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phyllisthefirst · 5 months

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So, I finally made a moodboard/picset (what even is the difference?) for my George Luz x OC fic. The last chapter of it didn't even show up in the BoB-tag, I have no idea why.

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

[Masterlist] [on ao3]

No tired sigh, no rolling eye, no irony - Part 3

Phyllis hasn’t noticed how starved she’s been for female company until a small group of nurses are billeted nearby. She hears about it from Mrs. Wright, who apparently met them at the greengrocers’ and invited them all over for tea the next day. The topic of Phyllis’ private life, or lack thereof, has come up several times, with Mrs. Wright of the firm opinion that it won’t do for her to spend too much time with the enlisted men but that there’s no harm in her going out with some upstanding women. Apparently, the old lady has now decided that if Phyllis isn’t going out and making friends, she’ll have to make them for her.

And in all fairness, the women really are lovely. There’s Millicent, a no-nonsense Midwesterner who used to run her father’s hardware store with what Phyllis can only imagine was an iron fist. Vera, the youngest of the group who had just started training as a nurse when the war reached their shores. Corinne, a maths student at the University of California who runs track and field in her rare free time and is confident and energetic in a way Phyllis can’t help but admire. And lastly - though but generally the first in the room and the loudest in the conversation - there’s Bernice, a New Yorker who dreams of becoming a socialite while making a living as a singer at a nightclub. It’s certainly a diverse mix, which means they don’t run out of things to talk about for a long time.

The women bring not only entertainment but a much-needed reassurance that her struggles aren’t imagined or self-caused, that all of them tend to run into similar hurdles all the time.

“Last week, I was asked to give a talk to the ones training as medics,” Corinne tells animatedly, “and they kept questioning everything I said.”

“What did you do?” Perhaps Phyllis can take some inspiration from the story.

“I asked them to raise their hands if they were trained doctors, or at the very least medical students. Not a single one did.” Corinne grins, her teeth bared in an almost predatory manner. “They didn’t have as much to say afterwards.”

Millicent shakes her head.

“They keep telling those boys that they’re the most special ones around ‘cause they want them jumping out of planes, and now they think they can do anything and everything.”

Tea at Mrs. Wright’s soon becomes a regular occurrence, and as soon as Phyllis’ new friends hear that she’s never been to the pub even though she’s been invited there, immediate plans for a night at The Crown are made.

The fact that one of the men invited her there is a little tidbit of information she drops by accident when the subject comes up. She hasn’t seen George in a few weeks but the strangest things have a way of reminding her of him. She only realises that perhaps mentioning him was a mistake when they’re already at The Crown, deep into their first ale, and the girls lean closer conspiratorially.

“So, who was the soldier who invited you to come? Is he here tonight?”

Phyllis turns a little in her seat and scans the room, glad for an excuse to try and hide the heat in her cheeks. The only familiar face she spots is that of Joe Liebgott, who seems wholly engrossed in trying to sweet-talk the busty barmaid.

“No, I don’t see him.” She doesn't know if she's disappointed by that or relieved.

“Maybe he’ll show up later. And if not, there’s plenty of other choices.” Bernice lets her eyes roam over the room, takes a sip of her ale, and then licks her lips slowly with not at all disguised innuendo. “Just look around, ladies - it’s a whole buffet, and all for us.”

Vera tuts disapprovingly.

“Really, Bernie, that’s exactly the kind of attitude that almost made my parents forbid me to come here. They all think we’re only here looking for fun, and you play right into their hands when you act like that.”

Bernice only shrugs.

“How is that my problem? If they want to think this way about us, nothing I do is going to change their minds. I might as well have fun while I’m still young and everything’s in top shape.” One sideways look at her shy friend’s unhappy expression makes the predatory look drop from her face. “But if it eases your mind, I can act like at most we’re here to look for husbands. Fine, upstanding men who intend to make honourable women out of us.”

“I’m not,” Phyllis blurts out.

“Really? I mean not a husband, per se, but maybe a dance partner? Someone looking for a bit of a fling before they're shipped off?”

“I didn't come here to look for a husband, or anything else!”, Phyllis doubles down, a little too sharply perhaps, but none of the women take offense - they've all been confronted with the same claims that they're only here to look for a husband, or even worse, to seduce the men with no intention of marriage at all. She's tired of it, and therefore, perhaps a little too zealous in making sure none of the men can misinterpret her intentions. “I'm here to do my job and do it well, and I won't let anyone distract me, let alone some cocky soldier trying to impress his friends.”

Her exclamation is met with cheers and raised glasses that bring her attention to the fact that her own is almost empty, so she stands up to get another drink - only to turn around and be faced with George Luz, holding two beers and looking a little crestfallen. But only for a moment, then he holds out one of the glasses.

“Beer?”

She nods slowly, wondering if she only imagined that look on his face, the thought that it might have been caused by her ferocious speech. That was probably only wishful thinking on her part - after all, George might be the one man here for whom she'd make an exception from her rule, even if just for one dance. But there's no point to that kind of thinking, not when George is pointedly friendly and casual and steers clear of any and all attempts at flirting, let alone courting her.

Besides, she's brought other women, and between Bernie’s red-as-sin lips, Vera's ethereal beauty and Corinne’s All-American glow, all long tanned limbs and golden curls, Phyllis has no doubt she'll soon be forgotten entirely. It always plays out like that: Even men who arrive at events as her date rarely leave with her, and Phyllis has started to get used to it. Now it's just a matter of waiting until George forgets about her too.

But he doesn't, at least not right away. Stepping up to their table, he lifts his glass in greeting at each of the women in turn, before he turns back to Phyllis.

“So, our medic tells me they've moved to new facilities for their training and that they're “good” and “useful”.” He crooks his fingers to indicate air quotes. “He's a man of very few words, so you should take that as the highest compliment.”

Phyllis can't help it, she beams. When was the last time someone praised her for a job well done? But George is not done yet. To her complete shock, he puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer while addressing her friends.

“She's a regular logistics wizard, this one - turned an old barn full of cr… full of junk into a working training facility, can you believe it?”

There's no hiding the blush on her face now.

“I couldn't have done it without your help,” she insists, but George waves his hand dismissively. The move means his arm drops from around her shoulder, which Phyllis registers with a pang of regret. It's stiflingly hot at the pub, but still the warm weight of his arm around her shoulder was pleasant.

“We only lugged some tables around. You were the brains behind the operation.”

“Still, I've been meaning to thank you and your friends. Are they here tonight? I'd like to order them a round of drinks, on me.”

“They should be around somewhere. But you don't need to bother with the drinks. You brought something even better,” he looks at the group of women sitting at the table, watching them with the expression of someone enjoying a new movie. “You brought female company.”

The smile he throws at them shows he means it as a compliment, but her new friends are unimpressed.

“She didn't order us wholesale at the military supply office, you know. We came here very much on our own.” Millicent, whose fiance is in the Navy, seems to have the least patience for the men’s flirting, and not even George’s sunny smile makes it through to her.

“And don't you forget about that anytime soon - otherwise we won't be gentle at your next inoculation,” Bernie piles on.

George's face flashes momentary unease, but to his credit, he takes the reproach in stride.

“I’ll remember it. Can I still get you ladies a round of drinks?”

Bernice pretends to ponder the request for a moment, the others waiting for her verdict. Then, with the air of a queen deigning to address a peasant, she nods.

“One round of beer. And if you happen to come across a supply of handsome servicemen who know how to dance, bring them along too.”

George salutes jokingly, eyes glittering with mirth.

“Will do, Ma'am.”

The moment he's left the table, all eyes turn to Phyllis.

“Well, he's a charmer,” Bernice sums up accurately.

“He seems very nice,” Vera adds, smiling gently. “And he seemed very impressed with you.”

“With my work.”

Millicent snorts.

“Yes, that's why he bought you a drink, because he's so impressed with your work.”

Phyllis ignores the implication, and the flutter it stirs inside her.

“He also helped me out the other day.” She fills them in on the whole adventure of the medics’ training facility, how George stepped up and saved her from certain failure.

“So, he can do more than flirt and buy drinks,” Millicent sums up. “That's certainly a rare quality.”

“Which means, if you're interested, you have our blessing,” Connie declares solemnly. “He seems like a good one.”

Phyllis doesn't get around to answering, the girls already distracted by something else, and to her relief, the conversation moves on to other subjects.

Before long, George returns with a tray of drinks and a whole gaggle of soldiers in tow.

“Your ales and dance partners, as ordered,” he announces, setting down the drinks with a half-bow in Bernie’s direction, followed by a cheeky wink at Phyllis. “I got them wholesale, and pretty cheap.”

She laughs out loud, both at the joke and at the expression of the men behind him, somewhere between confused and offended.

They get to the task at hand with no further delay, asking the women to dance with varying degrees of politeness only to then notice that there isn’t really a dance floor. But George and his friends are determined not to let that stop them from having fun, instead clearing a space in the middle of the room by none-too-gently moving aside all the men standing there. Briefly, it looks like a fight might be breaking out, but George cleverly points out that the presence of a dance floor might increase their own chances at a dance, and their would-be opponents are appeased.

Then he turns to Phyllis and whispers conspiratorially: “Those schmucks’ll believe anything. As if we’ll let any one of you dance with someone else tonight!”

Then he holds out his hand and her laughter dies in shock.

“Do me the honour of a dance?”

Phyllis freezes, afraid that the moment she says yes it’ll turn out that she’s somehow misunderstood. But it must be true: George is really standing there, holding out his hand and smiling warmly, and she only has to get her brain to work again and remember what she’s supposed to do now.

Then suddenly, someone jostles her, causing her to lose her balance and reach out to steady herself on George’s shoulder, and he takes up the opportunity with a beaming smile, taking her hand and pulling her into the fray. And just like that, Phyllis is dancing, for the first time in possibly months.

The song is fast and animated and George an enthusiastic dancer, and between all the spinning and twirling he makes her do, there’s no opportunity to talk, which suits Phyllis just fine. But after a couple of fast songs, the pacing changes, the music turning slower and more intimate.

George seems entirely unfazed, continuing to dance and only pulling her the slightest bit closer.

Phyllis, already flushed and near-overheated from the exertion of their previous dances, feels her face heat up even more.

“You know, it would be much easier to quickly clear the floor for dancing if they arranged the tables differently,” she blurts out, solely to have something to say.

“Really?” George doesn’t laugh, doesn’t ask her where the hell that thought came from, and she feels a little less like wanting the floor to swallow her whole.

“Move them further out, orient them all in the same direction so they can be pushed together. Oh, and put the dartboard in the corner opposite the door.”

George’s eyes travel around the room to the things she points out.

“That sounds pretty smart.” He looks from the dartboard back to her. “Do you always just think of stuff like this?”

She shrugs.

“I guess I can’t help but notice when things aren’t done as practically as they could be.” She huffs, suddenly embarrassed - what kind of woman thinks of process optimization while she’s dancing? “I guess it’s a bad habit.”

“I think it’s brilliant. All my brain comes up with are dumb jokes, and here you are rearranging the world to make it better.”

“I don’t think your jokes are dumb.” Well, so much for not feeling mortified for five seconds.

But George’s smile brightens even more.

“Phyllis Baker, I think this is going to be a beautiful friendship.”

And, quite without her own doing, Phyllis feels her own smile brighten too.

She doesn’t get around to replying, because several of the Easy boys are appearing beside them with fresh drinks and she’s barely taken more than a few gulps before someone announces that the dance partners are about to be shuffled around, and then she’s taking off for another dance with someone she hasn’t even been introduced to yet, followed by another and another, until everything turns into a sort of blur.

Still, every once in a while, George appears out of the blur, hands her water or beer and shoos off her current dance partner for a spin of his own, and Phyllis thinks that he might be right: This could be a beautiful friendship indeed.

She doesn’t allow herself to think about what else it could be, if given the chance - neither of them are interested in that, she’s sure. The important thing is that, after feeling lonely and left out for weeks, she’s suddenly made not just one friend but a whole handful of them, and surely, that is the thing to focus on.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #george luz x oc #it only starts out with Phyllis and her new friends - George will make an appearance this chapter #No tired sigh no rolling eye no irony #title is of course inspired by Hozier #pics are screengrabs and one AI-generated image #they can do that now apparently

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