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cielie-voss · 2 years

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Meeting the angel of death

Just something short i had in mind today. Maybe I'll edit this later.

Skip meets the angel of death.

Word count: 1,124

Warning: death

Ever since Normandy, soldiers have felt a strange and inexplicable presence. Like a phantom that accompanies them on the battlefield, never to be seen but always there. Sometimes they startle, whirl around and think they've seen something. A movement. A shadow. A woman. A ghost. A rustle in the canopy of leaves above them. A crack in the bushes. A ripple in the calm lake. Creaking wood, rolling stones, crackling leaves. The wind that howls their names. Faces appear in the crowds, indistinct, distorted and if you try to look more closely they have already disappeared.

Nobody dares to mention it. Asking the man next to him if he saw it too. But they all seem to understand what it means. The wounded tell stories of an angel reaching out to them at the moment of imminent death. A figure of light, something divine that wants to guide them on the way to peace and heaven. Her presence fills their hearts with warmth, confidence and happiness. The world around them shines in colors they have never seen before. Full of hope for salvation, they greet the angel with a mostly satisfied smile. But before they can grab her hand, it vanishes from their grip like smoke from a cigarette.

The world around them falls back into the cold and bloody state of war, all color fading away, giving way to the usual dirty gray of their uniforms, the crimson mingling with the earth beneath the dead bodies and the green of the devastated nature around them. Those who have seen her cannot forget the sight of her and cherish the feeling that filled their bodies with the mere presence of the angel.

Such an angel now stands in front of Skip. A beauty you rarely see. Her skin so pure and smooth as if it was being protected against everything worldly with a vengeance. Her skin is a beautiful shiny white against the rough snow, her hair flows over her shoulders like rivers of pure gold and caresses her rosy cheeks. Her black robe hugs her body tightly, yet seems as fleeting as thick smoke.

Such smoke as the exploding artillery shells of the Germans raise from the craters. Time stands still and everything around him seems to freeze as she strides through the trees toward him and Alex Penkala. Her movements are as elegant as if she were a dancer floating like a feather across the dance floor. Upon closer inspection, he notices that her bare feet don't even touch the snow beneath her. He can feel his heart begin to race, pounding and pounding as if fighting against his chest, as if using all his strength to leap out of his chest to get to her. His body is shaking, not from the cold that has been eating away at him and the others for days, but from fear. He was just screaming for George Luz, who was crawling a few yards ahead on the snow and dirt-covered ground, looking for a foxhole, trees splintering around him under the Krauts' fire.

Skip's hand closes around the rosary he always carries with him, but before he can send a prayer to heaven she stands in front of him. He is instantly overwhelmed by a feeling of bliss, for the first time in ages he is filled with such an unbelievable warmth that he cannot hold back a gentle smile that dances around his lips. She kneels down to face him, her hand ready to take him to heaven. The colors return, bathing the cruel place around him in a beautiful shade of gold, a shade of gold like her hair. But when he looks into her cold and empty eyes, he is startled. He knows what's ahead of him. He's not ready for this yet. But probably nobody is ever ready for it.

His thoughts turn to Malarkey, Luz, he thinks of the other men with whom he fought that valiant fight against tyranny. He thinks of his best friends, his family. He thinks of Faye. Everything he loves, the promises he made, the plans he made, Faye's beautiful eyes, her smile, her hug and the way she always shook her head to try to hide her laughter when he made a stupid joke. He longs so much to see her one more time, to feel her closeness one more time, to let her hair slip through his fingers and to hear her voice say his name. To have her wonderful smell filling nose again and to taste the wild strawberries that they had previously picked and eaten from some garden on her lips.

He shakes his head and takes a step back, as far as backing was possible in this little foxhole. The more he thought about Faye, about his family, his friends, his home and his life outside of this war, the more colors of the world around him were lost until the trees were no longer visible. A fog settles around him, envelops him like a blanket.

"Come on, I won't hurt you." Her voice is a beautiful melody and seems to come from everywhere but without opening her mouth. "Come with me."

He shakes again, refusing with all his might, wishing his heart would join his fight and not try to leap out of his chest. "It doesn't hurt. You won't be alone." Does her voice just echoes in his head? Why can't she seem to be seen or heard by anyone else? The longer he resists, the more panic rises in him and takes over his thinking. He has to go. Get out of the foxhole. Save himself and Penkala. Penk...

Skip averts his gaze from the angel and desperately searches for his friend. It's like a stab in the heart when he sees him. Smiling, his eyes full of life, there is no trace of the cold or war on him. But his form does not appear to be physical. Penkala, too, now appears in a warming light like the angel. Is that a tear that burns down his freezing skin? He tries to swallow the lump that has spread in his throat. Now realizing what happened and that there is no turning back.

"Come on, Skip." Alex Penkala reaches out his hand to Warren Muck, his form translucent as if filled with light. Skip struggles, he is full of denial, hot tears streaming down his ice cold face, every fiber of his body fights against his urge to go with Penkala and the angel. But Skip puts his hand in Penkala's. And though he doesn't want to admit it at first, a kind of happiness sweeps through his body like he's never felt before.

#band of brothers fanfic #skip muck fanfic #band of brothers #alex penkala #warren skip muck #warren muck #angel of death #bastogne #writing this hurt a bit #angst

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she-wolf09231982 · 4 months

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Band of Brothers (1x5) Crossroads

You guys….🤣

I’m rewatching BoB for inspiration on my next Liebgott fanfic, and had to pause this part to write down a few notes and when I look up I see this HILARIOUS heavy dose of dopamine.

Now, to help enhance this experience, I’ve provided below descriptions (from my personal pov) with corresponding emojis to explain how they’re feeling in this scene because each expression is 100% unique and not like the other. 😁

{Left to Right}

🪖🪖🪖

😧 We got zoned out Skip Muck internally screaming like, “-what…the actual…fuck.”

🪖🪖🪖

🙄 Directly in front of him, ‘So Done With It’ Luz with the classic over dramatic eye roll and the prolonged “FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUCK...”

🪖🪖🪖

🥺 Next to Skip, poor defeated Perconte with his sad puppy dog face. Probably let a small whimper escape from his throat.

🪖🪖🪖

😨 Malarkey in complete disbelief looking at Skip to see if he’s laughing. “No fucking way…this is a goddam joke, right??”

🪖🪖🪖

😔 Up front, good ol’ papa bear Lipton, just pushing through the shit once again thinking, “Yelp, it was only a matter of time.” Or just the simple disappointed, “…damn.”

🪖🪖🪖

😐 And then there’s Toye, “Well shit…time to polish some brass knuckles.”

🪖🪖🪖

I wish any of you would tell me that this pic isn’t a whole vibe! (Go ahead, I’ll wait 🤨😉)

💚💚💚Feel free to add your interpretations of these handsome faces, I’d love to be entertained by your POV. 💚💚💚

As you were 😉🫡

#band of brothers #hbo war #carwood lipton #joseph toye #don malarkey #frank perconte #warren muck #skip muck #ww2 #101st airborne #easy company

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1waveshortofashipwreck · 26 days

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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

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Have a question/want to be on the taglist? Let me know !!

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! 😁

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vigilanteshit · 1 year

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Merry fuckin’ Christmas!

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thecatwhosavedbooks · 9 months

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Roe: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.

Babe: What if it bites me and it dies!?

Guarnere: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Babe, learn to listen.

Skip: What if it bites itself and I die?

Luz: That’s voodoo.

Penkala: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Babe: That’s correlation, not causation.

Skip: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die?

Luz: That’s kinky.

Roe: Oh my God.

#band of brothers #tv: band of brothers #hbowaredit #bobedit #wrong band of brothers quotes #wrong quotes #george luz #eugene roe #doc roe #babe heffron #edward heffron #wild bill guarnere #bill guarnere #warren muck #skip muck #alec penkala

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wwhatev3r · 2 years

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“I don’t think his legacy is a military one. I believe it’s more universal and grander in scope. Skip serves as an enduring example of one who thinks not of himself but of the people and the world around him. Those are the ones who truly make a difference. It would be easy to attribute Skip’s heroism to some special power, some unique gift he and others like him possess that we regular folk don’t. But the truth is, he was just a man who dug down deep inside and found the courage, strength, and drive to do what was needed. He has left me and countless others wondering if we would have made the same choices.” - Actor Richard Speight about Warren “Skip” Muck

#skip muck #easy company #band of brothers #real easy company #warren muck #he deserves more recognition #not only was he amazing but also handsome

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footprintsinthesxnd · 4 months

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Country Roads

So I’m going to prewarn you all now that this fic is very angsty, mentions character death, grief, dying, lots of crying but in a way that is a sort of happyish ending. If not a happy ending then one of acceptance. This is also my first Skip Muck fic so I hope you all enjoy as much as you can.

Skip’s footfall was heavy against the dirt track, as he kicked up the dust allowing the familiar path home. His class A uniform hung to his body as the sun beat down on his back, causing the sweat to tickle uncontrollably between his shoulder blades. He huffed, slinging his bag onto his other shoulder. The local red postal van trundled past him, apparently oblivious to his presence.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” He shouted, waving his hand in annoyance as the dust swirled up around him and he brushed down his uniform. “Goddam dust everywhere,” he grumbled as he continued.

The postal van was parked outside his family home and he watched excitedly as his mother came out of the front door to receive the letter. “Hey Ma!” He called, waving his arms frantically. It was the first time he’d seen his mother in two years, but it felt like only yesterday that he’d left for Toccoa.

His mother called out to someone and Faye quickly appeared next to her, her signature beaming smile on her lips, until his mother spoke to her. Faye’s face fell and even from where Skip stood he could visibly see the tears trailing down her cheeks. His mother and Faye embraced, falling to their knees on the decking and Skip found himself breaking out into a run, throwing his kit bag on the verge and sprinting up the driveway.

“MA! Ma, what’s wrong? Faye? Faye, talk to me, sweetheart.” Skip skidded to a halt, bending down beside them and throwing his arms around the sobbing women but no one moved. No one reacted.

“Faye?” Skip placed his hand under her chin but she didn’t look at him, too consumed with grief of the news. “Faye? Ma? What’s going on?” Skip stood up, waving his arms in front of the woman. “Faye, my sweet, why are you crying? I’m home. Faye, listen to me.”

“She can’t hear you Skip, neither of them can.” Skip spun around to see Alex Penkala, also dressed in his class A uniform watching the unusual reunion.

“What do you mean?” Skip looked back at his family before facing his friend again. “What are you doing here, Penk?”

“It’s your time to go Skip. It’s both our time to go.” Alex moved closer, placing a hand on Skip’s shoulder but he shrugged him off.

“Go where? Penk, I just got home. What’s going on?” Skip searched his friend's eyes for any answer but Alex just continued to watch him sympathetically, his hand still raised to support him should he need it.

“You need to come with me now,” Alex leant forward, taking Skip’s hand in his. “I’ll explain everything.”

Skip watched his friend in confusion. “Skip, I’m so sorry. You’ve not come home. You’ve come to say goodbye. Some of us don’t get to go home, Skip. Some of us didn’t make it out of Bastogne.” Alex admitted, his own eyes welling with tears now.

Skip stepped away from Alex, his hands shaking and his vision blurred with tears. This couldn’t be true. He couldn’t be gone. He was only twenty-three, and he had so many plans, so much he wanted to do. Then again Alex was only twenty-one, just a boy really.

“Skip, are you okay?”

“What about them? What about my family?” Skip turned to see his father joining his mother and Faye, falling to his knees beside them. Skip just wanted to hold them, to tell them he wasn’t scared, that he was alright.

“It’s not their time, Skip. They can’t come with us,” Alex’s voice was soft and calm. Skip wasn’t sure how he’d accepted their death so quickly. How was he okay with this?

“Hey guys, what took you so long?” Hoobler called, waving at them as he hurried down the driveway.

“Hoob? What are you doing here?” Skip asked, embracing the bubbly Corporal, who hugged him tightly.

“Come on Skip. Let’s go and see the others,” Hoobler grabbed Skip and Alex’s hands, dragging them after him as he followed the path away from the house.

“The others? What do you mean?” Skip asked, stopping Hoobler in his tracks.

“The others. Well, there’s Miller, Meehan, Evans, Julian, Bloser, Harris, Dukeman and all the others. The gang’s back together.” Hoobler spoke enthusiastically and Skip found himself feeling less fearful at the prospect of leaving his family and the world of the living.

Skip glanced back at his family one last time, watching as his father led his mother and Faye inside. “Goodbye Faye. I love you. I wish I could have married you.”

Skip turned back down the dusty path that had once led him home and now travelled in the opposite direction, and as he followed Penkala and Hoobler he couldn’t help but turn and give his family home one last look. The familiar white shutters, the green front door with child-sized fingerprint smears of the paint from when he was young, the post outside that marked the child’s height as he grew into a young man. A house so full of fond memories of a young life well lived. He only hoped that his family would share many more memories in that house and hoped they would think of him often and fondly when they did.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#skip muck #alex penkala #warren skip muck #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic

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softguarnere · 1 year

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Hi bestie!! I've been noticing a *SEVERE* lack of Skip content on Tumblr so if you're not too busy, could you please write a lil oneshot with Skip using the prompt "Wait, you think I'm cute?" please?? Thank you so much in advance!! 💖

Also this is a total side note but for some reason the song "Dandelions" by Ruth B just gives me major Skip vibes, like, a sunny day with your boyfriend who's also your best friend. Just adorable 🙈

I See Forever in Your Eyes

Warren "Skip" Muck x reader

A/N: Bestie, you are SO RIGHT 👏🏼 Skip is so underrated, and we're going to have to fix that 😉 Especially since I've been craving content for him ever since reading FOF and seeing him get into hijinks with Alix and Malarkey 😌 I hope you enjoy this one!

(As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: language, mentions of war

There’s nothing particularly amusing about asking someone to pass the shoe polish, but your bunkmate lets out a chuckle nonetheless as she tosses it to you.

“What’s so funny?”

Amy shakes her head, looking over your shoulder in the direction of the door. “Oh, nothing. Just that someone can’t seem to stay away from you – even when we’re in the women’s barracks.”

“Hiya, (Y/N)!” The bed beside you sinks as someone flops down onto it, bumping his shoulder into yours and almost causing you to drop the boots you’ve been diligently shining.

“Skip!” You scold. You smack him lightly on the arm, but there’s no malice in it. If anything, the gesture only serves to broaden the smile that already graces his lips. “You’re not supposed to be in the women’s barracks.”

Skips eyes widen. He glances around, placing a hand over his heart in mock shock as if he’s only just realizing where he is. “The women’s barracks?! I was looking for the latrine.” He shrugs. “Well, since I’m already here . . .” He leans back on the bed and flashes you a winning smile. “Guess who actually managed to keep their pass this week?”

“Talbert.”

“Nope.”

“Sisk?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Hmm . . . Well it certainly couldn’t be you for once, could it?”

“Ding ding ding – we have a winner!”

Now it’s your turn to feign shock. “No, really? However did you manage to hold onto it?”

“I was extra careful. But what about you? Did you manage to keep yours?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Skip claps his hands together, a loud, happy staccato that echoes through the barracks. “Well then let’s cut a rug, jitterbug! We’re going dancing tomorrow night!” With that, he takes his leave from the barracks, leaving you smiling as you finish shining your shoes, and causing Amy to laugh.

“What’s so funny now?”

Your fellow paratrooper chuckles. “Oh, nothing. Just something about young love.” She laughs again when your boot slips out of your hand and tumbles onto the floor. She’s finished with her boots before you can collect yourself enough to ask what she means and to tell her that it’s not like between you and Skip.

No matter how much you may wish that it were.

Visiting English pubs on a weekend pass is far more fun than taking a weekend pass back in the States. Half of the fun is because hitting the town is different when you’ve got your polished jump wings displayed proudly on your chest and your pants bloused around your Corcoran boots. Strutting into a pub or a dance hall with an outfit that clearly proclaims I am a paratrooper – one of the elite! never fails to make things more interesting – whether because of the positive attention from the townspeople that lead to offers for dances and free drinks, or the negative attention from other service members that lead to gruff arguments and bloody noses. Never a dull moment with the right company in the right place.

As you push open the door of the pub and take in the sounds of music and laughter, part of you wishes that you were back in a dress like you would have been in the States. Then you could have done your hair and makeup and – even if for only a night – allowed yourself to pretend that you were a regular girl dancing with a handsome service member before he shipped off into combat. There’s still an elegance to showing off your uniform and impressing many with the fact that you are not only a paratrooper, but a part of the first female paratrooper program, though. It’s just different.

“(Y/N)!” A voice calls from across the pub. Through all the music and the jiving bodies, Malarkey has managed to spot your entrance. Hand clutching a drink and raised above his head to avoid a spill, the Oregon boy weaves through the crowd until he’s by your side. Your friend smiles, breathless. “Where ya been? We’ve been waiting all night!”

Playfully, you nudge his arm. “Awe, did you miss me, Malarkey?”

“Oh yeah, you know I missed my favorite dance partner.” In a single swig, he downs what’s in his glass and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on a nearby table. He offers you his hand.

“Oh no you don’t, Donnie Boy!” Skip slides between the two of you, ever present grin lighting up the room as he appears. “I do believe that I shall be having the first dance with lovely Private (Y/L/N).”

Malarkey takes a step back, hand over his heart. “Well Skipper, you could have at least had the decency to tell me that before I snubbed out my smoke.”

The look that crosses Skip’s face is one that you know all too well – he has an idea of some sort. The next thing that you know, he’s pushed you and Malarkey together and gives your friend a slap on the back. “Actually, you take this dance. I’ll grab the next one.” He recedes into the thicket of the crowd before you can question it.

A lively tune is struck up by the band, causing the energy in the pub to soar as you and Malarkey make your way to the dance floor, carving out a space for yourselves as you twirl and jump and laugh through the whole thing. You’re out of breath by the time that it ends, your cheeks sore from smiling so much. You applaud the band with everyone else as you wait for the next song to start.

“Alright, my turn,” Skip says, swaggering up to you and Malarkey. You’ve never understood how he manages to disappear and reappear from the crowd the way that he does, but he seems to fit in everywhere that he goes so well that you know it can’t be hard for him. He holds out his hand to you. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all.”

The band’s next song starts up, much slower than the last. The mood of the crowd changes automatically, going from one of high energy and adrenaline to one of new love and desire as couples pair off onto the dance floor.

“Where did you go?” You question, casting a glance around the pub. “What lucky gal got that last dance with the pride and joy of Tonawanda?”

Skip chuckles. “Truth be told, no one did.”

“Oh?”

“No, I was too busy trying to request a song with the band.”

“And what song might that be?”

“This one.” Is it your imagination, or in the low lights of the pub, does your friend blush ever so slightly? Maybe he wonders the same thing about you as your hands grow warm against his. You might be in the dim lights and smokey atmosphere of the pub, but dancing with him feels like being surrounded by sunshine and cloudless skies on the perfect summer day. “I wanted to talk to you.”

There are better places to talk than the dance floor, but your heart is fluttering in your chest like a bird threatening to fly from the coop and you can’t find the words to question him. If the words would come to you, what would you even say?

“I’ve been thinking,” he pauses, like he’s waiting for you to crack the usual Thought I smelled smoke line that you, Penkala, and Malarkey are so apt to throw around. When your breath hitches in your throat instead, he bites his lip before continuing. “Fuck. I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“Mess what up?” Effortlessly, the two of you execute the spin that comes with the next line of the song. When you gravitate together again, like planets falling into alignment, you’re met with a worried expression on his face – something that looks unnatural on him.

The next few bars of the song press on while silence floats between you. Worry – or something akin to it – settles into the little atmosphere between you. You keep waiting for him to say more as Skip’s eyes dance over everyone and anything else in the pub besides you.

“You’re one of my best friends.” His voice is soft, his eyes are sincere; he’s never looked more serious. “I don’t wanna mess that up when I tell you that I feel differently about you than other girls.”

You stumble on the next step. He catches your waist with ease. If this is going where you think it’s going . . . But you would hate to assume, and to assume incorrectly at that.

Skip rushes on. “It’s okay if you don’t feel that way. With the big jump finally coming up, I just wanted to make sure that you knew before we went, or else I would spend my whole life regretting that I didn’t tell you. And I know that might make the jump harder – “ He shakes his head, exasperated. “I swear I knew what I wanted to say when I started this.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, your words bringing his eyes back to you. “I think it’s cute when you ramble.”

Standing so close, it would be impossible to miss the way that his breath hitches in his throat. “Wait, you think I’m cute?”

“Well yeah.” There’s no use in denying it. Not when he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable instead of brushing things off with humor like he normally would. And not when the jump is sure to be soon. He’s right: it would be hard to go about life full of regret and wondering how different things could have been if you had made a different jump – a leap of faith into the game of chance that is sharing your truest and most sincere feelings with someone that you have so many tender feelings of affection for.

“Not just when you ramble,” you admit, fully committing now, heart beating hard in your chest. “You’re cute, Skip. I’ve always thought so.”

A tentative smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Well I’ve always thought that you were stunning.”

On instinct, you lean forward and fix your head against his chest, just like all the couples on the dance floor are doing. His hand secures itself more firmly on your waist. The little world around you is something that you’ve only imagined a handful of times, and never for long – there’s hardly a private moment in the Army, and you’ve never allowed yourself to get your hopes up.

But experiencing the real thing . . . You pray that you won’t blink to wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.

“What do we do now?” You whisper.

He squeezes your hand. “Whatever you want. We can give it a shot.”

“God, yes.” His chest rumbles as he chuckles at your enthusiasm.

All too soon, the song ends. Couples all over the dance floor slowly come out of their amorous haze and applaud the band. You can feel Skip looking at you. You gaze back at him, not quite ready to break the spell that’s settled over the two of you.

There is a war going on. You don’t know where it will take you. But you’re a paratrooper, and risk taking is part of the job. No one can know for certain what will happen, or how long this new thing will last between you.

Looking into Skip’s eyes, though, you can see his answer: forever, if you’ll allow it.

And you will. Of course you will.

#skip muck #skip muck x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #warren muck #don malarkey #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #my writing #band of brothers x reader

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 2 years

Text

Fire On Fire: Chapter 5

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

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: The truth comes out but neither expected the other's reaction... WARNINGS: Alcohol mention, general angst, fluff A/N: Tagging some of the amazing creators & friends whose work inspired me to start writing again: @wwhatev3r @brassknucklespeirs @softguarnere @holdingforgeneralhugs @rogue-durin-16 @auroralightsthesky @lenabob @legally-devorak @dustyjjumpwings @stillbandofbrothersthirsty @tvserie-s-world @toyes-lipring @hurricanerex666 @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @softliebgott @latibvles @mercurygray @sergeant-spoons @problematicfavesareproblematic @softspeirs

Contemporary: June 3rd, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

It didn't take her long to find him.

Alix knew Joe well enough to know that he chain-smoked when he was upset and he'd want to sit down for a smoke before walking back to his billet, especially at such a late hour of the night.

She was a spy; she was supposed to know these things.

There was a quiet pond just a small ways from the pub which had a number of quaint wooden benches overlooking the water's edge. It was the perfect place for a late-night smoke to clear your head.

Despite being the middle of summer, nights in Aldbourne were usually brisk and as goosebumps prickled up her arms, Alix berated herself internally for forgetting to grab her fur wrap before leaving the house earlier.

In Philadelphia high society, fur was primarily for winter wear but with the drafty English air, the former model figured her mother would’ve forgiven her eventually.

Squinting in the dim light, she was able to identify a lone figure occupying a bench by the water's edge and she surmised it was most likely Joe.

As she approached, the rhythmic click-clack of her heels on the pavement knifed through the stillness and the hunched figure turned, allowing the gentle glow of the moon to illuminate his face.

It was Joe Liebgott alright, and he looked like hell.

He was pale as a ghost, save for the reddish blotches on his cheeks where tear-tracks glistened. His hair stuck out sporadically and Alix could tell he’d been running his hands through it, another nervous habit of his.

As soon as he saw her, he hurriedly swiped the tears away with his sleeve and only then did she notice the blood.

It was crusted on the scraped and swollen knuckles of his right hand, with thin dried stripes all the way down his fingertips like crimson paint.

From what she could see, it looked like he'd busted his knuckles open punching something, probably a wall.

"Jesus, Joey, are you okay?!"

Joe's expression hardened.

"Don't worry 'bout it."

Alix ignored him, stepping over the handful of cigarette butts that littered the ground by his boots and rushing to his side.

"Let me see your knuckles,” she insisted urgently. “I can help."

Sitting next to him on the bench, she reached for his bloodied hand but he jerked his arm away.

"Like Hell you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her temper starting to flare at his tone.

"It means don't bother, Alix," Joe spat and the young agent flinched.

It was the first time he'd called her by her real name instead of a nickname and somehow, it stung worse than if he'd just cussed her out.

“You should get going.” His voice was quieter now but just as embittered and he crossed his arms, staring hard at the pond’s surface. “Wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting worried.”

Alix bristled at the accusation.

"He's not my boyfriend," she snapped. "I don’t even know him. But even if he was, what's it to you?"

Snorting defensively, she muttered, "It's not like you give a shit about me beyond a quick fuck anyway."

Joe's head shot up and he looked over at her with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Is that what you think,” he asked, his voice rising with indignation. “That I was just in this for sex?”

“Santa Maria," the agent swore, throwing up her hands in frustration. "What else am I supposed to think when you walk into my life just to fuck me and walk out again like nothing ever happened?!”

"Goddamn it, Alix!” Joe sprang to his feet. "It was never about the sex! Don't you get that?! It was about you! It was about being with you!”

“Then why did you keep disappearing?” Alix pushed, her chest aching with half a year’s worth of suppressed heartache. “For weeks, Joey, not just days. Weeks!”

That was the final straw.

“Because I was falling in love with you, alright?!” Joe yelled, his voice breaking as the tears he’d been fighting began to spill down his cheeks. “And that scares the absolute shit outta me!”

Before Alix had time to comprehend what he’d said, Joe had turned away, squeezing his eyes shut and running a shaky hand through his hair as he struggled to regain his composure.

For a moment, all Alix could do was stare at his back in stunned silence as the weight of his words began to sink in.

“But why…?” she managed to choke out finally.

Why would you love me?

“Why would that scare you?"

Her voice became small and she hated the way it sounded: Weak. Quivery. Scared. All of the things as an agent, she was trained never to be.

"...Am I that hard to love, Joey?"

He whirled back around, the frustration gone and concern suddenly written all over his face.

"Fuck no! Are you kiddin' me?"

Joe sat down next to her again, this time close enough that she could see herself reflected in the pupils of his beautiful, brown puppy-dog eyes.

Reaching out, he gently tucked an escaped curl from her bun behind her ear and Alix felt her heart skip a beat.

"You, Alix Martinelli," he murmured. "Are the easiest fuckin' person in the world to love."

He flashed her a small, rueful smile and leaned back on the bench, digging a pack of his beloved Chesterfields out of his coat pocket.

"Hell,” he remarked with a sniffle as he fished around for his lighter.

“Everybody knows I’ve been stuck on you since your first day here. Didn’t even say a damn word to me but I saw that gorgeous smile and I was done for.”

He chuckled softly, adding, “Tab and Popeye wouldn’t stop givin’ me shit about it.”

Alix's mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all.

All these abstract pieces, all these feelings, all that time…

“Joey, it’s been six months of whatever this—” she gestured to the two of them “— is but then tonight, out of the blue, you show up with…”

She trailed off, unwilling or perhaps unable to finish the sentence.

“Mary." He filled in the name for her as he lit up his cigarette, completely oblivious, and Alix felt her mouth go dry.

"Yeah. Her."

"That was Tab's doing," Joe explained after taking a drag.

“He could tell I was losing my fuckin’ mind over you and he thought forcing me out on a double-date with him and some local girls might distract me or somethin'.”

Taking a shorter drag, he let the smoke curl into the crisp night air and remarked dryly,

“As you can see, it didn't work.”

"Sure looked like it did with the way she was hanging off you," Alix muttered, trying and failing to keep the petulance and bitterness out of her tone.

Joe leaned slightly closer to her to make sure she heard him.

"Not a bit. Like I told her and Tab, I already got my eye on somebody else."

He gave her a wink and she felt her cheeks starting to flush pink so she dropped her gaze, avoiding his eyes.

It sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch, there just had to be.

“But if you felt this way all this time, then why didn’t you say anything to me for so long?” she asked, expecting to catch him in a lie and prove to herself that the whole thing was some sort of mistake.

But when she cautiously looked up at him for an answer, he was gazing at her with those beautiful, sad brown puppy-dog eyes she loved so much.

"Because," he began. "I knew two things from the moment I met you. One: I knew loved you. Because how could I not? You're everythin' I ever wanted. And Two…"

He hesitated for a second before saying quietly,

"Two: I knew you were gonna break my fuckin’ heart."

Alix's forehead creased.

"I would never," she declared fervently but Joe just shook his head.

“Girls like you don’t end up with guys like me, Ziskeit. I’m not an idiot. You're a calendar girl, for Christ’s sake! You gotta practically beat guys off you with a stick! I've seen the pages people ripped out an' shoved in their pockets for safe-keeping. You're everybody's dream girl!"

He ran a hand through his hair.

"And you’re not just pretty either, you're smart too, crazy smart! With your OSS creds and your high-class schooling, you got one hell of a future when all this is over, y’know?”

Taking another slow drag, he exhaled a few seconds later with a grim-sounding sigh.

"And me, what do I got? I'm just some fuckin’ cabbie from Frisco. Nothin' special. Why the hell would a girl like you, who could have Gene Fuckin' Kelly if she wanted, want me? There’s a thousand other guys— classy, uptown types like your officer back there— who are better for you than I’ll ever be. You'll probably end up marryin' some big-shot attorney someday anyway. So I've been tryin' to stay away from you… and Jesus Christ, did I try!"

He shook his head again.

"Honestly Zees, stayin’ away from you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do," he admitted. "And I couldn't even see it through 'cause I'm fuckin' selfish. 'Cause at the end of the day, I know I’m nowhere near good enough to call you mine, but goddamn it, Alix, I want to anyway!"

Alix’s vision began to blur and it felt like there was a burning lump in her throat that wouldn’t budge.

This was everything she'd ever wanted but it couldn't have come at a worse time. They were all jumping into a war zone any day now.

Should she tell him how she felt, despite knowing that one or both of them might not make it back home?

Should she open herself up to the possibility of letting him in, just to lose him?

She'd already lost her older brother to the war, could she stand to lose her boyfriend too?

She forced her gaze heavenward, warring internally with her head and heart until the tears passed. Finally gathering her courage, she slid over a little bit, inching closer to him like a bomb she was set to defuse.

Despite her nervousness, her heart had made its verdict clear from the get-go:

Being his, even for a little bit, would be worth the risk.

"You are more than good enough, Joey," she murmured, tentatively reaching over to rest her hand on top of his before interlocking their fingers. "You're the only person I want."

He looked down at their intertwined fingers and back up to her eyes, searching her features fervently for any trace of deception.

"No kiddin'? You really mean that?"

Alix nodded, beaming, and gave his hand a light squeeze.

"Of course I mean it! But we're still gonna have to keep things quiet, okay? I don't think either of us wants to get busted for fraternization."

Joe nodded in agreement, a lopsided grin lit up his face as the realization sank in:

They were official.

He looked more overjoyed than she'd ever seen him, more like a kid in a candy store than a soldier days away from war.

"Still gonna be pretty fuckin' great though, even if we can't tell anybody we're going steady yet, huh, Zees?"

Alix cocked her head curiously.

"I've been meaning to ask you what that means. I tried asking Muck because he speaks some German but he had no idea. You're always using it and for all I know, you could be calling me the world's biggest bitch in German or something."

Joe chuckled.

"It's nothin' like that. Hell, it's not even German. But you're still gonna kick yourself when you find out."

Now Alix was really perplexed.

"Why?"

"Because it was right in front of you the whole time."

"Stop speaking in riddles, you asshole," Alix pouted.

"Fine, fine, just 'cause it's you," Joe teased, his brown eyes sparkling. "It’s Yiddish. The word is Ziskeit but sometimes I’ll shorten it to Zees. Still means the same thing, which is ‘Sweetness’. But we also use it to mean someone you cherish, like a sweetheart.”

Alix blinked in surprise.

“Wait...So you mean this whole time…?"

"I've been telling you how I feel for around six months now and you had no clue 'cause it was in Yiddish? Yeah."

Alix giggled and nudged at his shoulder playfully with her own.

"I never took you for a sap, Joe Liebgott!"

"Neither did I," he quipped as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Guess you just bring out a different side of me, Zees."

"Well that explains why Skip didn't recognize it then. He tried to tell me it meant 'Goose' at first and I told him he was full of shit."

Joe laughed.

"Goose would be gandz. I can call you that instead if y-"

"Joseph Liebgott, don't you dare."

The paratrooper jokingly pretended to mull it over for a minute before responding with a mischievous "No promises."

For the first time, Alix realized that her palms had been sweating from the nervousness.

Her first instinct was to wipe them off but she hesitated, biting her lip. A part of her knew she was being irrational but she worried if she let go, the spell would be broken and everything would be as it was before: Joe would leave again and it would be as though nothing between them had ever happened.

It would all have been just a dream.

But her palm was growing clammy and so grudgingly, she let go of his hand, waiting tensely for the other shoe to drop.

But Joe didn't disappear.

Instead, he draped an arm lovingly around her shoulders, resting his hand lightly on her tricep and Alix shifted so she could lean into him, releasing a sigh of relief she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Joe was kind enough not to acknowledge it.

"I didn't know you spoke Yiddish," Alix continued conversationally. "Seeing as you'd had some translation training, I always just assumed you spoke German."

"I speak both,” Joe replied as he absentmindedly traced little circles on Alix’s upper arm. “But German just feels more…distant, y’know? My family never uses it at home, just when we’re in public. We use Yiddish with the people closest to us since it’s a big part of our heritage. It just feels… more meaningful, I guess, 'cause it's somethin' we don't use with everybody, y'know? Stop me if I'm not makin' any sense."

“You’re making perfect sense, Joey,” she assured him softly. “And I’m honored that you use a Yiddish term of endearment for me. It means the world that you care that much."

Joe pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Why wouldn't I? I've only been sweet on you for what, six months now? I know people who got married in half that time!"

He chuckled.

"And don't worry, I got lots more pet names where Ziskeit came from too. We're gonna have you speakin' Yiddish like a pro by the time you meet my folks!"

Alix red lips quirked up into a smile.

"Yiddish is so beautiful, I can see why you hold it close. Honestly, English has never been strong enough to describe how I feel about you either, which is why I use Italian. Like, tesoro, which means treasure but we use it for the word Darling. And cucciolo, which is my other favorite. It reminds me of your adorable puppy eyes."

"I know what they mean," Joe divulged sheepishly, turning slightly pink. "I kinda asked Gonorrhea to translate for me 'cause I was hoping you felt the same as me but I was too chicken-shit to just ask ya in case I was wrong..."

"And you still didn't just tell me how you felt, even after you knew I felt the same?" Alix's eyes were huge.

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't believe him." Joe was cringing at his past self now. "I thought he was just fuckin' with me or somethin' 'cause there was no way in Hell a girl like you could ever feel that way about a guy like me."

He shook his head with a grin.

"I've never been so fuckin' glad to be wrong."

Alix was about to reply when a particularly strong gust of wind whipped through the nearby trees, stinging her bare arms with its chill. Starting to shiver in her spaghetti-strap gown, Alix silently cursed herself again for forgetting her fur and began rubbing her hands together to warm them.

Having noticed her shiver, Joe immediately tugged his coat off and placed it around Alix’s shoulders. It was huge on her but the wool was cozy, still warm from Joe’s body heat.

Hearing the approaching hum of voices from a distance, she hurriedly glanced over her shoulder before shrugging the coat off as a small pack of servicemen and their dates left the Crown, walking along the road behind them back to their billets.

“C’mon Ziskeit,” Joe implored. “Put it on, will ya, before you catch a cold.”

Alix shook her head nervously, her eyes darting back to the group passing them by.

“What if someone sees?”

“Let ‘em.” Joe shrugged. “They can’t write me up for givin’ a beautiful lady my coat when she’s cold, can they? Doesn't prove shit."

“Oh yeah?" Alix cocked an eyebrow slyly. "So did you let Mary wear your coat then too?”

Joe snorted.

“You kiddin’ me? I wouldn’t even let her hold my jump wings.”

Satisfied, Alix pulled the coat back on, enveloping herself in the warm wool. She was swimming in it, the thick material dwarfing her small frame like a sack.

The sleeves hung way past her hands and Joe stifled a laugh.

"Jeez and I thought Perco made the coats look big!"

"Oh so you let Perconte wear your coat too, huh?" Alix joked, a teasing glint in her dark eyes. "And here I thought I was special."

Joe rolled his eyes playfully.

"You're a fuckin' smartass, d'you know that?"

"Hey, you fell in love with me," Alix reminded him with a quick kiss on the cheek. "So you asked for it, Coat Whore.”

Joe was about to respond when a commotion behind them cut him off.

"In Banbridge Town in the County Down, one morning last July-"

Both their heads snapped back toward the sound of the singing.

It was a clearly inebriated Joe Toye stumbling out of The Crown with an equally inebriated Don Malarkey by his side, the pair belting out a truly spectacular rendition of an Irish folk ballad while a bemused-looking Skip Muck was proudly harmonizing just behind them.

"–down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín and she smiled as she passed me by! She-"

Alix grinned. Had it been any other night, she would've been right there with them.

Her family's maid, Penelope, was originally from Ireland and she'd taught Alix several of her favorite folk songs as the pair hung wash together. Alix's mother, Clarissa, always scolded her for helping Penny with her chores because it "was beneath her as the lady of the house" but Alix didn't mind at all.

On the contrary, she relished getting to swap stories and folk songs with the older girl, who had done so much more living in her 26 years than Alix had in her 23.

Penny taught her Irish folk tunes and Alix taught her some phrases in Italian to impress the Calabrian boy from the South side that Penny had her eye on. It was like having a real friend, not like the sycophants at her boarding school who simply had to work their family’s connections into every conversation or they’d combust.

“–From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay, from Galway to Dublin town–”

As the voices of her best friends slowly faded into the distance, Alix leaned her head on Joe’s shoulder and admired the beauty of the moment----

The chorus of chirping crickets, the faint quacking of the ducks in the shallows, the laughter of her best friends in the background, the soft glow of the moon on the water, the earthy smell of the rolling fields beyond the pond, the warmth of Joe’s body radiating through his clothes as he wrapped his arms around her.

They were going steady now.

Her heart was so full that it felt like it might burst through her chest.

All of the months of waiting and hoping had been worth it. She wanted to cry and shout and jump for joy at the same time.

But as more and more people began to file from the doors of The Crown, Alix took a worried glance over at the worn watch on Joe's wrist.

"Madonna mia," she exclaimed. "It's already 11 o'clock and I still need to review my cover story and dossiers before tomorrow!"

Joe stood up and gallantly offered her his arm.

"Mind if I walk ya home then, Ziskeit? Call me a sap but I can't let my girl walk home alone at night, even if she is a spy. I'd still go outta my mind with worry."

Alix stood as well, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

"One condition."

"Name it."

"You stay the night. I could use some cuddles from my boyfriend while I'm reading up on all the people I have to kill."

The paratrooper gave her a lopsided grin.

"I was hoping you'd ask, Zees. After I drop you off, I just gotta run back to my place real quick so I can grab my ODs for tomorrow and I'll be right back over. Ya won't even know I'm gone. How does that sound?"

Alix ecstatically linked her arm with his.

"Sounds perfect."

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