#lewis nixon fluff

[mads-nixon]

Night Changes

Lewis Nixon x Wife!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: thanks to @footprintsinthesxnd for inspiring me to finally finish this wip from back in october!! for once, this isn't a heart-wrenching fic that makes you cry your eyes out...it's super fluffy!! Hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: morning sickness & pregnancy, nothing else except for tooth-rotting fluff :)

Nixon, New Jersey: April 1950

"What are you thinking, sweetheart?"

"What?" (Y/n) sighed, glancing towards her husband from where she sat on the floor.

A chuckle left Lewis' lips as he gestured to the various paint colors on portions of the wall. "Which one? Pink, purple, blue, or yellow?"

Rolling over to her side, (y/n) attempted to get up. With her swollen stomach, it made everything ten times harder than usual.

Lew rushed to her side, "Honey, let me help you."

"I've got it," she grunted, somewhat out of breath.

(Y/n) tried and failed a few times, then let out a huff of air, sighing as she held out her hands for Lew to come and help her up.

He smiled softly, moving to help lift her. "I thought you had it that time."

"Your child has been making things harder on me, lately."

Once they stood up, Lew pulled her close, his hand on her bump. "My child? I'm pretty sure we both made this baby."

(Y/n) pulled back with a look of disgust, fake gagging. "Please don't remind me."

With his signature grin, he pulled her back in, trying to plant a kiss on her lips. "No," she laughed, leaning away to evade his kisses. "We've got to pick out the color for the nursery, Lew!"

"So now you want to get on task, huh?"

(Y/n) giggled as she continued to swerve her husband's kisses. "Yes! We have to get this done!"

"Alright," he conceded. "Just one kiss. Please?"

With an exaggerated eye roll, (y/n) leaned in and pecked his lips quickly. "Come on, doll. One more," he pleaded.

"Nope. You'll get more once we get done picking out the color."

He led her to the wall with the colors and mock saluted her. "Alright, then. Captain Nixon is focused on his next objective."

They had decided to go with the soft yellow because it was more gender-neutral, even though both felt deep down that it was a girl. Staring at their halfway-finished nursery, (y/n) couldn't help but think back to when it all started the year before.

Indianapolis, Indiana: July 1949

The Nixons sat at the Easy Company reunion with Lip, Dick, and their respective spouses. While the guys all talked, (y/n) spoke with Ethel Winters and JoAnne Lipton about everything from baking to babies. Ethel and Dick had been married for a little over a year and were about to start trying for children. JoAnne and Carwood already had a son, so she told the two women how wonderful it was to be a mom. Hard, but wonderful.

The woman pulled out a picture of the three of them with a proud smile on her face. "Danny turns three next month. He's a spitting image of Car, that's for sure. I love him more than anything in this world."

Looking over at her husband enthralled in a conversation with his best friends, she couldn't help but imagine Lew as a father; holding their little baby in his arms or putting them up on his shoulders. (Y/n) knew he didn't have a good relationship with his father and would do everything to be there for their future children.

She was broken out of her trance by Lew's hand squeezing her thigh gently. "You alright, sweetheart? Why are you crying?"

Eyed widening, she went to wipe the tear that streaked down her cheek, but he beat her to it. "What's wrong?" He asked, eyes full of concern.

"Let's have a baby."

Lewis was taken aback by his wife's bluntness. Sure, they had talked about having kids but had decided to wait a few more years. Hearing that she changed her mind filled his with the same sweet images that appeared in hers moments before. If he was being honest, he had felt ready for a few months but didn't want to mention it to her until she approached him first.

He took her hand and excused them from the table as he led her to the lobby area of the venue. As soon as they turned the corner, Lewis' strong arms enveloped her in a tender embrace, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Their lips met softly, mouths melding together gently. It was a tender and loving kiss that expressed their shared devotion and longing for the next chapter of their lives.

With a gentle smile, they broke apart, their hands still entwined. The room seemed to radiate with the energy of their love and the endless possibilities that lay before them.

"Is that a yes?" (Y/n) asked, short of breath.

He kissed her gently, eye glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, let's start a family."

Nixon, New Jersey: November 1949

It was a cold and rainy morning when (y/n) stirred in bed, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her once again. This was the third morning in a row, and her eyes flickered over to Lew, who was fast asleep beside her. She always joked that even a freight train wouldn’t wake him up. Clutching her stomach, she quickly sat up, her heart racing as her body was trying to give her a few seconds of warning. (Y/n) barely had time to get to the bathroom, her steps hurried and unsteady as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

Reaching the bathroom just in time, (y/n) dropped to her knees, her body convulsing with dry heaves initially, followed by her dinner from the night before. The sensation was accompanied by a rush of relief, but the butter taste lingered in her mouth. 

Stirred by the sounds from the bathroom, Lew realized something was wrong and came rushing into the bathroom, concern etched across his features. He kneeled beside her, gathering her hair and rubbing her back soothingly. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked worriedly, his voice raspy from sleep.

“I don’t know, Lew,” (y/n) replied weakly. “This nausea just won’t go away.”

“I think that we should get you to the doctor,” Nix suggested, worried she might have caught a nasty stomach bug.

She nodded, her mind already racing with a suspicion she dared not speak aloud just yet. “Yeah, maybe,” she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

After Lew left for work, (y/n) decided to visit the doctor to get some answers. Anticipation and nervousness bubbled within her as the test was administered. The minutes felt like hours, but finally, the doctor confirmed what she had hoped for – she was pregnant.

Unable to contain her excitement, she hurried back home, her heart bursting with joy. The second she got home, she walked past their extra bedroom, inspiration striking her. The sun cast a soft, golden hue through the lace curtains, illuminating the extra room that held years of collected odds and ends. (Y/n) stood at the threshold, groaning at the old boxes, forgotten furniture, and random oddities that filled the room.

She had a lot of work cut out for her.

After putting on a Nat King Cole album, she took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves, beginning the task at hand. As she meticulously sorted through the belongings, memories danced in her mind – the dusty bookshelf that held Lew’s childhood favorites, the old rocking chair her mother had gifted her, and the worn-out toys that once brought her so much joy. 

With every box she emptied and every piece of furniture she carefully moved, the room started to transform. The clutter began to vanish, making way for her vision of a nursery filled with love and laughter. She could almost visualize the crib nestled by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow on the tiny cradle.

Time seemed to fly as she got lost in the whirlwind of her excitement. As the clock ticked on, (y/n) meticulously organized, cleaned, and dusted, pouring herself into every corner. By the time Nix got home from work, she had cleared out most of the clutter. Her eyes held a sparkle of pride as she surveyed her progress, already lost in the thoughts of cradling their newborn baby in this very room.

Lew opened the door, calling out to her as he did every day. “Honey, I’m home.”

As he put his briefcase onto the kitchen table, he noticed the random items and boxes that were scattered around the kitchen. With a raised eyebrow, he stepped over the clutter and followed the sound of (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons to the couple’s extra bedroom.

“(Y/n)?” Lew asked as he entered the room, his eyes flicking between the few things left inside.

A rocking chair…

Some old toys…

His old bookshelf filled with children’s books…

She stood in front of the window with a hand covering her mouth, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Hey,” she whispered.

Lew’s brows instantly furrowed and he approached her, taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re happy,” he pondered aloud, “But you’re crying.”

(Y/n) pulled back to look up at his puzzled face. “Yeah.”

“Why the sudden inspiration to clean out the crap in here?”

“Well,” she grinned up at him, her bottom lip wobbling as she spoke. “Our baby can’t have a room full of random stuff, can they?”

As (y/n) looked at him expectantly, he nodded with raised brows. “Yeah, yeah.”

But then his eyes widened suddenly and Lew’s gaze flew to hers. “The what?”

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[mads-weasley]

Summary: After (y/n) signs up for the WAC's Athena Program, she joins the war with Easy Company, unaware of how much her life will change over the next few years.

Enchanted

Out of the Woods

Haunted

Evermore

Breathe

Daylight

Paris

You Are In Love

Lover

State of Grace

Labyrinth

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Forever Winter

Soon You'll Get Better

Right Where You Left Me

Castles Crumbling

Innocent - currently on break!!

epiphany playlist

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[rogue-durin-16]

PAST PROTOCOL

Request: hey beautiful you…could we maybe have more Nixon then? what about at the attack on Foy, reader gets hurt and Lewis has to be held back because he is panicking and furious about Dike letting this happen?

Summary: Things can get complicated when decade-long feelings meet restrictive protocols due to gaps in military ranks.

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, depictions of period-typical violence (it's literally ww2)

A/N: Didn't put much thought into this one but I think it turned out alright. Again, never thought writing for Nixon would be entertaining but here we are. Another George Luz request coming right away btw. They're keeping me busy while I find the strength to keep organizing the Liebgott multipart without spiraling. Enjoy <3

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Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The night was dark, quiet enough that the occasional murmur of voices seemed to carry through the entire company. I could feel the weight of what Lipton and I had come to say pressing down on me, but it was too late to turn back now.

My First Sergeant paced before me, an uncharacteristic cigarette hanging from his lips. He didn't like this one bit.

"Lip," Winters greeted exiting the improvised Battalion Headquarters, his voice measured as usual despite the shakingly low temperatures . "Y/n/n?"

Lipton and I shared a resigned look before I addressed the confused officer. "Sir."

"What in Pete's name are you doing here?"

"It's... Part of the reason why we're here, Sir." The West Virginian man replied before I could. 'Let me do the talking, alright?' Lip had requested on our way.

Winters gave us a steady yet somewhat weary nod and prompted us to follow him into the tent where he and Nixon were huddled over maps, the low lantern light casting long shadows on their faces.

Nixon had to do a double check when I trailed behind Lip. He raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of us with a hint of suspicion but not saying a word.

"So," Winters sat down, expectant, hands around a mug of steaming coffee. "what is it? How are the men?"

“Sir, the men are ready.” Lipton said, his tone steady, though his jaw was clenched. "I'll be leading Second Platoon tomorrow. It's the most affected out of the three and I figured it'd be best for me to take care of them." Winters gave him a nod as a form of agreement, and his eyes couldn't help but land on me for an instant. "I have full confidence in the men, Sir."

Here we go.

"On the other hand, I have no confidence in our CO, Sir." Winters’ expression shifted—just a flicker of surprise in his otherwise steady gaze. "He's an empty uniform. He's been taking... very questionable decisions." Lip's gaze flickered to me. "I think tomorrow he's gonna get a lot of Easy men killed, Sir."

He dropped it as heavy as it came, and one would think that would have everyone's attention on him, but Nixon was unabashedly focused on me.

I knew he wouldn't like me being there. It only meant trouble —trouble he could not solve, and that ate at him from the inside.

Nix and I had practically grown up together, our families being close since we were born. The older we got, the more we gravitated towards each other, an unspoken connection pulling us in. Sadly, war came and, to our mothers' dismay, we both enlisted.

Nixon, became an officer while I had to climb from down below —something I wasn't used to, but I had never backed down from a challenge. We wouldn't have imagined he would be assigned to my company. That made things way too complicated.

Which is why he drastically distanced himself from me; for both our sakes. It was difficult enough as it was, I couldn't have an officer favoring me and he couldn't engage in issues just because they involved me.

"I'm gonna address the elephant in the room. What’s she doing here?" Nixon asked, tilting his head with a scrutinizing look.

Lipton hesitated, choosing his words carefully, but I could sense that he was unsure of how much to say. "She'll be leading First Platoon tomorrow, Sir."

"She what?" Nixon jumped from his spot, brows almost meeting his hairline.

"You're not in this?" Winters' shocked whisper was directed exclusively to his friend.

"Do I look like I'm in this to you?" The brunet man spat more bitter than he should have. "Where is this coming from? Who's idea was it?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Sir?" I said, directing my question to Winters instead.

"Permission granted." He had become accustomed to it; Nixon and I using him as a bridge.

I drew a deep breath, and for a second, I questioned if this was a mistake. But the words had already lined up in my mind, and I knew I couldn’t hold back. "I’m a Staff Sergeant. I clearly shouldn't be leading a platoon," I said, keeping my voice even. "Just like Lieutenant Dike shouldn’t be leading Easy Company, Sir. He's as qualified to do so as I am."

Silence fell, thick and heavy in the small space. They both knew I had never spoken ill of any officer or fellow soldier, no matter what I had seen myself dragged into. That's how bad it had gotten.

Nixon’s mouth opened, but for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. "You’re saying Dike’s incapable."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice softer but no less certain. "Respectfully, Sir, he’s going to get people killed if he’s in charge out there. We’ve all seen it. And the men—" I glanced at Lipton, who gave a tight nod of encouragement. "They don’t trust him."

Winters exchanged a long look with Lipton, and I could see the gravity of the situation weighing on him. But as much as he might have wanted to do something, it wasn't their choice, and we were stuck with it.

We were about to be halfheartedly dismissed when Nixon exhaled a low, frustrated sigh. "So what do you want us to do about it? We’re as boxed in here as you are," he said, though the irritation in his tone was directed somewhere far beyond us.

'don't ask me for help' he wished to say instead. The four of us knew the moment I stepped into the CP, the problem in his eyes would be less about the company and more about me.

A part of me thought Lipton wanted this to happen; perhaps he hoped Nixon would put more pressure up on Regiment if I was dragged into it.

"We know, Sir." Lipton replied, carefully redirecting the officer's attention to him. "But as First Sergeant, I figured it was my duty to let you know what we think."

"The orders are clear." Winters finally spoke, his words steady but carrying a hint of resignation. "Dike is to lead."

Lipton’s shoulders sagged a little, and I felt the weight of what I’d feared all along settle heavily in my chest.

"Understood, Sir." Lip said, his voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, I almost regretted speaking up, but there was no turning back.

Lipton and I turned to leave, but Nixon’s voice stopped me as I stepped outside.

"Y/n."

I looked back, meeting his gaze. For a second, it seemed he wanted to say something else, something that wasn’t bound by ranks or regulations. He wouldn't do that, though.

"Stay safe tomorrow."

I limited myself to respond with the short sentence I had struggled so much to internalize when it came to Nixon. "Yes, Sir."

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

In the cold, gray light just before dawn, the trees cast long shadows over the gathered soldiers. A tense quiet filled the air, broken only by the low murmurs of the men making last checks on their gear and formations. Winters was crouched a few feet away with Dike, going over the plan, his voice steady and insistent, doing his best to guide him through every step. Our Lieutenant's gaze drifted across the field toward Foy, and I couldn't help but wonder if Winters was getting any word into him.

With Martin's help, I stood a little apart with the men of First Platoon, running through their positions, double-checking who would be where, and making sure each of them understood. They all knew I shouldn't be leading, but tried their best to help me out.

Lipton who did the same as me with Second Platoon not too far away from us, caught my eye with a quick nod, offering some small assurance. But before I could fully return the gesture, Nixon appeared, slipping through the trees toward me.

"Sergeant." he took a look around us and gestured me to step aside with him.

"Captain." My curt response was choked by the formalities I no longer felt like indulging.

"Who exactly decided you’d be leading First Platoon into Foy?"

Oh, he was mad.

"Lieutenant Dike, Sir." his jaw clenched at the mention of the commanding officer. I knew what Lew would have said to me. But Captain Nixon surely wasn't able to cuss out my superior.

"Why was that?"

I barely held back a huff. "He gave no explanation, Sir, just pointed at me and moved on."

He pressed his lips into a line, clearly unsatisfied. "So you didn't do anything to bring this to yourself?"

"No, Captain." My gloved fingers tightened around my rifle's strap. "I just happened to be nearby."

"That's pretty hard to believe." There was a tinge of poison in his words. 'I don't buy it', he meant.

"Sir, with all due respect," I took a step towards him, shortening the distance between us. "Believe whatever you want. It's none of my business."

He held my gaze, conveying that annoyingly protective instinct I seemed to trigger in him since we were teens. "You're not qualified to do this."

"Frankly, Captain, if you have a problem," without thinking twice, I raised my pointer finger at Dike, sat still in the same position Winters had left him in. "go have a word with Lieutenant Dike. I'm clearly not qualified for this either."

That was it, I thought to myself when I turned heel. That was the last conversation I would have with Lew.

Maybe he thought the same, because I had barely lifted my foot off the mud when his hand found my elbow and tugged on it.

His eyes were softer now, brows knitted with worry. "Did he even ask if you wanted the job?"

"No, Sir." With a sigh, he glanced away, and while he tried to find the words, I continued speaking. "I didn't wanna be put in this position, but I'm gonna do my best to make it right." It wasn't the reassurance he needed, but I couldn't offer anything else when I had that horrible feeling in the back of my mind.

He saw straight through me, as always.

Nixon’s voice lowered as he dangerously closed the distance between us. "What happens when he gets himself in over his head?" I couldn't even open my mouth before he hissed "First platoon is leading in, what happens when you have to shoulder the whole attack?"

"What's the point of this goddamn conversation, Lew?" It slipped. It was quiet but it slipped. "It's... It's an order. I'm just doing as I'm told."

Nixon swallowed the lump in his throat but it had triggered a tenderness out of him I didn't expect. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just— this is madness." I muttered a soft 'I know'. "Y/n, I tried. I tried to get him transferred. Dick and I-" He discontent grunt escaped him. "He's untouchable and it's gonna cost us dear. And you're getting dragged into it, I swear to God, this son of a—"

"Alright, stop." The back of my hand stealthily brushed his, killing the words at the tip of his tongue. "I’ll figure something out."

Before return the hold I previously had on my gear, Nixon's cold digits trapped mine for an instant, giving them a squeeze. "Look, just... watch out down there, okay?" Nixon ran a hand through his hair. He was past the point of being tired. "Don't make me write to your mother."

'don't get killed'.

"Yes, Sir."

I held his gaze for a moment, something tight and unspoken settling between us.

As if on cue to break the spell we shouldn't be under, Martin called my name. It was time. With an apologetic look, I stepped back in my Platoon's direction.

"Stay sharp, Sergeant." Another plea, just like the night before.

I managed a small, grim smile. "Always do."

Martin sidled up beside me, raising a brow as he watched Nixon walk away to reach Sink. "The hell was all that about?"

I shrugged, adjusting my helmet before spinning to face him. "Just… Nixon being Nixon." Martin gave me a weary up-and-down that I swiftly shook off. "Let's do this, yeah?"

He nodded, clapping my back and prompting me to join the platoon.

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

We didn't even make it to town before what everyone feared happened.

We had made it through D-Day, Carentan and Holland, but when Lip, Luz and I exchanged exasperated looks crouched behind hay bales, it was clear as day we all thought that was it for us.

After a lot of outraged yelling on our parts to try and get anything out of Dike, the Lieutenant did what no one expected. He gave an order.

"First Platoon will surround Foy!" Dike’s voice might have been a quiver, but it was a direct command nonetheless.

It hit like a punch to the gut.

"Are you f—" My voice caught in my throat as I looked back toward him, trying to read any sense in his face. "Sir, you want First Platoon alone to surround and attack the town?!"

"Sir, they're gonna be exposed!" I had never heard so much anger in Lipton's voice, but it there was a time, it was now.

"We will provide c-covering fire!" Dike's shellshock face snapped to me. "Move it, Y/l/n! N-now!"

I didn’t have a choice. I ran back to my platoon bullets ricocheting around me. I kept my head down while I signaled Martin to take the men forward. With every nerve on fire, we pushed out the best we could until we were spread too thin around the town.

It was chaos all around while I tried my best to lead a platoon I shouldn't have been assigned in the first place.

Then it happened.

A sharp, hot pain ripped through my side. My legs buckled, the ground rushing up to meet me as I went down hard.

NIXON'S P. O. V.

I watched through binoculars the disaster unfold, my heart hammering violently with every wrong move, every stop, every scream from Dick.

I saw Dike’s shaky gestures and heard the garbled command over the radio, muffled by George's frantic plead for his CO to take the phone.

The binoculars dropped over my chest when I snapped my head at the higher ups from Regiment overlooking the scene almost unbothered at the sight of their best Company getting massacred.

Dick was too busy trying to get Dike on the radio, so I took it upon myself to not so kindly go off at XO's a few steps away from me.

I wasn't too far when the radio crackled with Lipton’s voice. All we got was 'Y/n' and 'hit'.

"She’s down!" Luz’s voice cut in, strained and tense, making my blood run cold. "Y/n’s down! First platoon is stranded!"

My chest seized, panic clawing up my throat when my trembling hands lifted the binoculars back to my eyes. Fate seemed to play a cruel joke and made me direct my view straight at Y/n, lying on the ground with a crimson pool of blood under her middle, propagating on the pristine white snow.

I barely registered Winters' furious call for Speirs; I was too busy grabbing my rifle —the same rifle I had never shot. My mind was a blur as my feet attempted to carry me to the battlefield.

Winters yanked me back by my arm and I shoved him off, only for Colonel Sink to step forward and block my path. I believe he was shouting something about ranks, but all I could hear was Luz's message ringing in my head.

There were numerous times in this godforsaken war in which I had felt useless and overpowered, but never to this level.

Nothing compared to the helpless feeling of having to watch the girl I had grown up with —the one I had so badly tried to protect— shot down in the middle of a frontline; caught in the crossfire without anyone able to help her while she bled to death.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

The aid station was full of activity as medics moved between beds, their voices a murmur of steady instructions. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness since they had brought me in.

I wasn’t fully sure, but chances were Speirs had been the one who got me out of Foy. I could still hear the echo of his barked orders, steady and focused, right before someone's hands had snatched my body from the chaos and onto a stretcher.

The sting of antiseptic seared my side, snapping me back to the present. A nurse leaned over me, quietly murmuring something I didn’t quite catch as she tended to my bandages. I forced myself to stay still, swallowing back a hiss of pain, when suddenly, through the thin canvas walls of the tent, a familiar voice rang out.

It was Nixon, and from the sound of it, he was furious.

"—no, I don’t give a damn if that’s not procedure. This never should have happened!" I could almost see him out there, pacing back and forth. "Dike’s a goddamn disaster. How many times did we say he’d freeze under fire?" There was a pause, then the slam of a fist against something solid—a crate, maybe. "We got soldiers down in there because he panicked. Is this what you needed to take Easy off his hands?"

My chest tightened, and I tried to sit up, ignoring the ache in my side. The nurse gave me a sharp look, pressing a hand to my shoulder, but I strained to listen.

"Do NOT tell me I'm outta line again, Lieutenant." A scoff. "You all knew he wasn’t fit for this," Nixon’s tantrum continued. "We all did. And now she’s in there, and I'm out here, waiting to see if she makes it out while I listen to this dumbfuckery!" He forced himself to continue, voice rougher. "This isn't— you're not pushing another replacement officer into the company."

There was another pause, and I could hear someone else murmuring low responses, as if trying to calm him down. But Nixon wasn’t having any of it.

"I don't give a damn! He's not gonna command Easy." Another murmur, another humorless laugh. "Oh yeah? I’ll go straight to Sink myself if I have to." The tent flap shifted, and finally caught a glimpse of him. No helmet, no gear. Just his winter uniform and that disheveled look he sported. God, he was handsome. "You're dismissed."

His arm hit the canvas with a grunted curse, and his confident steps came to a halt when he spotted my sitting form.

Resolved, he made a beeline to my stretcher, dismissing the nurse on his way.

"Captain Nixon—"

"Fuck that." My eyes widened ever so slightly at his harsh pitch. "I told you to be safe."

"Sir—"

"Don't call me that, Y/n/n." Oh. "I'm not in the mood to play on this bullshit." His complaint barely made sense to me, but I figured it had something to do with the trail of stitches on my abdomen and the fact that he had to witness it. "I told you to be safe." He repeated, this time with more intent.

"Are you really gonna scold me after getting fucking shot, Lew?" The act was down among us, but I just hoped no one could get me court-martialled for it. "Keep treating me like a kid, see where that takes you."

"I know you're not a kid."

"Then why do you keep acting like this?" I did my best no to raise my voice at him; the situation was a bit too reminiscing of the argument we held after he found out I had enlisted.

He had that same look on his face and that same paternalistic tinge, as if it was up to him what I could and couldn't do. This time he looked less anxious and more exhausted, though.

"You're doing it again." I warned him, but it only seemed to bother him even more.

"I'm doing it again because you keep doing this!"

"What's 'this'?" I spat, attempting to sit up only for his palms to hold me back onto the makeshift bed. "You hate seeing me try and hold my ground on my own?"

"I hate seeing you get hurt!" He was past the point of caring; if it wasn't obvious by the feelings-fueled shouts, the way he kneeled by my side did the trick. "Y/n/n." He shut his eyes, exhaling to collect himself. "I promised your mother I would take care of you, alright? How do I explain this without her forbidding me to step a foot on you house ever again?"

"You shouldn't have promised her anything." I limited myself to respond, although my reply was way less hostile and more understanding. I knew my mother would have dragged him into something of the like, but that was a burden he shouldn't have been carrying. "This is war, Lew."

"I had to." In those saddened dark irises, I saw a reflection of the boy who, scared, used to stand up for me in every situation. The kid that didn't fight unless cornered; the one that would always do anything to keep my reckless self safe.

I denied with furrowed eyebrows. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. I've always done that." He was trying to convey something through his retort, but when he saw it didn't seem to reach me, he gave up. "You don't know how much you mean to me. And God knows I wish it wasn't like that because you can be so annoyingly stupid."

Lew got one thing right from the beginning of this ranks shitshow— I was his problem. I had always been. And he had learned the hard way he couldn't keep saving me.

"I had to see you bleed to death and no one let me do anything about it." There was the scolding tone again, only that this time desperation and guilt engulfed it, and I couldn't help but feel bad. "Do you understand how that felt?" It was nothing more than a whisper.

"Do you think I wanted this to happen?" I matched his tone with a pleading gaze. "I followed orders, Lew. Why would I wanna get shot?" He casted his eyes down. "And why would I wanna put you through that?"

His hands rested on the side of the stretcher and I wondered for a second if, aside from being past ranks and formalities, we were also past protocol.

Fuck the protocol, I thought to myself before placing my palm atop his.

"I hate this, Lew."

His hand turned to intertwin his fingers with mine. A quiet silence briefly reigned our little corner of the aid station while we gazed at each other like starcrossed lovers from our books would.

"You're a good soldier, Y/n/n." It was an odd compliment coming from him. Maybe it wasn't a compliment at all.

I feared it would be something else; a goodbye, perhaps.

He swallowed, eyes darting everywhere before finding mine again. "You're getting back to the States in the next ship." Before I could open my mouth, he added, "It's not my doing."

Nixon expected me to clap back.

Maybe three years ago I would have.

"You're staying." It wasn't a question, but he answered nevertheless.

"The job's not done."

Only then it occurred to me why he was there.

"You've come to say goodbye?"

"We're moving out in a couple of hours." His hand escaped my own. So did his eyes. "I hate this too, Y/n/n."

My palms came to cover my face with a shaky sigh, the back of the head sinking into the poor excuse of a pillow.

"If you get yourself killed, Lew, I swear to God." My voice broke slightly. Whether it was due to the exhaustion or the fear of losing him, I couldn't tell.

"You'll come back to kill me?" He finished, making me peek through my fingers at his form, half turned away from me.

"Yeah."

"Consider recovering first, alright?" He attempted to joke, although the situation was too somber to make it land.

"I'm serious." I warned, uncovering my face to look at him —properly look at him— one last time.

"I know."

He wanted to say more, I saw it in the gleam of his eyes and the way his lips parted ever so subtly.

He didn't. He couldn't, not even when we were past formalities. It was too... Improper? Heavy?

It was too much.

So instead he rose to his feet, his digits fumbling a little to find my own and give them a tight squeeze, his attention roaming the tent to check if someone was watching.

"I'll see you back home." His voice was low yet clear, holding intent. 'I'm gonna come back to you', he tried to get across.

"Don't take too long." I responded, hoping he could read the plea in my visage.

This time it was me who let go of his hand, a silent allowance on my part for him to walk away, which he halfheartedly did, sparing me one last glance from the aid station entrance before disappearing behind the tarp.

"Jesus Christ..." I muttered under my breath, shutting my eyes to stop the tears from spilling. "You better come back."

[midnightdraftqueen]

THE LIBERATION BALL

Speirs x OC!Nurse | Fluff

Warnings: None

As always, this story is based on the dramatized 2001 HBO series - Band of Brothers. This story is not meant to disparage or otherwise belittle the real stories of Easy Company and others that sacrificed their lives in World War II and armed conflicts thereafter.

It started with a whisper—an idea barely louder than the laughter of little girls.

The town was quiet now. Not empty, not eerie, just quiet in the way peace can be, when it’s new and everyone is still holding their breath to be sure it’s real. Easy Company had been quartered here just two days, tucked into aging stone apartments and half-crumbled storefronts that still bore the scars of occupation. Margaret Sinclair and the other rear aid station nurses were lucky to find themselves all in one building, crowded in with three families who hadn’t evacuated, who’d stayed through the worst of it.

The girls were the first to warm.

They spoke in halting English, eyes wide with fascination as they watched the nurses dab on lipstick with trembling hands, comb their hair into tidy plaits, and scrub blood from bandages like it was nothing. Louisa, no more than nine, had immediately taken to Maggie, her hands tugging gently at Maggie’s sleeve the second morning.

“Mademoiselle… a ball. With dancing.”

“A… ball?” Maggie repeated, and Louisa beamed.

“Oui! A ball. For… happy. For… not crying.”

Maggie’s throat caught.

The other nurses rallied around the idea like it was a mission briefing. A young boy named Peter, no taller than the mess tin he insisted on carrying, was sent running up and down the street to pass the word. By afternoon, the entire block was humming with preparation. Mothers shook their heads, insisting it was too much, too kind. But the nurses wouldn’t hear it.

“You let us in your homes,” Maggie told one woman, hands still wrapped around the ribbon she was tying into Louisa’s hair. “This is the least we can do.”

The ball took shape in that magical, haphazard way only children’s dreams can.

Old dresses were pulled from chests, still faintly smelling of cedar and time. Shoes were polished until the scuffs shone like badges. Louisa’s dress was a size too small, its sleeves pinching her arms and the hem barely brushing her knees, but she twirled like it was made of diamonds.

Someone found a phonograph and a handful of records. Tinny French waltzes warbled through the broken windowpanes. Tables were dragged into the cobbled street, covered in wrinkled linens and set with chipped plates. Dandelions and daisies, picked from the edges of old craters, stood proudly in cracked jam jars.

Snacks were cobbled together from cupboard corners—hard cheese, tins of fish, one blessed jar of cherry preserves—and whatever the nurses could spare from their rations.

The girls gathered shyly, unsure of where to begin. But one of the nurses stepped forward, spinning Louisa in a slow, careful circle, and suddenly the street was alive. They danced in groups, in circles, even alone. Some of the little boys tried to mimic them, only to devolve into wild whoops and staged tumbles that sent the girls into fits of giggles.

And then, a ripple of surprise.

The sound of boots.

The boys from Easy Company appeared—drawn like moths to the laughter. Winters at the front, arms casually behind his back, nodded once to the gathered crowd.

“We heard some ladies were throwing a ball,” he said with a small smile. “Figured you might need a few more suitors.”

Gasps and wide eyes. Peter actually dropped his mess tin.

The girls froze in delight.

Winters bowed deeply and offered his hand to the first little girl brave enough to step forward. She curtsied, awkward and delighted, and the entire block erupted into cheers.

Liebgott, half-smiling in that unreadable way of his, lifted Louisa into a proper waltz hold while Luz cut in to spin her sister in a clumsy circle. Perconte and Randleman began a mock duel for the children’s amusement.

Even Nixon got roped into helping pour “champagne”—water and apple juice into mismatched teacups—as Maggie hovered nearby, tucking curls behind ears and smoothing skirts with the kind of reverence usually reserved for battlefield wounds.

For a moment, no one was crying.

The sky turned a soft pink as the sun began to dip, and the girls, breathless and glowing, clung to their dance partners like royalty. Maggie stood with her arms crossed, watching the swirl of it all: a street turned ballroom, soldiers turned knights, a war briefly forgotten.

Winters came to stand beside her, brushing the edge of his sleeve with one hand. “You did all this?”

Maggie shook her head. “Louisa did. We just followed orders.”

He glanced at the girl—now beaming up at Toye as he handed her a wildflower.

“She’s going to remember this night for the rest of her life,” he said quietly.

Maggie nodded. “So are we.”

Eventually, the light faded to gold and the street was bathed in the hues of a setting sun and the warmth of laughter that bounced off stone walls.

Tables sagged gently beneath the weight of empty cups and half-shared army chocolate. Maggie stood with one hand on her hip and the other resting lightly on Louisa’s shoulder as the girl caught her breath from another round of twirls. Peter had passed out, slumped against a nurse’s lap with crumbs on his cheeks.

But… not everyone was in the thick of it.

Off to the edge of the square, just past the reach of the phonograph’s crackling music, a small knot of older boys hovered in a clump—arms crossed, noses wrinkled, feet shifting like they might bolt at any second. They watched the dancing with furrowed brows and muttered in French too quick for the nurses to catch.

But one soldier noticed.

Ronald Speirs, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a stripe of dirt still clinging to one cheek, strode toward them with casual purpose. He held a tin cup in one hand and the gaze of a man who’d crossed battlefields more comfortably than ballrooms.

He came to a stop beside them and looked down. “What’s the problem here?”

The tallest of the boys—Jean-Luc, maybe eleven—lifted his chin. “Boys are tough,” he said in broken English. “They don’t dance in circles.”

A ripple of agreement passed through the group like a nervous current.

Speirs didn’t flinch. He nodded once, slowly. “Maybe not in circles.” Then he leaned down, just slightly, voice low and conspiratorial. “But boys who are tough dance with pretty girls. Don’t they?”

Jean-Luc’s mouth opened and closed. He glanced sidelong toward the makeshift dance floor where Louisa, cheeks flushed and smile bright, was laughing with one of the nurses.

Speirs followed his gaze. “I’ve seen you watching her.”

The boy flushed crimson.

“She’s pretty,” Speirs continued. “And smart. Nurse Sinclair told us she’s the one who put this whole thing together.”

Jean-Luc’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Louisa… got soldiers to come play with us?”

“Yes, she did.” Speirs looked him square in the eye, expression unreadable but his tone just dry enough to provoke. “And if you don’t go dance with her—I will.”

That was all it took.

Jean-Luc’s shoulders stiffened. With a deep breath, he stepped forward. He walked straight across the cobbles, pausing just behind Louisa and tapping her shoulder. She turned, surprised. He awkwardly offered his hands in something that resembled a waltz hold.

Louisa’s face lit up.

She took his hands without hesitation, and they began to move—hesitant steps, uneven turns, more shuffle than spin. But it was dancing, no doubt about it.

The other boys stared like they’d just witnessed a miracle. Then they turned, wide-eyed, to Speirs.

He didn’t smile, exactly. But something like pride flickered behind his eyes as he barked, “What are you waiting for? MOVE, MEN. MOVE.”

The boys scattered like troops under orders, each scrambling toward a girl, a partner, a piece of the joy that had suddenly become acceptable.

The street erupted into a fresh wave of laughter.

Parents clapped from their stoops, nurses cheered. Maggie caught Speirs’s eye from across the square and shook her head fondly. He gave a barely-there shrug and smirked and took the now-empty tin cup with him as he strolled back toward the dance floor, passing Louisa and Jean-Luc as they spun into a too-fast turn and collapsed into a fit of giggles.

And behind them all, the phonograph played on—scratchy, warbled, perfect.

The music softened as the evening wore on—less wild giggles and chaotic twirls now, more swaying shadows and sleepy smiles. Some of the littlest ones had begun to nod off, heads in laps and fingers sticky with jam. A few older children still circled each other in mismatched pairs, reluctant to let the night end.

Louisa, never one to let a good moment slip away, clutched the edges of her skirt and spun once, her laughter ringing like a bell. Then she stopped—eyes scanning the crowd of adults lining the edge of the square, lounging on steps and folding chairs, sipping from tin cups, hands idle.

She narrowed her gaze.

“The grown-ups,” she whispered to Jean-Luc. “They don’t dance.”

Jean-Luc followed her line of sight and nodded solemnly. “We fix that.”

They moved like a miniature tactical unit. Louisa zeroed in on another nurse, Este, who was mid-sentence when she was grabbed by the hand. “Come on!” Louisa declared.

“Louisa—” Este started, laughing, but the girl wouldn’t be denied.

“You dance now,” she insisted, tugging Este straight toward George Luz, who blinked as he realized he was being ambushed.

“She’s yours!” Louisa said, beaming, and gave Este a final push.

Luz looked at Este, grinned, and offered a dramatic bow. “Well, if the lady insists.”

Este rolled her eyes but smiled and took his hand. “Try not to step on my toes, radio boy.”

Elsewhere, Jean-Luc had his own plan.

He approached Speirs slowly, hands tucked behind his back, wearing the same faint smirk Speirs himself had worn earlier.

Speirs eyed him. “What?”

Jean-Luc tilted his head, feigning innocence. “You watch Nurse Maggie.”

That made Speirs pause. His brow lifted—just a little. “I do, huh?”

Jean-Luc crossed his arms. “You go dance. Or I will.”

Speirs blinked, and then—surprisingly—chuckled.

“Okay, kid,” he said with a shake of his head. “Touché.”

Across the square, Maggie stood near the edge of a table, her hands brushing down the front of her skirt as she straightened a wildflower vase. She turned at the sound of footsteps.

Speirs stopped just in front of her, hands loose at his sides.

“Looks like I’ve been challenged,” he said, nodding toward Jean-Luc, who gave a smug little wave from behind. “Kid called my bluff.”

Maggie laughed. “So now you have to dance?”

“I guess I do,” he said, extending a hand. “Unless you’re going to make me look bad in front of a bunch of ten-year-olds.”

She took his hand with a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The music played on—soft, sweet, a simple waltz from a scratched record—and Speirs stepped in, placing a careful hand on her waist, leading like it was something he’d done a thousand times.

Maggie blinked in surprise as he turned her, the motion smooth and sure.

“You’re good,” she said.

He gave a tiny shrug. “My mother insisted. Said a man should know how to dance and write a proper thank-you note.”

She laughed as he spun her. “I bet you’re hell with stationery.”

He grinned—an actual grin—as they moved together, his steps guiding her through the slow rhythm of the street-turned-ballroom.

Then, without warning, he dipped her.

A perfect, movie-worthy swoop that pulled a chorus of gasps and dreamy squeals from the watching girls. Louisa clasped her hands over her heart. Este did a double-take mid-spin with Luz. Even Perconte let out a whistle.

Only Winters didn’t blink—just raised his cup toward the pair and nodded, like he’d known all along.

Maggie’s breath caught, but she was laughing as he pulled her back upright, one hand steady on her back.

“Well,” she said, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “That was unexpected.”

Speirs tilted his head, still holding her hand. “That’s war, Nurse Sinclair.” He offered a sly smile. “Always keep ’em guessing.”

As the music carried on, more adults joined the dance—mothers pulling fathers into long-forgotten steps, nurses trading partners with soldiers, laughter echoing under the stars.

And for a few more minutes, the war receded again—tucked behind the walls, hidden beneath the rhythm of old records and the flicker of candlelight.

—————————— 🪖🪖🪖🪖 ——————————

The last notes of music had long since faded, replaced by the soft scrape of chairs being tucked in and laughter drifting into low murmurs. The stars above the town shone unobstructed for the first time in years—no blackouts, no bombs. Just quiet.

Soldiers helped sweep the street clean, Luz dramatically balancing a cracked plate on his head before depositing it with a bow into a bucket. Winters had rolled up his sleeves and was folding table linens with the quiet precision of a man who found comfort in order.

Parents gathered their children like petals—cradling tired limbs, brushing dirt from knees, whispering promises of warm baths and soft pillows.

Maggie sat on the stoop of the apartment building, Louisa fast asleep against her side, her arms still curled like she’d been dancing in her dreams.

Speirs approached without a word.

He crouched, hands gentle as he slid one arm beneath Louisa’s legs, the other behind her back. She stirred just once—then curled instinctively into his chest like she’d always belonged there.

Maggie stood and followed, her steps light beside his boots as they walked inside.

In the kitchen, her mother, Jeanne, stood at the sink, sleeves rolled and hands slick with suds as she washed sticky cups and jelly-smeared plates. She turned when she heard them, a tired but soft smile on her face.

“My sweet girl,” she said in French-accented English, “I saw her really smile tonight. A real one. First time in a long time.”

Speirs nodded once, voice quiet. “Where should I put her?”

Jeanne dried her hands on a dishcloth and gestured down the hallway. “My room. At the end of the hall. The girls sleep with me since their papa went into the resistance. He is away. To keep us safe.”

He met her eyes—something unsaid but understood between them—then carried Louisa down the hall.

Maggie followed, silent.

They entered the room where Louisa’s sister already lay asleep, a stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin. Speirs knelt and gently laid Louisa down, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.

Maggie stepped in and smoothed Louisa’s hair, fingers lingering just a moment longer. Then she straightened, and together they slipped from the room, pulling the door closed behind them with the softest click.

In the kitchen, Jeanne was still at the sink.

“You were good with her,” Maggie said as they walked back toward the front door.

Speirs gave her a sidelong glance. “You sound like that surprises you.”

“It does,” she replied, then stopped walking, turning to face him. “But not because I didn’t think you were capable. Because I thought you wouldn’t want to ruin that killer reputation. Though I think your dancing prowess might have already poked holes in that.”

He smiled. An honest, warm, quiet thing. “I think I’ve got enough of a reputation that the men know well enough not to ask questions. Besides, like I said… you’ve got to keep ‘em guessing.”

“Ahh,” Maggie teased, arms crossing. “It’s all part of the bigger strategy. Your twinkle toes and way with children are tactics to maintain mystique.”

He tilted his head. “Hmm. You might be a better intelligence officer than Nixon.”

She let out a laugh—surprised and delighted. “I’m definitely telling him you said that.”

From the sink, Jeanne turned, catching sight of them in the low light.

“Lieutenant,” she asked, not stern but curious, “you leave?”

Speirs nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am. I figured I’d let you ladies get some sleep.”

But Jeanne just shook her head and said, “You can sleep here, no? Real bed in Louisa’s room. With Margaret.”

Maggie blinked. “Jeanne, that might not be—”

But Jeanne only raised a brow, that distinctly maternal mix of grace and steel. “No scandal here. Besides…” She nodded toward the door. “Your friend Este, she went off with that loud little one she danced with. I doubt she will be back tonight.”

Maggie turned to Speirs, mouth twitching. “Well, Lieutenant… you up for a sleepover?”

He looked at her, at the warmth still lingering in the air, at the clean plates stacked and the hum of peace under the surface of it all. Then he gave a small smirk.

“I guess it’ll add another layer to my coordinated mystique ”

The house was still as they made their way down the hall.

From the kitchen came the faint sound of Jeanne washing the last few dishes, her movements gentle, like even the clinking of cups was afraid to break the spell of the night.

Maggie stood in what had once been Louisa’s bedroom—now hastily repurposed with army blankets and a secondhand pillow for her use. A tiny dresser still held chipped ceramic animals and the frayed ribbon of a childhood once uninterrupted.

Speirs leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He hadn’t said anything when Maggie changed into her cotton nightshirt—he’d respectfully turned to face the shelves, as if pretending to study the titles of worn French books he couldn’t read. But she could feel his presence all the same, like static in the air.

“You stand like you’re guarding the door or considering a war crime.” she said lightly, sliding her brush through her hair.

His mouth twitched. “Muscle memory.”

She tossed the brush onto the dresser and turned to face him. “You staying?”

“I’ve been invited,” he said. “By two women who are terrifying in very different ways.”

That made her laugh.

He stepped into the room then, slowly, and looked around. “This used to be Louisa’s?”

Maggie nodded. “Jeanne said she insisted I sleep here. Said it would make her feel better. Like she was doing something for us.”

He looked at the faded bedspread, still patterned with flowers, and the stack of folded pajamas left on the chair. “She did plenty.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her legs up under the blanket. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve slept in foxholes, Margaret,” he deadpanned. “I think I’ll survive a wooden floor.”

But she just lifted the corner of the blanket. “There’s room.”

He hesitated.

“You’re not scandalizing me,” she added softly. “Just… don’t be weird about it.”

That earned a rare huff of amusement. “Copy that.”

He moved around the bed, pulled off his boots with quiet efficiency, and lay down beside her on top of the blanket, arms folded behind his head.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Outside, a dog barked in the distance.

Maggie turned her head slightly, studying the way the moonlight caught on his lashes. “You really are full of surprises.”

“I try.”

“You twirled me around the street like it was second nature,” she said. “Carried a sleeping child. Talked big tough boys into dancing.”

He turned his face toward her, one brow arching. “You left out bedding down beside a nurse in a floral twin bed.”

“That too.” Her smile curled, sleep-heavy but sincere. “Ronald Speirs: war hero and master of unexpected tenderness.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, voice barely above a whisper, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She looked at him, earnestly. “I don’t.”

And with nothing left to prove, and no one left to impress, they both sank into the hush of night.

Not touching. But close.

Breathing in the same silence.

Morning slipped in slowly, casting gold through the worn curtains of Louisa’s old bedroom. Maggie stirred first, blinking against the warm light. Her arm was flung over the edge of the mattress, and the faint scent of soap and dust filled the air.

Ron was still beside her, flat on his back, arms folded loosely over his stomach. The floor creaked as Maggie sat up, stretching, hair a tangle over one shoulder.

“You snore,” she murmured.

“No, I don’t,” he replied without opening his eyes.

“You do. Not loud. Just enough to sound smug in your sleep.”

He cracked one eye open. “Smug breathing. Add it to the list.”

Before she could retort, the door banged open.

“Margaret!”

Louisa, in a whirlwind of curls and excitement, burst into the room like a bullet.

Jeanne’s voice followed in rapid-fire French from the hallway. “Louisa! Laisse-les tranquilles!”

The girl froze in the doorway, blinking as she took in the scene—Maggie still half-tangled in the covers, Speirs in undershirt and fatigue pants sitting up calmly, boots still by the door.

Jeanne appeared a breath later, flustered and blushing furiously. “I’m so sorry—désolée—she is excited, she forgets doors.”

Maggie just laughed and waved her off. “It’s alright.”

Ten minutes later, they sat around the kitchen table—Maggie in her uniform jacket now buttoned and tidy, Speirs polished into his usual battle-ready presence. They ate slices of dark bread with jam, sipping watery coffee while Louisa perched on a stool, still talking a mile a minute.

Then the clock chimed the hour, and duty returned.

Speirs had a briefing. Maggie was needed at the rear station to help with triage reports and supply distribution.

They didn’t have time for anything beyond a nod goodbye.

Around lunch, the makeshift mess was a bustling maze of folding tables, tin trays, and clatter. Maggie sat down with a bowl of watery soup and a hunk of bread, wedging herself between Este and one of the clerks from HQ.

Across the room, Speirs sat with Winters, Nixon, and Welsh—each man in varying stages of uniform, field maps and notepads scattered on the table between bites.

Then the door flung open.

Louisa charged in, skirt flaring, determined as a one-girl mission.

“Maggie!”

Maggie immediately stood, eyes scanning for signs of trouble. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” Louisa said brightly, holding up a familiar silver glint. “Your soldier left this!”

In her small hand gleamed Speirs’ cigarette lighter.

Across the room, Speirs had frozen mid-sip.

Maggie felt the weight of a hundred eyes snap to her. She smiled through it. “Thank you, sweet girl. I’m sure he’d miss that.”

Louisa nodded, proud as anything. Then—loudly, confidently, and without an ounce of hesitation—she asked, “Are you getting married now? You slept in bed like my mama and papa.”

A clatter as Speirs choked on his coffee.

Winters blinked. Nixon lifted his eyebrows with barely concealed delight. Welsh smirked over his cup.

Around them, murmurs began. Suppressed laughter. Curious glances. A few outright stares.

Maggie threw her head back and laughed. “No, sweetie. I’m not marrying Lieutenant Speirs.”

Louisa frowned, turned, and scanned the room—then landed on him again.

“Good,” she declared. “Because I want to marry him.”

The room erupted.

Luz’s cackle was the loudest. Someone—possibly Perconte—actually slapped the table. Even Winters ducked his head, biting back a smile.

But Speirs stood. Calmly.

He walked across the mess with deliberate steps and knelt down beside Louisa.

“Miss Louisa,” he said, eyes level with hers. “I’m honored. Truly. But I don’t know where the war will take me, and I might be a little too old for you.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem old.”

That drew another ripple of laughter.

Speirs grinned. “Even so… I think Jean-Luc might be a good man to keep around.”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “He did dance. And he gave me his dessert.”

Speirs reached up and unpinned one of his collar insignias. Carefully, reverently, he pinned it to her dress. “So you don’t forget me.”

Then he leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss to her cheek.

She beamed, eyes bright.

Maggie, watching it all, felt her heart expand in her chest like it had nowhere else to go.

“I’ll walk her home,” she murmured, and Speirs nodded.

As she and Louisa exited into the street, chattering softly, Speirs turned and returned to his seat at the officers’ table.

He sat, deadpan, coffee cup in hand.

The looks hit immediately.

Nixon didn’t even wait. “So… smoking jackets or full tuxedos for the wedding?”

Winters, dry as ever, added, “I’ll speak to Sink about adding a flower girl to the chain of command.”

Speirs raised his coffee. “You’re just jealous no one’s proposed to you.”

Welsh grinned. “If I thought it’d get me a kiss and a pin, I’d kneel right now.”

Around them, the laughter began again, but Speirs didn’t look at them.

He looked toward the door.

Toward the street.

Toward where Maggie and Louisa were walking, hand in hand in the sunlight.

And for the first time that day, he smiled like he didn’t care who saw it.

—————————— 🪖🪖🪖🪖 ——————————

The sun had long since sunk behind the rooftops, turning the narrow alleys of the little town to soft shadows and golden lamplight. Most of Easy Company was packed up, trucks and gear staged, boots polished and orders given. The lull before movement always felt like a held breath.

Maggie found Speirs near the edge of the courtyard, where the town thinned into fields. He stood alone under a crooked tree, cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke curl toward the stars.

She joined him quietly, hands in her coat pockets, shoulder brushing the worn bark as she leaned beside him.

“You know,” she said, nudging his arm, “your impromptu marriage proposal really turned some heads today.”

He exhaled a soft breath through his nose, amused. “She’s a determined girl.”

“She’s smitten.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, holding the cigarette out to Maggie.

She took it, inhaled, passed it back. “Though I have to say, you didn’t NOT encourage her. You gave her a whole pin, Lieutenant.”

“She earned it,” he said evenly. “Boosting morale.”

“The real kicker though,” he said, tilting his face to look at the woman beside him more clearly, “is how confidently you told her you weren’t marrying me.”

“Aww,” she teased, grinning. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Hmm,” he replied, flicking ash into the grass. “That implies I have feelings to hurt.”

She turned her head, looked at him through the dark. “You do. You’re just very selective about who sees them.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then:

“Well. I guess you should feel honored then.”

She didn’t smile right away. Just looked at him—really looked.

“I am,” she said softly.

That landed between them with a weight neither of them rushed to move.

The wind shifted. Somewhere behind them, a Jeep rolled by. Voices murmured from a barracks window, the low murmur of tired men playing cards, preparing their gear.

And then Maggie bumped her shoulder gently into his.

“If you do ever propose to me,” she said lightly, “I want more than a standard-issue Army insignia pin…I’d at least expect some jump wings.”

That drew a laugh from him—short, low, real.

She laughed too, tipping her head back, letting it spill out without apology.

They stood like that a while longer. Not making promises. Not defining anything. Just sharing a cigarette and a moment of rare peace in a world that rarely offered either.

Eventually, Speirs stubbed out the cigarette against the tree.

“We roll out in the morning,” he said, voice quiet again. “Zero five hundred.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

He glanced at her one last time, then started to walk back toward his quarters.

Halfway there, he turned back.

“Maggie?”

“Yeah?”

A pause. A flicker of something almost like a smile.

“You’d look good in wings.”

And with that, he disappeared into the dark.

[antiswagc0rp]

Spare Some Chocolate?

Chapter 2 - It's a Long Way to Tipperary

(July 19, 2025)

words - 2500

AU NOTE ~ I would like to very CLEARLY state, this is not a fanfiction written about these real life heros. This is written about the characters portrayed in the show 'Band of Brothers' played out by a cast of actors.

Whatever I write is to the best of my knowledge going with what I have seen in the show and researched online. I am aware that this is not how the history of American women in active service of WW2 played out. This is just a fiction of my creation of a 'what if' scenario.

Enjoy the chapter.

***

December 1942 

Fort Benning

The change of scenery wasn’t so bad—hell, I was relieved not to see Currahee looming on the horizon anymore. But a new camp meant one thing: we were moving up. No more practice jumps out of fake planes ten feet off the ground. This was the real deal.

Weekend passes have been revoked… again. So I’m stuck on base the second weekend of December, when all I want to do is go home and see my folks.

I sit outside, leaning up against the outer wall of my barracks “building,” knees folded up to my chest, my leather boots stiff in the cold. My eyes scan a letter held loosely in my hands.

“From your boyfriend?”

A voice startles me.

I quickly fold up the paper in an effort to hide the cursive writing.

“W–what? No. The answer is still the same.”

The question’s a frequent one in Easy Company. They’re convinced I’m hiding some fella. I scrunch my brows and look up at him, perplexed.

“What is it exactly you boys think I do when I leave base?” I add.

He shrugs, strolling over to lean against the neighboring building, pulling out a cigarette.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs again, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he places the smoke between them. “Building a man in secret out of stray parts,” he mumbles, striking a match. “Like, uh—Frankenstein!” he beams, taking a deep inhale.

I deadpan at his childish grin, watching smoke curl from his mouth.

“You think I’m some elaborate scientist? A grave robber?”

“I mean—you’re a nurse. So, ya know…”

He gestures with both hands, brows raised, the lit cig poised like punctuation.

“Ya know,” he repeats, like he’s trying to get me to connect the dots.

“I’m a nurse, so therefore—” The look of disbelief on my face borders on theatrical. “—therefore I know how to create my own husband?”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

He raises his hands defensively before taking another drag.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“As unbelievable as a zombie boyfriend?”

My eyes squint. My lips part. Jesus Christ, every time this man opens his mouth it’s like unwrapping a new kind of stupid.

“It’s from my brother,” I mutter, doing my best to ignore everything he just said.

“Ohh! 4-F! How’s James doing?” he beams, tone shifting into something almost genuine.

“My other brother,” I correct.

“Older?” He asks like he already knows.

“Christ, no wonder you turned out the way you did.” He grins, shaking his head as he exhales more Camel smoke.

“What’d he say?”

I glance at Liebgott, then back at the letter. A brief sigh escapes me.

“Nothin’ important. Merry Christmas and so forth.”

“A bit early for that,” he says, making a judgy face.

“Yeah,” I nod, not bothering to look up at him. My eyes are too busy drilling into the date.

December 1939.

“We havin’ a party?” another voice calls, and I take that as my cue to tuck the weathered note away.

“Yeah, Luz. Too bad you were late—you missed out on the champagne.”

I grunt as I rise to my feet.

“Do you think L/N could create Frankenstein’s monster?” Liebgott asks, suddenly ‘curious’.

He’s just doing it to get a rise out of me, and of course it works. I roll my head back with a groan.

“I thought we were past this.”

I smooth the crease forming between my brows.

They follow close behind as we make our way back to the barracks—two oversized ducks in formation, still mid-conversation, still loud enough for the whole damn company.

Their boots crunch slower now, clearly scheming again.

“I bet her Frankenstein boyfriend is the type who carries her purse,” Liebgott mutters. “Like, a real goodie-two-shoes. ‘Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.’ Folds his socks, shaves twice a day.”

“Like a puppy,” Luz adds. “Big eyes. Always lookin’ up at her like, ‘Did I do good, ma’am?’”He offers a meek, breathy voice that makes my eye twitch.

“Hell, that sounds like Webster,” Lieb chuckles.

“You like Harvard boys, Noir?”

“Why d’you boys care so much?” I ask, already knowing the question’s futile.

“Keeps us entertained.” Lieb shrugs, hands in his pockets.

We pass Bill and Toye, chatting over smokes near the corner of the barracks.

“Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” Bill sneers playfully, cigarette dangling from his lips.

A tight-lipped grin stretches across my face—a dead giveaway I’m annoyed.

“What’d Lieb say now?” Toye asks, tilting his head with a curious smile.

“Says I’m hidin’ Frankenstein’s monster in my footlocker.” I sigh.

Guarnere’s signature smug smirk spreads across his face as he chuckles.

“Not just Frankenstein’s monster—her Frankenstein boyfriend,” Luz corrects.

“Yeah, like that’s any better.” I raise my brows, turning halfway to finally face him.

“Nixon could learn a thing or two from you.”

“I could learn what?”

We all snap our heads toward the new voice.

Lewis Nixon.

“Nothin’.” The word pitches higher than I mean it to—embarrassed. Nixon isn’t as harsh or high-ranking as Sobel, but still… not someone you want to annoy without good reason.

Nobody dares mention Lewis’s stash of Vat 69—supposedly planted in someone’s footlocker. We don’t know whose. Maybe even ours.

Lew’s fudge-brown eyes narrow just slightly. He licks his bottom lip, gives a single nod, and walks off to wherever he was headed.

“Holy shit, look at her! She’s pink in the face!” Luz laughs.

“He came outta nowhere!” I shoot back.

“You know he’s married?” Toye adds.

“Would that stop her?” Lieb points.

“Again—I’m right here!”

“So when’s the wedding?” Bill grins.

“I don’t like—” I inhale slowly through my nose. “Never.” I huff.

“Ho-ho! She ain’t denying it!”

“I just did, dimwit!”

“Didn’t sound like that to me,” Bill hums, shaking his head beneath the glow of his lit cigarette.

***

February 1943

“So, do we feel like we’re ready to be Army paratroopers?”

“Yes, sergeant!”

“I hope so. This’ll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon successful completion of your fifth and final jump, you’ll be certified Army paratroopers.” He pauses, fidgeting with the pointer stick in his hand for a moment.

“There’ll be a lot of men dropping from the sky today. Hopefully under deployed canopies.”

The sergeant strolls as he speaks.

“Jumping from 1,000 feet AGL, in sticks of 12 jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught… and I guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest.”

His posture changes, more serious now.

“And gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door… and I guarantee you, you will… be out of the Airborne.”

***

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that first jump. Or the fear laced in my voice as I called out, “Six okay!” And the moments that followed—my legs splayed out in front of me, the air so loud in my ears I could barely think, just trying to count.

1,000.

2,000

3,000

4,000

~

“5,000, 6,000!” The table slams and glasses clink after every millennium.

“7,000, 8,000, 9,000!”

Guarnere’s empty beer glass comes down with a thud as he grins, silver wings between his teeth.

“Whooo!”

“Yeah!”

Bill raises his brows and nods, removing the pin from his trap. “Hi-ho, Silva’!” he beams.

I laugh at the group of men beside Toye at the bar, back pressed up against the wooden ledge, head over my shoulder with a buzzed smile.

“Corporal Toye, there will be no leaning in my company.” Luz’s expression darkens as he crosses his arms and presses himself against the bar top, impersonating Captain Sobel.

“Are those dusty jump wings?” Toye glances down, blowing air at the metal before rubbing it with his thumb. “How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?” he comments.

Toye closes the distance, gripping George’s arm. “Luz, just give me a drink.” His tone is low and almost sultry.

Luz breaks into the most school-boy grin. “Hell of an idea, Joe.” He reaches behind the counter and presents Toye with a full beer. “There you go.”

“For a moment there, I thought you were goin’ to plant a smooch on him.” I mutter from behind my drink as I take a sip.

They both chuckle and raise a toast.

“Three miles up, three miles down.”

“Ten-hut!” a voice shouts over the crowd.

In an instant, we compose ourselves, standing at attention. Colonel Sink strides up onto the stage.

“Well, at ease, paratroopers.” We all adjust accordingly, hands clasped behind our backs. “Good evening, Easy Company.”

“Evening, sir.”

“Now, parachute infantry is a brand-new concept in American military history. But by God, the 506 is gonna forge that brand-new concept into victory.”

“Yes, sir!” We smile, and I don’t miss the look Nixon and Winters share.

“I want you to know that I’m damned proud of each and every one of you. Now, you deserve this party.” Charles takes the jump and hands Sink a beer. “Thank you, Sergeant Grant.”

“Sir.”

“So, I want you to have fun… and remember our motto… Currahee!” The colonel raises his drink. 

“Currahee!” we holler, raising ours in return.

And as soon as he appeared, Sink was already out of the bar, and the company once more indulged.

A hand on my shoulder makes me jump slightly, but I soften when I see his face.

“Hey, Buck!” I smile, grabbing his bicep and squeezing tightly. “How we doin’ on the drink count?”

He shakes his hand and smiles, hugging me back. “I could use another,” he gestures to Luz and makes a ‘so-so’ face.

“As you wish, dear.” George hands Compton another drink.

I pawn off my lipstick-smudged, half-empty glass to Toye. “Here, take this.”

“What, am I supposed to do with this?”

“What’re you, dense? Drink it!”

“What, you tappin’ out already?” he counters.

“I’m takin’ a break. If I spill booze on my uniform, I may just cry.” I pat his shoulder twice, and he shakes his head before I walk away.

There’s something about this uniform that makes me feel a sense of pride. Maybe it’s because it’s properly tailored to a woman’s size for once. That, and the fact I wore painted lashes and lips, has me giddy.

“Howdy, boys,” I pull up a chair at the long table beside Bill.

“Evenin’, doll.” He grips my shoulder—his way of saying hello.

“Don’t call me ‘doll’ unless you’re offering to shine my boots,” I mutter, sliding into the chair beside him.

Christenson huffs out a laugh from across the table, hand resting on a half-drained beer. “She’s got ya there, Bill.”

I point my finger in his direction. “See? Someone here has taste.”

The bar hums with joy— music from the jukebox in the corner, glass tapping wood, stories getting louder as the drinks pile up. I lean forward on my elbows, letting the noise blur around me. Warmth settles under my skin, equal parts alcohol and something else. Maybe comfort. Maybe the strange high that comes with finally belonging.

That’s when Winters passes behind me, evidently no glass in hand, moving at his usual steady pace. He doesn’t stop, but he slows just enough to murmur:

“Good to see you settling in.”

I blink, caught between surprise and something that might’ve been pride.

“Thanks, sir.”

He nods once, already tuning in to Nixon’s low voice at his shoulder as they move on.

“Careful, boys—she’ll charm you sober.”

Liebgott.

I don’t need to turn around. His voice has that familiar half-lazy rasp, like he’s just waking up from a nap he didn’t deserve. I hear the scrape of a chair pull out, feet dragging just enough to be annoying. Christenson smirks but doesn’t look up from his glass. Bull just leans back slightly, arms crossed, watching the room with that sharp, unbothered expression of his. Liebgott sits across from me, beer bottle in his grasp, eyes scanning the table like he’s checking who’d be the most fun to piss off. When they land on me, the grin sharpens.

“Relax,” he says, “What? I stroll over and suddenly it’s ladies’ hour at the NCO Club.”

“Sore no one sent you an invite?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t need one. I was born dazzling.”

“Mm,” I say, staring at his pursed lips as he takes a swig. “Don’t be jealous no one asked you to wear lipstick.”

Christenson snorts into his drink, and Bull’s mouth twitches.

Liebgott’s tongue darts over his bottom lip without breaking eye contact. “If I did, you’d never recover.”

I raise an eyebrow. “From the trauma?”

He smiles, all teeth. “From the competition.”

He taps the toe of his loafer against mine beneath the table.

“Pat’ would wear it better,” I say, brushing off the bait, glancing over my shoulder just in time to see Toye swaggering up behind me.

“I beg to differ!” he slurs—only slightly—a crooked smile on his face, and lipstick, unmistakably red, splotched across his mouth.

My laugh cracks out of me before I can stop it, too surprised not to.

“You look great, Joe!” I say, shaking my head in a dizzy grin. “Just your color!”

“I could use a refresh,” he shoots back, puckering his lips with a dramatic mwah in my direction.

“I ain’t givin’ you my tube!” A protective hand slaps over the breast pocket of my jacket. “It’s my prized possession, I’ll have you know!”

Bull chuckles lowly, silently studying, but Christenson leans forward just enough to catch a glimpse of Toye’s face—and the moment he does, his brows lift.

“Jesus, Joe,” Christenson mutters, lips curving.

“What?” Toye blinks.

“You’ve got her lipstick on you.”

Toye blinks again, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, so?”

Bull cocks his head slowly. “Don’t tell me you two—”

“Oh my God,” I groan, hiding my face in my hands after already reading the look that passes around the table like wildfire.

“I drank outta her glass,” Toye explains, like that clears everything up.

But it doesn’t, because the boys are grinning now—Christenson looking down to hide it, Bull smothering his smirk behind his fist. Even little Perconte, walking past with a beer in each hand, mutters,

“Atta boy,” under his breath before vanishing into the crowd.

And Liebgott? He doesn’t say a word. Still sitting across from me, glass bottle gripped with white knuckles, and the grin now gone. Not completely—but something tugs it sideways. His eyes drop, just for a second, to Toye’s mouth, then to mine, then back to his drink.

“You alright there, Joe?” I ask him, awkwardly laughing.

“Peachy.”

He pushes back from the table, up in a hurry, taking a harsh chug of his beer.

“Where you goin’?” Bill asks. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Joe huffs, walking off toward the back of the bar, head down like he’s looking for a fight—or a door—whichever comes first. I had to say I was surprised it wasn’t Bill.

[baura-bear]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Band of Brothers (TV 2001) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters Characters: Lewis Nixon, Richard Winters Additional Tags: Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Post-War, Canon Era, Domestic Fluff Summary:

Dick stopped next to him, watching curiously. “What are you doing?” He inquired.

Lew side eyed him, tongue still hanging out. “Eating snow.” Without another word he let gravity do the work as he flopped backwards onto the ground. It wasn’t enough to really cushion his landing, but he had a proper landing technique. It was nothing compared to throwing yourself from a plane. “Oof,” he huffed out as he hit the ground, splaying his arms out in an angel shape. Instead of flapping his limbs like one would to create a snow angel, he stared up at Dick who was still standing. “Well, come on.”

Dick carefully lowered himself to the ground an angel's length away from Lew and started making his imprint. Lew, apparently satisfied, started doing the same. Neither of them made an attempt to get up, even after they’d both stopped moving. Their arms were still splayed out, hand barely a finger's length away from each other as they watched snow fall from the sky.

[brassknucklespeirs]

Band of Brothers x soulmate au

screw it, i'm doing a soulmate au x band of brothers series. if there is anything specific y'all want...let me know but already have the metaphorical lightbulb flashing above my head (thank you @softguarnere for my swimming thoughts, everyone go read her Webster soulmate au it's *chefs kiss*)

[maid-von-buch]

Fanmix für alles von BoB!

Wer will, wer will, wer hat noch nicht?! 😁♥️

[gotxpenny]

Band Of Brothers Masterlist

Keys: mp=multipart | f=fluff | a=angst | f-a=fluff&angst | «f=mostly fluff | «a=mostly angst | os=oneshot | !!=request | d=drable | oc=original character | h/c=hurt+comfort | s/t=spicy+tension |

- Dick Winters -

All That's Left ( os | f-a )

On VE Day in Zell am See, Y/N and Dick find themselves alone on a balcony overlooking the quiet, war-free town. With the war finally over, the two are faced with the raw possibility of love—and the choice to no longer hide from it.

Until We Meet Again ( mp | f-a | oc ) - coming soon

Operation Valhalla follows the untold story of the Valkyries-four trailblazing women who defy societal expectations and the military's rigid norms to join the elite airborne ranks of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

- Joe Liebgott -

The Edge of Almost ( os | a )

High in the Alps of Berchtesgaden, the war may be ending, but the battle between Joe Liebgott and Y/N comes to a breaking point. As Joe confesses what they both already know—that they were never just friends...

Locked and Loaded ( os | f-a )

In the middle of war, some battles aren’t fought with bullets. Tension runs high between Easy Company’s only woman and a certain sharp-tongued translator. With the jump into Eindhoven looming, gear isn’t the only thing weighing heavy on their shoulders.

Until We Meet Again ( mp | f-a | oc ) - coming soon

Operation Valhalla follows the untold story of the Valkyries-four trailblazing women who defy societal expectations and the military's rigid norms to join the elite airborne ranks of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

- George Luz -

Stolen Hearts ( os | «f )

Easy Company’s medic, and George Luz navigate a bond that’s always hovered on the edge of something more. Though forbidden by Colonel Sink’s orders, George can’t help falling for her—and she’s spent every moment trying not to fall back.

The Ones Who Don't Laugh ( os | h/c )

A quiet night after a long day. Laughter echoes from the campfire, but one voice is missing. When Y/N finds George sitting alone with a forced smile and tired eyes, the conversation shifts from jokes to honesty—and maybe, for once, George isn’t the one keeping everyone else afloat.

- Babe Heffron -

Stay With Me ( os | h/c )

In a world tearing itself apart, a guarded medic lets herself finally fall—only to find Babe Heffron already waiting, steady and soft, willing to stay through every broken piece.

Undone By You ( os | s/t )

In the dim haze of a crowded bar somewhere in Europe, two soldiers from different worlds find themselves drawn to one another. She’s quiet and careful. He’s bold and charming. But in a war-torn moment suspended in time, a single spark threatens to change everything.

Until We Meet Again ( mp | h/c | oc ) - coming soon

Operation Valhalla follows the untold story of the Valkyries-four trailblazing women who defy societal expectations and the military's rigid norms to join the elite airborne ranks of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

- Floyd Talbert -

Too Chicken? ( os | «f | s/t )

Tension simmers between two stubborn souls who speak fluent sarcasm and hide too much behind sharp words. One supply room. One poorly placed box. And maybe—finally—something they’ve both been avoiding.

- Lewis Nixon -

Every Line We Crossed ( os | f-a | s/t )

WWII. Bad timing. Worse decisions. Long stares across war rooms, a translator who speaks four languages and still can’t find the right words, and Lewis Nixon who drinks too much and feels too much. It’s tense. It’s messy. It’s that kind of almost-love that was doomed from the start—but God, did it burn.

What We Held On To ( mp | «a | oc ) - coming soon

Francine Ellis was never supposed to be on the front lines-at least, not on paper. Official records list her as a WAAC clerk. The truth? She was one of the first women selected for Project Vigil.

- Ronald Spiers -

Until We Meet Again ( mp | «a | oc ) - coming soon

Operation Valhalla follows the untold story of the Valkyries-four trailblazing women who defy societal expectations and the military's rigid norms to join the elite airborne ranks of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment.

Didn't include a character you wanted yet? Feel free to send a request here!

[luminouslywriting]

BoB headcanon! What sort of long term goals/challenges do you think the boys would like to accomplish with their significant other? Like a DIY project, sports, gardening, etc.?

A/N: Hello darlings! I have decided to grace you with a request since I'm dealing with a horrible head cold still and need some fluff! Enjoy! Note that the gif belongs to foreverthe80s and my requests are open!

Dick Winters:

-He's got a garden for sure

-It's his pride and joy; vegetables and fruits, an apple tree—the whole nine yards. Every Saturday, he wants to be outside and tending to it with you and he'll even help you plant all your favorite flowers.

-World's nicest front and backyard goes to you two

Lewis Nixon:

-He has a goal of visiting all 50 states while he's with you

-This means either doing road trips, flights, or even boat rides. It doesn't have to be done quickly, he just wants to travel and see the country with you.

-His goal is to get a picture of you two kissing in every state haha

Ronald Speirs:

-DIY project extraordinaire

-He's constantly bringing home random project materials and just being like, "let's make a wreath or let's build a bird-house."

-It's random AF and probably lowkey related to kleptomania haha

Buck Compton:

-Two words....BOOK CLUB

-This man wants to do a spouse/SO book challenge where you read a book together and then get together and talk about it haha

-He wants to hear all of your thoughts on Pride and Prejudice or Guys and Dolls lol

Carwood Lipton:

-His big project is building you a pool and making your house a dream-house

-He does the entire thing himself and doesn't hire it out because he wants it to be something that he gives you

-And it takes a LONG time for the house to be all the way finished, but you're both very happy with it when it's done

Joe Liebgott:

-I can't explain why but I know that in my soul, he's a man who gets really randomly into couples' golfing and tennis??

-Like make it make sense, okay? But the point is that he wants to do matches with you and compete against your other couple friends

-It becomes a monthly competition in the summers

Donald Malarkey:

-I can't explain it but he's invested in making a scrapbook with you that you both add entries and photos to

-His only rule is that the photos have to be in the moment, not posed

-It makes for a full life document haha :)

Eugene Roe:

-He wants to build an outdoor gazebo for your flower garden

-He does all the landscaping in the backyard and you're the one who plans out how you want everything to look

-It's a project years in the making and he's very happy when it's finally finished!

Bill Guarnere:

-He wants to fix up an old car from the 20s for you two; and so you'll work on it together and he'll teach you how to do things with it

-The agreement is that for an hour every Saturday, you two will work on it together, fixing it up and making it look nice

-And then you'll go and put that backseat of the car to good use haha

Joe Toye:

-He wants to film all of the special and important moments in your life and so he starts an "important moments video diary"

-This includes the wedding, when you announced that you guys were having kids, big moments in your life, etc.

-And then he wants to eventually put it together for a wedding anniversary present montage

George Luz:

-Absolutely wants to do a stand-up comedy show with you at some point and so he starts scripting it out and it's great

-He takes you to shows to get inspiration and then starts prepping for a day when you two finally get to do your own

-Yes, it's a weekend Vegas show that only goes for like a month; he's thrilled

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 14: Soon You'll Get Better

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: Soon You'll Get Better: Taylor Swift (feat. The Chicks)

A/N: thanks for being patient with this one, guys! it really hurt me to write this one. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Easy finally reaches its breaking point, and (y/n) doesn't realize just how low that could be until tragedy strikes.

Warnings: main character death, intense grief, sorry for the pain guys

JANUARY 10, 1945: BOIS JACQUES, BELGIUM: 0900HRS

“Hey Doc,” Skip whispered as Eugene walked by. “Come here!”

Gene crouched just outside the hole, peering down at (y/n) who was silently sleeping in his arms. “Warren, how ya doin’?”

“Doc, (y/n)’s cast is killing her. Do you have anything for the itch?” Skip asked quietly, concern creasing his brows. “She tried to tear it off last night.”

“Casts ain’t supposed to get wet. That’s why it's itchin’ so much,” he replied, adjusting his helmet with a grimace. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, keep her mind off of it the best you can. She really needs to go back to the hospital.”

Skip thanked him with a nod and then he was gone, his form blurring in the snowfall as he walked away. An exaggerated yawn echoed in the air, and George stretched his arms above his head. 

“It’s somehow even colder than before,” he groaned, pulling his coat closer to his body. 

Muck tugged the blanket around (y/n)’s shoulders and sighed, noticing her cradling her cast in her sleep. “Yeah. It always is.”

George caught his eyes. “How’s she doing?”

“Not good, Luz. Last night…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m worried about her. After what happened with Captain Nixon and now this, I don’t know how much more she can take. Her arm isn’t going to get any better if she’s out here trying to pry her cast off.”

“What?” Luz asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “She tried to pry it off? When?”

“Last night.”

Silence hung in the air as the duo pondered the situation. As much as they wanted (y/n) to be there with them, they knew that she’d be better off at the hospital, healing up properly. 

Skip’s eyes floated to the frozen ground of the foxhole as he spoke sadly. “She needs to go back to the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Luz agreed. “She’s not gonna like it, though.”

The pair quickly became quiet as (y/n) stirred and blinked her eyes open, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Skip greeted from above her as she sat up.

George chimed in with a teasing grin. “We were starting to think you were going to sleep through the whole war.”

Laughter bubbled up from within her, and for a brief moment, the itch in her cast was forgotten. “Well, I can’t have that now, can I? What would you knuckleheads do without me?”

“Have some peace and quiet,” Penkala grumbled, squinting his eyes in the bright morning light. “How’s the wrist today?” 

George and Skip shot him a pointed glare, and (y/n) sighed, looking down at her casted arm. “About the same, but it’s not bothering me right now.”

Wanting to steer clear of the subject, Skip sat up against the frozen dirt wall. “(Y/n), did I ever tell you about how I swam the Niagra River once?”

Alex ran a hand down his face with a groan. “Not this story again!”

“No, you didn’t tell me that,” she grinned, rolling her eyes.

Skip ignored Penkala’s outburst and continued his tale. “It was a bet, so I went ten miles up from the falls and started across. The current was so strong that it must have carried me at least two miles downstream before I got across. But I got across.”

(Y/n) stared at him in disbelief. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, come on,” he defended. “Let me finish the story and then you can complain about how much of an idiot I am. These two have already said enough on the matter.

“I could always say more, Muck,” George chimed, smirking as his voice shook from the shivers that wracked his body.

“Whatever, Luz. Shut up and let me finish,” Skip grumbled. “Now, personally, I didn’t think it was all that stupid, but my mom, my sister, Ruth…they gave me all kinds of hell.”

The woman buried her face into her scarf, the scent…his scent…long gone as she envisioned his story in her mind. “Well, I would’ve, too! It was a stupid thing to do, Skip. Based on what you’ve told me, I bet Ruth was close to throwing you over the falls for doing something like that.”

“Well, luckily she didn’t,” he smiled, his voice softening as he looked down at the ground. “So did Faye.”

Seeing her friend so helplessly in love, (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile. 

“Sweet Faye Tanner,” George drawled, winking at him.

Rolling his eyes, Skip kicked at George playfully. “Shut it, George.”

“Well,” Alex perked up. “As I said before…they had a point. You’re an idiot.”

The group broke out into chuckles, their icy breaths filling the foxhole. All of them seemed to get lost in their thoughts and silence hung over them. (Y/n) stared out at the frost-laden forest before them, seeing the carnage left by the constant shelling: splintered and fallen trees, splatters of blood against the white snow, and craters filled with frozen dirt. It all put an unsettled feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite shake, as if the world was waiting for the opportune time to flip her life upside down. 

Her worries led her mind back to him. She couldn’t help but miss Lew, even though they’d fought. She also knew deep down that he didn’t mean the hurtful things that he said, but the sting of their argument still lingered. Apologizing was what she wanted to do, but the memory of her own outburst left her feeling embarrassed. (Y/n) sighed softly, vowing to herself that when the time presented itself, she would find a way to apologize and let Nix know that she still cared about him more than anything. For now, she waited, her mind filled with thoughts of the man she missed more than words could express.

“Hey, (y/n),” George called out into the silence. “We want to talk to you about something, but please don’t bite our heads off for it, alright?”

Curiosity coursed through her as she raised an eyebrow. “Okay…this sounds an awful lot like an intervention, guys. What’s going on?”

George nodded toward Muck, whose face wore a nervous expression as he spoke. “We think you should go back to the hospital.”

“What?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “Why? I’m doing fine.”

“(Y/n), we know you’re struggling,” he said gently. “We also know that you’re not gonna get any better if you’re here in the cold with a sopping wet cast.”

As much as she hated to admit it, there was some truth in what Skip was saying. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “Look, I get it, okay? This cast is driving me crazy, but I can’t just leave. I’m not gonna leave y’all here.”

Alex chimed in, his voice filled with concern. “You need to heal. Doc said the same thing earlier.”

Muck raised a brow at him questioningly. “You heard that? I thought you were asleep.”

“I’m always listening,” he shrugged with a smirk. “Anyways, we’re just worried about you, (y/n/n).”

(Y/n) frowned as a mix of stubbornness and helplessness washed over her. She knew they had a point, but the thought of returning to the hospital and being separated from them didn’t sit well with her. 

“I just need a bit more time,” she finally admitted. “I’ll get through it.”

Skip exchanged a worried look with George before he spoke, “We know you’re tough, (y/n), but sometimes the smart move is to take care of yourself. It’s not about abandoning us; it's about coming back a hundred percent.”

She turned her gaze to the ground, battling her inner conflict. “I’ll think about it, alright? Just give me a little more time.”

The trio nodded solemnly, realizing that she wouldn’t go unless forced. They had a decision to make, and Skip knew which one he’d make for Ruth. It was the same one he’d make for (y/n).

1900 HOURS

In the chill of their foxhole, Skip couldn’t shake his worry for (y/n). He got out of the foxhole with an “I’ll be back,” and a grunt as he made his way to one of the only people he knew could get her to see reason. The man breathed into his hands, trying to warm them among the constant pinprick sensation in them. 

He pulled his rosary from his pocket, kissed it gently, and began to pray as he walked. “Please help us, God. Help (y/n) to see reason and get the help she needs. Its hard to see the people you love suffer, and I don’t know what else to do. I know you have the power to do anything, Lord, so please change her mind about this. Thank you for keeping us safe, and please continue to do so if it is your will, Father. Amen.”

When Skip made it to the Captain's measly shelter, he found Winters and Nixon pouring over maps in preparation for the upcoming objective. Hearing the crunch of his footsteps, Dick’s head shot up, and a blue smile formed on his face.

“Come on in, sergeant. What can I do for you?” he asked, folding the maps and laying them on a nearby table.

Skip returned the grin and walked in, taking his helmet off. “Well, sir, I actually came to speak to Captain Nixon.”

At his words, Lew raised a brow at his uncharacteristic serious expression. “Alright,” he replied, guiding Muck outside the tent for some privacy. “What’s going on?”

Skip hesitated for a moment, then decided to give it to him, straight. “It’s (y/n), sir. She’s been going through hell with that cast. Last night, she tried to take it off herself. I had to stop her, sir. Doc says she should go back to the hospital.” 

Nixon’s brows furrowed in worry. He knew firsthand how stubborn and headstrong (y/n) could be, especially when it came to her own well-being. “She what? Why hasn’t she gone back to the hospital?”

Muck sighed, his breath visible in the air. “She doesn’t want to leave us, sir. You know how she gets.”

Lew clenched his jaw in frustration, his thoughts racing. “Where is she now? Is she okay?”

“She’s calmer now, but it’s still bothering her. It’s the worst at night,” Skip admitted. “We’ve tried to convince her to go back, but she says she’ll think about it. We all know she’s already made up her mind.”

Nodding, Nix’s face was etched with deep worry. He could imagine her struggling by herself, and it made his heart ache. “Alright, I’ll try to get her back to the hospital.”

The sergeant sighed in relief, grateful he was stepping in. “(Y/n) probably won’t be happy about it, but it’s for her own good. I’m worried it might be her breaking point, sir.”

Lew patted his shoulder with a nod, his brows pinched in concern. “Thanks for letting me know, Muck.”

He turned to leave but stopped and faced the Captain again with a deep breath. “Sir, I know this may be out of line, but I heard what was said between you last week. You never know what could happen out here, so don’t leave things unsaid.”

Before Nix could respond, Skip was gone, his figure disappearing into the haze of the snowy landscape. His words seeped into Lew’s mind, and he realized he had to speak to (y/n) immediately and make things right. Either one of them could be killed at any moment, and they were just wasting precious time not speaking to the other. 

Returning to the tent, Nix grabbed his rifle and swung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, Dick. There’s something I’ve got to take care of.”

“You mean someone?” replied, a knowing smirk on his face.

Nix shrugged as he exited the tent. “Something like that.”

As he navigated the forest to (y/n)’s foxhole, he couldn’t help but dwell on their argument. He knew he had been harsh to her, even if he didn’t mean what he said. He’d called her ‘useless’ for crying out loud. That alone would hurt anyone, much less someone who’s wounded and trying their best to contribute despite that.

Finally, in the distance, he spotted Skip talking with Malarkey, Luz, and Penkala a little ways from their hole. Skip nodded at him, and led the group farther from the hole, wanting to give them actual privacy this time. Approaching her foxhole, he could barely see her huddled silhouette. She didn’t hear him approach, lost in thought or possibly asleep. 

Lew sat down beside her and gazed at (y/n)’s sleeping form. The harsh cold couldn’t deter him from admiring the woman he loved as she lay there, wrapped in her coat and the warm scarf and gloves he had given her. Her features were softened by the dim light of the forest and the redness of her nose gave her an adorable charm that melted his heart. 

He noticed her cradling her injured arm against her chest, the white of the cast peeking out from under her oversized coat and makeshift sock glove. “(Y/n)?” he called softly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the forest.

She stirred, her eyes slowly opening to meet his gaze. Surprise flickered across her face, and she shifted uncomfortably, wanting to meet his eyes but finding it hard. “Hi. I wanted to apologize…for how I acted the other day and how I’ve been acting. I know you didn’t mean it, but it did hurt, Lew.”

Lew felt his heart soften as he heard her words, a wave of relief washing over him. He knew she wasn’t one to apologize easily, and her willingness to do so meant a lot. “Thank you,” he replied quietly, “and I’m sorry too, for what I said. I love you and would never think you’re useless.”

With the tension lifting between them, their gazes finally locked. “I love you, too. I hate fighting,” she whispered, scanning their surroundings quickly. “I’d much rather do this.”

She snaked her good hand around his neck and pulled him closer, connecting their lips. As (y/n) and Nix’s lips met, the world around them faded into the background, and for that brief moment, it was just the two of them in their own world. No war, no Bastogne, no snow…only them. (Y/n) felt the warmth of Lew’s breath against her skin, and the gentle caress of his hand on her cheek sent warmth coursing through her body that she hadn’t felt for weeks. 

As they pulled away, their breaths were slightly ragged, and the icy wind, which had been nipping at their cheeks, was now replaced with a comforting warmth. A soft, affectionate smile played on his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. She returned the smile, a sense of calm she only got around him washing over her. 

With a gentle, lingering touch, Lew’s hand brushed her cheek, before dropping it to hold her hand again. “I’ve been worried about you, (y/n), and I’m not the only one. The guys are concerned, too.” Nix paused. “I know about the cast.”

“What about it?” she asked innocently.

Nix shook his head. “I know it’s bothering you, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide it. I also heard that you tried to pry it off last night.”

“What a traitor,” (Y/n) playfully scowled as she looked over her shoulder at Skip in the distance. 

“I’m serious, (y/n),” Lew pleaded. “You know you won’t get better here.”

She sighed, looking down at the cast. “I’m not going back to the hospital, Lew. I won’t leave you or the guys. I can’t.”

“We’ll manage. And we’ll still be here when you get back,” Lew said as his fingers brushed her cheek, guiding her face to him once more with a voice full of worry. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice pierced her heart, and for the first time in days, her wrist didn’t feel like the most significant pain. “I’ll think about it,” she conceded. 

With a quick peck on her temple, he pulled her in for a quick hug, muttering in her ear, “If not for me, do it for Muck. He’s about worried sick about you.”

“He told me I remind him of his sister, Ruth,” (y/n) murmured into his neck.

Pulling away, a smirk quirked Lew’s lips. “Good, because I was starting to worry I had some competition.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes with a laugh. The pair stood to their feet and made their way toward the huddled group of men. “What did Skip say to you?”

Lew shrugged, his eyes staying forward. “Just that you were struggling and the guys were worried about you. I guess he thought I could talk some sense into you.”

“Good luck with that,” (y/n) chuckled as they neared the group.

Squeezing her upper arm gently, he peered down at her, his cheeks rosy from the frosty air. “Please think about it, for my sake…or Skip’s if that’s not enough. And be careful, you know I love you,” he whispered.

“I will, and I will. Love you, too,” she smiled, her wrist long forgotten as she was under his warm gaze. “Tell Dick hey for me.”

With a firm nod, he slowly turned and started back toward his tented foxhole. (Y/n) watched him go, her heart feeling lighter than before. Things were okay between them again, and it became one less thing she had to worry about.

A voice called her name, breaking her from her stare, and she turned to see Skip waving her over, a grin plastered on his face. Joining the group, she stood between George and Skip, the former in the middle of a great impression of Lieutenant Dike.

“Ah, 1st Sergeant Lipton,” he imitated. “You organize things here, and I’m gonna go for…help. I need to go polish my oak leaf clusters.”

The group broke out into laughter, and (y/n) raised a brow in confusion. “What?” she asked, unable to keep a goofy grin from her lips.

“(Y/n), you’re not gonna believe what I saw. So, you-know-who comes running up to Lipton. He’s got no helmet, no gear, no nothing, and then he says that.”

“What an idiot,” she laughed, throwing her helmeted head back slightly. “I can’t believe he’s still here.”

Skip wheezed beside her, almost doubling over in laughter. “Complete asshole,” he said between laughs. “That’s really good, George.”

Lip cleared his throat behind George and called out to him and beckoned him over. George bid his goodbye and went to talk to Lip, while (y/n), Skip, Don, and Alex did the same. 

“Goodnight, goodnight all,” Mal remarked, walking toward his foxhole. 

Skip wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulder, calling out to his friends. “Yeah, see ya, Luz, see you Malark.”

The trio started to their foxhole in silence, but it was soon broken by Skip’s teasing voice. “Did your Captain talk some sense into you about going to the hospital?” he asked, squeezing her shoulder playfully.

“My Captain?” she teased. “I’m pretty sure he’s your captain, too, Skip.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Well, I’m not the one necking the guy.”

She gasped and quickly looked around, praying nobody else heard his comment. “Skip!”

“What?” 

Alex chuckled from beside her as he pulled his beanie down over his ears. “Everyone knows it! None of us would ever turn you in, (y/n). You know that.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed, her feet crunching softly beneath her. “And to answer your question, Skip, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“(Y/n), come on. You’re putting yourself at risk of getting hurt again. Aaaand,” he drawled, “If you go now, you might be back in time to celebrate my birthday.”

“I can’t believe it’s a few weeks til the 31st,” she mused, peering up at him. “You’re turning 23, old man. What would you like for your present?”

“You going to the hospital and getting better would be the best birthday gift,” he answered softly, pulling her closer to his side.

The words hung in the air, resonating in (y/n)’s heart. As she looked at Skip, she saw the earnestness in his eyes and his brotherly smile, and a surge of emotions coursed through her. She realized that her stubbornness might not only be hurting herself but also the people who cared about her. 

“You know what, Skip? I think I can work with that,” she smirked, elbowing his side. “Looks like you’re getting your wi-”

Before (y/n) could finish her sentence, the sky erupted in a deafening roar as artillery shells rained down upon them. Trees, splinters, and the earth trembled beneath their feet with each impact. The world turned to chaos as the air was filled with dust, snow, and the screams of their friends. 

“Incoming!”

Without a second thought, Skip grabbed (y/n)’s arm and took off behind Penkala for their foxhole. With pounding hearts, they sprinted towards the safety of their hole, holding their helmets to their heads. The relentless explosions continued to rock the ground, and (y/n) would have lost her balance if it weren’t for Muck’s grip on her bicep.

Seconds later, they reached the foxhole just in time. The trio jumped down into the hole and immediately ducked in its cover. They peered over the edge at the German’s horrifying display of firepower as they were showered in dirt and wood splinters. Amongst the dust and explosions, they could make out a figure in the distance who couldn’t stay on their feet, falling to the ground every few seconds. They recognized it instantly.

“George!” (y/n) yelled. “Come on!”

Skip and Alex joined in, motioning for George to get in. “Luz!” they cried. “Hurry!”

She watched on for an agonizing moment as George scrambled to his feet but was then knocked down again, and she knew she had to do something. Scrambling out of the foxhole, she sprinted toward George, her eyes locked on his figure. Skip reached out to grab her, but she slipped out of his grasp.

“(Y/n), no!” he yelled after her. 

Skip’s heart raced as he watched her run off into the barrage, and panic ate at him. His protective instincts screamed at him to follow her, and in a burst of terror, he attempted to leap out of the foxhole after her. But before he could fully leave the hole, Alex grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back forcefully. 

“Skip, you can’t!” Alex shouted, desperation filling his voice. “You can’t follow her out there!”

Muck’s body twisted and turned in a futile attempt to free himself from his friend’s grip, a mixture of frustration and terror etched across his face. Realizing he wasn’t getting to her, he yelled after the pair. 

“(Y/n)! George!!”

As (y/n) dashed toward George, the world around her seemed to blur in the chaos of the artillery barrage. The deafening roar of exploding shells and the earth-shaking tremors filled the air, making it difficult to hear anything but the explosions and blood pumping in her ears. Every step through the snow-covered forest was a struggle, and her boots almost slipped on the icy ground.

Finally, (y/n) reached his side, her gloved hand wrapping around his arm in a vice-like grip. She yelled, but her voice was lost in the roar of the artillery. The dirt shook beneath them as another shell landed dangerously close, sending them both sprawling to the ground. (Y/n) and Luz frantically crawled forward on their hands and knees, their fingers digging into the frozen earth.

Back in the foxhole, Skip and Alex continued to scream for them, their voices somehow echoing among the chaos. Their pleas turned into frantic cries, “(Y/n)! George! Come on, get in here!”

With each painstaking crawl, the ground continued to shake as explosions sent dirt and shrapnel whizzing through the air. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, and she kept her eyes on her friends ahead of them. The world around them seemed surreal, with bursts of blinding light and deafening explosions as the artillery barrage continued. It felt like an eternity had passed when they’d almost reached the foxhole. 

“Come on! Come on, Luz! Hurry, (y/n/n)-”

The world seemed to blur as (y/n) and George saw a blinding light, followed by a colossal plume of dirt, debris, and flames engulfing their friend’s foxhole. The two friends who had been calling out to them just moments ago were silenced in an instant. (Y/n)’s surroundings slowed, and for a brief, excruciating moment, everything froze. The deafening roar of the artillery was drowned out by the sound of her racing heart. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched the horrifying scene unfold. 

The realization hit her like a freight train, and her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. Shock and disbelief passed through her, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She clamped her gloved hand over her mouth, unable to comprehend what had just unfolded before her eyes. Skip and Alex were gone. Gone. 

“No,” she whispered, her throat tight.

Reality slowly washed over them, and as another shell screamed towards them, George grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the nearest shelter, which happened to be Lip’s hole. Lip pulled (y/n) down into the hole first, wrapping her in his arms as Luz huddled next to them, the barrage continuing.

“Muck and Penkala,” George screamed. 

Lip couldn’t hear him. “What?”

“Muck and Penkala got hit!”

As soon as the words left Luz’s mouth, a shell landed right behind their cover, sending the logs protecting them flying into the air. The men yelled, but (y/n) stayed silent. Her body trembled with each deafening explosion that rocked the earth, and her heart felt like it was tearing apart. The tears flowed uncontrollably, blurring her vision as she cried hysterically into Lip’s shoulder. 

She was crammed between the two men, each covering her the best they could as the assault continued. After a few moments, the world stilled, and a haunting silence hung in the air, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. 

A whistling sound and a thud echoed through the foxhole, but (y/n) couldn’t bring herself to look up from her sheltered position. George’s movement beside her drew her attention, and she heard the familiar sound of a Zippo being opened, followed by the scent of cigarettes wafting through the air. 

“(Y/n)? You okay?” Lip asked shakily. “You hurt?”

Lip’s concerned voice broke through the somber atmosphere, and he shifted to give her room to breathe. His question echoed in her ears, pulling her back from the brink of despair. She turned her tear-stained face towards him, her eatery eyes shimmering in the moonlight. She attempted to respond, but all that escaped her was a shuddering gasp as she shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Skip and Alex,” she croaked, a sob racking through her body as she dropped her face into her hands. “They-”

Carwood’s heart broke for the girl, knowing how close she was to them. “I know, (y/n). I know.”

As she sat there in the foxhole, huddled with Lip and George, the weight of her grief bore down on her, and she couldn’t help but reminisce about the cherished moments she’d shared with her friends. The laughter that was always present in their company, the hilarious stories they swapped, the letters read, and the deep connection they all shared. 

The realization that she’d never again hear Skip’s mischievous teasing or Alex’s sarcasm again unleashed a fresh surge of agony, leaving her feeling utterly distraught. The pain of knowing that Skip would never get to hug Ruth again, or experience the joy of marrying Faye Tanner pierced her very soul. The future he once envisioned had been cruelly snatched away. 

He would never reach the age of 23, and Alex’s life would never extend to the milestone of 21. The cruel hand of fate had robbed them of their dreams and aspirations, leaving (y/n) with a grief-stricken heart, mourning not only their past but also the future that would never come to pass.

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[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 1: Enchanted

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: heyyy guys! i've decided to start a lewis nixon series!! and yes, the chapter titles are all taylor swift songs. i'm super excited to post this first chapter! please enjoy and let me know what you think! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Arriving at Camp Toccoa to join Easy Company, (y/n) (y/l/n), a participant in a new WAC program, has her first encounter with the men of Easy.

It was a hot and unbearable day under the Georgia sun when (y/n) (y/l/n) arrived at Camp Toccoa. She tried to ignore the looks she got from the men as she rumbled by in a jeep, but what she couldn’t ignore was the rambling of her driver.

“Hi,” he introduced, glancing over at her. “The name’s Lorraine. Well, it’s Gerald, but everyone calls me Lorraine.” 

She shot him a kind smile. “Nice to meet you, Gerald. (Y/n) (y/l/n). I’m part of the Athena program.

“I haven’t heard of that.”

“Well,” (y/h/c) began. “it’s a new part of the WAC that’s sending a few women into the Army as a sort of trial run for the future.”

A look of disbelief passed over his face before he reigned it in quickly. “What made you want to join up, then?”

“Well, who wouldn’t after Pearl Harbor?” She asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Lorraine simply nodded and kept his eyes on the road, almost as if he was contemplating a woman’s place in war. To (y/n)’s relief, he chose to keep his conclusion to himself. Vest turned down another long dirt road that seemed to lead directly to the base of a mountain she assumed was the famous Curahee. With a deep breath, (y/n) silently prayed she had the strength to prove to him and everyone else that women belonged in the army; that she belonged.

The morning after Sobel’s canteen tirade, Winters and Nixon were in line for breakfast in the mess hall, trying to figure out what to do about their CO.

“So, what did you do?” Lew asked, walking toward an empty table. There were times when he was thankful he was in intelligence instead of with the rest of the men, and most were because of the hell Sobel put them through.

Dick trailed him with a sigh. “Picked six men and gave them latrine duty.” 

“The lucky six?”

“McDonald, Toye, Perconte, Lipton, Muck, and Guarnere,” he stated, sitting across from Lew. 

“Why them?”

“It was their turn.”

Nix chuckled, looking down at his messy food in thought. It was his job to know things, and he happened to hear about a controversial topic flowing down the ranks. “Hey, have you heard about the new WAC program integrating women into the Army?”

“I’m glad you mentioned it. Our own Athena participant should be arriving at 16:00.”

Lew’s head shot up. “In Easy?”

“Yep.”

Lew didn’t have anything against women in the military but also didn’t know how the men would handle it. “What do you think about it?”

“Well,” Dick began, putting down his utensils softly. “I’m trying to have an open mind, but I’m worried about some of the men.”

Nix nodded and took a sip of coffee with a smirk. “We’ll just have to wait and see, then.”

Little did he know that later that day, his life would change forever.

Lorraine and (y/n) arrived at Colonel Sink’s office a few minutes after 16:00, and the woman was almost sick to her stomach with anxiety. While Lorraine was inside informing Sink of their arrival, she tried to calm herself down. All she wanted was to make an excellent first impression on the Colonel and her superiors.

Lorraine returned and ushered her into the small building serving as Sink’s quarters. (Y/n) followed him down a hallway to a single office room. He nodded and closed the door behind her once she entered. The woman turned and raised her hand to salute him.

“Ah, Miss (y/l/n),” Sink called, words dripping with his North Carolina drawl as he held his hand out. “At ease. Welcome to Camp Toccoa.”

She shook it firmly, praying he overlooked their clamminess. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

Sink gestured for her to sit as he took a seat at his desk, which was neatly arranged in piles of folders and other stationery. “When I first heard about the Athena Project, I didn’t know what to think. My wife was the one who showed me that women have the same right to serve their country as us men. She’s a modern Abigail Adams if you understand my meaning.”

“Yes sir,” (y/n) replied.

He interlocked his fingers above the desk. “If I may ask, what made you volunteer for the program?”

“Well, sir,” she spoke softly, willing her voice to stay strong. “My brother was stationed on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. He was 20. I couldn’t let the opportunity to follow his footsteps pass by.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for your family’s sacrifice.”

(Y/n) wanted to respond, but her throat seemed to close up on her. Unable to answer, she nodded stiffly, willing the tears from her waterline.

He noticed her distress and cleared his throat suddenly. “Let’s get to it, shall we? You’ll be in Easy Company of the 101st Airborne. You won’t get any special treatment, but we’ll try to accommodate you as much as possible.”

The door scraped open behind (y/n), and she resisted looking back at the newcomer. The footsteps sounded like a single person, and she hoped they wouldn’t catch on to her moment of emotion. Luckily, Sink addressed them, giving her time to gain control of herself.

“ Winters, where’s Lieutenant Sobel?” He asked with furrowed brows. “He’s supposed to be here.”

 Dick spoke up. “I don’t know, sir. I last saw him in the mess hall around noon.”

With a huff, Sink rose and introduced her. “Lieutenant, this is (y/n) (y/l/n), our Athena participant.”

The redhead smiled politely. “Dick Winters. Nice to have you with us, (y/l/n).”

“Hi,” she nodded, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Call me (y/n).”

Sink led them out of the office and into the main room of the building. “Lieutenant Winters here is going to show you around camp before supper.”

From there, the pair walked around the camp, and Dick informed her of their daily training routine, as well as the expectations of Easy company. Toward the end of their tour, he asked about her family back home and was surprised that she dodged the subject before having to answer. Sensing her discomfort, he made a mental note to not bring it up anymore. 

Before they knew it, it was 18:00, and supper was being served at the mess hall. Dick led her to the large building and ushered them inside. When (y/n) walked into the room, the stench of sweat and body odor mixed with food hit her like a bus. Bile rose in her throat, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up. 

‘Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,’ her mind repeated, eyes sinking to the floor.

Dick chuckled beside her. “You get used to the smell,” he quipped. “Let me introduce you to some of the men.”

Before he could take her to them, a shorter brunette man with a boyish look walked up to them, a sly grin on his face. “Lieutenant Winters, sir,” he saluted. “George Luz, ma’am. We’re all glad to have you.”

Two faces popped out from behind his shoulder with smiles of their own. Without missing a beat, George rolled his eyes and pointed at them. “These two idiots are Skip Muck and Alex Penkala.”

Skip smacked him on the back of the head with an aggravated look on his face. “You’re the one that had to be the first to meet her, George, so really, we’re not the idiots here.”

She squinted her eyes as giggles burst from her lips when Luz’s face turned beet red at the comment. She knew immediately that she liked the trio.

“Nice to meet you, too, boys. You can call me (y/n).”

Penkala’s eyes widened and glanced at the two in faux horror. “She called us boys.”

“We are boys.”

“We’re boys,” George mocked. “No, Skip, were men.” 

“How old are you three anyways?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Alex was 18, Skip was 20, and George was 21. After hearing about their ages, she realized that they were just boys. They still had most of their lives to live, much like millions of other soldiers in their position. Much like her.

Dick left (y/n) with the trio and went to attend to his other duties. Once they took a seat, the boys started rambling on about everything from their terrible CO to the best types of slop they were given at mealtimes. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered around the room for a moment before another pair caught hers. When their eyes met across the crowded mess hall, everything around them seemed to vanish as time slowed to a standstill.

The soft, warm gaze in his eyes felt like a long-lost memory, a memory that had been tucked away in the depths of her heart, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface. (Y/n)’s heart fluttered as she felt an undeniable pull toward him, and she couldn’t help but be captivated by the genuine curiosity and surprise that emanated from his gaze. The man was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and her heart skipped a beat at the realization.

His eyes seemed to whisper, “Have we met?” And (y/n) found herself asking the same question.

She held the stranger’s gaze for a few seconds before he slowly got up and started making his way to her. As he approached her, she noticed him anxiously tousling his well-groomed dark chestnut hair with his hand. (Y/n) was suddenly self-conscious and did the same, taming her hair ruined by the southern humidity. Her heart was racing in her chest, almost anticipating the life-changing moment that was about to happen. 

Making it to her table, Lewis grinned and sat beside her, his smile making her blush slightly. “It seems George likes you almost as much as he likes Rita Hayworth,” he said.

The soldier scoffed, ”No offense, (y/n), but Rita is the love of my life. She may not know who I am, but I plan to change that someday. It’s going to happen. Just wait and see, right Penk?”

Alex raised his eyebrows and nodded reluctantly, “Absolutely, buddy. You’ll show her what she’s been missing.”

(Y/n) pressed her lips tightly together, stifling the sound of her impending laughter. She scrunched her nose slightly as if trying to hold back a giggle. Her efforts, though valiant, were ultimately futile as a few muted snickers managed to slip through her defenses.

She soon gave up, and her laughter filled the air. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight before him. (Y/n)'s face lit up with joy, and her eyes sparkled with delight. The sound of her laughter was infectious, and he found himself chuckling along, almost entranced by how she expressed her happiness so freely.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, (y/l/n),” George said, getting up from the table. “See you all at breakfast.”

Skip and Alex bid their goodbyes as well, following him out of the mess hall. Realizing it was just her and the handsome soldier beside her, (y/n) turned to him with a smile.

Nix stuck out his hand. “Lewis Nixon. As an intelligence officer, it’s my job to know things, so I can’t believe I don’t know your name.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but notice a subtle nervousness in his eyes matched with a hint of mischief. “Pleasure to meet you, Lewis. I’m (y/n) (y/l/n), Easy’s Athena.”

“Call me Lew,” he charmed, still shaking her hand softly. “We’re happy to have you, (y/n).”

When the realization dawned upon them that they were still holding hands, shy smiles spread across their faces. Lewis cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Have you met Captain Sobel yet?" He asked, grimacing.

"I don't think so. Is he over Easy Company?"

"Yeah. He's also the biggest jacka-"

"There's no way he's that bad," she interrupted, eyes widening.

Lewis chuckled under his breath. "Trust me. Every Friday night, he makes Easy march twelve miles in full gear, just out of spite."

"Do any other companies march?"

“Nope. Just Easy. And after marching last night, he made Dick make up six infractions and punish the men for it. He ended up giving latrine duty to the men who were on this week’s rotation.”

(Y/n) rubbed a hand down her face, groaning. “Lieutenant Winters didn’t say anything about Sobel when he was showing me around.”

“Well, Dick is pretty straight-laced,” Lewis said shrugging with a smirk. “Not everyone can be a cool, calm, and collected intelligence officer.”

"Someone's ego is a little over-inflated," she laughed, raising her eyebrows at him.

“So, how’re you liki-,” he started to ask but was interrupted by someone calling his name. Following the voice, he looked behind him to see Dick near the doors, motioning him over.

“Well,” Nix sighed, looking back at (y/n) with a sheepish smile. “Duty calls.”

As he got up, she called after him. “See you later, Nix.”

She didn’t miss the lack of a ring on his hand, and for the rest of the night, she replayed the enchanting encounter in her mind. How could a stranger seem so familiar? 

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart

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[midnightdraftqueen]

A Steady Hand (FINAL PART)

PART THREE

Chapter Ten: Is This the End?

September 1945, Austria

The news didn’t come immediately. Weeks passed after Germany surrendered, filled with rumors and speculation, the men stuck in limbo as the world outside continued to shift. The Pacific war loomed over them like a storm cloud, a lingering threat none of them could shake. And then, one evening, it came. Japan had surrendered.

She was standing near the edge of the field when she heard the commotion—laughter, shouts, the kind of unrestrained joy that had been absent for so long. She turned to see Winters making the announcement to a crowd of men near the baseball diamond. The cheers that followed were deafening.Relief swept over her like a wave. No one had to go to the Pacific. Not Winters. Not any of them. The war was truly over.

She watched the celebration unfold, the weight of it settling over her. The men clapped each other on the back, shouting about going home, about seeing family, about finally living beyond the battlefield. She smiled, feeling their joy, but deep down, an unease settled in her chest. What happened now? What happened to whatever had been growing between her and Winters? They had shared something profound, something that had meant everything in the moment. But the war was what had brought them together. With it over, she feared it would slip away, becoming just another piece of history, another thing left behind in Europe.

Later that evening, she found him sitting on the steps behind the barracks, staring out at the fading light. She approached, keeping her voice light, testing the waters.

“So,” she mused, crossing her arms as she stood beside him. “Now that the war is over, are you going to go rejoin your cows and Quaker brethren in Pennsylvania?”

Winters huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Still not a Quaker."

She smirked. "I know. But you never did a good job of convincing the others of that."

He exhaled, looking down at his hands. “Actually, Lew offered me a job. His family business. New Jersey.”

Her brow lifted. “New Jersey? So you’re sticking with Nixon and his antics even in civilian life?”

Winters gave her a sideways glance. “He grows on you.”

She snorted. “Like a stubborn rash.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips before she continued, her tone light. "You know, you’re going to have to find a woman who can tolerate all that—your unwavering loyalty to Lewis Nixon and his near-constant presence."

Winters didn’t miss a beat. "The woman I have in mind already has some experience dealing with Nix."

Her teasing expression faltered as realization dawned. She turned fully to face him. "Is that so?"

For the first time in a long time, Winters smiled—a real, full smile, the kind that reached his eyes.

She held his gaze, searching for any hesitation, any doubt. But there was none. He wanted her to come with him.

She grinned. "Jersey, huh? Well… I guess it can’t be any worse than Bastogne."

Winters chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it really can’t.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she sat beside him, their shoulders brushing, the quiet promise of a future together settling between them.

Chapter Eleven: Epilogue

April 1948, New Jersey

Winters paced the hospital waiting room, his hands clasped behind his back, tension wound tight in his shoulders. Nixon sat nearby, watching him with an amused smirk, feet propped up on an empty chair.

"You know, wearing a path in the tiles isn't going to make the kid get here any faster," Nixon drawled, swirling what was probably coffee—but knowing him, possibly something stronger. "You’re making me nervous just looking at you."

Winters shot him a look, but Nixon was undeterred. "Christ, Dick, you survived D-Day, Market Garden, held us all together in Bastogne. You’d think you’d be a little less rattled by a baby."

Winters exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is different."

Nixon grinned, leaning forward. "Yeah? How so?"

Winters gave him a flat look. "Because they’re mine. They’re a little person that I helped create.”

Nixon’s smirk softened slightly, something almost fond flickering behind his teasing expression. "Yeah, I guess that would change things."

Before Winters could respond, the nurse appeared in the doorway. “Major Winters?”

He was already moving before she finished speaking. When he stepped into the room, his breath caught. She was propped up in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The baby was tiny, pink-cheeked, wrapped snugly in a white blanket.

She looked up at him, smiling softly. "Dick, come meet our daughter." For a moment, he couldn't move. He had faced battle and carried the weight of men’s lives on his shoulders. But nothing had prepared him for this.

Carefully, as if she were the most fragile thing he had ever held, he reached out and took her into his arms. The baby squirmed slightly, her tiny fingers curling against his chest. Winters let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed. "She’s… perfect."

Nixon leaned against the doorway, grinning. "So, do I get the honor of being the godfather, or are you planning on giving that job to someone more responsible?"

Winters chuckled and cast him a quick glance before looking back down at the baby in his arms. "You’ll do."

Nixon crossed his arms. "Damn right, I will. Hope you know this child is going to be incredibly spoiled."

She laughed softly, watching the two men banter, and Winters looked back at her, gratitude filling every part of him. He had made a promise on D-Day, in the dark fields of Normandy.

God, if you get me through this—through the Day of Days and the ones to follow—I’ll find peace. When it’s all over, I’ll live quietly, away from all this.

And now, in this little hospital room, holding his wife while his best friend, his brother, cooed at his new daughter, Dick realized—God had kept His end of the deal. Now it was his turn to keep his.

PART THREE

[sabileinschreibt]

Alles für den Fluff❤️♥️😭

Folks did we know there is a Dick Winters leadership memorial on the exact spot where he met Lewis Nixon when Nixon was bringing the tanks from Utah beach. Because this is literally a real thing.

[rogue-durin-16]

MISHAPS AND SILVER LININGS

Request: maybeee dialogue prompt 53 with Nixon x female reader?? But maybe kinda angsty also??? (anything u write is great so 🤷‍♀️)

Summary: after all the tragedy endured during the war, nobody would have guessed one last mishap would help the stars align for Lewis Nixon and Y/n Y/l/n.

Prompt:

53. "I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?"

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst/fluff

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: alcoholism, swearing (that's it omfg)

A/N: writing for Nixon was surprisingly easy? I high-key had fun with this one. Thanks for the request love. Remember that requests are open rn so feel free to send yours in. Meanwhile, enjoy this little fic <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

A dull light crept through the curtains of the flat Regiment had billeted me in when Nixon finally stirred.

He shifted on my bed, a slight groan escaping his lips the moment his barely open eyes hit the few rays of sun striking the mattress. He had one hell of a hungover.

During the last year of our lives, Lewis Nixon and I had worked side by side across Europe practically at all times— which meant I wasn't exactly a stranger to his drinking problem. Since we came back from that jump over Germany though, it had escalated to a different level.

'He's been demoted' I had disclosed to Dick as soon as we linked back up with Battalion HQ.

'Demoted?' Although his friend had questioned it, no explanation was needed. He already knew. 'Okay, I'll talk to him'.

I don't think anyone could blame him. It all had become too much to handle, specially if one had lost conviction in the reasons we were still fighting this war.

I knew he had lost it. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he had blurted it out one of those nights we stayed awake for one reason or another. That exact night everyone had stayed awake, I believe.

That damned patrol back in Hagenau. We had fought Sink not to push forward that mission, but there was no use.

"This is stupid." I mumbled, arms crossed and my eyes fixed to the other side of the river.

The full moon's light reflected on the snow. In any other setting, I would have found it beautiful, but with fifteen Easy Company members being sent on a suicide, the landscape was far from that.

"Glueing yourself to the window won't help them."

I shot Nix a tired glare and pushed myself off the window in order to walk towards him. "They shouldn't be out there."

"None of us should be out here."

"What do you mean?"

"Why the hell are we here at this point, Y/n/n?"

I didn't have a response.

"Don't you wanna come back home already? To that lovely husband of yours." He teased with a bitter half laugh.

"You're funny." He didn't know about the mail. How could he know? "Don't think he'll be there when I come back."

"What?"

"He sent a letter back when we were in the Bois Jaques." I explained, snatching the glass of whiskey Nix had by the typewriter. "Said if I wasn't home by New Year, he'd file for divorce."

"You're kidding." Nix sat straight in his chair when I didn't laugh. "Who in their right mind would leave you?"

"The man I married, apparently." The officer struggled to meet my eyes. He knew by now I didn't want pity. "Guess he doesn't know why we're still out here either."

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

He sat up slowly, squinting against the light, one hand coming up to clutch his head. It didn’t take long for him to notice me slouched on the bedroom's armchair. His gaze darkened, panic flashing across his features.

“What the hell…” he muttered, groaning softly. He rubbed his face and looked around, as if hoping he could piece together the memory.

I watched his eyes darting around like he was still scrambling to make sense of everything. The awkward silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

“I… I remember kissing you.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost angry with himself. “Why do I remember kissing you?”

The Night Before

The knock at the door was unsteady, clumsy, like he could barely remember how to make a fist. I pulled on a sweater and padded across the cold floor, half-expecting to find someone delivering bad news. Instead, there was Nixon, eyes glazed, swaying slightly as he tried to focus on me.

“Jesus, Nix…” I murmured, instinctively stepping aside as he staggered into the room. The sharp, sour scent of whiskey clung to him, familiar but stronger than usual, almost suffocating. I shut the door behind him, hands already moving to steady him as he slumped into the nearest chair, his gaze unfocused.

“What on God's name are you doing here?”

He looked up at me, his face a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and something else—something deeper. “She’s leaving me, y'know,” he slurred. “Kat's divorcing me."

"Jesus, Lew." I poured him a glass of water and kneeled down. "Now?"

"Took… took the damn dog, too."

"She took your dog?!"

He snorted with glassy irises. "Everything. I think... I knew it would happen, but… didn’t think it’d feel like… like this.”

I swallowed, feeling the heaviness of his words settle in my chest. “I’m sorry, Nix,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say, until I remembered the words he said to me back in Hagenau. “I don't know who in their right mind would leave you.”

It was soft, just like the featherlight touch of my thumb brushing away a rogue tear before it could reach his jawline. It sounded dangerously similar to 'I wouldn't leave you'. Maybe that's what he had meant back then.

He let out a bitter laugh, his head falling back against the chair. “Yeah, well… doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He closed his eyes, breathing out, then looked at me with a strange intensity, like he’d finally worked up the nerve to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Something I both craved and dreaded to hear.

“Do you know…” He trailed off, blinking as if the words kept slipping away from him. “Do you know how hard it’s been? Pretending I don’t… pretending I don’t want to kiss you every damn time I see you?”

The confession knocked the air from my lungs, and I stood there, stunned, heart pounding too loudly in the silence that followed.

“Nix…” I began, voice barely a whisper, but he just shook his head, his eyes shifting, unfocused and pained.

“I wanted to kiss you from the very first second I heard your voice.” he said, voice rough and broken. "I remember how beautiful you looked the first day we worked together, how smart you were and how I just wanted to... But Kat- I couldn't... Do that to her and your- you..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I tried and... for what? For this?"

My lips were sealed with panic but the glint in my gaze and the liquor in his veins spurred him.

"Tell me it's just me... Tell me..." He did his best to lean forward without lolling too much. "Everytime it almost happened... Just say..." His look dropped to my lips, too intoxicated to care how obvious he was. "The 'what if's haunt me when I stare for too long..."

I couldn't say I didn't feel exactly like that. The cautious dance we were in was long overdue —the brush of a hand, a whisper closer than necessary, that drink we shared in Mourmelon that almost made us cross the line—, but it had been a silent mutual agreement not to act on it.

Before I could process everything, before I could find the right words to stop it without pretending I didn't feel the same, he leaned forward, his hands gripping my arms for support as he pressed his lips to mine.

It was lousy, desperate, filled with something raw and aching, and I didn’t know if it was my own hesitation or his unsteady hands that made it linger just a second too long.

He staggered back, eyes half-closed, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the whole thing. His hands dropped, and he swayed, his breath slowing as the exhaustion finally took over. His head slumped onto my shoulder, and he exhaled, a quiet surrender.

“Nix?” I whispered, looking down to see his eyes shut, breaths now slow and even.

The confession hung between us, unanswered. And I sat there, his weight against me, tangled in everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

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

The panicked question floated in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Y/n." I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "Why do I remember kissing you?"

I cleared my throat and did my best to sound somewhat nonchalant about it. “Well, maybe because you kissed me, Lew.”

"For Christ's sake..." He groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. "Just what I needed, great. This is great."

"You drank too much." I tried to excuse him. Emphasis on 'tried'.

"I always drink too much and this never—" Another frustrated groan, this time louder, escaped him.

"I've never seen you... That drunk." The statement was tainted with worry; a worry I had felt the night before and didn't have time to voice. "You looked... awful. I had to drag you to the bed." I stole a peek at him while I explained, catching a mortified expression on his part as he sat up, legs hanging from the side of the bed as he was now facing me. "I get it. I really do. It's hard enough out here. Hey—" I kneeled down to meet his casted down face, much like the night before, but with very different circumstances. "You saw me in Noville. I wasn't... I wasn't myself. And it wasn't even-"

I pondered how to put my thoughts into words without making it worse. The best way to explain he wasn't all that bad without making a fool of myself.

"I didn't... Love him, y'know? Charles, I mean." At the name of my soon to be ex-husband, Nix seemed to regain the will to meet my eyes, which now recoiled from his. "Not anymore, at least. But it felt... The letter felt like a gut punch— I felt like... my life slipped through my fingers. And when stuff like that happens, we do stupid things. Because we feel lost."

"Is that what I said?"

"Huh?"

"That I felt lost."

I shook my head no, the realization that he didn't quite remember his drunken speech dawning on me.

"What exactly did I tell you?"

"You... Don't remember what you said?"

"No- I... What did I say?"

Suddenly eager to put distance between us, I bolted to my feet and walked out of the room. "I don't know- things anyone would say when they're drunk as a skunk."

"Like- like what things?" He questioned, his steps trailing behind me in the kitchen's direction.

"Nix, you were drunk and going through shit." Deep down, I didn't think I would be able to reason my way out of that one, but I had to try. "Don't put much thought into it." I insisted, reaching for the percolator to brew a very much needed coffee.

"What did I say? Y/n-" just as I was about to turn on the stove, he interlaced his calloused fingers around my wrist and gently tugged on it to stand face-to-face. "Just tell me how much I screwed it."

"You didn't screw anything."

"Then why can't you look at me?"

"Maybe because we've been trying not to end up here for a literal year and now this happened?"

Lew scrutinized me with fear in his dark eyes. I had seen that expression too many times, he was drawing his conclusions based on what he knew.

"Did I tell you I'm in love with you?"

Silence. Charged silence. One look was enough for him to realize he did not say that. His hand let go of me to cover his mouth while he took a step back.

Once more, I was at loss of words, which was something Nix had rarely accomplished in the time we had known each other.

"I... I don't know what I was thinking— Jesus Christ—" he exhaled the last part, an apology plastered all over him. "I'm just gonna... I shouldn't have come in the first place."

He was about to turn heel and leave. We both had done that before, more times than we could count. The difference was, there was no need for me to let him slip away; not anymore.

In a spurt of bravery, I grasped at his forearm and tugged him back, daring to stare straight into his soul while I spoke.

"You said Kat was divorcing you. Said you didn't think you'd feel like this." I began, voice clear as day. "You said you were done pretending you didn't wanna kiss me everytime you see me." He dropped his gaze, a flicker of regret in his eyes, jaw clenched tight. "You said the 'what if's haunt you if you stare for too long. You asked me if it was just you who felt like that."

"... Am I?" He recalculated the situation, shame dissipating to let me discern something similar to hope.

"Y'know what's the first thing I thought after reading Charles' letter?" He barely had time to deny with his head before I continued. "I thought 'fuck him, the man I love sleeps in my goddamn foxhole'." His breath hitched at the word but he didn't shy away from me; on the contrary, he watched my every move while my grip eased from his arm and traveled to the back of his neck. "Now tell me, are you fucking sober yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good 'cause I'm done pretending too."

My statement was hasty and quick. The previous night had left me too eager to return the kiss I had so desperately wanted to give him.

Months of stealing longing glances at each other fueled our need to make sure there was no space between us anymore. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my upper body flush against his while the kiss deepened in a way we could only have fantasized about— had it not been for those damn letters.

Who would have thought our silver lining of war would be our failed marriages?

[captaincherrie]

Back in Chicago

Pairings: Lewis Nixon x f!reader

Summary: Lewis and reader have some unresolved feelings? Very loosely inspired by this song.

warnings: uncertainty, fluff, cuteness? It’s late, this isn’t proof read or anything!!!

Disclaimer: any writing of Band of Brothers is strictly based of their fictional representation in the show. No disrespect to the true hero's.

Authors note: so this came to me suddenly, had to write it. Again fighting for my life with the style of this, trying to figure it out. This is definitely not my best, but overcoming writers block by writing small things As always, let me know what you think, enjoy (and my requests are open)

-

He looked right at her. Eyes scanning her face, trying to convey the message he wasn’t allowed to say yet. They had met in Belgium, in the midst of hell. Her hands trying to work magic, while attempting to soothe the pain that lingered around. But now, comfortable in Germany while looking over the beautiful landscape, Lewis felt sober for the first time in a long time.

They had spent the afternoon together near the lake, each their own book, in their own little world

“Where will you go now- once the war is over?” He asked hesitantly, breaking the comfortable silence. The war was over, he just wasn’t allowed to say it yet.

Y/n smiled at him, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. She looked radiant, he realized, like a thousand shimmering suns laughing right at him. 

“I’ll go back home to Chicago, Nix. Maybe work at the hospital there, maybe find someone who takes me dancing and reads to me in the park. Have a dog and some babies eventually. You know, finally start a life. ” She winked. 

He nodded at her words, breaking his gaze away from her. His hands fidgeted with the corner of the page he was reading. They had gone dancing the night before, the memories coming right back. They had been so close, her perfume dazing his senses and her soft curls tickling his neck.

“Sounds nice enough. You deserve it, Y/n.” He sighed, bringing his eyes back to the words in front of him. Pushing down the feeling that was screaming at him.

After a few moments, Y/n spoke up again, “What about you, Lewis?”

“What about me?” He looked at her.

She closed her book, connecting their eyes, “What do you deserve?”

He looked down, lowering his head slightly. “I will figure it out, I guess.” He answered.

She sighed, stood up and took her book. Taking a few steps back, she turned around to face him once more. “I know exactly what you deserve, Lewis Nixon. But I’ll give you time. Once you figure it out, will you come visit me? In Chicago I mean?” She smiled. 

Not bothering to hear his answer, she walked away grinning while shooting him one last wink. He watched her go, a small sparkle of hope tingling in his stomach. 

He looked after her with reddened cheeks, blinking slowly. Did he hear her correctly? He had just been served a divorce letter. Everything, including his dog, has been taken away from him. Was she seriously offering him a new chance on a silver platter? 

-

4 months later, back in Chicago.

They had sent a few letters back and forth. Small updates of their lives shared, but nothing more. He hadn’t responded to her last letter, which was a few weeks ago. Multiple things had crossed her mind, maybe the divorce hadn’t gone through, maybe he decided he didn’t want her? Had she been too vague or maybe too forward? He has always been such a smart man, he must have gotten the clue. He was an intelligence officer after all.

. 

A knock on the door broke her train of thoughts. Shaking the feeling, Y/n made her way to the front of the house. Her friend Betty had promised to come pick her up so they could go out in the evening.

Stopping in the hallway, she took a moment to put on her heels and look one last time in the mirror. Reapplying her lipstick, she heard a second set of knocks. Grinning to herself, she yelled, “Yes Betty, I’m coming! Christ, you’re impatient.”

Turning the knob, she opened the door. 

“Hi.”

Her face fell. “You’re not Betty,” she whispered. 

Lewis looked at her, she looked more rested, a healthy blush sitting on the apples of her cheeks. She looked beautiful. 

“No, but I was hoping you’d go dancing with me instead?” He asked with a small smirk on his face.

Y/n blinked once, then quickly overcame her shock. Jumping up, she brought her arms around his neck, she crossed her legs around his waist. The movement caused him to stumble slightly, trying to hold on to her as best as possible as he found his footing again. He brought his head to the crook of her neck, a genuine smile overtaking him as he smelled the same perfume as that last day together. He held her up for a few minutes, before slowly lowering her to the ground again.

“You came! I- I thought-” She beamed.

He grinned while answering, “How could I not? Had to come find my girl, right?” 

Her lips parted slightly as her brows furrowed, “your girl?”

“Yes, Y/n. I heard what you said all those months ago, and I have been going over it. Again, and again, and again.” He scanned her face.

Cupping her chin, he looked into her eyes again, “If you let me, I will take care of you for the rest of my life. I will give you whatever you want. Whatever it takes to feel the way you make me feel all the time.” He confessed. 

At this point she was blushing furiously, “Lewis Nixon, have you been drinking again?”

“No, sweetheart, stone cold sober.” He chuckled.

Y/n looked at him, trying to find something on his face that indicated he was joking. When she couldn't find anything, she locked their eyes again, “Then kiss me, you fool. I’ve waited long enough”

“Yes, ma’am.”