the goddamn Medic?!" I yell, then look back at Liebgott. "We need to get him out of here, Joe," I say to Liebgott, and he nods. I reach under Tip's other arm and try to lift him. Carefully, we both stand up and carry Tipper away. The bullet fire has fortunately died down, and we can get Tip to the aid station without further incident.

"What happened?" asks Doc immediately as we put Tip down. "I'll take it from here, Liebgott," Gene says. He nods and heads back outside. "Mortar. We thought he was right behind us, but he was in the house too long. Then it went up." "Did you give him anything?" continues Doc, and I shake my head. "Fine, thanks, Liv. We'll take care of him." "Thanks, Doc."

On the way out, I notice my hands are full of blood. I try to wipe it away a little, step outside and take a deep breath while still rubbing my hands. "You can't get it off without water," I hear a voice and look up. Next to me, leaning against the house is Liebgott, smoking. "Ah yeah, thanks!" I say wryly, rolling my eyes. "Ah, come on, Stark, I only meant well," he says, and I look up in surprise. "Really?" "Really." I rub my face with the back of my hand. "Jesus, I'm done for the day," I mutter. Suddenly Liebgott holds out an already-lit smoke to me. "Thanks," I say, still slightly confused.

For a while, we stand silently at the entrance to the house, smoking. "Joe," he says suddenly, and I look up. "What?" "You called me Joe today. You never did before." I think about it for a moment. "Just like you never called me Liv. Seems like it takes all of this to do that." "Seems so."

Silence falls between us again. "Liv!" someone suddenly calls out, and I look up. Don is coming hurrying toward us. "Here you are! Are you okay?" he asks as he pulls me into his arms. "Yes, Don, I'm fine," I reply. "Jesus Christ, I didn't see you at the rally point, so I was already thinking the worst," he says quickly, and I raise my eyebrows. "Tip got hit. We had to bring him in," I explain, pointing to Liebgott and me. "Is he okay?" "Not really... Well, he should survive, I guess, but... They'll probably send him back to England."

Don exchanges a glance between Liebgott and me, then smiles briefly at me. "Come on now! We found something to drink and a place to crash," he then says, pointing his head in a direction. Don leads the way, and I exchange another glance with Liebgott before we follow him.

Comfortably we sit in the evening at the town border of Carentan. "Have you ever heard from your brothers?" Don asks me as we eat something. "No, unfortunately, I haven't. All my mother wrote in her last letter was about Damon bouncing from island to island in the Pacific and Tommysomewhere in Europe. But exactly where, I don't know." Don presses his lips together and looks at me. "And your sister?" "She's in the pacific as well." "I hear the Pacific must be pretty bad," now interjects Frank, who immediately catches a blow to the back from George. "Shut up, Frank!" "What?" the latter asks, confused, and I hang my head.

"Cheer up, Sweetheart. They'll get through it!" Don tries to cheer me up. "I hope so. We all took a risk when we decided to go to war. As long as I don't hear from them, I'm confident. It's better than hearing that they've been killed." There is silence for a while, and I stare at my boots. I miss my family very much. It's been several years now since I've seen them. But so has every single person here.

I take out my cigarettes and light one. I keep thinking about Tipper or the others we lost today. It could happen to any one of us at any time. I briefly let my gaze glide over the faces of my friends. Don, Muck, Penkala, George, Buck, Bill, Joe Toye, Lip, Harry, Tab, Chuck, Web, and yes, to hell, even Liebgott. It would hurt.

"Okay, enough moping," George says, pulling out a bottle of whatever. "Here's to the day finally being over," he shouts, and we cheer. The bottle is passed around until it's Liebgott's turn, and then he holds it out to me. I accept it and smile at him. Maybe today was a turning point between us. "Oh wow, I didn't think I'd live to see this," Buck laughs, looking at Liebgott and me. "You two, without fighting?" The guys around us laugh, and I take a sip, shaking my head. "Don't get used to it, Buck," Liebgott retorts. "Figures," I grumble, rolling my eyes.

"What, Stark? Would be boring otherwise, wouldn't it?", Liebgott challenges me, and now I'm looking at him. "I don't know, Liebgott. It would be quite nice if you would just shut the fuck up now and then," I return, and the men around us groan. "Why did you say something, Buck?" Don asks our lieutenant, who grins. "Well, I didn't know they were about to start again, Malarkey." "Sorry to disappoint you, Buck, but I'm afraid Liebgott can't help it. Always the tough guy, aren't you? I'm really starting to wonder if you're trying to compensate for something with that," I say to Liebgott and stand up. "You're one to talk, Stark. Or what else is why you're here but to prove yourself?"

My eyes turn to slits, and I take a step toward Liebgott. "I've told you a thousand times, Liebgott. Don't fucking talk about things you don't understand!" "I'll talk about what I want, Love. Get used to it," he now says, standing up as well. "But if I don't understand it, why don't you explain it to me, huh? Why are you here?" Anger spreads through me. "That's enough, Lieb," Don interjects, but Liebgott is still glaring at me, as am I at him. "I don't need this, Liebgott, because I could give a shit what you think." "But you do give a shit, Stark, don't you? I wonder why...?" By now, we're standing so close to each other that the others can barely hear us. Liebgott scrutinizes my face, and his gaze flits briefly to my lips. "I hope you're not starting to fall for me, Stark," he whispers huskily, and I tear up. I push him off me. "You're such a fucking asshole, Liebgott!" I curse and stomp away.

Settling against a tree not too far from the others, I bury my face in my hands for a moment. Why do I let him get to me? What is it about Joseph Liebgott that can get me so worked up? I exhale in annoyance and light a smoke. "Sergeant? What did I say about you not wandering around by yourself?" I suddenly hear Winter's voice next to me. "I'm sorry, sir; sometimes I just need to escape from all the testosterone for a minute." Winters chuckles. "I can imagine that. But still, I'm not comfortable with you being out on your own..." "Well, you're here now, sir," I grin, and he smiles at me. "May I?" he asks, pointing to the seat next to me. "Sure, sir."

He sits down next to me, and we sit there silently for a moment. "How's your leg, sir?" I then ask. "Oh, so far, so good. It hurts a little, but it should get better quickly." "I'm glad to hear that, sir." "What was the reason for you to sit here now and not with the other men?" he asks, and I look at him for a moment. "Oh, nothing crazy." "Can I guess?" "Go ahead." "Liebgott?" I let out a sigh and grin. "Liebgott," is all I say, "I don't know what it is, but he somehow always manages to drive me up the wall." "Maybe that's what he wants?" "What do you mean, sir?" "Well, first of all, Liv, please call me Dick, at least when it's just the two of us. After all, you would be an officer. And secondly... Maybe he's trying to drive you up the wall because you're letting him?" "But what does he get out of it?" Dick shrugs. "I'm afraid I can't answer that for you. There could be several reasons for that." I hang my head and prop my arms on my knees. "I saw him differently today, you know? When Tipper was hit... He was so caring and kind. Even afterward, when we handed him over to Doc. And then he morphs into that asshole again." I see a slight smile creep onto Dick's face. "I'm telling you: several reasons, Liv."

"Sir? Liv?" we then hear a voice in front of us and look up. It's Don. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to see if everything was okay, Liv?" "Yep, everything's fine," I say, and Dick and I stand up. "Are you coming back? Don't worry; I've put Liebgott in his place. He won't make another sound for today," Don grins. "It's okay, Don." I turn to Dick. "Thank you, Sir. For talking to me." "Always, Liv. Enjoy your evening." "You too, sir."

Don and I make our way back to the others. "What did Winters want from you?" Don asks me. "Oh, he just wanted to remind me of his orders not to wander around alone. Nothing more..." Don leaves it at that and leads me back to the boys,  toward George and Skip. We sit down, and my gaze meets Liebgott's as he studies my face. There's something strange about his look, but I avert my eyes and turn my attention to George and Don.

June 14, 1944 - Carentan, France

Two days later, I sit on a staircase with Don, More, Muck, Penkala, and Albert. Once again, we gathered different food and enjoy a bit of the sun. Albert is lying on the floor next to us, and we are sitting on the steps. I have my eyes closed and hold my face to the sun. Don and More are discussing what the next course will be. "Berlin by Christmas. That's how I see it," More says, looking at all of us. "Yeah, you're full of it," Don replies. "Oh, God. This Kraut cheese tastes like... It stinks. Bread's stale, too," Penkala then says, chewing on the bread. "Give me that," Muck shouts, taking it from Penkala's hand.

"You mark my words, Mal, Berlin by Christmas," More repeats. Then suddenly, we hear a foreign voice. "Enjoy it while it lasts. We'll be moving out soon." I open my eyes now and see Speirs standing in front of us. "Out of town, Lieutenant? Already?" asks Don, and we all look at the lieutenant. "That's right," Speirs replies, turning away. "Don't they know we're just getting settled here?" More says, and we all look at him in shock. Speirs turns to us again and glares at More before disappearing. "Nice, Groucho," Muck says, looking at More in disbelief. "What?" "Real smart. You know, you're taking your life into your own hands. Ain't that right?" Muck asks, addressing Don and me. I look at Don for a moment and shrug. "We didn't see anything, Muck; we already told you that." "What, Speirs shooting the prisoners or the sergeant in his platoon?" then asks Penkala, and we look at him in surprise. "Sergeant?" "I didn't hear that one." "He shot one of his own guys?" asks Don in shock, and I raise an eyebrow. "Well, supposedly, the guy was drunk and refused to go on a patrol. Who knows if it's true?" then tells Penk as Speirs reappears in front of us. "Sergeant Stark? Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks, and I look at him in surprise. "Uh, yes, sure, sir," I reply and stand up hesitantly. I put on my helmet and briefly look at Don, who looks at me with concern.

I follow Speirs a few steps when he stops and turns to me. "How are you, Sergeant?" he asks, and I look at him in surprise. "Quite well, sir, thank you. Why do you ask?" "Just because. After what happened after D-Day, I wanted to ask." "I'm fine, sir. I've got my boys, and they're looking out for me." "Not that you couldn't do it yourself, right?" "Right." "Lieutenant Winters told me you graduated from OCS? How come you're not an officer?" "I guess it's because I'm a woman, Sir." "Well, as far as I can tell from what I saw, I think they're right to do so. You got your men under control." "Thank you, Sir." Speirs is eyeing me, and I genuinely can't tell what's happening in his head. "Very well. Stand by, Sergeant. We'll be moving out soon." I salute him quickly and then turn away before returning to my friends.

Narrator POV:

Don, Muck, More, and Penkala watch Liv as she follows Speirs. "I wonder what he wants with her," Muck wonders, looking at his friends. "Do you think it could be that Speirs is interested in Liv? Luz told me he saw them together on D-Day." "That would suit you, Muck! Only because you deny that there's anything between her and Liebgott," Don interjects, and Penkala rolls his eyes. "You saw them together the day before yesterday, too, didn't you, Don? I agree with Muck. These two hate each other." "Love and hate are known to be very close, Penk. I'll tease it out of her, and then you can pay up." "You bet on that?" asks More now, looking briefly at Liv, who is still talking to Speirs. "You got it." "But that's just because Don is too sure of himself." "But yeah... Have you guys ever studied Joe? I mean, really study him? The way he looks at her sometimes? The case is just so obvious." "Then why is he being so... assy to her?" "That's clear, too, because he can't have her. Or at least because he thinks he can't. Joe's too proud to even deal with the thought that she might reject him." The conversation falls silent as Liv rejoins them. Don looks up but notices Speirs watching her until she sits with them again, and only then continues.

Liv POV:

"What are you guys talking about?" I ask as I sit back down with the boys. "Still about the same thing as before," Don grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Well, I know a guy who said an eyewitness told him that Speirs hosed those prisoners," Skip says, throwing food at Don. "Why? What for?" now Albert asks out of nowhere, and we look at him. "On D-Day. Speirs comes across a group of German prisoners digging a hole under guard and so on. He pulls out a pack of smokes.... hands them out. He even gives them a light. Then, all of a sudden... he swings up his Thompson... and hoses them down. I mean, for fuck's sake, he gives them smokes first? See, that's why I don't think he really did it," Muck tells us. "I can't imagine him doing it, to be honest." "You don't believe it?" asks Don. "You were there too, Liv, weren't you?" "Yeah, but we didn't see that he did it." "I heard he didn't," Penk now interjects again. "See!" "Someone else did it."

"Oh, no, no, it was him, all right. But it was more than eight guys. It was more like 20", Alton now says. "Hell of a shot!" "All except one guy... who he left alone." "I still think that's bullshit," I say, and Skip eyes me. "Ah well, could it be that you like a certain lieutenant Liv?" he asks, shrugging his eyebrows. "What? What are you talking about? How many more men are you going to pin on me? First Liebgott, then Winters, and now Speirs?" "Anyway... Well, all I know, from what I heard he took that last 105 on D-day practically by himself. Running through MG fire like a maniac," Penk then says. "Yeah, that I did see," Don says immediately, and I nod. "Yep, me too." "On his own?" asks Alton. "I don't care if any of the other stuff's true," Penk says. Suddenly, however, Harry speaks up. "Let's go, first platoon, weapons on me."

"Here we go..." I grumble and stand up. "Come on, Don, let's find the others," I say, pulling him to his feet.

#Band of Brothers #Joe Liebgott #Joe Liebgott x OC #Fanfic #Joe Liebgott fanfic #bob #bobedit #hbowar #ww2 #hbo series #ross mccall #don malarkey #scott grimes

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 8 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7)

Nixon - March 1944

The new year saw no improvement to Emily and Nixon’s relationship despite his fumbled attempts at reconciliation. Nixon felt that he went out of his way to make small talk with her, to be friendly (especially in the mornings) and to be enthusiastic about her work. Emily was outwardly friendly, to an appropriate degree, but Nixon could sense the barrier she had put up between them. When they had first met, she had been so open and warm, bordering on desperate for his friendship. Now, she made polite small talk and performed her tasks with a new rigid professionalism. Nixon couldn’t help but feel that this behavior was exclusive to him. He saw how she interacted with the men in the pub, in the mess, and on the rifle range; she didn’t seem to have a problem with any of them.

On more than one occasion Nixon found himself complaining to Winters about Emily’s insufferable behavior.

“Didn’t you find her attitude obnoxious before?” Winters asked.

“Yes, but I got used to that. Now she’s changed it up on me again! It's annoying is what it is,” Nixon said.

Winters dipped a spoon into a bowl of soup and brought it to his mouth, patiently waiting for Nixon to continue, “its the unpredictability, the mood swings! Women.” Nixon scoffed.

“Well,” Winters ate another spoonful of soup, “you were a jerk.”

Nixon’s brow furrowed, “not enough of a jerk for her to give me the cold shoulder for three months.”

“Has it been three months?”

Nixon didn’t answer. “You two still talk, I’ve seen you,” Winters said, “maybe she’s focusing on her work. It has gotten busier.”

“Yeah we talk, but not like before. And she seems to have plenty of time to talk to Harry or George Luz.”

Winters’ mouth crooked into a small, thoughtful smile, “why do you think it bothers you so much, Nix?”

Nixon caught his friends smirk, “Oh no,” he shook his head, “its not like that at all. She’s a kid. Besides, I’m invested elsewhere in this boring town."

Winters cocked an eyebrow, “so this really is just about friendship?”

“Friendship, friendliness - I just want things to go back to normal!”

Winters nodded and turned his attention back to his soup, “maybe this is the new normal.”

Nixon was running out of patience and hope. As March crept along he decided that he would simply have to come to terms with the impersonal working relationship that Winters called the new normal.

“Morning,” Nixon entered the intelligence HQ room with a manila folder already in hand. He was flipping through the aerial photos inside.

“Good morning, sir,” Emily said, barely looking up from her typewriter.

“We received some aerial photos this morning. Here look at this,” Nixon said, stretching out a black and white print to Emily.

She took it, “what’s this of?”

“Undisclosed,” Nixon said, “but we’ll be getting a lot more. Our office needs to piece the photos together and start building sand tables of the geography.”

Emily blew air out of her cheeks, “Wow, so this might be..”

“Yeah,” Nixon caught her gaze, “this might be it.”

“Okay, yeah we’ll get started on this.”

“Great.” Nixon shut the manila folder firmly and threw it on Emily’s desk. “Let me know what you need.”



“Will do, sir.”

Nixon waited until his back was turned to roll his eyes. He hated it when she called him sir. No one else would hear it, but he could hear the contempt in her voice. She wasn’t saying sir out of respect. He knew that she was doing it purposely to annoy him. Sure, he couldn’t prove it, but he knew it.

Nixon dropped into his desk chair just as Vest entered the room with uncharacteristic hesitance.

“Uh, Miss Rooney?” Nixon’s dark eyes flicked over to Emily. An unexplainable feeling of dread grew in his stomach. It grew stronger as he saw Emily’s face change. She was sensing the difference in Vest’s energy just as he had. Vest made his way over to her desk with a letter in hand.

“A letter for you,” Vest cleared his throat, “from the war department.”

Nixon sat straighter in his chair as Vest made his awkward retreat from the room. Emily ripped the edge of the envelope with trembling hands and slowly pulled the typed letter from its folds.

Nixon watched her eyes run across the ink-black lines. His heart beat in his ears in anticipation for her reaction. Finally, Emily let out a shuddering breath and the letter dropped from her hands. Fat tears began rolling down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her mouth in an attempt to squash her sobs, her body folding in on itself as if to guard her from the world around her. Jolted into action, Nixon stood abruptly from his chair and was beside her in two strides. He positioned his body on the edge of her desk, blocking her from the curious looks from the other intelligence staff.

“What happened?” he asked in a low voice.

Emily shut her eyes tightly against the tears, she shook her head indicating her inability to speak. Instead, she held up the letter. Nixon took it and read,

Dear Miss Rooney,

The following information is provided in regards to your fiancee, Corporal John Elliott. Your fiancee sustained significant wounds of the left leg and arm and on 11 March, 1944 was reported as being in a naval hospital in London, England for further treatment. You may be sure that he is….

Nixon stopped reading as confused relief softened the knot in his stomach. 

“Wounded, wounded in action,” he said.

Emily nodded. She ran her finger tips under her eyes. Her cheeks were sopping wet with tears, her eyelashes heavy with salt.

“Here,” Nixon handed her the handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s clean. Well, cleanish.”

Emily accepted it and swallowed hard, doing her best to compose herself. She patted her cheeks dry with the fold of the linen cloth.

“You okay?” Nixon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. This was their first physical interaction in months, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it. It was such a natural action considering the circumstances.

“Yeah,” she gulped, “I’m alright.” Emily exhaled, “it took me by surprise is all.”



“Naturally,” Nixon rubbed her back.

“I don’t know why I’m such a mess,” Emily’s voice cracked with emotion.

“You don’t need to excuse your reaction,” Nixon murmured, “this is big, scary news.”



“I thought- I just thought that it was going to say he was dead.”

“I know, I thought so too.”

“Lew, I - I was,” she hesitated.

“What?” he encouraged her.

“Never mind,” she screwed her face up as if thinking against what she was about to say. Her lips were swollen from crying, her lipstick slightly smudged from the press of her hand. “If he’s wounded I have to see if I can visit him.”

Nixon nodded, “absolutely.”



“Do you think we could find out where he’s at?”

Nixon grimaced with uncertainty, “uhm, I mean it’s not our branch. But I’ll see what I can do.” Nixon was conflicted; this seemed awful personal for him to get involved with. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get involved with Emily’s business considering how things had been between them lately. Then again, this could be his chance to make amends, to show her that he meant well by her.

“Lewis, thank you!” her voice was full of gratitude and looking down at her red rimmed gray eyes, Nixon prayed he would be able to find the hospital easily.

A few days later Nixon interrupted Emily at lunch, which she was once again spending with Welsh.

“I found him,” Nixon announced. He expected Emily look more excited.

“Oh thank you, Nix! Where is he?” Emily asked.

Okay, back to some version of a nickname, Nixon observed. That was a good sign. “Worcestershire.”

“Who’s this?” Welsh looked between Emily and Nixon.

“Worcestershire? I thought he was in London?”

“He was. He was originally with an evacuation hospital but has since been moved to a convalescent hospital in Worcestershire.”

“Ah, okay,” Emily said.

“That’s a good thing,” Nixon said, “he’s on the mend! And Worcestershire is only north of here.”

“Who’s this we’re talking about?” Welsh asked again, this directed just at Emily. 


“Right, I guess I should go up this weekend,” Emily spoke more to herself than the men. “I guess I’ll have to make sure…” she trailed off lost in thought.

“You’ve got my permission. That’s all you need,” Nixon said.

Welsh opened his mouth again but didn’t have the chance to speak before Nixon interjected, “her fiancee Harry, we’re talking about her wounded fiancee.”

“Ah,” Harry looked down at his plate suddenly uninterested in the conversation.

“Get the train Saturday morning and plan to be back by Sunday night, okay?” Nixon rapped his knuckles on the wooden dining table. “Okay, I’ll see you both later,” and he walked off without Emily’s confirmation.

The Friday before she was set to leave Emily was a ball of nerves. She was constantly tapping her foot, or getting up to walk around aimlessly. Her restlessness was grating on Nixon’s nerves, which was the last thing he needed with the headache he was nursing.

“Would you relax?” he finally snapped.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emily stilled her foot. But then only a few minutes later her fingers began drumming against her desk. The rigid tension between them had relaxed slightly since the letter had come but Nixon still felt like he was walking on eggshells. He was worried about being too harsh with her or of saying anything insensitive. The last couple of days he had been careful to be extra kind to her. The stress of seeing her fiancee again for the first time in at least a year, and knowing that he would be both physically and mentally different than he had been, was a lot to carry. Nixon knew this. He had taken it upon himself to offset her edginess but boy was he finding that particularly difficult at that moment.

“What’re you gonna be like when we get to the continent huh?” Nixon demanded, “that’s gonna be stressful too, are you gonna be able to handle it?” So much for not being too harsh or insensitive.

Emily scowled at him from her desk, “leave me alone, Nixon. I’ll be fine when we get to the continent. Will you? Gunfire isn’t great for a hangover.”

Nixon narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t say anything more. Finally, they made it to dinner and she excused herself early due to her early departure in the morning. A peculiar sensation came over him as he watched her leave. Seeing her walk away in her woolen skirt with pieces of her dark, red-brown hair flying away from where they were pinned down felt like some sort of goodbye. An anxiety that she was leaving to join her fiancee never to come back tickled at the back of his mind. Beside him, Harry Welsh was looking after her in just the same way. Nixon couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for both of them.

Nixon didn’t have plans for the weekend. He had a loose arrangement with a beautiful young local woman but didn’t feel particularly motivated to call after her that Saturday. His mind was with Emily, worrying if she had made it to the hospital safely. He squandered the day away in bed, then the pub and during a brief window of sunshine, walking around the outskirts of town.

England was beginning to defrost into Spring. When Nixon looked out at the rolling hills of Wiltshire, he could almost pretend he wasn’t there because of a war. He might have been there to study, or to visit family friends. There was a peacefulness in the open plains that surrounded the town of Aldbourne. Every stone, field, and building held a storied past that seemed to look past the impending events as if to say I have been here before and I will be here after.

Later that night Nixon excused himself from a game of poker for a cigarette outside. It was chilly out, but he was grateful for the fresh air while it wasn’t raining. He was stood just in front of the steps leading ups to the HQ building when he spotted a figure making its way up the driveway, suitcase in hand. It was a woman’s figure and Nixon’s first thought was another nurse was coming to join the ranks. But it was such a late hour for a new member of staff to check in. As the figure grew closer he recognized her.

“Emily?” he asked in confusion. Her features became clearer as she stepped into the dim light coming from the building. There was a bizarre expression on her face. Nixon didn’t know what to think of her. “Emily?” he repeated, “what’re you doing back?”

She didn’t smile, but her countenance was calm, serene even. Her eyes were wide and bright despite the limited light. She parted her red lips and with the intonation of surprise said, “I’m free, Lew.”

#band of brothers #fanfiction #original character #as far as friends go #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #harry welsh x oc #george luz x oc #dick winters #harry welsh #george luz #hbo band of brothers

[holdingforgeneralhugs]

Bitter Pill to Swallow

Chapter 4 (Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1)

As always, thank you to @tvserie-s-world for the screencap💕

Dick couldn't concentrate on his newspaper. He couldn't put his finger on the why, but he found himself constantly glancing down the carriage at Lieutenant Landry. He always managed to look back down just before she caught him, but somehow his eyes kept being drawn to her.

She was a problem he couldn't find an answer to, and that's probably what bothered him the most about her. That, and the fact that he seemed to be the only one of her fellow officers that she was openly hostile towards. After the night of their graduation she'd gotten more friendly with Nix and Harry, but she steadfastly refused to have anything to do with him. And that, despite his best efforts to ignore her, irritated him. He couldn't figure out why she disliked him so much, or why she got under his skin the way she did.

He glanced back at her again, and froze when he was met with her blazing green eyes glaring at him over the top of her book. He held her gaze for a moment before huffing out a breath and went back to his paper.

Lewis had been watching the entire exchange unbeknownst to Dick, and he smirked when he noticed Dicks furrowed brow and his tightly clenched fists holding the paper.

"Say Dick," he started nonchalantly, fighting a smile when his friend glanced up at him cautiously, "What's with you and Landry giving each other eyes huh?"

Dick scoffed and rolled his eyes, flipping to the next page of the paper a little too vigorously. "I don't know what you're talking about Nix."

Nix looks between the two of them and when he noticed Valerie glaring down at her book his grin widened. He turned back to Dick and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You wanna know what I think?" He asked, ignoring Dick's shaking head and ploughing on. "I think there's a certain kind of tension between you two, if you know what I mean."

"It's just plain tense, Nix. You know I don't lose my temper easily but she just gets on my nerves like nobody else. She's so argumentative, and prickly. She takes everything I do as some sort of personal attack and it irritates me beyond belief because if she bothered to get to know me she'd know that it never is."

"Well, you two could probably work it out if you actually sat down and had a proper adult conversation," Lewis pointed out sagely, taking a sip from his flask.

"Good luck organising that Nix," said Dick, "I think you'd have better luck jumping straight onto Hitlers doorstep."

"Wouldn't that be something," chuckled Lewis. "You know, you two could just shack up in a hotel room for the night and get it all out of your systems. A good roll in the sheets is bound to wring out all of that underlying tension you won't admit to yourselves is so obviously there."

"Don't be so crass Nix," Dick grumbled, blushing crimson, "I'm not at all interested in her that way. In fact I'm not interested in her at all and even if she is a good officer, my life would be a lot quieter if she were part of some other company."

"Aw c'mon Dick, you'd miss her if she were gone. And who would keep you on your toes then?"

"I have enough to keep me on my toes with the war Nix," sighed Dick, pointedly looking down at his paper to signal that he was done with this particular conversation. Pity however, that Nix was not.

"You may lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me Dick," continued Lewis, ignoring Dicks sigh, "the sooner you admit to yourself that you think she's attractive, the less tense you'll be."

Dick put his paper down and stared across at his friend incredulously, determinedly ignoring the flush in his cheeks. "I'm worried about your future as an intelligence officer if you think I'm attracted to Lieutenant Landry. We can't even have a civil conversation outside of the necessary."

"You don't need to be friends to be attracted to her. She's a pretty looking dame, you're just lying to yourself," smirked Lewis, "C'mon Harry back me up here will ya?"

Harry shifted in his seat and glanced between the two blearily. "What's the matter?" He slurred.

"Nothing Harry, don't worry about it," interjected Dick, giving Lewis a pointed stare. Lewis passed over his flask to Harry and continued on.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks there's some underlying tension of a certain type between Dick and Valerie?"

Harry chuckled as he took a swig from Lewis' flask. "Oh yeah, there's definitely something unresolved there. Remember a few weeks ago when Sobel put them on KP after that disaster of a field exercise?"

"Oh yeah," laughed Lewis, "I wasn't sure if they were gonna kill each other or make out there and then with the eyes they were giving each other."

"If you two are quite done making up tall tales," Dick grumbled, "we're pulling in. And it would be best if all these ridiculous ideas of yours went back to Georgia with the train."

Lewis exchanged a laugh with Harry as they stood up and grabbed their gear. He grinned when Valerie stepped up beside him.

'You ready for Fortress Europa Val?" He asked, stepping aside slightly so they had more space.

"I think the real question here is whether Fortress Europa is ready for us Nix?" Valerie smirked. He threw back his head and laughed at her boldness.

"Hitler and his lackeys won't know what hit em."

"Damn straight Nix," she chuckled. The aisle began to clear and he gestured for her to head on before him. He rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh as she passed Dick and made a point to brush past him, and he laughed harder when he saw Dicks narrowed eyes glaring at her back as she walked out of the carriage. Those two were something else.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @geniedocroe @generousdreamlanddestiny @sunsetmando @cagzzz107 @howunexpectedlyso

If you'd like to be added to the taglist then just let me know💕

#band of brothers #dick winters #dick winters x oc #dick winters x valerie landry #valerie landry #lewis nixon #harry welsh #bitterpilltoswallow #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #bob #band of brothers imagine #hbo band of brothers #hbo war

[softspeirs]

War Stories

Summary: Harry Welsh loves pushing Ron Speirs' buttons. He also can't believe that Easy's new CO hasn't heard all about his gallantry at Carentan. Wanting to settle it once and for all, he takes it to the one other person in Easy he enjoys bothering more than his Captain - their medic (OFC). Written for @bob-events Friendship Bonanza 2021!  Prompt: Shoulder clasps + overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects. Characters: Ron Speirs, Harry Welsh, various ensemble characters, and an OFC - Kat. Author’s Note: For Lynn @speirstookmysoul - I combined two of your prompts, I hope you like it!

There’s a part of Sergeant Gray’s job that she loves and hates in equal measure, and it’s shifts in the aid station. On one hand, unless they’re close to the line, the aid station is usually relatively warm and clean. On a quiet day when there’s not much action, if she’s lucky, she might even be able to gather her thoughts for more than five minutes.

On the other hand, when they were on the line, even when the casualties weren’t bad, she could feel the last bit of her tether on her sanity slipping away as she dealt with more wounds, more deaths, more horrifying sights that she wished she could get out of her mind.

Tonight, luckily, isn’t one of those nights, since they’re mostly on occupation duty. It’s quiet, except for the gaggle of a few officers and some enlisted who come to talk (see: bother) to her for a few hours before they have to go on patrol or have sentinel duty.

It’s usually Liebgott or Luz who come to keep her company, but occasionally Welsh or Nixon, and on an even rarer occasion, Ron Speirs.

On this night, the door opens forcefully, and when she sees the two officers, her heart automatically speeds up. She braces herself for bad news.

“Kat, we need you to settle a bet.” Welsh says, and Kat scowls.

“You two come striding in here like that for a bet? I thought someone was hurt!”

He looks chagrined. “No one’s hurt. Well, Sparky’s pride is about to be, but--”

“Oh, shut up.” Speirs says, rolling his eyes. Kat can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen him like this -- he’s always so serious.

Lieutenant Welsh’s eyes are practically sparkling, like he can read Kat’s mind.

“Is this important?” She asks, turning back to her task. “I’m busy.”

Welsh snorts. “Kat, no one thinks for a minute that you’re actually working in here. That’s why we always come to bother you.”

“Lucky me.” She mutters, but can’t stop her smile. She turns around, hands on her hips. “Okay, let’s hear it then, sir.”

Welsh launches into a long winded story about the credibility of whether or not he took out this sniper or that machine gunner in Carentan, but Kat is only half-listening. Speirs meets her eyes, an amused, almost fond look on his face. He tilts his head slightly as if to say just humor him.

“Well?”

“Sir, I have to tell you I just really don’t remember. It was all a blur.”

He looks offended. “How could you forget my bravery?”

Kat sighs. “I’m so sorry, Harry. You’re right; you saved us all.”

Welsh looks at Speirs. “Is she being sarcastic? She only calls me by my first name when she’s being sarcastic.”

Kat resists the urge to roll her eyes yet again - it seems like all she’s done since joining the 101st is roll her eyes. “Is this really that important?”

“I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t,” Welsh insists. Kat raises a brow. “Okay, I would, but I’m your superior officer, so I feel you need to be honest with me.”

Speirs scoffs. “If she’s going to think of anyone as her superior--”

“Just because they made you Captain for being absolutely insane…”

The two of them go back and forth like this for a while. For all their ribbing, it’s easy to see that they have an easy friendship, one that sort of surprises Kat. She wonders if Harry had to work hard to bring out the side of Ron Speirs that no one else really gets to see. Harry is likeable, and she can’t imagine anyone being too serious around him for too long, even Captain Speirs.

“Kat.” Welsh gets her attention after a few minutes, “Kat, are you listening? I’m trying to regale you with stories.”

“To be honest sir, I tuned you out sometime after you said ‘superior officer’.”

“I can’t believe this.”

Speirs claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Hey!” Kat protests, but Welsh is turning on his heel and heading out the door, muttering about everyone being against him. She rounds on Speirs, formalities forgotten now that they’re alone. “I’m going to have to hear about that for weeks.” She accuses, but there’s no heat in her words or her expression.

Speirs shrugs, taking a step closer. “I had no power to stop him coming in here.”

They’re both quiet for a minute as Kat finishes her task, and when she turns to look at him through her lashes, he makes a noise somewhere in his throat. “Stop that,” he admonishes.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re giving me that look.”

“This is just my face.” She insists, though inside she feels like a giddy schoolgirl.

Another step closer, he approaches her, his expression soft, though that ever-present crease in between his eyebrows when he’s deep in thought is there too. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” His hand finds hers in between their bodies. Their fingles tangle together loosely, and he quickly looks over his shoulder to make sure no one has come in when they were distracted.

“How much longer is your shift?” He asks.

“Over any minute, actually.”

“I can wait for you--”

Kat looks pained. “No, I-- Lieb was coming by to walk me back. I couldn’t exactly give him a reason not to.”

This is the part Speirs hates. They’ve got to be discreet, he knows that (though he’s already been lectured by Nixon and the knowing looks from Welsh are getting old), but he can’t help the brief flash of white hot jealousy that courses through him, even though he knows she and Joe Liebgott are like siblings.

The point is, he wants to do these things for her.

His thoughts are derailed when the doors open again, and he automatically steps back to within a respectable distance.

“I found someone who remembers my gallantry, and I can prove it--” Welsh crows, and around the corner he comes with a surly looking Liebgott.

“He didn’t find me, I was already on my way here, and I ain’t vouching for him.” Joe says, a ghost of a smile curling his lips. “Sir.” He adds, nodding at Speirs. “Ready to go?” He asks Kat.

“Just about.”

Kat finishes tidying up her space and nods to the medic taking over after her on her way out. They make for an interesting group. The CO, a Lieutenant, a Sergeant and a Private. There’s a joke in there somewhere, but Kat is too busy being invested in Speirs and Welsh and their endless bantering. Honestly. She thought Nixon and Welsh were bad when they were together.

Kat, being one of the only women in the regiment, has a billet in Company HQ, just to make sure there’s nothing out of sorts going on. She protested, but it was decided for her, especially when they got to Austria. There was no shortage of opulent rooms to put people up in, and she really had no say in the matter.

When they get back inside, she can hear Winters and Nixon talking about something in a room off the entryway, and Speirs and Welsh break off to head in that direction.

“Spending a lot of time with the ranks these days, Gray,” Liebgott says to her, an easy smile on his face. “Soon you’re going to forget all about us common folk.”

“As if you’d ever let that happen.”

He chuckles. “Damn right. Get some sleep.” He orders as they approach her door. “Don’t forget you owe me and Tab some cigarettes from that card game the other night.” He points at her, laughing when she flips him off.

Footsteps on the stairs distract her from getting inside her room, and before she can take the step inside to finally get some sleep, she hears her name one more time.

“Gray! Good news - Nixon remembers--”

“He does not--” Speirs interjects.

“Don’t bring me into this.” Nixon grumbles.

The three of them are on their way to bed, most likely, and Kat sighs. “Can you three please leave me alone?”

“What did I do?” Nixon asks, affronted. It’s the first time he and Kat have spoken all day. The look on his face is almost comical, and Kat has to bite back her smile.

“You got swept up in Harry’s reminiscing.” Speirs answers. “Go to bed, Kat.”

“Giving it my best shot, sir.” She says, and the three of them laugh.

“Alright, alright. We’ll settle this another time.” Welsh concedes. “Kat’s going to remember when she’s more awake and she’ll tell you all about my battlefield glory…”

“Jesus Christ.” Speirs mutters.

Kat laughs, going inside and shutting the door, their voices becoming muffled until she can’t hear them at all.

In truth, she doesn’t know what she’d do without these men who have become her family. Whatever’s going on with Speirs, however long it’s going to last, she has no idea. But she thinks of Welsh’s dramatics and easy smile, Nixon’s sarcasm, and Liebgott’s fierce protectiveness. She thinks of the way Talbert and Malarkey will draw her into a card game despite her protests, the letters she still gets from Guarnere and Toye as they recover, and Eugene Roe always being there right beside her when things have been at their worst.

They might drive her crazy most days, but she truly doesn’t know what she’s going to do without them when this is all over.

As she lays down to finally get some sleep, she realizes dimly through the walls she can hear the lingering debate going on between the bunch of officers, and even hears Winters trying to settle it.

A smile crosses her face and she falls into an easy, dreamless sleep.

#background ron speirs x oc #ron speirs #harry welsh #kat gray #band of brothers fanfiction #friendshipbonanza21 #softspeirs band of brothers fanfiction

[potatosoldier]

Are you still there?

/Part 5/

Please, if you could. leave your opinions of this series in the comments :)

l yawned as I sat with Eugene Roe and Ralph Spina at the train wagon. My head was aching and my throat was sore. It was really getting tough to stay awake. I wasn’t going to ask for sick leave, but I felt like there was a spiky hairball stuck to my throat. So much for enjoying the train ride. No, Sonja, you are finally able to relax a little. I shouldn’t be ungrateful and take these moments for granted. 

I slowly take my cross pendant and give it a little kiss of thanks for the little moment of peace. Ralph raises his brows from across me. “You praying?”, he asks kindly. 

I shake my head: “I’m thanking God for being able to rest.” He nods and looks at me with a soft look. Eugene also smiles, they truly are a pair of truly empathetic men. “So you’re religious?”,Eugene asks. 

“Evangelical Lutheran”, I answer. “My whole dads side of the family is, with you know them being Finnish. I was actually confirmed there”, I explain. Religion was something I valued. It did not rule my life, but belief was something that gave me a feeling of contentment. I want to live a pure life, and as long as I keep my intentions pure, I want to belief that something out there is looking out for me. 

“Do you actually speak Finnish?”, the Cajun gentleman asks. I chuckle “Yhtä hyvin, kuin sinä puhut Ranskaa”, I answer and they look at me both very confused. I giggle at their expressions. “I just said that: As well as you speak French”

With Richard and Lewis

Richard Winters was calmly writing into his notebook as he heard a very familiar voice behind him: “Going my way?”

The red head stopped writing for a moment. “Where the train takes me”, he answered. Being the calm and collected man he was, he didn’t feel the need to pester his friend for information. Even if he seemed to be very adamant for him to take interest. 

“Where do you suppose that might be?”

“Haven’t got a clue”

“Yeah, come on. Take a guess. Atlantic, Pacific, Atlantic”, the button eyed officer hints. Richard continues writing to his notebook. He couldn’t deny being a little curious, but he could live without knowing. Lewis on the other hand couldn’t live without sharing. “I’m not the intelligence officer”, Richard interrupts his friends guessing game. 

“As such, I know, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you”, Lewis quips as he leans closer to Dick. 

“So don’t tell me”, Dick answers just as cool and collected as before. It truly amazed Lewis, the amount of self restraint the lieutenant in front of him had. It was admirable, but amusing as well. If your humor is sick enough of course. 

Lewis makes his way and sits in front of his friend. “New York City. Troop ship.England. We’re invading Europe, my friend”, he says seriously and pulls a flask from his back pocket. 

“Fortress Europa”, he salutes and pushes the flask towards his friend. Dick still looks as cool as before. “Since when do I drink”, he inquires dryly. The dry expression and amusement leave his face quickly after Lewis ends up admitting to hiding a case of his favorite whiskey: VAT 69, into his pristine friends footlocker. Dick was not sure which worried him more, the fact that his friend had just sneaked it in or the fact that his friend was so actively drinking. God knows he didn’t want to see Lew hurt. 

Dick looks very displeased as Lewis offers the flask to Harry, before a thoughtful expression takes over as he looks at the flask, making Lewis raise his brow. Was he really considering taking it?

“Sonja’s throat was sore. Might be wisest to get her here and offer some without the men seeing”, Richard says after a while. Lewis shakes his head: “She is a nurse! I’m not wasting my VAT on that” he chuckles. 

Richard raises his brow, looking very displeased again. “And since when was her health a waste”, he whispers looking very serious. Harry next to him laughs. “God Nix, go find her or he’ll be pissy all day”

Nix nods and stands up with a smirk attached to his face. Dick shakes his head, and people dared to say that traveling with friends was pleasant. 

Sonja

My brows furrow as I see Lewis Nixon make a very determined path towards me. And no there was no chance he was coming to see someone else. He locked his eyes with mine and you could see the mischief dancing in his brown orbs. 

He smirks as he stands next to me quickly nodding to Spina and Roe, before leaning closer and whispering into my ear: “Josef calls Mary, I repeat Josef calls Mary”

I pull a face and look at him like he had just gone crazy. He seems to be happy with that, and takes my arm helping me up, before taking a hold of my shoulders and literally pushing me where he wants. 

“Lewis, could you kindly explain, why you decided to kidnap me?”, I ask with mock kindness. “As I said, Josef needs Mary”. I roll my eyes at his joke. 

“You really aren’t as funny as you think you are”, I point out, before I let out a small cough. “Shut up, holy Mary, I’m absolutely hilarious. Though you sound a little rough”, he says and I do hear the actual care in his voice. 

I look at him tilting my chin up and smile gently. “Just a little sore throat. I’m a nurse I know how to work it out”, I soothe. He just shakes his head and says under his breath: “Don’t I know it”

When we make it to their seat Harry jumps up from next to Dick and he and Lewis maneuver me over to his old place. 

“Okay, Maiden fair rescued from the wolves, and Knight Lewis Nixon just got off the hook, thank you” 

So much for being subtle boys. I look around and see no alarming faces. With that I slouch a little and lean against my husbands shoulder. Richard seems to do the same check and brushes my thick brunette locks back before planting a kiss on my forehead. Harry is looking at us with a soft grin, he really was such a romantic. As was I, him talking about Kitty made me feel all kinds of joy for them.

Then he does the most surprising thing, he holds his hand out for Lewis’s flask. I open my mouth to ask why was he offering his teetotaler wife a drink, but I don’t get the chance. “Drink, it’ll ease your pain”, Richard whispers and holds the flask near my mouth. 

My mouth comes to the most loving smile as I look into his eyes. This caring angel of a man. “You noticed, huh?”I whisper tenderly.

 I raise my other hand to tip the flask with his and take a small ladylike sip. The taste is..not my favorite and I pull a face. It felt like those shivers you get when you drink cold tea from the bottom of the mug. 

“Thank you”, I whisper and we pass the flask back to Lewis. Who looks positively horrified. “I just gave you five star liquor and you pulled a damn face. No woman, you don’t say thank you. You apologize”, he scolds. I can’t even tell if he is serious or not. 

“oh forgive me oh lord of sin”, I say tiredly and lean against Dick even more heavily. “that’s more like it”, I hear the pleased answer. Richard takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. I sigh and sleep better than I have slept since I left Lancaster. 

Huge thank you to @iilovemusic12us​, our chats really mean the world to me! :)

#richard winters x reader #dick winters x reader #band of brothers oc #Band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #harry welsh #eugene roe #ralph spina

[indigosandviolets]

The Secrets a Book Can Tell

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Word Count: 2,564

Summary: Andrew and Luz watch a movie even though Luz just can’t seem to shut up, but soon they’re all called to Bastogne. Andrew remembers how he came into the possession of the book he refuses to die without, but then the possibility of dying seems to only get worse as they start the march to Bastogne.

Notes: This chapter was originally just gonna have a minor flashback with Albert, but since someone said something about wanting to learn more about Andrew’s past, I made that a whole part!

Part Eleven of We Happy Few

-

The darkness of the room would have been perfectly coupled with silence, moving and working together to create a peaceful place as the men of Easy Company watched a movie.

That silence, of course, was not going to happen, all in favor of Geroge Luz.

“Gotta penny?” He said as the scene changed. Andrew nudged his side, trying to get him to shut up. Andrew had just wanted to hold hands with the lovable goofball, but because he kept talking he kept drawing attention to himself.

“Shut up, Luz,” Toye said, not turning around.

“Come on, I’ve seen the move seventeen times.”

“And I haven’t,” Toye replies, turning his head to look at Luz. “So shut up.”

Luz, being Luz, didn’t pay any mind. “Gotta penny?”

Andrew nudged him again. “George, stop,” he whispered. He had only seen the movie once before, and he barely remembered where that line even was, if it existed. It seemed to be Luz’s favorite, and he persisted.

“Gotta penny?” His voice was becoming more exaggerated, and Andrew was a blushing mess.

“George, please, quit it.”

“C’mon, it’s my favorite part,” He whispers to Andrew before saying the line again. “Gotta penny?”

Toye looked back at him again, ready to kill and Andrew could see it. He prayed that Toye didn’t have his brass knuckles. Luz stayed focus on the screen. “Gotta pen-ny?”

The woman finally says it, and Luz cheers. “For fuck’s sake, George,” Andrew says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, he did love the idiot, but he wanted a quiet movie where they wouldn’t get caught while doing slight, domestic things. Luz had deflected that by, well, being Luz. Luz turned to Andrew after, his always present goofy smile lurking on his face.

He leans over into Andrew’s ear, whispering, “You know you love me.”

As Luz pulls away, Andrew glares at him. It’s not a mean one, it’s just an annoyed one, and Luz knows it based on the little laugh that he lets out.

Going to the movie had already been a strangely emotional thing for Andrew. He didn’t let it show, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the first time he and Luz kissed before the movie (which they did before this one, just a lot more hastily than that first time) and the circumstances around that kiss. He also couldn’t stop thinking about how he had been pulled out of the said movie to kiss Liebgott.

Now, this time it wasn’t Liebgott, but they were pulled out of the movie -- everyone was. Welsh took up the attention of the room, standing up at the top of the stage in the front of the makeshift theatre. “Get your gear, everyone, we’re moving out. Take everything you’re gonna need.”

That’s not really what Welsh said, but Andrew was sent straight into getting ready so quickly that he couldn’t remember exactly what the Lieutenant said.

Andrew buttoned up his jacket as fast as possible, threw as many warm clothes his combat bag would carry as far down as possible, followed by a few packs of cigarettes and half a bar of chocolate that he had stolen with Liebgott from the canteen.

He slipped on his winter coat and hat before throwing the bag over his shoulder. As he did so, a book fell off his bed in the haste. He picked it up carefully like the book was so fragile that it would snap in half at too harsh of a touch.

It was All Quiet on the Western Front, the same copy and edition he had carried with him from Toccoa. He rubbed his finger over the now worn spine, moving to the corners of the cover. They had been bent over, rumpled, becoming soft. He opened the book, and other than his name written in a soft pencil, a message had been written in on the back of the front cover.

Remember, read to Luz!

Andrew’s fingertips touched the messy note, remembering how Luz had asked him to read to him that fateful night in Normandy. He sighed, slipping the book into the inside pocket of his winter coat and stepping out with the rest of the men, ready to get in the douche-and-a-half’s.

-

Andrew acquired All Quiet on the Western Front from his brother, Albert. Albert had always been a novice reader, in fact, his second choice for his major in college was literature, but he stuck with finance and business instead. Having no other real male figure to try and emulate in his day-to-day life, Andrew too picked up a love and real passion for reading.

It had started off small, with reading a new book once a month after Albert had moved out. It became a rock and grounding for Andrew to become more in tune with himself -- and to tune out his parents as well.

This soon escalated to two, to three, to four, averaging one a week. He couldn’t get enough of the words as they seemed to fly off the page, and he also couldn’t get enough from the escape of his parents. He read anything he could get his hands on, it was like an obsession.

All Quiet on the Western Front, though, wasn’t one of those books that he read in a week. Albert had left a copy behind, but it was well-read, torn in many places. There were even whole chapters missing from here they had been ripped out (Albert used them for inspiration and note-giving). What he could read, though, was mostly in German. Albert had went out and gone and bought a German edition of the book, learning the language just to translate the book. Andrew couldn’t understand it, other than the simple “Ja” here and there. It was a nightmare to read, and it was one of the things that Andrew had taken with him when he stole the truck and drove to Chicago.

“Al,” Andrew said one night as they sat on the couch after dinner. They had been listening to the radio, hearing updates about the war in the Pacific. Andrew had already looked into enlisting for the Army that morning. “Why in the name of God did you have to leave me a book in German?”

Albert shrugged. “Motivation, I guess.”

“Motivation for what?”

“To get you to visit me,” Albert said, smile wide on his face. Andrew now remembers that he and Albert did share a smile. There were several things that the two of them didn’t even come close to being similar in, but you couldn’t deny that the Marin boys had the same smile. “Took you, what, three, four years?”

Andrew hit his older brother’s shoulder. “I hardly call it a visit.”

“Then what is it?”

“An escape.”

“Yeah, that works.”

Andrew held the German edition in his hands for a moment before giving it over to Albert. “Half of it’s gone, by the way. You ripped out a lot.”

“I know,” Albert replied, taking the book and holding it up to the light. “You know, I forgot half of it.”

“The book?”

“Well, that, but I forgot half the German I learned.”

Andrew laughed. “What good you are to the Army.”

“That is why, my dear brother, you are going instead.”

Andrew sighed. “If they’ll take me.”

Albert looked over to Andrew. “They’ll take you, don’t worry. I hear they need guys for their new Airborne program.”

“The hell is that?”

“You think I know?”

Albert got up, placing the book on the coffee table before he walked over to his bookshelf. He scanned it for a minute before pulling out a newer copy of the same book -- this time, in English.

“Here,” Albert said as he gave Andrew the copy. “It’s brand new. You’re gonna need something to read when you have downtime.”

Albert and Andrew couldn’t have expected that downtime for reading to happen where the book actually took place, but that night, Andrew tucked the book away into his bag after writing his name on the inside cover, not sure when he was going to read it.

-

Andrew sat beside Liebgott and Babe, nestled between the two, his knees pulled up towards him to keep in as much warmth as possible. Everyone was talking to a replacement -the name he didn’t quite catch, maybe Ray? - what why he had so little on him.

“You need four pairs of socks,” Skip Muck tells him. “One for your feet, one for your hands, one for your neck and pair for the balls.”

Everyone seemed to agree. Everyone was asking the replacement of what he had on him and what he needed.

“You got cigarettes?” Someone asks, and the replacement nods.

“Yeah, I got a half-”

Andrew can’t hear the rest of the sentence as everyone grabs for cigarettes, even Liebgott and Babe. Andrew puts his hand on Lieb’s shoulder. “I got you a pack, calm down. I’ll get it out when we stop.”

“You gotta coat?” Liebgott asks. And he asks it again. He keeps asking it until another matter is deemed more pressing, that of which he turns to look at Babe and Andrew to say, “I gotta piss.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Andrew tells him.

“No shit,” Liebgott says, turning away. Andrew knows that Lieb is being a little short with him, but that’s mainly due to the fact that he still felt awkward around Babe after what happened before Eindhoven. Despite this, Liebgott moved his hand around Andrew’s waist, most of their bodies covered by the winter coats so that no one would see it. He accomplished this by timing it with when the truck lurched as it went over a rough patch on the dirt road, knocking everyone into each other. This was a perfect time, Liebgott seemed to decide, that he give a little reassuring squeeze to Andrew.

“Why the hell are we even comin’ over here anyway?” Guarnere asks everyone. “We’re supposed to jump outta planes, not ride out and march to the battlefield.” Andrew knew that Guarnere was always somewhat passionate about the things he thought were problems. “This is the fourth Army problem, right? They should be sendin’ in the sixty-eighth, not the one-o-one.”

Andrew leaned his head up to get his voice over to Guarnere. “We’re still Army, Guarnere. They’re gonna send us wherever the hell they want to. It doesn’t matter if we’re armored or not.”

“The hell do you know, Marin?” Guarnere says.

“Guarnere, where the hell have you been the last two years?” Andrew replies. “You of all people should know that Mister Eisenhower doesn’t give a shit about who gets sent in. As long as the problem gets resolved, they could send in the fucking coast guard and he couldn’t give a shit.”

Guarnere turns, patting the replacement on the shoulder. “That’s Andrew Marin. Second smartest guy in the company.”

“Who’s first?”

“That’s Bull.”

Andrew looked down, smiling to himself. It didn’t sound like a lot, but to be second to Bull? He could only dream.

As the truck came to a stop, Andrew, Babe, and Liebgott were the first out, and Babe and Andrew stood by a pit that had been filled with gas, waiting for one of the Lieutenants to get it lit. Andrew almost did it with his lighter, but he needed it -- he smoked too much to not have one on him. They also waited on Liebgott, who had gone to resolve the pressing matter of having to piss.

“It’s so goddamn cold, Babe,” Andrew says as the fire finally reaches them. Andrew didn’t think that the smell of burning gas would actually be comforting.

“Remember how they said we’d be home by Christmas?” Babe tells him. “Way back before Market Garden?”

“Jesus, yeah, I do,” Andrew laughs. “I wrote to my brother about it too. What a load of good that does now.”

“Hey, at least you and Liebgott will be together for Christmas.”

“Yeah, if we don’t freeze our asses off.”

“Hey, kiddos,” Liebgott says as he returns to Babe and Andrew. “How’s the fire?”

“No one else is gonna here us, you don’t have to say kiddos, Lieb,” Andrew tells him. “It’s good. How was the piss?”

“As good as a piss can get while you’re freezing your ass off,” Liebgott replies, standing beside Andrew. “I would not recommend it.”

Andrew chuckles, looking up from the fire and out to the road. He doesn’t quite see it at first, but there’s movement. A lot of movement. Men, disheveled and battered and bruised, walking on the road, out of the town they were supposed to go into. Andrew taps on Liebgott, making him look at the marching men.

“What the hell happened to them?” Babe asked. “They look like complete shit.”

“I have no idea, Babe.”

Andrew looked over to Liebgott, who didn’t say anything. He just looked back at Andrew, and Andrew could feel just how scared they both were. Not of what was ahead, but for each other, worried if they would get through the hell that walked before them alive. If the guys there had only been in for a month and looked like this when they were pulling out — while it was starting to get cold — what the hell was going to happen to the rest of them?

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Guarnere talking to one of the men. Now, if there was anyone who only took the absolute truth, it was Guarnere.

“I’ll go talk to Gonorrhea,” Andrew tells them. “Just get what you can find, yeah?”

“Drew, what-“ Liebgott starts, and Andrew turns around. “What do you expect him to know?”

“He’s talking to one of ‘em, so he knows more than us,” Andrew says. “Plus, he holds more power, being as we’re only tech corporals and he’s a goddamn sergeant.”

Liebgott purses his lips before he sighs. “Fine, but be careful, alright?”

“I will be. We promised, remember?”

With that, Andrew turned and walked to Guarnere, who had just stopped talking to the soldier from the fourth army. “Bill, what’s going on?”

Guarnere looks at Andrew. “It’s a goddamn suicide mission, that’s what it is,” Guarnere tells him. “They probably went in there with 200 guys, now they’re comin’ out with 93. Just get their ammo and pray to God you’re not gonna be dead before your birthday, Marin.”

Guarnere walks off to get ammo from the men before Andrew can ask another question. He steps back from the road. His birthday is in less than two weeks and Guarnere was telling him that he might die before then. Terrible thought, he knows, but that’s the truth. Anyone could die out there, be it God’s will or good ol’ Mr. Hitler’s.

Maybe that’s why Andrew brought his book, because he knew he wouldn’t die without it. Because he knew that if he did die, no one else could have that copy, with the worn cover and dog eared pages and cracked spine and message about Luz talking about a promise he hadn’t quite carried out yet, because if he wasn’t able to read it to Luz, no one would know but him and Luz. Not another soul could have known what happened on that night in D-Day, only Andrew, Luz, and All Quiet on the Western Front.

-

tag list: @alienoresimagines @fromcrossroadstoking @easyroses @leximus98 if you want to be added, please let me know!

#band of brothers #joseph liebgott x oc #joseph liebgott #george luz x oc #george luz #andrew marin #babe heffron #bill guarnere #joe toye #harry welsh

[leximus98]

Airborne All The Way - Dick Winters x OC

Summary: Memories are fleeting. Charlie knows if she doesn’t get them all down, and soon, they’ll be gone. War, love, loss... she wanted to write it all down for future generations to come.

Charlie Finnegan had been a nurse before the war. After Pearl Harbor, she felt the same call to arms that many men felt. When Elanor Roosevelt started a program where women could join the Army on a trial basis, Charlie jumped on it. She became an officer and volunteered for the Airborne. Along the way she met Harry Welsh and the ever calm and collected Richard Winters. Through trial and error, Charlie gains the respect of her men, but can she gain the eye of a certain red haired officer?

A/N: So, I haven’t posted anything original in a long time. But I’ve had a really good idea for a story and I wanted to share it. I hope everyone likes it. It’s gonna be multi-chapter, this is just chapter one. Lemme know what you think!

Warnings: None

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, lemme know!

Word Count: 1824

Chapter One

“Why would you want to join the Airborne?”

It was a question I was asked frequently. In the early days, I would answer by saying, “It’s new!” or “It’s exciting!”

The answer changed over time though. When I was in the 82nd, I told people that it was to prove that girls could do it too. When they shipped me over to the 101st, I found a new answer. One I didn’t expect I’d find. But I found it in Easy Company.

“Because they’re my family. I would do anything for them.”

Of course that answer came more easily after D-Day. I hadn’t truly earned the respect of the men until that day, even though I grew to love them before then.

It all started one warm, wet afternoon.

Lieutenant Harry Welsh and myself had just been sent over from the 82nd. We were going to fill the positions of platoon leaders. Harry would be taking over first platoon and I would be taking over second.

As we walked by all of the soldiers, they were sitting around in their dress uniforms, waiting for the train. Their initial training and airborne training had been completed. Now they were going to be shipped off to either Europe or Asia to fight in the war. Battalion Intelligence hadn’t told anybody where we were going or which war we would be fighting. It was all a surprise, but for good reason. If word slipped out to the wrong people, it would be devastating.

Harry and I were told to find First Lieutenant Richard Winters. He was the Executive Officer of Easy Company. I’d heard of Dick Winters from friends of mine, he was good at his job and cared for his soldiers. I would be glad to be working under somebody like him. But I had also heard rumblings about the company’s Commanding Officer, Captain Herbert Sobel. He was sadistic towards his company and from what Harry and I heard, he was jumpy in the field. Too eager, not patient, and got people notionally killed in training exercises.

After walking down the line of barracks, and catching more than one lingering glance from the soldiers, Harry and I found the officers barracks. We walked inside and were met with two lieutenants.

Richard Winters was tall, lyth, pale, and had the brightest shock of red hair I had ever seen. His eyes were a soft blue and he held himself properly. Like he was important, but not stuck up. He looked over at us and I gave him a soft smile from behind Harry.

Lewis Nixon was behind him. His hair was thick, black, and styled perfectly. There wasn’t a single thread out of place on his uniform and he gave us a sly smile.

“Are we interrupting?” Harry asked.

“No, not at all. Lieutenant Lewis Nixon, Lieutenant Harry Welsh and Charlie Finnegan, just in from the 82nd,” Winters introduced.

Harry went to shake Nixon’s hand and I followed suit behind him.

“A WAC?” Nixon asked.

“Not a day in my life,” I smiled cheekily.

“Alright then. Well you’ll learn him pretty quickly,” Nixon said, smiling at Winters. “No flaws, no vices, no sense of humor.”

I smiled and looked at Winters who gave me a quick side look and smirked, “Just like your chums up at Battalion Staff?”

“So what’s up?” Winters asked.

I sighed heavily and scratched the back of my neck, “We’ve been hearing a lot of rumblings…”

“Sobel?” Nixon asked.

Harry nodded.

“We were just talking about that,” Nixon said.

The four of us moved closer together so as not to be overheard.

“He gets a little jumpy in the field?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, he gets jumpy and you get killed,” Nixon said.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I chuckled.

“I think if we talk about it, it should just be amongst ourselves,” Winters interjected.

“Alright, absolutely,” Harry said.

From behind us, I heard a heavy foot slam on the wooden step of the barracks. As if in slow motion, I watched Winters turn and snap to attention. Harry and I turned around fast and snapped to attention too. Standing in the doorway was Captain Sobel.

He stood there for an agonizing moment, just staring at all of us, like he knew we were talking about him. His eyes continued to linger on me when he started talking.

“Second Platoon ready?” he asked.

“Ready, Sir,” Winters said.

“Then get them ready, we’re moving out,” Sobel ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” Winters said.

Harry moved first, walking quickly past Sobel who didn’t move from the doorway, Winters followed, and I moved after Winters. Sobel shifted towards the open space so I had to turn more sideways to get out of the door. I felt his eyes burning into me and cleared my throat when I was outside. I glanced back while following Winters and caught Nixon’s eye. He winked at me and gave me a soft smile but quickly lost it when Sobel turned back to him.

“Finnegan, make sure your men are good to go,” Winters said.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Sergeant Lipton!” I called out as I saw the man walking by the cattle trucks.

“Yes, Ma’am?” he asked as I jogged up to him.

“Everyone is good? We’re about to roll out,” I told him.

Staff Sergeant Carwood Lipton was a nice guy. He had been kind to me since I first addressed their platoon and I assume he made the men keep their comments about a female platoon leader at bay. I wasn’t particularly popular at the moment, due to the fact that I had boobs. I didn’t blame them, I had to prove myself to them as a leader. That I could do everything they could do as a female.

“Yes, Ma’am. We’re supposed to be loading the train by platoon but, well, you know how it goes,” I smiled.

“Of course. Just try to keep them in line as much as you can. Captain Sobel is walking around,” I smiled back.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I watched him walk off and I started in my own direction, but slowed down next to a group of men who were sitting in a small circle.

“Who? Sobel?” I heard Joe Liebgott ask. “He screwed up one manuever.”

“Yeah,” Cobb said.

“Well, you know I’m always fumbling with grenades. It would be easy if one went off by accident you know,” Liebgott said, smirking darkly.

“Well, now they must have put him in charge for a reason,” Shifty Powers said.

I smiled at his innocence.

“Yeah, cause the army wouldn’t make a mistake like that, right Shift?” Liebgott asked.

The group chuckled and I cleared my throat, standing behind Joe Toye with my hands in my pockets. Their heads snapped up to look at me.

“Now gentlemen, I do believe if you’re gonna say things like that? Maybe you shouldn’t do it out in the open. The Good Captain is out and about,” I said the last part sarcastically and smirked.

They all looked back at each other. I could tell that they were embarrassed to have been caught. I gave them a quick, “Just be careful” and walked off.

The train was uncomfortable. I sat next to Winters at an angle that had my head against the window and my feet on the other side of Harry who had his feet half on my lap and half on the seat between me and the wall.

“How’s your time in Easy going?” Winters asked me quietly so as not to wake up Harry.

“Well, it’s certainly not Easy,” I giggled. “It’s just gonna take the men some time to get used to taking orders from a girl. It was an issue for a short amount of time at the old unit too. I’m not too worried about it.”

“How did you get them to respect you?” Winters asked, putting his letter down and giving me his full attention.

“It was a training jump that went bad. I had dropped close to the injured soldier. He was screaming and screaming and screaming. It’s a sound that doesn’t quiet leave you. Anyway, he had landed wrong and broken both of his legs. I did my best to splint both of them with what I had and carried him to the rendezvous point.”

“You carried a broken soldier, both of you in full pack, four miles?” Winters asked, a look of amazement on his face.

“Ah, don’t give me that much credit. I dropped our parachutes and most of the gear we were carrying. Just our packs and weapons went with.”

It looked like he was about to say something else, but Nixon came up behind us.

“Goin my way?” he asked Winters.

“Wherever the train takes me,” Winters answered.

“Yeah, c’mon, take a guess! Atlantic? Pacific? Atlantic?”

“I think Nixon is saying without saying we’re going to the Atlantic,” I smirked.

“Well, we aren’t intelligence officers,” Winters said.

“Mmm, as such, I know, of course,” Nixon said, smiling.

He moved from his seat behind Winters to the seat next to Harry. I crossed my arms and watched him. He looked like the cat who caught the canary. A wide, mischievous grin on his face, and a spark in his eyes.

“If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya,” he said quietly.

“Then don’t tell us,” Winters said.

Nixon leaned in close and smiled again, “New York, troop ship, England. We’re invading Europe my friends.” Nixon pulled a flask from his back pocket and raised it in a toast style. “Fortress Europa!”

Nixon offered the flask to Winters who raised an eyebrow at him, “Since when do I drink?” he asked.

“If I knew you’d take it, I wouldn’t have offered,” Nixon smirked. “You?”

He offered me the flask and I shook my head no.

“Two non-alcoholic officers? That’s not good karma,” Nixon said.

“Hah, it’s not that I don’t drink, I just prefer mine mixed in soda, or in the fermented fruit variety,” I laughed.

“Uh-huh,” Nixon said, taking a pull from the flask.

“Nix?” Winters asked. “What are you gonna do when you get into combat?”

“Oh, I have every confidence in my scrounging abilities,” Nixon said, looking out the window. “And I have a case of Vat 69 in your footlocker.”

Nixon leaned back and laughed. Winters smiled for a minute and then it fell from his face when Nixon didn’t say anything to counter what he had said.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

Before Winters could say anything, Harry popped his head up from the seat and looked at the three of us. He had one eye closed and the other squinted, barely coming to.

“Morning!” Nixon said, handing Harry the flask.

“Mm, ya’know, this could turn into a real nice trip,” Harry said, drinking from the metal container.

I scoffed a little bit and shook my head. It was going to be interesting to say the least.

#band of brothers #hbo war #richard winters #dick winters #dick winters x reader #winters x reader #richard winters x reader #richard winters imagine #winters fic #richard winters fic #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #airborne all the way #101st airborne #army #world war II

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Old Money, New World - Eugene Roe x OFC - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Summary: A week after the famous D-Day landings, Camille accompanies the nursing staff as they enter France, and reunites with Easy Company on the eve of their assault on Carentan. Following her friends into battle, she is set to get her first taste of war, and it's not all she had expected it to be.

Warnings: Descriptions of combat, bullet wounds and blood

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @honey-im-emotional

Please let me know if you're interested in being added to the tag list!

-

Camille waded up to the French shores, knee-deep in cold, salty water as she could feel her wool socks soaking to the bone. There must have been more than a hundred doctors and nurses landing alongside her, trudging up the beach towards jeeps, trucks, and a makeshift camp made up of army tents and clumsily built gazebos. She could hear Eugene in her head pestering her to keep dry as best she could, and Camille knew that her feet would undoubtedly be horridly sore by the time she caught up with Easy Company, but she didn't quite care when the knowledge that she was soon to be reunited with her friends was so present in her mind.

A few of the nurses she'd stayed with in Upottery were stomping up the sand slightly further down the beach, and the feeling of her helmet clattering against her skull was one she hadn't felt since the poorly executed training exercises she'd undergone with Captain Sobel way back in Toccoa.

"Private Whitney!" The familiar voice of Doctor Hardy rang out from higher up on the sloped shoreline.

The Doctor hadn't been kidding when he'd told her the week before that he was sure they'd be seeing more of each other. The man must have visited her house in Upottery every day since D-Day, always as nervous and jittery as he had been the day they'd first met. His demeanour wasn't one Camille expected from an army doctor, but from what she'd heard from the other girls he was quite the accomplished physician. Nevertheless, there was something oddly endearing about the man, although his apparent sense of attachment he showed her could wear a little thin.

"Doc," She nodded with a huff, catching her breath as she made it up to the top of the sand and was finally able to pause long enough to wipe the sea salt from her eyes.

"I'm afraid we're not getting any rest right now, Private," Hardy admitted. "You're coming with me, they're driving you down to your Company, somewhere outside... Carentan,"

To hear someone else mention Easy Company made her breath hitch with anticipation, as if her longing to see the boys had suddenly been validated, and she was finally about to see it become a reality.

"Alright," Camille nodded, adjusting her helmet slightly. "Good. I'll be glad to see them as soon as I can"

The Doctor opened the passenger door of his jeep and she slid into the seat, her bag resting on her feet as Hardy settled himself in the wide backseat and the driver started up the engine.

-

Driving through France felt surreal. She'd visited the Southern coast once when she was a little girl, but her mother had always vowed to take her shopping in Paris. The France that lay before her was nothing like it was in the movies, and far from the picturesque coastal towns Camille remembered from her childhood. Here, the country lanes were lined with soldiers, farmland dormant and littered with plane wreckage and discarded parachutes. The constant rumble of the jeep's engine drowned out the few birds that sat twittering up in the trees, and as they gained speed on the longer, straighter roads, she felt a sudden urge to remove her helmet, if just so that she could feel fresh country air blowing through her hair before submitting to the upcoming months without any expectation of a hot shower or new clothes.

It was a relatively uneventful journey, and Camille was left alone for much of it after they dropped Doctor Hardy off at a more established army hospital about ten miles back from where Easy Company was positioned. When he had departed, he had wished her all the best of luck, anxiously promising her a place at his hospital should she ever find herself wanting release from the front lines - although she assured him she would be able to manage.

Pulling into town, she had expected to find all the boys busy at work, preparing for a patrol or a fight, so she was surprised to see many of them perched on doorsteps or huddled around a statue in the central square, chattering amongst themselves.

Camille picked up her bag with a grunt, quickly thanking the driver as she hopped out of the jeep. Her socks were still wet from her trek up the beach, squelching slightly as she landed on the cobblestone, and she made a mental note to change them as soon as she got inside.

"Look who it is!" The familiar cry of George Luz sounded as he bounded over, a broad grin decorating his expression as he wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her clean off the ground in a binding hug. "We were startin' to worry you'd got lost somewhere, kid,"

"Nah, I was just dreading seeing your ugly mug again, couldn't stay away long enough," She teased, nudging his shoulder as he put her back down.

Luz scoffed, turning to call to the other men. "Ey fellas, look who decided to show up!"

"Eyy!" Bill Guarnere yelled, strolling over from across the square. "Good ta see ya, Whitney! Here, get some chow in ya and report to the CO, let 'em know you're here," He said, handing her a spoon and a half-eaten can of beans.

"Thanks, Bill," Camille chuckled. "Where's Meehan then?"

The two men exchanged strange looks and George sighed. "We haven't heard from him since D'Day, Winters is in command for now. He's up in there," He explained, gesturing up to a large building on the other side of the square.

She frowned, nodding slowly. "Alright." She was upset to hear about Meehan - as far as she could tell he had been a good and fair man. But surely there was a glimmer of hope that he could still be wandering around somewhere? Either way, Winters seemed a fitting replacement.

Camille crossed the square towards the building George had directed her to, shouting her hellos to a few of the other men as she walked by. Stepping through the door, she passed Lieutenant Welsh, who nodded in greeting with a smile, and she headed up the stairs to Winters' quarters.

"Whitney," He greeted with a smile as she came in. "Good to see you joining us,"

"Good to be here, Sir," She nodded with a smile. "I heard from Luz and Guarnere outside that you're in command, Sir?"

"Until we can locate Lieutenant Meehan, that is correct," Winters said, getting up from his desk. "Now, I expect you'll want to know where to set up?"

"Oh, please, Sir."

"Right. Your billet's in that house over there," He said, pointing out of the window at a nearby building. "We've found you your own room, it's small but it's probably nicer than some of the other ones. Doc Roe is set up in the building next door, you can head down there once you've settled in."

Camille had to do everything in her power not to absolutely beam at the mention of Eugene. He hadn't been out in the square with the others, and her anticipation for their reunion had built up exponentially on the drive over that she could barely disguise her excitement. Uttering a brief thank you, she scurried from the room, boots thudding on the stairs as she headed down and out to the square.

-

Winters hadn't been kidding when he said her room was small - the bed took up half of the room in and of itself - but it was cosy enough. There were lace curtains over the window, a little framed embroidery piece hung on the wall above her bed, and a wooden chair in the corner which she decided to hang her wet socks over the back of.

Her boots had mostly dried, and although her trousers were still damp she was sure they'd air out soon. Pulling on a spare pair of socks, she re-tied her laces and slid her bag under the bed, leaving the room and practically jogging out to where Gene had set up.

Camille was relieved to find the room pretty much empty, most of the men still around relatively healthy. Eugene was stood at a table by the far window, head down and brow furrowed as he rummaged through a crate of medical supplies, clearly taking stock of what they had.

She couldn't quite explain why, but for a moment she felt compelled to just stand there, stationed silently in the doorway, breath baited as she watched him. He seemed more in his element here than he had their whole time training together, his right hand scrawling numbers onto some paper as his left sifted through bandages and boxes of syrettes. When he looked up he was visibly startled for a moment, before a smile spread across his face.

"Camille," Gene breathed, dropping his pencil and bounding across the room to her. When he was barely a metre away he seemed to falter, stopping in his tracks for a moment as if suddenly unsure of what to say.

She scoffed with a smile, hurrying forward and throwing her arms around his shoulders. It took a second for him to hug her back, but when he did she felt her grin creasing at her eyes as she buried her face in his collar. "Heya, Doc,"

She could feel his chest move against her as he chuckled, squeezing her briefly before breaking the hug and stepping back to look at her face.

Eugene was sure he hadn't felt relief like this before, not like he did the moment he realised that it was really her standing in his doorway. No matter how much work he'd had to do, every day since he'd last seen her at Upottery felt unfulfilled, and it wasn't until they'd been reunited did he realise how much better he felt when she was around.

"You okay?" He asked, brushing her hair to the side and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "You feeling good?"

Camille fought the urge to roll her eyes, but his concern was endearing and she nodded with a smile. "I'm fine. My feet are cold from the water on the beach but it's no problem."

"You need to make sure you-"

"Gene!" She chuckled, putting her hand on his. "Don't worry about me. I've got it all sorted."

Eugene nodded, pulling his hand away as he gnawed his inner lip slightly. He knew she could look after herself - hell, she went to med school, he learnt his craft in what was essentially a glorified tent. He could tell she didn't mind him worrying about her, but he couldn't help feel guilty, like he was patronising or diminishing her somehow, insulting her training.

"How are the boys?" She asked.

He shrugged, crossing the room back towards his notes. "Of the ones that made it through the landings, most of them are doing fine. Popeye and Burgess got hit, but they've been shipped out and they should both be ok."

"Alright, good," Camille nodded, leaning up against the wall. "So what do we do now?"

Eugene shrugged. "Now we wait for the next fight, same as everyone else."

-

The assault on Carentan was all the men could talk about when she had arrived, and they'd all risen early the morning after the patrol, gathered in the town square for the debriefing and so that anyone not already geared up could get ready.

"Your helmet on proper there, Doc?" Tab asked, approaching Camille and grabbing her helmet with both hands, gently shaking her head back and forth.

"Is yours?" She said, delivering a jab to the side of his head, her knuckles clanking against the metal.

"Hey!" He cried, readjusting his helmet. "You can't beat me around like that! You're supposed to be a medic." He smirked.

"I'm a damn good medic, Tab, but in order to fix your bones I might have to break 'em first," Camille laughed, lashing out to punch him in the arm as he leapt out of the way.

-

Crouched in a ditch alongside the road leading into Carentan, she squinted into the sun, gravel digging and poking into her knees as they awaited Winters' signal. Luz had made sure that she was set to enter the town alongside him - as it was her first time in combat, a few of the men were understandably wary as to how she may hold up. Camille was sure of her abilities, but she couldn't deny the bubble of anxiety building in her chest.

"You stick with me, ok?" George whispered, looking back over his shoulder at her.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," She assured him.

Upon Winters' signal, they leapt from the ditch, chasing after Harry Welsh as they headed into the town. Suddenly, it was as if the air itself became alight with sound, deafening cracks of gunfire sounding over their heads. Camille saw a man fall beside her, and was about to rush towards him before Luz's hand clamped around her arm, his iron grip almost painful as they dove behind a nearby building, shielding themselves from the prevailing bullets.

Sandwiched between Luz and Welsh, it was as if she were in a daze for a moment, the sound of her breathing somehow overwhelming the two men shouting over her. Get it together, Camille. She thought. This is what you've been waiting for, you will not let them down. Get your head in the game, and keep yourself alive.

More men began to run into Carentan, bullets raining down on either side as the Easy boys began to disperse, targeting the German guns and ducking into nearby houses. Taking a deep breath, she finally steadied herself, and her trance was shattered by the nearby cry of 'Medic!'

Almost skidding on the stone street, Camille broke into a sprint, dropping painfully to her knees as she reached the wounded man. She brought him to sit up, his back pressed against her chest, her arms looped under his and around his front. There was a bullet wound in his leg from the sniper Shifty was currently taking care of, and the height difference between her and the wounded soldier made it all the more difficult for her to move him, almost losing her footing a few times as she dragged him out of the road to a small alcove in the wall of a nearby building.

Camille knew she recognised the man, but she couldn't quite recall his name, not that it mattered at present. Tearing open a sulfa packet, she poured the powder over the wound, keeping his injured leg propped up in her lap in an attempt to keep the bullet's exit wound in the back of his thigh off the ground. Reaching a bloodstained hand into her bag, the other clamped firmly over the larger exit wound, she fumbled until she found her gauze, doing her best to staunch the bleeding long enough to wrap a bandage around his thigh.

"Am I gonna die, Doc?" The soldier asked, his voice quivering and youthful and dripping with pain.

"No way," She breathed, head shaking hurriedly. "You'll be just fine, don't you worry."

Ideally, Camille would've tied a tourniquet, but she knew it could be a while before this man could get out of Carentan, and the prolonged loss of circulation could cause just as much if not more damage than the blood loss itself. Her hands were covered in his blood, and it was beginning to soak into the cuffs of her sleeves too. Tying off and cutting the bandage, she kept her hands wrapped tightly over his wounds, aware that her bandaging was a rather rudimentary fix, and while it would help, this man needed far better than what she had available to her.

-

Camille stayed crouched by the soldier until the fight was over, uttering words of reassurance and doing her best to ignore the booms of mortar and artillery, her job simply to keep the man before her awake and alive until they could get him out. The morphine syrette she had administered was still poking out of his leg, just so she could be sure how much she'd given him, afraid she might administer too much in a moment of panic or despair.

When the fighting finally ceased, a few men came by and helped to carry the soldier away, as he was far too heavy for her to take him alone. Once he was safely away, she stood up from her place in the alcove, bloodied hands raised in front of her to avoid making a mess. It wasn't until she was alone to think for a moment did she notice the dark stains on her lap, and her own bloody handprint on the flap of her medical bag.

"Aw, Jesus, Camille," Skip sighed, talking gently as he approached from where he'd been positioned by Malarkey. The two men were both staring at her, brows furrowed in equal shows of distress and sympathy. "Let's get inside so you can clean up, eh?"

"Yeah," She nodded, her voice hoarse from having to talk over machine-gun and artillery fire. "Yeah, let's go."

-

Eugene had been momentarily panic-stricken when he first laid eyes on Camille after the fight, slightly dazed-looking and covered in blood. He'd watched from the other end of the room, trying his best not to get distracted from his work as Nixon had sent her off upstairs to get cleaned up. She wasn't gone for long, but when she came back she seemed somehow fully recovered. She looked fine, as if she'd simply washed off everything she'd seen earlier that day, and Gene supposed he should be comforted by it.

Camille frowned as she entered the room, walking past Winters, who was crouched down and talking to Private Blithe. Blithe's hands were trembling nervously, and he had a strange, glazed look in his eyes that she found somewhat unsettling. Stepping through the door, she tapped Gene on the shoulder, whose eyes widened as he turned to look at her, his expression softening as she spoke.

"What's wrong with Blithe?" She asked softly, folding her arms as she stepped closer towards him so that they could keep the conversation between themselves.

He shrugged, screwing up his face slightly as he shook his head. "Not sure, it looks to be hysterical blindness, but I've not seen it before. He just... got back from the fight and told me he couldn't see. He hasn't got any trauma wounds or anything,"

Camille nodded, her frown deepening as she looked back over her shoulder. Winters had stood up now, limping slightly as he headed back over towards Eugene. She huffed, readying to head off in search of her own work to do, when Blithe's voice sounded behind her.

"Sir?" He spoke, now stood up. His eyes had lost their unsettling sheen, as his pupils now looked focused.

"What is it?" Winters asked.

Blithe nodded steadily, his gaze flickering from the floor to Winters. "Thank you, sir. I'm okay... I don't know what happened. I think I'm okay,"

The other three watched him as he stumbled past them, heading across the room towards the door. Camille and Eugene exchanged glances, both looking just as confused as each other.

"Strange..." She uttered.

-

Just over two weeks had passed since Camille had first entered France, and Easy Company had been grateful for their retreat back away from the front lines, where they were currently posted for some respite. They were all sat around tables inside a large cabin, tucking into their food. She was glad to see the boys look so happy, the colour restored to their faces, their laughs louder and their smiles wider.

She was sat opposite Eugene, fork in one hand as she sipped out of the tin cup in the other. "It's been a while since we got to sit together for dinner like this," She observed.

Eugene hummed, eating another mouthful. "Just like the old days, you and me," He smiled.

She was about to speak again when Gordon began to recite his self-penned poem at the front of the room, the boys laughing along at his account of Talbert's unfortunate encounter with a bayonet. She shook her head slightly, chuckling as she poked at her food. Camille was glad that Talbert was ok, although she'd find the time later to scold him for all the teasing remarks he'd made whilst she was trying to patch him up. ("Hey Doc, I promised you I wouldn't get killed until you got here, didn't I?")

When Lipton announced that the Company was headed back into France, she found her appetite suddenly gone, spirits dimmed by the dismayed sighs and groans from the others.

"Well, I suppose the war won't stop on our account," Camille frowned, picking up her plate as she rose from her seat.

"No, it won't." Gene agreed.

And so they were to head back out again, exposed and alone, fighting alongside one another under the toughest of circumstances against the most relentless of enemies.

And yet, Camille was glad to be there. She'd been far more certain of herself since Carentan, and she knew that there wasn't anywhere she'd rather be than right here with them.

#old money new world #camille x eugene #eugene roe #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe x ofc #eugene roe x reader #carentan #harry welsh #george luz #floyd talbert #dick winters #albert blithe #hbo war #hbo war fic #oc: camille

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 3

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 4,010

WARNINGS: Cursing, Attempted R*pe scene, Deliberate Intoxication of a Character 

Summary: Aliena Welsh has been living in the universe of the show Peaky Blinders for 6 months now. She has proper pay and she thinks she regained some normalcy in another world. However, trouble has struck the Shelby’s and Thomas has plans for her. Will she remain safe as he’s promised her?

MASTERLIST  CHAPTER TWO  CHAPTER 3.2

A/N: So, I forgot to add something very important. I am not from Liverpool. I do not know the proper way scousers talk. I’ve done some research and watched movies, but I will not advocate that it’s perfect. If y’all want it gone, it will be gone. PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS!!

It's been six months. I'm kind of an official part of the Shelby family. People part the streets for me and greet me. I'm paid two pounds, but John gives me a couple shillings whenever I go home for the day. I have no clue how much I make. I don’t exactly have enough time in me day to count up all me savings right now. I’m being led by the reins like a horse. 

I have a little routine now and what can I say? It gives me peace! Sometimes- I have to admit, there'll be nights where I had cried about not being with me own family. However, it's not like I have the mental capacity to try and change my current situation, so I'm rolling with the punches. 

I was folding clothes in the living room when Thomas bursted through the doors. 

"I'm calling a family meeting for tonight, 8." Thomas said and then pointed at me. "Aliena, be there. Okay? Okay." Then, he walked right back out. From the distant slam of a door, I knew he had gone into his office. 

I looked to Polly who was already staring at me. 

"That fucking boy! Do you know what's goin' on, Ali?"

I shook me head, furiously. 

She just sighed and said. "I guess we're finding out tonight. Finish folding, love, then come help me with dinner."

"Okay, Pol."

As I was folding, all I could focus on was me anticipation. I wanted time to move faster.

I knew the information wasn't about me lies. If he had wanted to confront me about that he would have done it privately or only in the audience of Polly. It wasn't 1919 meaning that season one hasn't begun yet. So, maybe it has something to do about Thomas fixing races? No, that's right! He didn't tell anyone about it! Wonder what it's gonna be then?

Eight rolled around and the family was waiting for Thomas to start. I was over by the doors blocking Finn from geggin' in. 

"Right, I called this family meeting because we got a problem. This problem's name is Harry Chadwick. He's been seen following us and our men around. It would seem that he's a new small time copper looking to make a promotion. Now, some of you are wondering why I invited Aliena to this meeting and I'll get to that in a second. I am going to meet with Chadwick in 3 days time." 

Roars of outrage poured from the family. 

"I am going to meet with him! I told him that I got information on Billy Kimber, and that I'm willing to do a stitch on him in exchange to keep quiet about our doings. I've discovered that Mr. Chadwick frequents Mr. Zhang's brothel whenever he gets tired of spying on the lot of us. Mr. Zhang told me that he preferred his… women on the younger side." Thomas looked at me and I instantly knew his plan. 

I swallowed harshly before looking back down at me feet. A million thoughts went into me head. 

‘Was this a test? Is this me proving me loyalty? What if I go through with it, and he doesn't stop him in time? Why would he do this to me?’

"Like hell, Thomas! She's just a girl!" Polly yelled while gesturing toward me. 

Thomas nodded in response. "Yes, Polly. She's a girl, who'll catch that bastard's attention! Now, if you'd let me finish! I was gonna tell you that I plan on killing 'em. She'll just be a distraction, and I'll let no harm come to her." The look in his eyes was intense. It was almost like he was trying to telepathically reassure me. 

‘This is a test. This is a test about loyalty, I just know it is.’

Polly and Thomas started arguing while I debated over it. 

I sighed. "I'll do it."

They stopped fighting. 

"What?" Polly asked, looking at me with disbelief written in her face. 

"I'll do it." I repeated with a clearer voice and me head held high. Thomas and I stared at each other until he gave me a nod. 

"There you have it, Pol. She made her choice. She's a big girl." 

Polly scoffed and began fighting with him again. I listen to John bud in and then Arthur shortly. I heard them, but it was like white noise. I was breathing quicker. But just as soon as I was consciously aware of the fact, I held me breath for a while and relaxed meself. The way me brain worked would never let meself freak out in me entirety. I've never experienced a complete panic attack. I always had the strength to snap meself out of it. That didn't mean that the effects went away any quicker. In fact, I knew this feeling of dread would follow me until we were actually enacting his plan.  

I let meself out without, being like, allowed to. That night I didn't sleep. I just pondered over the grim possibilities that could occur three nights from now. 

It was finally the day, and I am terrified. I was allowed to sleep in. I woke up around 10 in the morning. I ate breakfast and lunch that wasn't made by me, and then Polly told me that she had prepared a bath. I was to scrub meself spotless and shave. 

As if I was really a prostitute. 

On the flip side, this body of mine didn't have your common body hair. I had no hair on me body except for me private part, me eyebrows, and well- me hair. See I hated having body hair with a passion, so it was nice having smooth legs with no stubble. 

Polly kept talking to me as if I were a child. She kept reassuring me that Thomas would never let anything happen to me. It was nice to see her worrying about me as if I were her daughter. Some days it really felt like that. After the bath, I was dressed in garments that were really rather in its best condition. It seemed like silk. I put it on with no protest. Polly even tried helping me with that. Then she went on to do me hair. It was beautiful, really. She put me hair in a bun with a single braid. Me hair framed me face just how I liked it.

She did me makeup next. I wanted to stop her, but I didn't have the heart to. I looked in the mirror and admired her work. The foundation didn't match me skin tone. It made me appear whiter than I was. But this was how women did it in this era, and I thought I still looked pretty. I smiled at meself even though I wished we were doing this under better circumstances. 

Finally, the dress. It was a dark, maybe, navy blue. It's sleeves reached to me elbows, and it was a rather loose dress. I'm so used to wearing tighter one's than this one, feels like a sleeping gown.

"You look absolutely beautiful. Oh, look at you! Just like a dream." Polly said with her hands together in a prayer against her lips.

She rushed to me and rubbed me arms up and down. "Tommy won't let anything happen to you, Aliena. After this, I'll make sure you'll never be in this side of the business again. You'll just be taking care of the kids and doing the chores again, I promise! No more Peaky Blinder business." 

I nodded. "Okay, Polly." I put on a grin while smoothing out the dress. 

I was only allowed a few moments to meself before Thomas shouted for me. 

"We better get down there then. Quicker we get it down, the sooner you both come home." She said as she pulled the door open and led me down.

As we were doing down the stairs, the three Shelby brothers were talking at the bottom of it. Upon hearing our heels, their gazes snapped on me. I noticed Thomas was wearing his usual suits, nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Ain't she a sight!" Arthur yelled. 

"Ali, you look absolutely beautiful. I think I'm fallin' in love!" John yelled. 

I scoffed and shook me head. "Thank you, Arthur. And John, shut your trap." I was able to slap him across the chest. 

He flinched, quite dramatically, while snickering. But then this hush of silence washed over us, and it was like we were all waiting for what Thomas had to say. 

Thomas cleared his throat and muttered. "Come on, then." He extended his elbow for me and I took it. 

We said our goodbyes then left. It was weird being in the passenger side of a car in the UK. American cars were different. I'm so used to being on the opposite side. As he drove, I took in the views. I loved car rides so much! God, I missed this. 

"I'm sure you already know this, but I know you're lying to us." Thomas said while taking a drag. "You don't have a birth certificate, no record of any sort. I couldn't even find your father's war record. So, even though you are a hard worker, you've lied to us. After this… If you do it well and complete what needs to be done, I'll let your lies slip and accept you into this family."

Me heart was beating in my ears. Me face was hot. "Okay, Thomas." I whispered. After that, it was quiet for a while. 

Then, Thomas broke it. "So, do you, maybe, want to tell me the truth?"

I scoffed, looking out the window. Even though there really wasn’t one. "You wouldn't even believe me." 

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t fully anticipate him investigating me. I just thought it would be normal for a girl to show up with no papers. I was caught in a blag and like a brat, I wanted this conversation to be done with.

"Try me."

I don't know if I could contain my annoyance. 

How the fuck could I explain it to him when I didn't understand this situation much meself! If I did tell him the truth, I figure he'll get me thrown in an asylum. 

I went to massage me eyes, but then remembered that they had makeup on ‘em, so I slapped me hands on me thighs. 

"Well, I'm not from here. At all! I'm from another universe or Earth. To me, you and your family are characters on a TV show called Peaky Blinders. Do you believe me?" I revealed to him while staring out the window. I couldn’t bear to face him.

He didn't answer for a good solid 5 minutes. "Well, it has to be that. Or, you lied about your dad being in the war and your family avoided records with home births. That you're Gypsy kin ‘cause there have been too many times that you have looked like you know something I don't, and being a Gypsy would explain that. So, yeah, I believe you." 

I pursed me lips while leaning my head on me fist as I leaned my arm on the window. 

'He doesn't believe me. A blessing in disguise.'

"Yep, you got me. So why don't you tell me what we're really going to this bloke's house for? I know it's not for the bullshit you spat at the meeting." 

Thomas squinted his eyes at me. "How did you know I lied?"

I rolled me eyes. "Since Billy Kimber came out your mouth. What does Mr. Chadwick have to do with you planning to fix races?"

I turned me head to him and stared. His head was down, eyes on the floor of the car. His eyes darting back and forth rapidly. His Adam's apple bobbed and he said, "He's got something I need to actually fix those races. He's not a cop. But he does want information on Kimber and I'm going to feed him false information. Not like he'll be able to check, though."

While gazing at me fingernails, I hummed. "Thank you for your candor, Thomas."

After that, we didn't talk. When we pulled up to the house, he got out and then walked over to my side. I took his arm like before and we walked to the door. It wasn't a mansion, but it was a nice house. A maid opened the door and told us that we had been expected. We were led to a room that must have been the lounge area. There was a bar at the far right side and a pool table in the middle, but the room was still small. 

"Ah, Mr. Shelby! So, good to see you!" Mr. Chadwick had to be the most stereotypical pedophile I've ever seen. 

Mentally, I was giving meself a prayer and hoping that my discomfort was not showing on me face.  

Thomas greeted him back. They shook hands and that's when creepy decided to lock eyes on me. 

"Why, Mr. Shelby! Who is this enchanting young lady?" I watched as his hand slipped from Thomas' hand and reached for mine. 

I reluctantly gave him me hand to shake when he clasped both of his hands over mine and started to stroke it. I could feel the muscles in me face ache, so I knew I was still smiling. 

"This is Ali. She works for me Aunt." Thomas replied. 

Mr. Chadwick greeted me, but it's like I knew that he was trying to make it sound sensual. I wanted to die! I just gave him one back and he finally dropped me hand. 

"Well, enough with the pleasantries! Let's negotiate." Mr. Chadwick said as he walked over to his desk. 

We all gathered around the desk when Mr. Chadwick offered drinks. Thomas and I both declined and sat down. After that, they dove straight into business talk. As much as it hurts me pride, I couldn't follow what they were saying. So all I did was pretend to be engaged. I smiled whenever his eyes lined up to mine. I tilted me head to the side to, I guess, show off me neck. Other times, I raised me chest and used other cues to get his attention towards my tits. 

"You know what, Mr. Shelby, the agreement was set upon me getting rid of the information I have on your family. But not on yourself. How about you let me have her and we call it a deal?" Mr. Chadwick said while looking me up and down like I was fucking scran!

Thomas cleared his throat saying, "You're goin' to have to be more specific. I can't let you have her forever. She's my Aunt's employee. So, the most I could offer is an hour."

Mr. Chadwick scoffed. "The rest of the night."

"45 minutes." 

"3 hours."

"1 hour."

"Hour and a half." 

"Deal." 

They rose and shook hands. I wanted to show me disgust. I felt absolutely nauseated. I just felt this pit in me stomach grow more and more. 

Thomas placed his hand on me shoulder and I looked up at him. He nodded and said. "I'll be out in the hall."

"You can have my maid entertain you, Mr. Shelby!" 

Thomas had already walked out of the room. I huffed. Me gaze went to the bar. 

"Do you fancy a drink, Ali?" He asked me. 

I got up from me chair. I was shaking. I just knew I had to look like Bambi when he was learning how to walk. "I could go for something. A glass of water would be fine." I said while tucking a strand of me hair behind me ear. 

Mr. Chadwick laughed as he walked over to his bar. "I think you're gonna want something stronger than water, dear. Ever try gin?"

I shook me head. "No. No, I haven't. Water's just fine." I slowly walked closer to him. He was behind the bar as he poured the drinks. But he managed to quickly stride toward me. He handed me me drink and I took a gulp of it. The cold water was refreshing, but I couldn't help but notice he was staring at me while I drank the water. 

I wanted to furrow me eyebrows at him, but instead I gave him a smile. 

"So, how old are you, Ali?"

"16."

"Your accent, you're a scouser, aren’t cha?"

"Yes, sir, born and raised."

He hummed after that. I just awkwardly held the glass in me hand while shifting from one foot to the other. 

"How did you meet, Mr. Shelby?"

"Uh, I was looking for a job and one of his brother's kids were out playing on the street. I managed to keep… him calm enough to get him… home. Apparently…, that was like… a miracle and… I was offered… a job. " I was feeling dizzy and it was getting harder to breathe. 

I held me hand up while I pressed the hand holding de’ water against me chest. The glass was colder than I thought. " 'm… sorry. I… really need… to get some… air!" I went to turn away from ‘em when he grabbed me and pulled me to him. 

I gasped for breath. I whimpered as he placed his forehead on mine. 

He whispered. "God, you're so cute. Look how short you are and those tits. You've been wanting me all night. Don't try to deny it, you little minx. I bet you're all wet and ready for me." He started to nip and kiss me neck which made me flinch. 

'I can't breathe. I can't breathe!' 

Me legs soon gave out and he rushed us to the pool table. The pain the shot through me back as the table dug into me hips made me wince. He lifted me up ‘n sat me down on it, and me body fell limply on the table. The glass of water slipped out of me hand, but it didn’t fall since it didn’t make a sound. 

I limply attempted hitting him, kicking him! They were weak hits. They barely did anything to him. I knew they were annoying him, though. 

I kept trying to scream at the top of me lungs, but all that came out were hoarse whispers. I knew this feeling, familiar with it and I still hated it. 

He stopped fiddling with his belt, grabbed me arms, pinned them down. "Stay fucking still!" 

He kept me hands pinned and me head lopped to the side. Me gaze was on the doors from where Thomas and I entered. Me vision was getting blurrier with me tears. I took a deep loud breath and choked on a sob. I heard his belt fall to the ground. 

"Tommy." I chanted. I kept saying his name. I felt him start to shimmy up me dress 'til I felt all of me legs exposed. Me heart was beating faster than ever. Something just clicked as I screamed, "Tommy!" 

And like a fucking hero, he bursted through the doors and shot the bastard. The guy groaned as he fell to the ground, and a second shot rang throughout the room. 

I stopped crying, but realized I really was paralyzed since I couldn’t pick meself back up. Me adrenaline was going down, and I just wanted to go to sleep. I heard Tommy’s thundering footsteps as he ran to me. I felt as he tugged down me dress, and then picked up me torso by me armpits. He stroked me face. I thought it was a caring touch, but realized he was probably wiping the tears. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I was late, Aliena." Thomas whispered. His face was red and his jaw clenched.

I tried to tell him, "Nothing happened yet. So you weren't late." It fell on deaf ears.

He shook his head. "I was late…" He tugged me a little forward and then carried me bridal-style. 

I heard a faint crunch that was familiar to glass. 

'Huh! Maybe it was the glass falling that actually alerteded him and not my supposed shout.'

As we walked out, I saw the maid dead on the floor as well as a butler that was near the front door. He carried me to the passenger seat and laid me down then left. I was really fucking uncomfortable, but I still wanted to go to sleep. I let me eyelids flutter shut. 

"Oi, Aliena! Aliena, wake up! Wake up." Thomas shouted at me while tapping my face. 

I whimpered loudly but opened me eyes nonetheless. 

"Attagirl! Good girl, Aliena. Now, we're going home. Okay?" Tommy wrapped his free arm around me shoulder and me face was tucked into his side. His touch was comforting. His slow strokes on me back reminded me of me ma’. This made me start crying again to the point where I was sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Almost there, Ali. You're alright now. Fuck!" Our bodies jolted as Tommy struck the steering wheel. 

The cold night wind was refreshing. I tried focusing on that. I wanted to just curl up, sleep, and be able to get over it tomorrow. I'll get over it tomorrow. 

I wanted to enjoy this moment as I snuggled up to Thomas Shelby, but I couldn't! 

I always wanted to know what his cologne smells like and now I still wouldn’t know since my nose is stuffy ‘n runny.

Me sobs turned into sniffles and it took sometime before we actually made it back to the house. It was a series of Tommy keeping me awake and me crying about it. 

Tommy carried me out of the car and ran up to the door. He started pounding on it 'til Pol opened the door. 

She gasped and shouted. "What-!"

Tommy didn't let her finish. He rushed past her and sat me down on the couch. Me body was still limp, so me head fell back and me arms slumped to me sides. 

"What the hell, Thomas! You said nothing would happen!"

"There were more people in his house than I thought and got held up. He didn't manage to do anything to her yet, but he drugged her." 

"Fucking christ! Make sure she doesn't fuckin’ fall asleep! She needs to drink water."

Polly's last comment got to me. It reminded me of me ma’ getting me milk when I was too high. I started to chuckle and tried asking them for milk. Tommy leaned his ear close to me mouth and then shouted for milk instead. I was still laughing, but it came out breathily. 

I could hear Polly yell for Arthur and I tried following her voice but that meant turning my head. Which made me close me eyes. Tommy tugged me face where it originally was and ordered me to stay awake. I attempted to stick me tongue out at him. 

Aunt Polly came back. She put a wet cold towel on me head and put the straw in me mouth. I instantly started drinking it. 

"Slowly, love." Polly whispered as she started to wipe me face and neck with the towel. "Slowly, love."

When I was done having a drink, I tried lifting up me arms and it happened very slowly. I slowly pushed the cup away from me. I didn't really realize that it was Tommy holding it. 

"I don't blame you." I tried saying. 

Polly sucked on her teeth. "Her fucking speech is slurred." By the end of her sentence, her voice was shaking. They fretted over me for a while until Polly said that she was going to have me be in warm water. 

Thomas and Arthur helped me up the stairs. In the end, Polly was the only one in my room. She undressed me and helped me into the water. I could honestly say the water woke me up!

When I got most of me motor functions back, Polly got me out, helped me get dressed, tucked me into bed, and I fell asleep.

TAG LIST: @amirahiddleston​ @nemesis729​

#thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #in another world #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby

[theboredwritertm]

Turn Into the Noise - Nixon

Summary: In 1942, a female soldier, Alice Crowley, joined the ranks of Easy Company at Camp Toccoa. Nixon tries to cope with his growing feelings for the woman throughout the war, but is forced to deal with her budding relationship with Spiers.

Warnings: brief mentions of assault, descriptions of a concentration camp, alcohol abuse.

A/N: This is part of a series I’ve been writing on and off for about...geez, maybe 4 or 5 years now. I had planned on waiting until I was finished writing all of the chapters to post them, since I wanted them read in a specific order (they’re written by character, rather than in chronological order, with each chapter being about the relationship between the chosen character and my OC). I realized I might never get a chance to finish it all the way I want, but I’ve always been happy with this chapter - it’s also the only one I’ve managed to finish. This is the first time I’ve posted any writing on tumblr, too! There are some jokes/references that will make more sense once the other chapters are posted. 

Words: 16 820 (it’s a long one)

Pairing: Speirs x OFC, Nixon x OFC

***

I was three days in on a drunken sin

I didn’t much care how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

  -  (The Work Song, Hozier)

 7th May, 1945

Berchtesgaden, Germany _________________

They sat out on the terrace with bottles of expensive champagne, celebrating a victory that had been a long-time in the making, and after spending the better part of three years playing their own parts in achieving it, the spoils they now reaped were all the sweeter.

Nixon lay back on one of the chaise lounges, his arms resting behind his head as he took in the stunning views around them. On the next chaise over, Harry Welsh grinned as he chugged from his bottle of champagne, embracing the joy of the moment, thoroughly drunk. He glanced over at the man seated at the end of the lounge by his feet. Speirs had barely taken his eyes off Alice since Winters had announced the German army’s surrender. The lieutenant herself was staring out across the vast, mountainous landscape, deep in thought.

“You two set a date yet?” Harry asked them, hiccuping as he glanced between the pair. He thought of the girl waiting for him back home and set his bottle down on the table beside him. He hadn’t thought he could feel any happier than he already did, but recalling the glowing face of his beautiful fiancee the last time he had made love to her gave him a surge of joy he had forgotten was possible.

“Yeah, June 6th,” Alice deadpanned, turning back to them, glancing first at Nixon. He stared ahead with a grin, shaking his head.

Laughing more than the joke merited in his drunken state, Harry reached once more for his alcohol and sent the bottle crashing to the marble below. “Oops,” he said, laughing all the more.

From his position by the balustrade, Winters tried his best to throw the man a disapproving look, but his small, signature smile gave him away. This was one of the happiest days of their young lives – knowing that the long years of training and fighting – the pain they had endured, the friends they had lost – it was all somehow worth it.

Harry reached for the bottle in Speirs’s hand and the captain held it out of his reach. “Get your own.” He looked up as he felt the bottle pulled from his grip regardless, and watched his bride-to-be take a long drink of the golden liquid. She smirked as she drank, and tipped him wink, reveling in the smile that her small rebellion had managed to draw from him; his wild, brown eyes still filled with a lust they had yet to sate.

Though even the privates had managed to find time to bed the local women, fortune had never smiled on the two officers. They had either been too busy leading the men, planning and executing orders, or simply finding time somewhere in between for the most basic of needs, like eating, showering and sleeping. Not to mention keeping their relationship under tight wraps – fraternization was a punishable offence, and there was no question that either one of them, or both, would have been sent home if anything had gotten back to the colonel.

It hadn’t been too hard to hide – Lieutenant Crowley treated all the men the same, never showing favoritism, even when rank was involved. She had always held onto the belief that respect was something to be earned, not forcibly given, and her time at Toccoa with Captain Sobel had only strengthened that belief. She cared for every single one of the men she had served with – Speirs just happened to be the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She frowned to herself now as she found her beverage depleted, upending the bottle just to be sure. Catching the original owner’s look of annoyance, she placed a hand on his shoulder and grinned.

“There’s plenty more,” she reassured him. Her fingers brushed against his neck briefly as she passed by and he smiled once more. “Anyone else while I’m up?” She looked to Winters, who shook his head.

“I- Um, me. Please,” Harry requested, but she shot him a look.

“I think you’ve had enough, Welshy.”

“What?” he attempted to argue.

She glanced down at the shattered remains of his last bottle. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I don’t think I’ll be the one thanking you in the morning,” he chuckled to himself, seemingly proud of his little joke. He looked over at Speirs and the laughter died from his face as he caught the dark glint in the captain’s eyes. He had to be drunk to make a comment so suggestive. Hiccupping again, he looked back at Alice and found she wore an almost identical expression.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, given the circumstances,” she told him, and he seemed grateful for the gesture, knowing her reputation well, “But thank-you for proving my point.” She stopped by the last person in line. “Nix?”

He shielded his eyes and squinted up at her. “Mm?”

“You want anything?”

He caught the little crease that appeared between her brows as he stared at her, taking too long to answer.

“You know what? I think I’ll come take a look with you,” he smiled, getting to his feet. “You always did make volunteering for things look like fun.”

Speirs turned to shoot her a subtle look and Alice gave a reassuring little smile. He was worried. She didn’t blame him after what had happened the last time she and Lewis Nixon had found themselves alone together.

*

“Where we headin’, Crow?”

Alice turned to give her helper an odd look as they walked through the living room of Hitler’s favorite retreat. Nixon had never once called her by her company nickname. It was the only sign he had given that he was even remotely drunk.

“What?” he asked with a playful grin, but she just shook her head.

“Kitchen. I think I saw some bottles in there.”

“God, I wish I’d taken you to see Goering’s wine cellar.”

“Why’s that?”

“I could have used the extra pair of hands.”

She chuckled. “I never took you for the looting type.

“I wasn’t looting,” he replied, with a teasing frown, “I was liberating the bottles from their shelves.”

She threw him a disapproving look for his choice of words, and paused to survey the surrounding cabinets and the pantry at the rear. Most of it had been picked clean by the other soldiers as they had made themselves at home in the place; but the alcohol was making her hungry, and the effect of the beverage was hitting her much harder than usual for the same reason.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“Why? You gonna whip me something up?”

“Yeah, well now that the war’s over, I thought I’d better put myself back in my place.”

He laughed and watched her pull open a cupboard door.

“Goddammit. Beans! I’m sick to death of fucking beans!”

She slammed the cupboard door closed.

“You know, I heard someone say Hitler was a vegetarian,” Nixon told her.

“No shit?”

“Yeah. He didn’t smoke or drink, either.”

“Christ, no wonder he started a war. Too much time on his hands.”

He chuckled. “Explains how I keep so busy.”

While Alice continued her search, Nixon grabbed a few of the bottles that sat grouped on the counter. When he turned back, he found her leaning against the opposite counter looking thoughtful.

“Hey, Nix?”

His eyebrow quirked up as he approached her.

“Yeah?”

“Say you were to get a certain…invitation. In the mail.”

“Mm?” he teased, knowing exactly where she was going before she even asked. He leaned back on the counter beside her and watched with a small smile as she struggled to find the right way to ask.

“Would you come to the wedding?”

“Depends whose it is,” he joked, his smile widening to a grin when she rolled her eyes. “Sounds mighty mysterious to me.” Then she turned her gaze back to him and he felt the same uncomfortable flip in his stomach he had gotten the night he had landed himself in trouble with her. He had thought the feeling had gone away – but it was proving to be like a cancer; coming back just as it seemed to be cured. He caught her eyebrow twitch and realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Of course I would come.”

She smiled, looking almost relieved. “Good. That’s…that’s good. I’m glad.”

And he knew it wasn’t just about the wedding. It was her relief in knowing things were okay between them. He had been one of the first people to welcome her at Toccoa; the first to make her feel welcome. He had been the one stupid enough to put that friendship on the line, yet here she was making the effort to make things right.

“You might have some trouble during the ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace’ part, though,” he joked, wondering just how much he actually meant it. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“No, I just thought I’d send out a bunch of invitations to people I don’t want there. You, Sobel, Dike…”

He let out a good laugh at that and she screwed up her face.

“God, it doesn’t feel right putting you on a list with those men.”

They smiled at each other, then her gaze shot to the doorway where Speirs was standing, and some of the humor died from her face. Every time he looked at her when she was in Lewis Nixon’s company, she felt as if she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Get what you need?” he asked her, glancing briefly at Nixon.

“We were just on our way back.” She plucked a bottle of champagne from Nixon’s hand and tossed it to him. Even in his semi-drunken state, the captain managed to catch it – just. “I believe I owed you half a bottle.”

“This is a full bottle,” Speirs pointed out, with a smile Nixon found odd, but Alice had come to find endearing; it was just another of the man’s many quirks that she had grown to love.

“So just drink half,” she replied with a crooked grin.

Smiling to himself, his mind swallowed up with thoughts like crashing waves, Nixon suddenly realized why Speirs had come to check on them. He had always found it amusing how possessive the man became when Alice was around him – and it was only ever when she was around him; Nixon had never seen the captain act that way when she was around the other men of Easy Company. To him it almost suggested that there really was something dangerous between them. Maybe Speirs sensed some competition. But there really was no competition – Alice had made that very clear to him on that fateful night. He hated to think about what he had done to her, almost as much as he hated to think back to what he still considered to be the single worst week of his life. He had made it through D-Day, had shivered his way through the snowy forests of Bastogne; still, nothing compared to that one day back in Landsberg, when all the events of that week had culminated into one stupid decision that had nearly cost him the friendship of a good woman.

***

25th April ,1945

Heidelberg, Germany _________

“Hey, you’re back!”

Normally, hearing her voice and seeing that sly grin would have lifted his spirits; but as he stepped out of the building Winters had designated Battalion HQ, Nixon couldn’t even muster up a smile. She climbed the stairs, pausing on the step just below him to take a seat on the slanting concrete balustrade, arms folded across her chest.

“How was the jump?” she asked, her voice a little softer now as her piercing green eyes searched his, sensing his mood.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. She nodded, reading his answer loud and clear.

“You want coffee?”

He gave a soft snort and finally a small smile appeared. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.” The words felt forced. He would have loved even more to get blind drunk and pass out in his bed, but just couldn’t find it in him to turn down a drink in her company.

Moments later, he was seated out the front of the building that was serving as the company supply store, staring at the surrounding ruins of bombed-out buildings. He heard the distinct voices of George Luz and Alice as they argued over something trivial, the dispute peppered with occasional bouts of laughter. When she finally returned, Alice was smiling and shaking her head, a steaming metal cup in each hand. She passed one to him and sat down beside him. Taking a sip, he glanced down at the contents as an odd taste hit his tongue.

“What’s in this?”

She glanced over, fighting back a smirk. “A pinch of love, a dash of devotion...”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t recognize it. Two ingredients my wife’s never used.”

“I’ll pass on the recipe.”

He chuckled and met her gaze, holding it for a moment as all thoughts of the woman back home melted away.

“I made yours Irish,” she finally explained, “You look like hell, Nix. What happened?”

His smile fell away and he stared out at the rubble once more. He looked as if he had aged years, despite having only been in combat for several months; his once handsome face now pale and drawn, a stark contrast against his dark hair and brows. Alice recognized the signs of battle fatigue when she saw them, having witnessed it many times in the freezing cold Hell of Bastogne: the listlessness, the irritability, the vacant stares, and the dark circles around once playful eyes.

“Plane went down. I made it out with two other men. That’s it. Now, it’s up to me to write letters to all mothers of the men who didn’t make it off. Make it sound like their deaths were worth it, somehow.”

“Isn’t that their CO’s job?”

He simply shook his head. The CO hadn’t made it either.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Oh, plus I’ve just been told I’ve been demoted, so there’s that.”

He took a long sip of his coffee, not caring that it scalded his throat on the way down, desperate to work the added alcohol into his system.

She had a pretty good idea why he had received such a harsh penalty, and suddenly felt guilty for adding the whiskey to his drink. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lew.”

He glanced over at her and managed a small smile. It was oddly refreshing to hear a woman cuss the way she did. He had become so accustomed to the ‘proper’ women his mother and father invited around for their dinner parties, and their high teas, and their little meetings for whichever new club or association they happened to have joined. The women who wore their hair in the latest styles, dressed in the finest clothes with their little matching purses and shoes. Women who gossiped about women who dressed the same way they did and went to the same meetings and events they did, but somehow managed to find themselves ostracized for one imagined faux pas or another. And then there was Katherine. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought of the woman he had married. Straight out of college, they had fallen into bed and then quickly into what they had believed was a loving relationship. Looking back, he wasn’t sure if love had ever been there to begin with.

“Really hasn’t been your week.”

“No,” he replied bitterly, “That it has not.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice had never been good at knowing the right thing to say, and though she held a lot of love for the man beside her, she couldn’t think of an appropriate way to voice it. It had taken her a long time to work out her feelings towards him, mistaking them at first for genuine adoration; she enjoyed his company, she cared about him immensely, and she knew if it came down to it, she would take a bullet for him – but then that went for every man in her company. The biggest difference, as she had come to find, was the attraction. Even now, sitting next to him, knowing what he had been through, knowing that he was married, she felt the urge to comfort him in a more physical way. She drove the thought from her mind.

It wasn’t until the following day, when Nixon received his long-expected ‘Dear John’ letter, that Alice witnessed him let loose an unbridled tirade of frustration. She had never seen such a raw display of emotion from the man, and the look of concern from his best friend – Major Winters – only drove home just how deep Nixon’s problems went.

It wasn’t long after that they bundled into their jeeps and troop carriers, and drove on to their next destination along the Rhine. Alice stood at the rear of her own vehicle, half-tuned in to the conversations going on between the men behind her, the other half of her focused on the car behind them that carried Winters, Nixon and Speirs. Speirs had offered her the seat next to him, but she had declined, opting to travel with the rest of the troops, where she had always felt most comfortable. Looking back at them now, she noticed Nixon’s gaze was unfocused, his expression blank. She glanced over at Speirs and he smiled at her. She returned the gesture as best she could and then turned away, running her fingers back through her hair with a sigh before replacing her helmet.

“I’m gonna find me a nice Jewish girl,” Liebgott was saying, “with great big, soft titties and a smile to die for, marry her, then I’m gonna buy a house. A big house with lots of bedrooms for all the little Liebgott’s we’re gonna be making. She oughta like that. Hey, lieutenant, it’s a shame you’re not Jewish.”

“Yeah, I’m missin’ out big time,” Alice joked absentmindedly, her brow still marked with a troubled frown. A few of the men chuckled, Liebgott included, but having known her since Camp Toccoa, he knew when something was awry.

“Hey, Al,” came Luz’s voice now, full of mischief, “Get this, right? Janovec here’s readin’ an article says the Germans are bad. Can you believe that?” He grinned at her expectantly, waiting for the witty retort she never failed to provide.

The lieutenant threw them a look of mock-concern. “Gee, Janovec, I think you oughta tell Eisenhower. You might be onto something there.”

Luz laughed and gave the private beside him and playful whack, but seated across from him, Liebgott still hadn’t lost his look of unease.

“Whatta you got planned for when you get back, lieutenant?” he asked her, hoping to distract her from whatever thoughts were bogging her down.

Her eyes flicked over to him and she considered the question. “You mean if I make it back.”

“That’s just Speirs talking,” Webster remarked with a grin. She looked to him, smirked, and cocked an eyebrow, before considering Liebgott’s question some more. Of course, she knew very well what she would be doing, but she wasn’t in a place to reveal that information just yet.

“You know me, Lieb, I never have a plan. I make it up as I go.”

He smiled at the reply, but others weren’t so satisfied with the response.

“You mean you’re not gonna marry– ”

“Who, Janovec?” she cut him off quickly, her expression suddenly severe. One look at her sharp eyes and the private swallowed the rest of the question and dropped his gaze.

“No one, ma’am.”

The men who knew her best exchanged looks, struggling to hold back smirks, and she looked around at them, her look of warning softening. She turned back to the jeep. Speirs was observing the surrounding landscape and Winters was reading through some papers with his usual look of steady focus, but Nixon had finally managed to shift his gaze to meet hers. It still held that vacant quality from earlier, but underneath that she could see the turmoil he was going through, and the contrast from his usual jovial self was painful to witness.

*

She found him later, in a rare moment of free time as the division settled into the town of Buchloe for the night, not far from their intended destination.

“You can always get another dog, Nix.”

He chuckled, but it was tinged with a hollow bitterness. Sitting beside him, allowing him a minute to gather his thoughts, Alice put a hand on the back of his neck and massaged gently – an instinctual gesture to comfort someone in pain. As she rolled her thumb in small circles, working her way into his tight tendons, Nixon dropped his head forward and hummed.

“This is the worst it’s gonna feel, the day you receive the news. It’ll get better from here. I promise.”

She spoke as if from experience, and since he knew she had never been married or divorced – as the intelligence officer, he was privy to a lot of information, especially when he sought it out directly – he wondered what pain she had gone through that could allow her to relate. Then he remembered: her baby brother. God, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten about that – he had even been the one to summon her to Winters’ office. He didn’t think he had ever admired her more than when he had read that letter from her mother; knowing that she had been sitting on that loss for such a long time without ever saying a word.

“Until I have to go back home to the bitch,” he replied now, pushing the thought from his mind.

He watched her stick two cigarettes in her mouth and light them.

“So, don’t go back,” she suggested, holding one of the smokes out to Speirs as he passed by on his way into the building behind them, where Winters had made himself at home. The captain took it as if he had been expecting it, then kept walking without saying a word. She held out the second one to the man beside her, but he shook his head. He had noticed the way her hand had fallen to his shoulder as the other man approached, reducing the gesture to something less intimate.

“Germany’s not so bad,” she went on, “You know, once you get used to the fascism.”

She felt his body vibrate with laughter and he turned to give her the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a while.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is a pretty little place. I guess I could stay. But only if you stay with me.”

She met his gaze and the humor-disguised proposition hung awkwardly between them. His smile fell away, and for the first time she felt the true extent of the feelings that had been forming between them over the past two years. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Speirs returned. She looked up at him. He gave the slightest jerk of his head and the lieutenant was on her feet.

“Well, duty calls,” she said, “Look after yourself, okay?”

Nixon didn’t answer, staring blankly ahead and only came out of his trance when she clapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up, gave a very unconvincing nod, and then watched her walk away with the man he knew she was in love with. What hurt more was knowing Speirs felt the same way about her.

**

28th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ____________

“Alright, two bucks.”

Alice watched as her captain tossed a couple of notes into the middle of the table. Frowning at his optimism, she attempted to sneak a peek at his cards and couldn’t help but laugh as he jerked them away and threw her a disapproving look.

“Are you in or what?” Speirs asked her, gesturing to the pot, “Or too busy cheating?”

“Christ,” she laughed at his harsh words, “Here.” She smacked two bills down and leaned back in her chair, taking a long drag of her cigarette. It was a cozy little setting, drinks served all around and a fire crackling merrily just behind them. It was the most comfortable they had been since they’d left Aldbourne, what felt like another lifetime ago. Somehow, out of all the countries they had been to, it was the homeland of their enemy that felt the most hospitable.

To her left, she watched as Nixon made to pour himself a new glass of his beloved Vat 69 only to find the bottle empty. To his left sat Carwood Lipton, then their final player, Harry Welsh. The men stared at the boozy captain, waiting for his bet. He sighed and tossed down his cards.

“I’m out.”

Whether he meant out of the game, or out of his favorite beverage, Alice wasn’t sure. Nixon rose noisily from his seat and looked around for another bottle, wandering into the adjoining room when he failed to locate one. Alice watched Speirs’s face turn stony at his fellow captain’s behavior. Unlike the three other men, he and Alice had opted for coffee on the off chance they were suddenly called back into combat. It seemed highly unlikely at this point, but it was in the man’s nature to be practical like that, and she had followed his example. He caught her gaze but didn’t say a word.

“Alright,” Lipton said, tossing in his own money, “I’ll call your two and raise you another two.”

“Geez, get a little alcohol into this guy and he takes no prisoners,” Alice joked, “Kinda like you, Ron.”

“Are we still talking about that?” Speirs replied.

She threw him a smirk and he stared back, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Lipton smiled at the reference in that good-natured way of his, but the moment was interrupted as a loud clang sounded from next door. They turned their heads, but were quickly drawn back into the conversation, trying their best to ignore their friend’s frantic behavior as he continued his hunt for more alcohol.

“I can’t believe we’re not jumping into Berlin,” Harry mused, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“No shit,” came Lipton’s reply.

Tuning out for a moment, Alice turned in her seat to check on Nixon, hearing a strained ‘Goddamn it’ as he crouched in front of Major Winters’ trunk. Her expression grew heavy with concern. They had all ignored his habit at first. They were in the middle of a war, witnessing and playing hand to horrific things on a daily basis – it seemed like a reasonable way to take the edge off the day. Then it became so that she rarely saw him without that familiar silver flask in his hand. More recently, after his third jump into occupied territory, the toll his addiction was taking on him had become all too obvious. As the battalion’s intelligence officer, it went without saying that he needed a clear mind to relay the important information and any new orders they were given; a single incorrect piece of information could mean the difference between life and death for hundreds of men.

“This war’s not about fighting anymore,” she heard Speirs saying, “It’s about who gets what.”

“Like finders keepers?” she said as she turned back, recalling the brazen way he had stripped almost every house of its valuables from the moment they had stepped into Germany.

He smiled and looked at her with the dangerous glint in his eye that the men seemed to find terrifying, but that she found alluring. “Yeah. Like finders keepers.”

Nixon appeared from the bedroom and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, looking forlorn.

“Deal me out of the next hand,” he said before walking towards the front door. Alice stared after him, frowning, then lapsed into thought.

“What about your money?” Harry called after him, but the only reply he received was the sound of the door slamming as the captain stepped out into the cold, wet night. Harry sighed. “Are we waiting on him again?”

Lipton nodded, answering in the affirmative, when Alice was struck by a sudden recollection.

“Oh, shit!”

The three men looked at her, slightly taken aback by the outburst. They still hadn’t gotten used to the sound of a woman cursing, though Speirs knew he’d likely have a lifetime to do so.

“I just remembered something,” she told them, pushing back her seat and tossing her cards face-down on the table, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Now we’re waiting on her, too. Great,” Harry sighed, “Anyone else have somewhere they need to be?”

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” they heard her call back as she moved down the hall towards the exit, and the two remaining lieutenants laughed. Speirs’ face was still, however, as he silently watched her exit the building.

It was pouring rain outside, and the sudden burst of cold brought back memories of the hell that was Bastogne. Alice paused at the top of the steps, allowing a moment to bring herself back to the present, then turned onto the street below. She caught sight of a familiar figure.

“Nix! Hey, Nix!” she called, in a voice that had the ability to reach across an active battlefield.

He turned towards her, drenched from head to toe, looking utterly lost.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked her, catching the way she shivered. He strode over to her and led her over to an undercover area.

“I’ve got something for you,” she explained, voice raised to compete against the torrential weather.

“What do you- ” he began to ask. She gestured for him to follow, and they came to the building he knew she was staying in. The confused frown he had worn since she had first appeared on the street only deepened as they stepped into her room. In his drunken state, he was having trouble thinking of anything other than where he hoped this odd encounter was going. He glanced over at her bed, thoughtfully.

With a swipe of her hand, Alice shoved the discarded items of clothing and small stack of books off the top of her trunk, and opened the lid with a loud creak that brought Nixon back to reality. He heard her make a pleased sound and she got back to her feet.

“Here.” She held out a new bottle of his beloved drink. He just stared at it.

“How did you…?”

“I talked Winters into letting me take one. I thought something like this would happen one day.”

“Something like what?”

“That you’d run out.” She cocked an eyebrow and he couldn’t help but wonder just how badly he’d been behaving in the absence of his booze.

“You did that for me?”

“Well, more for the benefit of everyone else, really.”

He chuckled and stepped towards her, completely ignoring the bottle he had been so desperate to find.

“God, I think I love you.”

The smile seemed to melt from her face, replaced with confusion as he wrapped his arms around her waist and mashed his lips against hers. There was a split second of indecision where she almost considered giving in to her long-growing attraction – to risk the love of a good man for a moment of self-indulgence with another; then the odor of the alcohol and the stale smell of his sweat hit her and she was brought back to her senses, struggling to free herself from his grip.

But he wouldn’t let go.

It was only when her fist connected with his jaw and he was stumbling backwards that he realized what he had done. The look on her face, the mix of confusion, betrayal and regret, was something he had never forgotten. He looked down at her hand as she flexed her fingers and tested the pain in her knuckles. She was probably going to bruise. Rubbing the spot on his jaw, he thought that he probably would too, but he didn’t care. Nothing in that moment hurt more than knowing she might never look at him the same way ever again.

“Ron and I are engaged.”

The statement was a rude slap that shocked him awake better than a cold shower ever could have.

“When the hell did that happen?”

Trying her best to ignore the sharp edge in his voice, she said, “He asked a couple of days ago, and I-”

“And you said ‘yes’,” he finished for her, with a bitterness that made her blood boil. “So you’ve been engaged this whole time? Comforting me, telling me things are going to be okay, meanwhile you’ve promised yourself to that fucking lunatic?”

When he glanced up to meet her gaze, all resentment and anger fell away. He had never understood how the other men could fear this woman – she was always so quick to smile, easy to laugh and one of the most selfless people he had ever come across. But as she stood before him now, he saw not the warm and accepting Alice he had come to love, but Lieutenant Crowley of Easy Company; the cold, ruthless battlefield commander. And all at once he understood that fear.

“I’m sorry your wife’s divorcing you. I’m sorry you got demoted. And I’m sorry you lost all those men on your last jump. But if you ever lay your hands on me like that again, I will knock your fucking teeth out. Do you understand me?” She spoke in a hushed tone that only managed to intensify everything she said.

A flush crept into his cheeks as her words unlocked a deep shame that the alcohol had been doing well to keep contained. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, croaking out, “Yeah, I got it.”

Then all at once the other Alice seemed to reappear. She glanced at his jaw, lifted her hand towards it, hesitated, and then rested it awkwardly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nix.”

And he knew it wasn’t just for the punch.

*

When they finally made it back to the poker game, walking in a heavy silence, their waiting buddies looked up. They were a miserable sight, drenched from head to toe, expressions downcast. Spotting the bottle in Nixon’s hand, completely missing the mood between the two in his own semi-inebriated state, Harry smiled.

“Hey, look at that! You found one!”

Nixon stared at him, before he realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, yeah. Pays to have friends, I guess.” He glanced over at Alice as they both returned to their seats, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lipton and Harry exchanged the briefest of looks, but said nothing.

As Alice moved to pick up her cards, Speirs spotted the bruises forming on her knuckles and glanced up to see the other captain rubbing gingerly at his jaw as he poured himself a fresh glass. Speirs tensed, but the second he moved to get up, Alice placed a hand on his thigh to still him. She didn’t look at him, but in the light of the fire he could see the mix of emotions glistening in her eyes.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” Nixon began, attempting to sound conversational, but failing to hide his bitterness. That seemed to do it for Lieutenant Crowley. She tossed her cards onto the table and pushed back her chair, caring little for the amount of attention she drew to herself in the process.

“You know what? I’m out. Keep the money. I really don’t care.”

Everyone but Nixon watched her leave, and when he felt their eyes burning into him, wanting some answers for her sudden change in temperament, he stared down into his glass.

Speirs waited for the slam of the front door, then folded his cards, stating casually, “I think I’m going to call this one, too.”

Harry sighed and downed the last of his drink. He checked his watch and saw it was well past midnight. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Might be the last decent night’s sleep we get.”

Lipton glanced from Nixon to Speirs, and caught his commanding officer throw the other captain a dark look as he got to his feet. Like most of the men of Easy Company, Lipton was well aware of the relationship that had formed between the CO and his first lieutenant; but as for her and Captain Nixon – Lipton had only ever seen the two talking and joking around since they had first met back in Toccoa, though it had always appeared the same as the friendship she shared with him and the other men.  Catching the bruise as it now formed on the disgraced man’s cheek, Lipton fought the urge to go and check on her.

Nixon emptied his glass in one gulp, quickly setting to pour another, ignoring the scrapes of chairs as the others got up. He caught Harry’s gaze as the lieutenant grabbed his winnings, and watched the man force a smile.

“See you in the morning, Nix.”

Nixon stared down at the liquid in his cup as if deciding whether or not to drink it, and gave a sad, empty chuckle. “Yeah. Sure.” Then without any further hesitation, he drained the glass.

**

29th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ______________

He tried to find her the next morning, to at least catch sight of her, but she was either avoiding him, or keeping busy elsewhere. He was standing beside Winters, who had already twice questioned the dark bruise along his jawline, when he was caught off guard by the familiar face as Lieutenant Crowley approached them. Ignoring him completely, she stopped in front of the major.

“Sir, do you mind if I tag along on that patrol this morning?”

“You like volunteering for patrols, Al?”

She gave a light chuckle, though she didn’t like to think back on the one she’d led in Haguenau.

“Just feeling a little homesick. Thought a stroll through the woods might help.”

“Might not be a stroll,” Winters reminded her. Though it was unlikely they would come across any trouble, word had come down from battalion that there had been instances of German soldiers retreating into the forest and forming a kind of guerrilla resistance.

“Honestly, sir, I could use the distraction.”

Hearing those words, Nixon finally looked away from her as his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch; a feeling he knew well – guilt.

“That’s fine. I’m sure the men would be glad to have you along.”

Offering a final smile, he gave a nod to dismiss her and turned his gaze immediately to the officer beside him once she had left.

“What happened, Nix?”

He took in the bruise on his friend’s cheek and pieced it together with the lieutenant’s unusually cold behavior towards him, disliking what it added up to.

“A misunderstanding,” Nixon replied with a sigh.

“Do I need to ask her?”

“What? Jesus, no. If you did, she’d tell you the same thing, anyway.”

“I need this resolved. She’s one of my best officers. We’ve come too far to let something personal cloud decisions that could get people killed.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it under control, alright? And it’s not…it’s not personal.”

Winters stared at him, expression firm, eyes searching his face in that uncomfortable way that made him feel almost naked.

“Nix?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and looked up with a begrudging, “Yeah?”

“Stop lying to me.”

**

“So, can you or can you not teach me the best way to find a beehive?”

“Luz, I swear to God.”

Stepping through the trees of the forest on the outskirts of Landsberg, Alice felt herself smile for the first time since the incident the night before. She looked at the men around her: Luz, Perconte, Randleman, Powers, Christenson, Vest and O’Keefe, and felt herself relax as they made their way through their designated area.

Perconte scrunched up his face, “Whatta ya talkin’ about, a beehive?”

Luz just grinned, holding his lieutenant’s irritated look, then shook his head, “Never mind.”

“Say, Al,” Perconte went on, and she knew just from his tone that he was about to say something she wasn’t going to like, “I heard you got into it with Cap’n Nixon, last night.”

Luz whacked him on the arm to shut him up, but the gesture came too late. Perconte looked back at him, shrugging him off, and George just rolled his eyes. Turning back to see if he would receive an response, he found Lieutenant Crowley gazing at him in a way that made him stop in his tracks.

“You heard what?” she asked. Her voice was casual, but one look at her eyes and he knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

“Nothing,” came his nervous reply. He heard Luz give a chuckle as he passed by. “Shut up,” he told him, but it only made his friend laugh more.

“Why’d you want to come along, lieutenant?” Christenson asked now, caution to his tone after witnessing the exchange with Perconte. He had always found Alice to be quite amicable – it was Speirs that terrified him – but it had always made him uneasy that she seemed so comfortable in that man’s presence, even from the very beginning when the rumors about him had been most prevalent.

He recalled one incident in particular, back in the woods in Bastogne. He had been one of a handful of men who had been left behind to hold the line while the others moved out to take Foy. He had been sitting in his foxhole with Perconte and Sisk, listening to the story of the executed German prisoners for the first time, when the rumored killer himself had made an appearance. Obviously having heard the retelling on the infamous story, Speirs had offered them each a cigarette, which, alarmed, they had politely declined. Then up sauntered Lieutenant Crowley with a casual, “Mind if I bum one of those?” She had pulled one from the pack, pausing to let him light it for her before asking, “Going my way?” He had replied with an odd smile and a simple, “That I am,” and then the pair had walked off together, leaving the three soldiers gaping after them.

“Don’t you know? She loves to volunteer for patrols,” Bull replied now, through a mouthful of cigar.

Alice chuckled, thinking back to Winters’ similar response. “I had no idea that was a running joke with you guys.”

“Ain’t no joke,” Bull told her, “Only you’d be crazy enough to keep volunteerin’ for shit that’d get ya killed.”

“I dunno, this doesn’t seem so dangerous to me,” Shifty said in his gentle Southern drawl, surveying the quiet forest around them.

“Exactly,” Alice nodded, “Shifty the sharp one, as always.”

“Kinda reminds me of Bastogne,” Perconte interjected with a frown, glancing around at the others, “Doesn’t it remind you of Bastogne?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Luz replied, “Except of course there’s no snow, we got warm grub in our bellies, and the trees aren’t fucking exploding from kraut artillery. But yeah, Frank, other than that, it’s a lot like Bastogne.”

The others grinned, but as usual the sarcasm went over Perconte’s head.

“Right?” he agreed.

“Bull, smack him for me, will you?” Luz said. “Thank you.”

They had a good chuckle as Randleman clouted the soldier in the back of his helmet, then continued on in a comfortable silence. Alice fell into step next to Luz, feeling the weight of her uncertainty gradually falling away. She had been in desperate need of a distraction, between dodging an apologetic Nixon, and a concerned Speirs. She almost felt like she was a sergeant again; back amongst the men without the worry of managing an entire company. It was the breather she had needed, and it was only then that she realized she had been spending too much time among the fellow officers. She hated that feeling of isolation from the rest of the men.

“How ya been, Al? You doin’ okay?” Luz asked her, in a voice low enough that the other men wouldn’t hear. As she considered her answer, she flexed her fingers, testing the damage from the night before.  

“Yeah,” she assured him, “Gettin’ there.”

He smiled and clapped her on the back, stepping passed her as they continued on. Alice lapsed into thought, keeping her ears pricked for any unusual sounds, but the further she walked, the more she seemed to notice that something wasn’t right. She glanced to Shifty, who had taken point, and caught his eye, noting the crease that formed in his brow.

“George,” she called in a hoarse whisper, signaling for them to stop. Luz turned back to look at her, a frown crossing his face when he caught her expression.

“What is it?” Christenson asked.

“It’s quiet,” Shifty answered for her.

“Yeah, cause Perconte stopped yammerin’,” said Luz.

“Hey, Luz, you know what- ” Perconte began, but was quickly cut off.

“Shut it, you two,” their lieutenant ordered, taking a few steps forward. All around them, the forest was still. Not so much as a birdcall cut through the unnatural silence. She had only ever seen something like this once before, back when a fire had broken out a few hundred miles from her home. The mere smell of the smoke had driven all surrounding wildlife to safer ground. Testing the air now, she caught a different scent. “You guys smell that?”

“Again, Frank,” Luz joked, but Alice held up a hand to shut him up. The humor fell away from his face and he sniffed the air. There was a bad odor, now that she mentioned it. He hadn’t noticed it much before, happy to simply be among friends on a relatively safe patrol for once. Plus, they’d experienced their fair share of bad smells throughout the campaign; body odor, vomit, excrement – both animal and human – blood, spoiled food and the ever-present smoke as buildings went up in flames. But this one hit closer to home. This one they knew all too well.

Bull stepped forward. “Smells like–”

“Death,” Alice finished for him.

It was then that she spotted the thin tendrils of smoke wafting through the tree line up ahead. Without a word, she took off towards it. The men quickly followed.

They stepped out of the forest and spotted the source of the smell and the smoke. At first, they were unable to comprehend what they were looking at. One by one they looked to Lieutenant Crowley for orders, but for the first time she appeared just as lost as they were.

“Frank,” she said, “How’s your ass feeling?”

Perconte looked over at her with a frown. “My ass?”

“Reckon you can make it back to base?”

Realizing what she was saying, he nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off the barbed wire.

“Yeah. I can manage.”

“Get Speirs,” she ordered, her mind going instantly to the person she trusted most in her moment of uncertainty. He would know what to do, she told herself. Perconte turned to move, slinging his rifle across his back when she said, “No, wait. Get Winters. Just get an officer. Any officer. And medics. I think we’re going to need ‘em.”

“You are an officer,” he said stupidly, as if she had somehow forgotten, but she just shook her head.

“I think we’re going to need someone higher up for this.” Her mind whirred as she considered someone who might at least have some insight into what they had found. “And bring Captain Nixon.”

**

When they first pulled into view of the camp, Nixon spotted Alice beside Sergeant Randleman. Easily one of the biggest, toughest men in the company, Bull was now crouched on the ground with a broken look on his face. The lieutenant was speaking softly to him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying hard to hold herself together in the process. Each member of the small patrol held the same expression, as if it had become their new squad insignia; a telling mark of their recent discovery.

Hearing the crunch of tires on gravel, Alice looked up with a blank kind of confusion. As the officers jumped out of the jeep, Winters came towards her first. Nixon began to do the same, but faltered for a moment until she met his gaze for the first time that day.

“Lieutenant Crowley?” Winters said gently, as she stared off, then when she didn’t answer, “Al?”

She looked at him and he caught the lost look behind the eyes that were usually so confident and focused.

“Sir?” she blinked. He stared at her a moment before she realized what he wanted, but at first she struggled to find the words. “Uh, we were travelling north through the forest, Shifty on point. The smell hit us first. Then we followed the smoke. I had Luz, Christenson, and Vest scout the perimeter while Powers and Randleman did a sweep of the surrounding woods. I remained on watch with O’Keefe at the front gate. We attempted to make contact with the, the people, the, uh, prisoners. None of them speak any English. We found no guards, no enemy soldiers. I have no idea how long these people have been alone for, sir. As far as I can tell, they’ve been without food and water for a while.”

“The fires are fresh,” Speirs noted, looking up at the rising smoke as he stepped up beside her, and she nodded, feeling a little better with him by her side. “Guards can’t be long gone.”

“That’s fine,” Winters told her. Then, sensing her distress at her inability to find some way to help the people behind the wire, added softly, “You did good, Al.”

“You haven’t heard of this sort of thing back at headquarters, Captain Nixon?” Alice asked, turning to the other officer.

He didn’t respond for a moment, not used to being addressed by her in such formal manner. “Uh, no. Nothing like this.” He couldn’t help but stare, completely thrown by her behavior. He had only ever seen her like this once before; back in Haguenau, the morning after she had lost a man on patrol. She had blamed herself his death, somehow concluding that it was a reflection of her abilities as an officer. Even now she almost looked as though it was somehow her fault that the people behind the fences had met such a horrific fate, as if she could have prevented it from happening had she done something differently.

“I didn’t have any way to get it open. I just thought…”

It was the first time they had seen her at a loss for what to do. Winters nodded, understanding, and they turned to look back at the dozens of emaciated figures. Behind them, more men from Easy climbed off of a truck, each of them coming to a halt the moment they caught sight of the living skeletons, a few of them covering their noses as the smell washed over them.

Acquiring bolt-cutters from the truck, Christenson stepped forward and opened the perimeter gate. Alice and Winters stepped through, then exchanged an uncertain look.

“Open it up,” Winters ordered.

As Christenson cut the chain on the final gate, urging the starving prisoners away from the entrance with some help from Perconte, Alice felt someone step up beside her. She looked at Nixon, then turned to the group of medics behind her, ushering them in first to evaluate the condition of the men in the filthy, striped clothing.

“Do you speak any German?” Winters asked Christenson, but the man shook his head. He turned to Alice and she did the same.

“Is Liebgott with you?” she asked him, “I’ll go find Liebgott.”

She moved quickly, glad to finally be of use again, creating as much distance as she could between herself and the camp, finding it difficult to breathe. She paused for a second, took a deep breath, and then pushed through the group of Easy company men who were filtering in, passing Speirs along the way. He paused to say something to her, but she barely seemed to notice him.

“Liebgott?”

“Yeah?” came a voice from the back group. She spotted him holding the perimeter with a couple of others.

She jerked her head for him to follow her, her expression saying enough.

“What the hell is this place?” he asked her, another one to note the worrying change in her usually self-assured demeanor. After spotting the telltale patches on the prisoners’ chests, Speirs had been quick to place Liebgott on the perimeter to create some distance between him and the camp. The Jewish-born soldier hadn’t questioned it; he hadn’t seen much of what they had found, but with the smell coming off it he was only happy to oblige.

“That’s what you’re going to find out for us,” Alice replied, fighting to hold back the bile in her throat as the breeze blew the rancid smell of decay into their faces.

“Alright, boys,” she heard Lipton instructing as they walked passed, “These people need care. Give them water, any rations you might have. Grab some blankets.”

Hearing the clear, logical orders, Lieutenant Crowley seemed to snap out of her daze, walking with more purpose as she led the translator back to Major Winters.

She stood beside him, with Nixon to her left, and Speirs behind her as Liebgott questioned the healthiest of the men – and considering the condition of some of the others, that really wasn’t saying much. His clothes were filthy, draped over his emaciated frame. His skin had a waxy, yellow pallor to it as it stretched across his bones, and his eyes were two sunken pits. The stench coming off of him was not unlike that of the camp itself.

The guards had left that morning, he told them, running from an enemy that they knew was closing in. In a last ditch effort to hide their atrocities, they had shot as many prisoners as they could, before burning down a few of the huts with the men still inside. Any prisoners who had tried to stop them had also been shot. Without time to destroy all of the evidence, and running short on ammunition, they had locked those remaining inside and left them to die of starvation and disease that many were already well on the way to succumbing to.

Winters listened carefully, then asked the most pressing question: how was it that these men had come to find themselves treated with such cruelty? There was no reason in his mind that could compel men to treat fellow human beings with such brutality, but perhaps the minds of the Germans worked differently. He recalled the treatment of the women back in Eindhoven who had been accused of sleeping with German soldiers; the way they had screamed and begged as they were beaten on the streets, their shaved heads still bleeding from the townspeople’s vicious conduct. Humans always found a way to justify their violence.

“Can you ask him what kind of camp this is? Why are they here?”

Liebgott relayed the question and they waited, watching the gaunt man consider his words before he replied.

“He says it’s a work camp. There was a word he used, but I’m not familiar. ‘Unwanted’, maybe?”

“Criminals?” Winters guessed.

Liebgott tried that, but the prisoner frowned at him, clearly offended, and gave a very clear ‘no’.

“Doctors, musicians,” Liebgott translated, “Tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals.” He shook his head, not quite understanding how these things related to their imprisonment. Then the man spoke a word that resonated deeply with the soldier. He asked him again, just to be sure, and the man nodded. Like Speirs, he too had noticed the stars stitched onto their soiled clothes as he first entered the camp, but hadn’t made any correlation between the symbol and the men’s incarceration. It was beyond his reasoning that something as simple someone’s religious faith could have them wind up in conditions like this.

Winters stared, waiting for the reply.

“They’re Jews,” Liebgott said. The prisoner continued on, then seemed to become deeply distressed, gesturing up the road, voice breaking with emotion as tears welled in his eyes.

“Liebgott?” Nixon asked, brows knitting together as the prisoner began to cry.

“The women’s camp is up the road.”

Alice broke from the circle then, hands on hips, overcome and finding it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just the smell; it was knowing that no matter how hard they had fought, they hadn’t been able to stop the suffering of these people. Maybe if they had made it sooner… She walked in a daze towards the front gates and came to a stop when she felt it was far enough. Taking a few deep, even breaths, she gazed down the road and considered her next move. A hand found her shoulder and she jumped.

“You’re not going,” Speirs said evenly, reading her mind. Though he somehow managed to maintain his usual stoic expression, she could see just from his eyes how much he had been affected, too.

“They’re out there, just like these people were. They’re locked up in there, waiting for help to come.”

“You’re not going,” he repeated in the same tone. “They’ve got someone on the radio to send another company over there. You don’t need to see that.”

Her breath became uneven again and she asked with a tight voice, “Ron…what if there’s children?”

He considered the horrific possibility, looking away from her and into the forest, then realized the more likely truth. He sighed as he considered whether or not to voice his thoughts. “I don’t think there would be.”

It took her a moment to process his response, and when she realized what it meant – how the men in this camp had barely managed to survive – she gave a quick nod and took a few steps further out with her head bowed. She came to rest beside the troop truck and in a moment of violent release, drove her fist into the side of it. She felt the already-bruised skin split, but didn’t care. The pain grounded her. She looked at the smear of blood she had left on the vehicle, then turned stare out into the forest for a moment. Speirs watched her take a deep breath and turn back, walking with purpose, her expression suddenly focused and determined.

“Stop,” he said, blocking her path. She watched him with a curious frown as he patted down a number of his pockets, finally coming across the object he was after. He took her hand gently in his own and wrapped it in the small bandage he had kept from his field kit. “I’m not having you catch something in there,” he frowned, clearly disapproving of her sudden outburst. “And you need to give that fist a break.”

She glanced up at him, finding an unusual softness to his usually sharp eyes. “That’s why God gave me two, Ron.”

He threw her a look of warning, but that too had a strange gentleness to it. It was the same way he had been looking at her that morning, as they’d briefed the men about the patrol. That presumption of vulnerability from a man who had once witnessed her beat a man to a bloody pulp – who had seen her take out a kraut-infested building on her own with a gunshot wound to the arm – had quickly begun to drive her insane.

He followed her back through the gates. The rest of Easy Company had fanned out, helping whoever they could and exploring the rest of the camp, which stretched out much further than they had first imagined.

Seeing more prisoners pouring out of the surrounding huts, Alice turned to Speirs. “What are we going to do with all of them? We can’t leave them here.”

“Where are we going to take them?” he replied, as if that were the better question, his face drawn as they passed shriveled corpses by the roadside. “I don’t even know if they’d survive the trip.”

“Not back to the town. For all we know, they’re the ones who put them here.”

He nodded. “Sink’s on his way with the regimental surgeon. They’ll figure it out. For now, we do what we can.”

They came to a stop behind Captain Nixon and Major Winters, and stared up at the looming train cart as the door was pulled back. The stench hit them immediately. Bodies were stacked inside, each in various stages of decomposition, some with their mouths open, frozen in their final death rattles.

Alice turned away, covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. She spotted Bull and Luz coming out of one of the huts looking troubled, and moved to approach them. Catching her questioning look, they shook their heads, but she misread the gesture.

“More dead?” she asked, voice solemn.

“Some are,” Bull replied in a similar manner, “Most o’ them are alive. We need to get some more doctors out here.”

“They’re on their way.”

“Christ, what the hell is this place, Al?” Luz asked, and together they looked around, taking in the horror they had stumbled upon.

“This?” Alice replied, barely able to comprehend it herself, “This is why we fight.”

*

“Winters wants us to find some food,” Nixon relayed to the two officers in front of him. He looked like hell. He had made it halfway through the bottle of Vat 69 Alice had given him, before passing out on his bed, waking up that morning in a puddle of his own piss. He had accepted it as his lowest point. But now, seeing the starving, dying men imprisoned in the Nazi work camp, the piles of corpses scattered around the yard, his own problems had quickly been thrown into perspective. He felt a deep shame work its way inside of him, and as he glanced between Captain Speirs and Lieutenant Crowley that feeling of self-loathing only intensified.

“We don’t have a lot of rations,” Speirs thought aloud.

“We’re going to have to loot the townsfolk. There you go, Ron. Something you’re familiar with,” Alice joked absently, retaining her solemn expression.

His mouth twitched in a grim smile, “What did we have there? A bakery?”

“Yeah, a couple of cafes, too, I think. Maybe a general store. Want me to tell the men?”

Speirs glanced up, biting his lip in thought and gave a nod.

“Tell Winters we’re on it,” Alice said to Nixon, and he, too, gave a nod of approval.

*

On the orders of Lieutenant Crowley, second platoon returned to the town of Landsberg and took any food they could find, most of it coming from the storerooms of German businesses. Ignoring the complaints of the owners, who had somehow managed to go about life as usual while innocent men and women were dying just outside their gates, the soldiers obeyed her one rule; no unwarranted bloodshed. But that didn’t mean things didn’t, at times, get violent. Still haunted by the smell and the sights of the camp, the soldiers took out their disgust on the German villagers.

By the time they made it back to the camp and began handing out the food to the crowd of desperate prisoners, Colonel Sink had arrived with the regimental surgeon, Major Louis Kent.

“We need to stop giving these men food,” Major Kent explained to them, “These men are starving. If we give them too much, too fast, they will eat themselves to death. Also, we need to keep them in the camp until we can find a place for them in town.”

“You want us to lock these people back up?” Nixon asked.

“We’ve got no choice,” Sink assured him, not liking the idea any more than they did.

“Otherwise they might scatter,” the surgeon added, “We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better…”

“Lieutenant Crowley!” Winters called, keeping it formal in front of the colonel, but Sink was quickly dragged away to a radio call.

Alice glanced over from where she was supervising the distribution of the food with Lieutenant Welsh, and made her way over.

“We need to put them back inside until we find a better place for them,” Winters explained.

She narrowed her eyes, as if unsure that she had heard right.

“Al, we’re gonna need to lock them back up,” Nixon told her.

“Come again? You want us to put them back in there? With the dead?” she asked, the emotional toll of the day growing evident by the edge in her voice, “These people think they’ve just been liberated.”

“They have been liberated,” Winters assured her.

She nodded, “A little hard to tell someone that while they’re looking at you from behind a barbed-wire fence.”

The two men dropped their gazes.

“We need to get this done,” Winters said softly.

“Who’s gonna tell ‘em?”

He looked back at her and she already knew the answer. Her hand moved to her face as she rubbed her eyes and drew in a steady breath. She sighed, willing this nightmare to be over; for the prisoners, for the soldiers, and for herself.

“Alright. Christ. Liebgott!” Spotting the soldier among the prisoners, she waved him over for the second time that day.

“You want me to what?” he said, after she had relayed the orders. “I can’t tell them that.”

“You have to, Joe,” Winters replied.

There was a quiet moment when the guilt of those instructions hung heavily on all of them, and Alice found herself wishing she could speak the language, if only to relieve Joe of the painful task. This one hit too close to home for him, they knew. Just as she was considered having Webster carry it out instead, Liebgott finally answered, “Yes, sir.”

Alice walked with him and stood by the back of the truck as he climbed up and spoke the dreaded words. The relief and happiness drained from the faces of the starving men as they stared up at him. All at once they began to panic and, just as Major Kent had predicted, the prisoners made an attempt to scatter; after their fleeting moment of freedom, they were once again under someone else’s control. The men of Easy herded them back through the gates as gently as they possibly could, sending the crying, begging men back to face the bloated, fly-blown faces of their friends and loved ones who hadn’t made it. The mood was grim as they watched the tortured souls milling around the fence in a desperate frenzy, their frightened moans stirring some of the most battle-hardened men to their own silent tears.

Standing in a daze, the day’s events weighing on his mind, Nixon looked back at Liebgott. He watched as Alice climbed up beside him in the truck and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her as his body began to shake with silent sobs. She didn’t seem to notice the glistening streaks that fell along her own face.

**

That evening, after getting a head start on his drinking for the night, Nixon found Winters in his office going over papers and constructing his report of the day’s events. The captain looked pale and lacking in decent sleep as he looked through the liquor cabinet to his friend’s left, attempting to read the foreign labels on the unfamiliar bottles.

“Thought you weren’t drinking the local,” Winters commented, pausing from his work.

“I’m just…browsing.”

Winters threw him an unconvinced look, then went on, “I heard from Division. Been finding camps like this all over the place. Seems the Russians liberated one a lot worse.”

“Worse?” Nixon narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than what they had witnessed behind those barbed-wire fences.

“Yeah,” the major sighed, weary at the thought, “Apparently. Ten times as big. Execution chambers. Ovens.”

Nixon cocked his head and waited for him to elaborate on the last part.

“For cremating all the bodies.”

“Jesus,” Nixon said, at a loss for any other words to express the disgust that sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

Winters nodded. As he spoke the words, he almost understood why his friend drank as much as he did; it was enough to make any man turn to alcohol. Almost any man. Winters preferred to use those thoughts as a means of keeping sober.

“Locals claim they never heard of the camp,” Nixon told him, “They say we exaggerate.”

He recalled the trip back into the village to collect food for the prisoners. Speirs had been right to send Alice to lead the mission; she was just the right balance of commanding and compassionate, and when it came time to forcibly remove the food from the citizens, she had maintained a surprising level of civility. He had even seen her break up a few violent confrontations started by the traumatized men of her platoon, despite her own obvious desire to lay into the people who had allowed such suffering to go on right under their noses.

“Well, they’re gonna have a hell of an education tomorrow,” Winters said, looking somewhat pleased by the turn of events, sharing the attitude of the other soldiers of Easy in terms of the civilians. “General Taylor declared martial law about an hour ago. Ordered every able-bodied German in town aged fourteen to eighty to start burying the bodies, and they’ll begin tomorrow. Tenth armored are going to supervise clean-up.”

“And what about us?”

Glancing up at his friend, Winters couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Usually Nixon would be the one telling him these things; but that was before he had been demoted. Now he was out of the loop and, it seemed, simply out of luck.

“We head for Thalem, tomorrow. Twelve-hundred hours.”

Nixon nodded, and another thought came to him. He considered the best way to word it without sounding suspicious, so instead of asking after the person directly, went for the next best thing – the less obvious thing.

“You seen Speirs?”

When Winters looked over at him again, he realized he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought in his semi-intoxicated state.

“I think he’s with Al. Why? You need to talk to him?”

Nixon chuckled, aware that Winters was only teasing now, though the major’s expression remained stern. He recalled her confession from the night before, the one bit of information he was certain only he was privy to, and in a burst of alcohol-fueled impulsivity, said to the major, “You know they’re together, right?”

Winters went back to his papers, answering casually, “I’m aware.”

“You know that they’re engaged?”

Hoping to catch him off-guard with this bit of information, too drunk to care that it could get both officers in question booted out of the company, he was surprised again to see the man nod.

“Yeah, Ron told me this morning. It’s not impacting their performance on the field. I don’t have any issue with it. Plus, I think it’s a good match.”

“You do, huh?” He wondered what had compelled the man to inform Winters of the pending union, then recalled his thoughtless offer of ‘congratulations’ the night before. So, Speirs had thought he would be so petty as to try and get them reprimanded out of pure jealousy. Maybe he was right. After all, he was certain that Alice hadn’t shared the secret with him out of faith in his character. It had almost sounded liked she was trying to remind herself why she couldn’t give in to whatever urge she had been feeling. He had felt it in the kiss; a moment of indecision when she had started to kiss him back. He had gone to bed with that thought still playing in his mind, even with the dull ache of his bruised jaw reminding him what a stupid idea it would be to pursue it any further.

Nixon stared down at the floor, focusing on the frayed edges of the rug as he found himself caught off guard again. Realizing the risk he had just taken in divulging a secret that wasn’t his, he considered the outcome had he not been speaking to such a reasonable and considerate superior officer. On one hand, Speirs could have been transferred, even kicked out, losing Easy Company the best CO it’d had since Winters, and leaving a gap in Alice’s life for Nixon to try and edge his way into. On the other hand, they could have lost Alice, the next best officer they had; a woman who had worked hard to prove herself good enough for the paratroopers, and one who had not once hesitated in the battlefield to protect her fellow comrades, even when it meant putting her own life on the line. Still, with her gone, he would have had one less distraction, one less reason to want to drink himself into a stupor every day.

The sheer selfishness of those drunken truths made him sick to the stomach, and he left to find something to sober himself up; hoping a cup of coffee and a conversation with the lieutenant herself would do the trick.

He ran into Speirs as he stepped outside holding two empty canteen mugs. Though there were plenty of fine china cups inside the house, he knew Alice hated them after once witnessing her being served coffee in one. She had lifted the delicate item awkwardly between her calloused fingers and joked, “If you see my pinky sticking out, do me a favor and cut it off.”  

Ever observant, Speirs glanced down at the two aluminum items then back up to meet his gaze.

“For Winters and I,” Nixon lied, annoyed that he felt he even had to explain himself.

Speirs gave a nod, but the glint in his eye told Nixon that he had caught the fib. As the demoted officer moved down the stairs, Speirs called, “I take mine black, no sugar.”

Nixon looked up in time to catch his disconcerting smirk, and muttered some colorful words as he trudged away.

*

He hadn’t expected to catch Alice in her room, since she wasn’t one to sit around in once place for too long, so when he ducked his head in to check, he didn’t notice her straight away. She was seated on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, her back resting up against the frame. For a second he thought that he had caught her at a vulnerable moment, but when she turned her head, catching the scent of the hot coffee, she offered him a gentle though somewhat unsure smile. He gestured with one of the cups, hoping it made a good enough excuse for his presence, and she nodded for him to come in.

Stopping in front of her, he passed her one of the mugs before considering the best place to sit. There was up on the bed beside her, but he felt like that was an invasion of her personal space – and for all he knew, she was already sharing that space with another man. He glanced around for a chair, feeling at a loss for appropriate options, when his gaze came to rest on Alice. Holding back an amused chuckle, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she patted the ground beside her.

“I just…I wasn’t sure if-”

“Just take a fucking seat, will you,” she chuckled softly and shook her head. He laughed with her and did as she suggested. They sat in silence for a moment, coffees steaming between their hands as they replayed the events of the day, the silence quickening into a soundless grief.

“Do we need to talk about last night?” he finally asked her, forcing himself to look at her.

“Christ, that’s what you came here to talk about?” There was an edge of disbelief to her voice that he didn’t like. “I was about to ask you what you’d heard about the prisoners, what Sink’s plan is with them. How we’re going to help them. I think that’s a little more important than whatever happened last night, don’t you?”

Her sharp reasoning cut deeply as he was reminded yet again of his inadequacies as an officer. He had never felt the contrast between them more than he did at that moment: her, selfless and focused on the task at hand; him, selfish and increasingly preoccupied with his own personal dramas. He saw then why it would never work between them.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual,” he said, attempting to make her smile again. It worked. He considered telling her about the larger camp Winters had spoken of, but saw the redness of her eyes and the distant look that often came into them as they sat there; images of the sick, dead and dying flashing back into her mind against her will. He doubted any of the soldiers from Easy would be getting any sleep tonight. Finally, he settled on one piece of information he thought couldn’t hurt.

“General Taylor’s ordered all able-bodied townsfolk to bury the dead tomorrow. Tenth armored is overseeing it.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at her and saw an almost disappointed look grace her features. “You don’t want to be there to see that,” he told her.

She recalled Speirs saying the same to her only hours earlier, and shook her head, but it wasn’t to agree with the statement. “I thought we should see it through.”

His thick eyebrows pulled down into a curious frown as he stared at her.

“I wanna be there to see their faces when they’re forced to confront the things they’ve allowed to go on,” she explained, “I wanna see that.”

It was a twisted confession, but one he found he could relate to. Not one of the citizens had believed him when he had asked them about the camp up the road, yet he was certain the death camp contained former residents of the town.

“We could go, if you want? Drive out in the morning? Honestly, I’m curious to see how they take it, too.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

“How the fuck could they let them just take them like that? I wonder if they knew what they were going to do to them…”

“I can’t imagine they had a lot of choice,” Nixon replied, “A lot of what the Gestapo and the SS get up to tends to be by force. Guns to heads, all that.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Nixon glanced over at her, somewhat skeptical considering the scenario. A dark look came over her and the battle-hardened face of Lieutenant Crowley was suddenly looking back at him. “If someone came up to me, put a gun to my head, and said ‘We’re taking Liebgott, and there’s nothing you can do about it’, I’d do my darndest to prove them wrong. Hell, even Sobel doesn’t deserve a fate like that.”

“No one does,” Nixon agreed. She ran her hand back through her hair, and he caught sight of the bandage.  Knowing she hadn’t done nearly enough damage the night before to warrant a wrap, he asked, “What happened there?”

She sighed. “I punched a truck.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You punched a truck?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding disappointed by her impulsive outburst, “I punched a truck.”

“What did the truck ever do to you?”

“It tried to kiss me.”

He laughed for what felt like the first time in days. “Okay, I deserved that.” They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, the incident weighing heavily on both their minds. “Did I ever actually apologize?”

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, her tone suggesting how uncomfortable the whole topic still made her. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I did.”

He chuckled again and nodded. “Yeah, that you did.”

“I guess I figured that, after that punch, you were well and truly sorry anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

She turned to look at the mark she had left on his jaw, fingers moving up to touch the purple discoloration.

“How’s it feel?”

When her eyes flicked back to meet his and she saw the way he was looking at her, she withdrew her hand immediately.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“For what? Christ, I’m the one with the problem, here. You’ve never done anything wrong by me. I mean that, Al. I mean, what the hell was I thinking?”

“You were drunk.”

“When am I not?”

He joined her as she chuckled, but his sounded empty, almost bitter. As they lapsed back into a more comfortable silence, a thought came back to Nixon.

“So, how’d he ask?”

“Hm? Oh. Um, he just said ‘We should get married after this’ and I said ‘Sure’.”

“You said ‘Sure’?”

She chuckled, a playful grin on her face, “Yeah, you know Ron and I, we’re not big on theatrics. We like to keep it simple.”

“Already with the ‘we’?”

“Yeah, well. It’s been ‘we’ for a long time.  How are we going to take out those German guns? What are we going to do with these German prisoners? Not that we were always on the same page with that stuff.”

“Did you ever talk to him back in Toccoa?”

She smiled to herself as she thought back to those days. “I ran into him a few times. You know that story about me beating up that guy from Able?”

“Yeah?”

“He was there.”

Nixon’s eyebrows shot up again. “That actually happened?”

She gave him a sheepish look, forgetting that it had always been treated as a rumor.

“Who was it?”

Thinking back to D-Day, where she had watched the life drain from the young man’s eyes as he bled out under her hands, Alice just shook her head and said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, are you really going to marry him?” Nixon asked her after a moment.

The content smile that appeared on her lips told him all he needed to know, but she still replied, “Yeah, I am. I love that fucking lunatic.” She turned her gaze to him with a playful scowl and he recalled his words from the night before. Her expression turned a little more serious and she said softly, “You know it would never have worked between us, right?”

The comment hit him hard. It was something he had considered so many times before, something he had used to ground himself whenever he caught her in a rare moment of vulnerability and felt his stomach flip as he was hit with a rush of adoration for her. 

The first time he had felt it was way back on D-Day. She had approached the officers on her way out of the town she had just helped secure for use as Battalion HQ. Her uniform and hands had been stained with someone else’s blood, some of it smeared across her forehead; her stripy, black paint mixing with sweat as it ran down her face. He had watched as she’d removed her helmet and swept her hand back through wet strands of pale-blonde hair, forgetting about the blood and leaving a crimson streak in her wake. She had just made it back from taking a third building, and the motley group of soldiers she had collected after landing still tagged along after her like a mother duck. He had listened to the respectful words of appreciation she had spoken to them before telling them to disband and track down their original units. Then she had stalked over to him with a grin, a greeting of ‘Hey, Nix!’, and a smack on the shoulder that had sent the first shock-wave of affection through his body.

“Why do you say that?” he finally asked, aware of the tightness in his voice.

“One of us wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Well, that’s the foundation of every good marriage, Al.”

She threw him a look and he realized she wasn’t kidding around.

“Besides, I usually feel pretty good when I’m with you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he waited for her reaction.

“We’re from very different worlds,” she began, acutely aware of the overriding melodrama in the words.

“You never read ‘Romeo and Juliet’?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, must have been exclusive to you Ivy Leaguers. Maybe Webster can give me the rundown.”

He laughed again and took a sip of his forgotten coffee, testing the temperature. It had cooled down enough to take a hearty gulp.

“I mean, can you imagine taking me to meet your parents? The esteemed Nixons of New York City meeting Alice Crowley of the Appalachian Valley. ‘Well, howdy, Mr and Mrs. Nixon, real fuckin’ nice to meet you. Your son’s a helluva guy. Sure was nice servin’ with him, especially when it came to those debriefin’s…”

Nixon snorted into his cup, sending up a spray of coffee that splashed them both.

“So, you see my point?” Alice grinned, as he cleaned himself up.

“You’re putting that accent on.”

“How could you tell?”

They gazed at each other, smirking at the playful exchange they had grown accustomed to when in each other’s’ company. Alice could see exactly where he was coming from. It didn’t matter that their backgrounds weren’t the same, or that his parents might not approve. There was enough there to lay the foundation for a genuinely happy relationship. But she would never be able to look past the alcoholism, and deep down she knew it was the seed that would take root in her heart and grow into a destructive bitterness that would eventually drive them apart. He was not the man she was supposed to be with, even if, in that moment, she felt a familiar nagging doubt in the back of her mind, urging her to reconsider.

She broke the gaze and finally took a sip of her warm coffee, frowning as an unfamiliar taste hit her tongue.

“What did you put in this? Not love and devotion, I’m assuming.”

“Didn’t think you’d drink it if I did,” he replied, grinning, “I made yours Irish. You look like hell, kid. What happened?”

***

June 6th, 1946

Boston, Massachusetts ____________

Lewis Nixon was not at all surprised by the amount of familiar faces inside the church, and suspected that every single member of Easy Company had made the effort to show up; they were not about to miss the union of two of the most feared and respected officers that the company had ever seen. He was certain he had even caught a glimpse of Colonel Sink as he’d found his seat in the pews. He had received his invitation about a month earlier, and could only shake his head when he saw the proposed date. True to her word, it was something only Alice Crowley would do.

Ronald Speirs stood at the altar, staring expectantly down the aisle, a look of marked determination on his handsome features. The captain looked particularly dashing in his dress uniform, but when the music started and the bride stepped in, the husband-to-be was completely forgotten. All eyes turned to Alice. She looked stunning in her white silk gown; her pale, blonde hair hung down her back in glossy waves against the snowy tulle of her veil, and her red lips brought out the healthy glow in her cheeks as she smiled. She looked so happy.

Escorting her down the aisle, Dick Winters looked the part of the proud father, having accepted her request for him to stand in Elliot Crowley’s place, since the man himself had been killed in an accident many years before. Viewing Winters as a sort of father-figure all throughout their European campaign – despite there being the smallest of age gaps between the two – he had been her first choice for the role. Exchanging a glance with him now, her grin grew wider and he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. As they passed Lewis in the pews, they both turned their heads to look at him and he simply smiled back, ignoring the way his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Alice in her attire.

Somewhere nearby, Nixon heard Bill Guarnere whisper loudly, “Fuck me dead,” and caught the woman next to him jab him in the side with her elbow. Alice had to press her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

As they reached the altar, Dick gave her away with a nod to his old captain, who returned the gesture, unable to hide his joy at the sight of his beautiful bride.

When the time came for them to exchange their vows, Nixon couldn’t help but think back to his comment in Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest all those many months ago, pushing the thought from his mind as the priest began to speak.

“Repeat after me,” he said to Alice, “’I, Alice Martha Crowley.’”

“I, Alice Martha Crowley.”

“Take you, Ronald Charles Spiers.”

“Take you, Sparky.”

The church erupted in laughter as the groom stared at the woman before him, fighting back a grin. She stared right back, challenging him to keep a straight face as their friends called ‘Sparky!’ from the rows in front of them. Nixon joined in the merriment, but his own laughter felt hollow in his chest. Finally, after the laughter and catcalling had died down, they reached the part he had been dreading. The priest turned to the congregation as the happy couple stared into each other’s eyes, the entire world falling away around them in their moment of bliss.

“If anyone here has any reasons as to why these two individuals should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Nixon took a deep breath…then breathed it out in a heavy sigh. He caught Winters’ eyes flick over to him and suddenly felt ashamed of himself.  Dick knew him better than any man or woman in that building. He had actually been considering speaking up – that thought had actually crossed his mind. Thankfully, he was not nearly drunk enough to act on it.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Over a hundred heads craned forward to witness the act they had long imagined happening in secret on the battlefront, and knowing this, Speirs did his best to add a touch of showmanship. With one hand behind her neck and the other on the small of her back, he leaned her back and kissed her with the same amount of passion he had the first time, back in Germany after their victory had been announced at the Eagle’s Nest. The scene was met with the kind of whooping and hollering only men of the US military could provide, and when Alice was lifted upright again, they cheered all the more for her pink, glowing face as tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

*

“You finally did it, huh?”

“Hey, Nix!”

Catching her alone after the ceremony, he allowed himself to be pulled into a friendly embrace. The other guests milled around outside the church; Speirs caught in the middle of a mini Dog Company reunion as his old squad mates shared their congratulations.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Alice said, stepping back.

“You always were a woman of your word.”

He took her in from the closer proximity. He hadn’t thought she could look any more beautiful, but outside, under the churchyard’s big oak tree, with the sunlight dappled across her skin, she was a far cry from the sweat and dirt encrusted lieutenant he had seen fighting back in Europe.

“What?” she asked, and he realized he had been staring. Dropping his gaze, his eyes came to rest on the shape of her belly. The dress was doing a good job of covering it, but from this range the bump was undeniable. Catching his expression, Alice winced. “We got started a little early.”

“You’re pregnant?” he asked, his thick eyebrows jumping up.

“Yeah. We were hoping no one would notice,” she chuckled. “Especially the priest.”

“Wow. God, that’s…. I can’t imagine you as a mom.”

“What are you talking about? I raised a whole goddamn company of kids. I think I’ll be alright.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you might actually have something there.”

“So, what’s her name?”

“Who?” He looked up at her, momentarily confused by the question, distracted by the brightness of her eyes. “Oh, her. That’s Laura. She didn’t want to come.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well, she found the invitation, asked how I knew you, and somehow ‘we served together in the airborne’ wasn’t a good enough answer.”

“So, what, she thinks I’m an old girlfriend or something?”

He chuckled and replied, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Alice gazed at him for a moment, sensing his apathetic mood.

“You don’t like her,” she realized.

“Well, I better. Since I’m marrying her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was kind of sudden. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to return the invitation. But, hey, maybe you can make it to the next one.”

“Geez, Nix.”

She frowned at the joke and watched as he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his old, familiar flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, and then, catching her concerned look, he held it out to her. She looked around and spotted Speirs still surrounded by his old comrades.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, then with a mischievous smirk she grabbed the container and took a sip.

“This is a new low,” Nixon told her, “Giving whiskey to a pregnant lady.”

“Hey, I could have said no.” She passed him back the silver flask and gave a little sigh.

He watched her for a moment, and simply seeing the content look on her face ate away at his long-harbored bitterness. Finally, he smiled. “Congratulations, Al. I’m really glad you’re happy.”

She looked back at him and realized that he genuinely meant it. With a small smile of her own, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks for coming, Lew.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if that meant leaving Laura at home. Oh, that reminds me, I should probably go find her, before she remembers how much she doesn’t want to be here.”

Chuckling, Alice watched him go with the painful realization that she might never see him again. Her heart ached at the thought of not being able to enjoy the company of these men every day, as she had for the better part of the last three years, but seeing them all with their family, their girlfriends and their wives, she couldn’t help but feel excited for the next chapters of their lives. Glancing over at her new husband, she caught his gaze and smiled, looking forward to the next chapter of her own.

Lewis found his fiancée chatting with Dick and the man’s long-time love, Ethel. Laura smiled brightly as he approached, and he quickly put on his own most convincing smile in return. As he listened in to the conversation, his arm draped around his bride-to-be, he looked around at the crowd of guests, glancing back every now and then to assure his interest in what was being said, laughing when the conversation called for it. He finally spotted Alice talking to Bill Guarnere, George Luz, Donald Malarkey and Buck Compton, the bride holding their rapt attention as she smoked a cigarette and grinned as she retold some story from their time in Europe. Even in her wedding dress, made up like a Hollywood starlet, she still managed to stand like an officer addressing their troops, and that was how he decided he wanted to remember her; not as the blushing bride of Ronald Speirs, but as the woman who had managed to capture a town with only a handful of men on D-Day; the woman who always managed to have a smile just for him.

#band of brothers #bob #band of brothers fanfiction #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #hbo war

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 9 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8)

****TW: Please beware that this chapter mentions miscarriages and may be triggering.

Emily - March 1944

The world seemed to narrow in around them. The black sky felt heavy, draping them in a blanket of privacy where all time seemed to stop. Nixon looked frozen staring at her.

“What?” Nixon sounded gobsmacked.

She could only imagine what she looked like standing there in front of him. Her hair was down - he rarely saw it down since she was always in uniform. The icy breeze blew wild strands of auburn across her rosy nose and cheeks. Emily had rushed out of the hospital and had spent the entire train ride back crying and doing her best to make sense of her emotions. She hadn’t thought once about checking her compact to fix her complexion or hair as her body brought her back to the base that had become her home.

All that ran through her mind was the vision of John’s hospital bed and the woman who sat beside him. As soon as she had seen that woman turn, her profile punctuated by her bulging stomach, it dawned on Emily that nothing but opportunity lay before her. She was no longer tied to this man. Everything Emily had ever wanted began with her returning to the airborne division of the United States army, so she immediately did just that.

“I’m free,” she repeated. She smiled up at him as tears filled her eyes, giving her a manic look.

“What do you mean? Why aren’t you in Worcestershire?” Emily shook her head as if in awe and Nixon wondered if she had gone mad.

“When I got there he had another woman at his bedside.” A tear ran down her cheek. Nixon stepped forward with an outstretched hand as if to comfort her. Emily quickly wiped the tear away, “no I’m okay, it’s okay.” Nixon stopped just in front of her. His eyebrows wove together in confusion and Emily knew she had to go on, “John was involved with another woman,” Emily swallowed as she felt her face grow red. She couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed that she had been usurped by another woman. “They met in Liverpool when he first docked over two years ago, before Italy. Almost immediately after he left the states actually,” Emily laughed a bitter laugh. “And she’s pregnant, with their second child.”  

Nixon let out a low whistle. This caused Emily to burst into a fit of giggles. She didn’t know why- she wasn’t sure why she was responding this way at all. The entire train ride back to Aldbourne her mind had gone in circles trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the short morning she had spent at the convalescent hospital. The plan she had when she first arrived in England was completely shot to dust. What would her parents think? What would they say? Who cares what they had to say, Emily reminded herself. That was her new mantra. The end of her relationship hadn’t been her doing, she had done everything right. If anyone was at fault now it was John. Now free from guilt, Emily was free to make her future anything she wanted it to be.

Nixon was looking at her as if she was crazy when she finally recovered herself. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” She pressed two fingers against her temple and exhaled.

“Are you?” Nixon’s eyes were wide with bewilderment, “Emily that is.. that is fucked up. And you didn’t know?’’

“No! Didn’t even suspect,” Emily said almost laughing again, “although, a lot does make sense now. I may have accidentally received a few letters meant for her over the past couple years.”

“What did you mean you’re free?” Nixon was nearly a silhouette in the darkness though they were only standing inches away from each other. The gears were turning in Emily’s mind. She wasn’t sure how much she should reveal to him, but at this point did it matter?

His eyes narrowed. “What?” he asked.

“Can we go inside to talk? It’s cold.” Emily shivered for effect.


Nixon took her suitcase and led her inside. By habit, they ended up back by their desks in the intelligence room. Officers filled every other comfortable room in the manor house but even so this work room was where they both felt comfortable.

“Coffee? Tea?” Nixon asked going over to the coffee station.

“Tea sounds lovely,” Emily said.

“You really like that stuff? It tastes like brown water to me.” Nixon disappeared to fill the kettle. When he returned he placed the piping hot pot on a crochet pad and set to preparing Emily’s mug with a strain of herbal tea leaves. It was sweet, Emily thought. He had such a look of concentration for such a simple task. Emily felt too restless to sit down so she leaned against Nixon’s desk as she waited for him to finish.

Eventually, Nixon handed her a well-steeped cup. He leaned against her own desk across from where she stood, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

“So what did you mean you’re free?” he asked. So much in Emily’s world had changed in the last twelve hours but Nixon was still his impetuous self.

Emily inhaled deeply, trying to think of how to best explain herself. “What I meant was, I finally feel free without a fiancee. My life, my career here, was on a timer and each day it ticked closer to the buzzer. Now that I’m not engaged I could do anything.”

“Sure, but free is an awfully dramatic word to use.”

Emily shrugged but Nixon didn’t miss her withholding smile. “It’s not like you were trapped, being engaged isn’t a death sentence,” Nixon cocked his head, “well, not complete death.”

“It wasn’t the end of the world, no,” Emily conceded, “but it wasn’t what I really wanted.”

“Then why were you engaged to him in the first place?” 

Emily eyed Nixon wearily. “You can tell me,” he said soothingly, “I promise Em, you can trust me.”

Emily sipped her tea meditatively. Could she trust him? He had teased her over what she had confessed to him in the past.


“Fine, you don’t have to tell me,” Nixon said, “but just know that I regret embarrassing you back then.” Nixon nudged his shoulder, gesturing back in time. “I shouldn’t have teased you about something sensitive, especially in front of Harry.”

Emily flushed hot at the mention of Harry. She had thought of him on the train. Then she had thought of Kitty. The woman she had only briefly seen in a little black and white photo, and a character that seemed further away the more she and Harry spent time together. If Emily had learned anything today it was that not all men were as noble as they seemed. A very deep-set, shameful part of Emily wondered if Harry weren’t as noble as he seemed.

“You have to promise, Lewis. If I tell you anything it stays here, between you and me.”

“Between you and me.”

Emily cleared her throat in preparation and took another sip of tea. “I met John at a Notre Dame social. I liked him enough at first. He was cute, still a boy, but entertaining enough. I was so bored at school and happy to have a distraction. And, I have to admit, I didn’t hate the other girls envy that I was on the arm of a Notre Dame football player.”

Nixon snorted, he couldn’t stand jocks. Emily glared at him. “Continue,” Nixon prompted with a wave of his hand.

“Anyway, things were fun, casual. And we began…” Emily circled her finger in a propelling movement, “ya know.”

“What?”

“We began having relations.”

“You slept together?”



“Yes,” Emily said curtly, “which again was just fun and casual.” She paused, “but then I got pregnant.”

Nixon’s eyes widened. His expression said what everyone’s did; so where’s the baby? A steel hand clenched around Emily’s heart. 



“Obviously, it was a disaster when I found out. I wasn’t married, hadn’t graduated yet, but at least I had a guy on the hook. I didn’t know who was devastated more, me or my parents.” Emily’s gaze was far away now. She was falling away into the land of memory. The only thing anchoring her to the room was the hot mug clutched tightly between her hands. “I felt like my life was over. The best I could hope for was that John would make a decent woman out of me, which he did. He proposed. My parents, my mom, was thrilled and the wedding was rushed ahead. The hope was that we could be married before anyone realized this baby was conceived out of wedlock,” it was Emily’s turn to snort.

“But a few weeks before the big day I began bleeding,” Emily tried to swallow past the rock that had formed in her throat. The sorrow that had overwhelmed her then was edging itself back into her chest. “I lost the baby,” her voice was barely a whisper, it was all she could manage. “my mom thought John would cut and run. He had no reason to be with me anymore. She told me I was spoiled goods. She was terrified no other man would want me. I asked her why did anyone have to know? But in a town like ours, the size of ours, it was unavoidable. Everyone knew about the wedding and suspected the reason. Luckily, John didn’t cut and run. He honored our engagement. The wedding was pushed back but then Pearl Harbor happened, and John enlisted.” Reaching the end of her sad story, Emily finally looked at Nixon. His eyes were darker then she had ever seen them. His mouth was fixed in a taught line across his face. She couldn’t read him at all. He was probably disgusted by her - her recklessness, her lack of backbone and desperation for any man who would take her. “So, now you’re all caught up,” she said quietly.

“Emily,” when he finally spoke his voice was raspy, “I’m so sorry.”

Emily fought against the sobs that were forming in her chest, her throat and eyes. If she let the tears fall they wouldn’t be out of relief like before but tears of utter grief. A grief she didn’t have the energy to touch tonight. She shrugged, “yeah, well, apparently I was just an obligation to John. But that’s fine, he was only meant to be a fun time for me. We weren’t each others forever.”

The corner of Nixon’s mouth turned up, “careful, one may say you’re a romantic Miss Rooney.”

Emily smiled, “maybe one day. Not today, I’ve got a job to do.”

“Come here,” Nixon pulled her into a tight hug and Emily let him. She allowed her body to melt into him and allowed herself to, in that moment, be completely dependent on him. She exhaled her suppressed sadness gratefully into his broad chest. The lump in her throat grew stronger but she fought against it by concentrating on Nixon’s warm embrace, the smell of his aftershave and the roughness of his uniform against her cheek. All was well with the world, she reminded herself. Her future had never seemed more hopeful.

Finally, Nixon released her. “Ya know, George Luz is going to be thrilled to hear you’re single again.”


Emily laughed a true laugh and punched him on the shoulder. “Leave it alone, Lew.”

#band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #fanfiction #as far as friends go #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #original character #harry welsh #george luz #george luz x oc #harry welsh x oc #hbo war

[thesunnyshow]

EPISODE 4: MILLY

Writing Blog URL(s): @bumblebeenct 

Name: Milly

Age: 18

Nationality: Welsh

Languages: English

Star Sign: Capricorn

MBTI: ISFP-T

What fandom(s) do you write for?

 I write for NCT, but I have written for Harry Potter in the past

When did you post your first piece?

Around the empathy era I’m pretty sure, 2018? I used to do moodboards only but I was inspired by other writers to give it a go

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why?

I find that I stick to the fluff/angst tropes because they’re easier to formulate because I can relate myself to the scenario more. I also find that its also more interesting to write angst because there's complications to a story that take longer to form and you have to really think about the different emotions the characters are feeling.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc?

I write x reader mostly, but at some point in the future I’m thinking of writing an OC purely because the concept I want to focus on has a particular emphasis on name and I don’t think it would work with y/n

Why did you start writing on Tumblr?

I used to use Wattpad but it was very difficult to promote myself and I struggled to meet anyone through it. On tumblr it was much easier to orientate and the community was so much nicer. 

What inspires you to write?

My mutuals! And other writers on tumblr, everyone is so supportive and kind it’s amazing. Also the feedback I sometimes get from readers, it makes me really happy whenever I get a comment or someone interacts with a piece I enjoyed writing, or alternatively when someone supports a fic I wasn’t confident in as it really boosts my confidence :)

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most?

School/ College aus because they’re very familiar and I am confident in getting the tropes and ideas right. But I also like works inspired by movies or songs because there’s so much to work from and it’s nice to see where you can take the plot and lyrics in your own story.

What do you hope your readers take away from your work?

That writing is for everyone, honestly at the end of the day I’m just a kid in my room writing stories about artists I’m a really big fan of. If you want to write you can, and you don’t have to necessarily be a “big” blog or writer to do it. 

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively?

Take a break, that’s my first port of call - usually in the method of food or I look at the inspiration material again, I listen to the song, read the lyrics, consult my friends and mutuals for help. It’s always good to be able to put something down to start again later when you’re struck with inspiration

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful?

My favourite personally at the moment (since one I really like is currently, as of answering this question, unpublished) is ‘Remember Me’ purely because it was the work I was the most passionate about writing and it really let me explore a new field of writing, since a lot of my stuff had been fluff before. My most successful in terms of notes is my Mark one shot ‘Sugar and Spice’ and I’m very proud of it.

Who is your favorite person to write about?

Park Jisung, my ult bias, I have to convince myself to write for other members sometimes as I often resist the urge to be a Jisung blog. However I have been enjoying writing for Mark and Hendery recently, as my other NCT biases

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose?

To a certain extent yes, it really depends on the writer. For many fanfiction stories, including ones we may label “cliche” the only difference is who it’s about, there are countless amazing fics I’ve read which I would assume could be made into a novel, the only thing making it fanfiction being the characters themselves.

What do you think makes a good story?

Feeling! There’s nothing that really constitutes a “good story” as it’s all subjective, but if you can read a story and feel what the characters feel, or even just see the emotions the writer is trying to portray then it’s definitely a good story. I’ve cried while reading most of, if not all my favourite stories.

What is your writing process like?

I plan first in a little notebook so I don’t forget any of my ideas or plans and then I try to churn it out whenever I have access to my computer, my speaker and a comfortable blanket. I like to “get in the zone” and then write as much as I possibly can. I usually think of ideas as I write so the notebook helps me put them in order and make sure I don’t get too ahead of myself.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story?

I have thought about it and honestly, I’m not sure. My fics are not series’ and they’re all very short - most of them under 4k so I’d have to turn the idea into a full length thing you know? But I have thought about doing the opposite with a very old original story of mine I’ve otherwise given up on but still holds a special place in my heart.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand?

I am a sucker for the enemies to lovers trope mainly because the character development in these stories can be so much more interesting and complex. On the other hand I’m not fond of “yandere” type fics, however I have read several well written ones which I cannot speak against because they were actually really good.

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you?

I’d say a lot, in terms of how much I write feedback means a lot to me - it’s also nice to hear what people think of things you’ve written because it’s a different view from your own and sometimes can boost confidence. I am also open to constructive criticism if any writers have any tips or suggestions for future works I’m always open to listen. 

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)?

When I see anyone interacting with my work it’s really rewarding and I love when people reblog with custom tags because it lets me know that people actually like what I do and to me, that’s a success.

Favorite color: Purple

Favorite food: Pasta

Favorite movie: Heathers (1988)

Favorite ice cream flavor: Cookie Dough

Favorite animal:  I would say bees, but I don’t think that counts so I’ll say dogs

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering?

Coffee, either black or a really fancy one with frothy milk

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)

 I’d love to be a singer honestly, but at the moment I’m working towards education I hope one day to be a lecturer

Go-to karaoke song

 Best Part by Daniel Caesar or Escape (the pina colada song) by Robert Holmes because it’s funny

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose?

 Stopping time because there’s so much you can do - except the question is, would I continue to age even if time has stopped?

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose?

My mind goes to two extremes, I think either ancient Greece because why not and the 1950’s purely for fashion and music.

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?

No, but I think if I could restart specific moments I would. There are so many good moments but some things you don’t want to relive even if you can change the outcome.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken?

100 chicken sized horses, I’d be terrified of a horse sized chicken it would probably be able to eat me and I’m not about that life, tiny horses I can deal with. Kill them with Kindness or whatever haha.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been?

A mix of quiet teachers pet and loud side character friend. The duality kills me, I can be shouting with my friends one minute but whispering the minute the teacher asks me a question.

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures?

I’d like to, I think some are really cool and it would be amazing to live among them, but also some are dangerous, but I would love to see or meet some creatures. Imagine living with dragons man that would be epic.

What are some of your favorite hobbies and how did you get into them?

I really like reading, courtesy of Harry Potter, but I also enjoy singing and playing the piano which I started doing more often in secondary school when my piano teacher suggested I started to sing as well :)

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know?

I did Karate for about 10/11 years, and I’m a black belt *insert awkward smile here*

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged?

A lot of the time yes, there is a stigma around fanfiction and often paints us in a negative light but we just happen to be a community of creative fans who want to share and support the people we write about. But I can see where the stigma comes from, sometimes it can be taken a bit far and I am aware that some things make the artists themselves uncomfortable. I think if people who judge fanfiction are referring to it as a single idea it becomes unfair because it is all different, but I also think that writers of fanfiction themselves have to make sure they don’t cross any boundaries when writing that could make readers or the artist (if they ever happened to stumble across your work) uncomfortable.

Do you think art can be a medium for change?

Yes in some ways of course. Art is not only a way to express what the creator themselves is feeling but it is also a way to teach others about issues, prejudices and ideals. For literature specifically it allows you into the shoes of another person you may not have understood before, in art pieces there’s a clear message and encourages people to educate themselves on certain issues which in turn makes room for change.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself?

Sometimes if i’ve been suggested or requested to write something because it isn’t an idea that comes for me but mainly if I am aware that someone is waiting for a fic or someone has said they’re anticipating it I feel like I’m writing for others, but I don’t particularly mind it because it almost encourages me to write to a better standard.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times?

Not particularly, I'm often as clear as I can be when portraying meaning, or I will straight up say it in a different thread or to different people because I can’t keep secrets and I’m a sucker for a spoiler. Although I am constantly worried about the way I come off in messages and things like that - I am a terrible overthinker.

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr?

A few of my closest friends and other kpop stans I am friends with irl are aware of my blog and support me as much as they can with what little information I give them. I think only one of my irls has my url because she reads and I send her my binge reviews when I do them.

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers?

Thank you so much, honestly it’s cheesy but without them I don’t know where my blog would be. The amount of them surprises me everyday and I don’t think I believe it half the time. Also if anyone ever needs help or support or just wants a chat I’m open, its 100% likely that if you interact with me or my posts on the regular then I will recognise you when you come say hi, I’m not that scary I promise.

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there?

Just do it! It’s better to get your stuff out there and circulating to get a better idea of what people like and where your strong suit is, the more you put out the more you grow. But if you’re scared, talk to other creators, we’re always open to help and we can let you know what to do, it was something that helped me out :)

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr?

When I first started there was a lot of struggle with me trying to figure out my style and what I wanted to do, and it was a learning curve of what can I do, what should I avoid and who am I doing this for. Sometimes when I’m really down I will question why I do it, but I never regret it because it has allowed me to make some wonderful friends and be exposed to some amazing creations and get more into something I’ve always liked doing, writing.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey?

I don’t want this to be too long, but I feel like it could be. I’ve met so many wonderful people and I love all of them so much, but in terms of being formative and supportive these are some of the people I talk to the most. @renjunwrites - I am a huge fan of Denise and to even be able to be in conversation with her about the stuff she writes is mindblowing to me, @nanasarea - nana was one of the first people I spoke to (before I joined discord) and was really accepting of my antics from day one. @glossyjaems - me and Louna have become very close recently and I can’t wait for our project to launch, keep an eye out for that. @mjlkau Anie is really one of the biggest supporters I have, always willing to read what I send her and give me support and love. There’s so many more people I’d love to mention but this would go on forever, to anyone ever involved in my writing process I’m thinking of you as I write this and I love you all (I feel really bad not talking about every single one omg).

Ending thoughts:

“We’ll be alright, I want to try again” - Try Again d.ear (ft. Jaehyun) because this is something I hold close, ‘try again, we’ll all be alright in the end’

BONUS: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL

Interested in your very own episode of The Sunny Show? Find out how to apply here.

#@bumblebeenct #thesunnyshow #featuredauthor #episode 4 #nct #harry potter

[freddiesaysalright]

WIP Tag!

I was tagged by @snugglyducklingbrewhouse for this and I’m kind of obsessed with this idea! 

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the number that most intrigues you and i’ll post a snippet of it! 

To make things clear, I’m going to say the fandom and then the pairing or storyline

1. Journey to the Past (Queen/BoRhap | Joe Mazzello!Dimitri x Anastasia!Reader)

2. allegiance time travel thing (Allegiance | OC travels back in time to meet her grandparents)

3. annabelle dursley (Harry Potter | Dudley Dursley’s daughter discovers she’s a witch)

4. havana nights (Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights | Katey Miller x Javier Suarez)

5. Really, Really Up to No Good (Harry Potter | Marauders fic my sister and I have been writing for years, James x Lily, Sirius x Mary)

6. Sirius and Mary (Harry Potter | Sirius Black x Mary MacDonald)

7. A Royal Kidnapping (Lord of the Rings | OC x Eomer)

8. ehhhhhhh (Band of Brothers | Bull Randleman x girl in the barn)

9. Easy Company Bar and Restaurant (Band of Brothers | Restaurant AU)

10. kitty harry thing (Band of Brothers | Harry Welsh x Kitty Grogan)

11. Winters x Reader (Band of Brothers | Dick Winters x Reader)

Sorry there’s only one in this fandom lol

I’m gonna tag @crazylittlethingcalledobsession and @killerqueenunderpressure and any other writer who feels up to it! If you need some motivation, go for it!

#tag game #fanfic #queen #borhap