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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 24

(Ch. 23) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "No, I could never give you peace."

WARNINGS: Angst, Espionage, the usual

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

After she finished her story, Alix hung her head, unwilling or unable to glance up, afraid of what she’d see reflected back at her in those pools of honey-brown...

Disgust. Shock. Pity.

Or worse: Admiration. Affection. Kindness.

Things she didn’t deserve, especially not from Joe.

She hadn’t even realized she'd reached for his hand until he gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. But she didn’t pull away, instead letting their fingers rest together, lightly intertwined.

In another life, she thought to herself. Maybe if things were different...

For a brief second, the spy allowed her mind to meander, imagining what it might be like to live in a world with no war, no Millicent, no familial pressure, a world where they could love each other out loud with nothing standing in their way.

But as Alix studied the subtle burgundy of her chipped nail polish, the ink blotches on Joe's fingertips brought her crashing back to earth.

That wasn't the world they lived in.

That wasn't a world she'd ever see.

The soft rasp of gravel in Joe’s voice brought her focus back.

"That Larsson guy really threatened to kick you out 'cause you didn’t wanna kill a fuckin' kid?"

Alix nodded and she could hear a dangerous, razor-sharp edge enter his tone but it wasn't directed at her.

"I'd like to meet the guy."

It was a simple statement but the way Joe had said "meet" sounded an awful lot like "murder".

"You wouldn't like him," Alix replied with a rueful grimace and Joe chuckled darkly and moved to crack his knuckles.

"Yeah well, after me and him go a few rounds in the ring, I bet he wouldn't like me too much either."

Alix turned her head away to hide her smile and there was another beat of silence between the pair before Joe spoke again.

“Y'know that’s not all you are, right?”

Alix's head jerked up in surprise before she could stop it.

"What?"

"A killer," the technician clarified and she could feel the physical shift of him rubbing the back of his neck, scruffing up his light brown hair.

"I don't give a shit what he…what they told you. You're so much fuckin' more than that."

Alix pressed her lips into a grimace.

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But after a month of silence and then that letter…everything he said just rang hollow.

“You don’t know me," the spy mumbled defensively. “Not really.”

If you did, you wouldn’t want me.

But Joe gently leaned his shoulder against hers again.

"I do though," he replied, the light rasp in his voice contrasting with the softness of his tone. "Better than ya think."

"Prove it then," Alix challenged as she crossed her arms and Joe tilted his head in thought, clearly pondering an opener.

“'Kay, well, your favorite color is red–”

Alix opened her mouth to correct him but Joe was quicker.

“I know, I know, 'scarlet'…” He commented with exaggerated air quotes before adding wryly, “But it's the same thing, which is fuckin’ red.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” the spy inquired cynically as she bit back a giggle at his dramatics.

“And you got a smart-ass comment for everything,” Joe teased before deftly tugging a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket.

“Want one?”

Alix nodded eagerly, thanking him as she plucked one from the packaging but when the technician retrieved his Zippo, Alix hesitated.

She knew better than to bring her face closer so he could give her a light.

She would have to lean in close to his lips, almost as if… she shook her head, trying to banish the thought.

His heart belongs to someone else, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be right.

Noticing her reluctance, Joe’s face seemed to fall, but he handed her the lighter anyway, his fingertips brushing ever so slightly against hers as he pressed the smooth metal into her grasp.

Alix tried to ignore the giddy sensation and focused on lighting her cigarette while he resumed his Herculean task.

"You never take your rosary off," he pointed out after a slow drag. “And you say you don’t believe it does anything but when you get nervous, you still bite your lip and reach for it anyway.”

Did she really? The spy was impressed and a little intrigued but still tried her hardest to feign nonchalance for pride’s sake.

“Congratulations,” Alix remarked dryly. “You have eyes.”

Joe cocked an eyebrow.

“Shit, alright, tough crowd,” he quipped with a smirk.

“Lemme think… You only drink Gin & Tonics now ‘cause ya went a little too hard on the vodka at some party once and spent the rest of the night upchucking into the bushes.”

Alix felt her cheeks beginning to flush, now wishing distinctly that she would evaporate on the spot.

Had she really done that? She only hoped to God it hadn’t been in front of him.

But Joe seemed to take her silent mortification as skepticism because he added, “Muck told me."

"That bastard," Alix muttered but there was no venom behind her words and Joe chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Go easy on the guy,” the Californian joked with a sheepish grin. “It was a while back. I just got a good memory, ‘specially when it comes to you, I guess.”

Alix took a quick drag and wound a strand of her hair around finger absentmindedly, unsure of quite how to respond to his kindness.

“Well thank you… I think?”

“Don’t thank me yet, Ziskeit,” Joe shrugged with an easy smile.

“‘Cause I ain’t done."

He took a short drag, watching the smoke rise in spiraling plumes before giving her a sly look out of the corner of his sparkling brown eyes.

“You left your window unlocked fer me when we were back in Aldbourne so I could get into your room without anybody seein' me–”

He chuckled and teasingly gave her a light nudge.

"--Not that it mattered anyway ‘cause you left me with so many fuckin' hickeys and scratches that our old CO said it looked like I’d been mauled by a fuckin’ bear.”

Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze to the ground, certain now that she was a brilliant shade of crimson.

Joe haphazardly tossed his cigarette away before continuing,

“You been trained in deception or whatever but when it comes to people close to ya, y'can’t lie for shit. Like right now–"

He gently slid a finger under the spy’s chin and gently turned her to face him.

“– Tell me you ain’t got feelings for me.”

Her eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“W-What?” she choked out, blinking in confusion as her heartbeat stuttering to a near-stop at his sudden proximity.

“Tell me you don't want me, Zees,” he insisted, the huskiness of his voice seeming to slow time and his gaze seemed to flit down to her lips before returning to her eyes.

"'Cause I think you do."

It was a dare but behind his trademark cockiness was a current of desperation, his warm whiskey eyes pleading with her for the truth, whatever it might be.

“Look, you want me outta your life for good, all you gotta do is say it: say you don’t want me and mean it. Yeah, ‘s gonna hurt like a bitch, I'm not gonna bullshit ya, but I gotta know, Zees. 'Cause right now...Me and you and Doc, I-"

His voice broke and he took a second before running his thumb lightly across her cheek, brushing away a tear.

She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

The paratrooper set his jaw and when he spoke again, there was a quiet determination in his voice, as though he was forcing it under control.

"Zees, if I gotta love you from a distance, then that's just what I gotta do.”

Alix faltered, momentarily lost for words, her stunned expression mirrored in the glossy reflection of Joe’s dark eyes.

The words were on the tip of her tongue:

I love you. I want you, only you. Always you.

But she knew she couldn’t say them, no matter how badly she wanted to.

It wouldn’t be fair–

Not to Millicent, who was counting on her sweetheart to be faithful from an ocean away.

Not to Gene, whose schoolboy crush seemed to be the only thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces some days.

And most importantly, not to Joe who deserved far better than a damaged girl who could never give him the peace his turbulent soul so desperately longed for.

Her chest ached helplessly, her pulse seeming to radiate through her upper body as though her heart was trying to force its way to him.

“Joey, I-”

The thunderous roar of her name being called cut her off before she could get any further and her head swiveled immediately toward the sound.

It was her case officer who burst into the clearing with a radio in one hand and a bag in the other, its red stripes designating it as an OSS burn bag.

“Martinelli, grab your shit,” Nixon commanded, looking more alert than she'd seen him since Survival drills. “We’ve got to move now!”

With a last apologetic glance in Joe’s direction, Alix sprang to her feet and hurriedly began stuffing her stack of comic books into her canvas bag before bolting off after her handler, who was already several strides ahead of her and showing no signs of stopping.

“Hey! Hey Nix!” she called after him, trying to provoke some sort of response but instead of his usual dramatics over her neglecting to address him properly, he ordered her to hand over her bag.

Once she had, he began tearing through it like a madman, rifling through her comics and the letter from her aunt, pushing past her knives, garrote wire, and the vials of Prussic Acid neatly rolled into bandages.

“What the hell– ?” Alix demanded just as he swiped her false documents from the side pocket and shoved them into his burn bag.

“Have you lost your mind?!" she hissed, trying to grab his arm to stop him. "I fucking need those!”

"Not anymore you don't," Nixon reported, shrugging her off and lighting the Zippo. “You've been compromised.”

"What, how?!"

Alix felt her stomach lurch and she searched her handler’s face for the slightest trace of deception but found none.

"Madonna mia," she breathed as they both watched the burn bag begin to crackle, the terrifying reality sinking in.

"How bad was the leak?"

"Bad," Nixon uttered, shaking his head.

"Payce and De Luca were executed yesterday. Bouchard's been captured. Perrault's MIA. God only knows about the rest. I haven't heard."

They might've captured Jennie?!

Alix took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her racing thoughts and keep a cool head.

"You'll have to lay low for awhile," Nixon stated, sounding almost apologetic as they watched her identity papers begin to disintegrate in the blaze.

"Donovan's got a place you can go, an agency safehouse. I'll bring you updates when I can."

"How many?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"How many of my covers have been compromised…?"

The captain swallowed hard before responding, his voice coming out as brittle as broken bone.

“All of them.”

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 21

(Ch. 20) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "It's born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times."

A/N: Bit of a long one tonight, y'all, but I PROMISE it's worth it, even if for no other reason than to twist the knife in your heart lol because this one hURTED

WARNINGS: ANGST ANGST ANGST, Mixed Signals, Jealousy, Situationship, Conflicted feelings, idk the usual FOF tags lol.

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

Chewing absentmindedly on her thumbnail as she read, Alix tried to ignore the all-too-familiar feeling of eyes boring into the side of her head.

She didn't even have to turn to look; she knew instinctively who it was.

It was Joe.

It was always Joe.

He had been casting wounded glances in her direction like a kicked puppy ever since she'd stormed off the day prior.

Ever since the letter.

Her chest still ached at the memory.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see “To My Love” inscribed on the letter’s flap like an epitaph.

Like her epitaph.

He wasn’t yours to lose in the first place, Alix chided herself, trying to force herself to stare at the novel she’d gotten in the mail days earlier. Let him be.

But her eyes wouldn’t focus and the deep, icy pain in her chest just wouldn’t leave her alone.

There was no denying it: he hadn't left her mind.

He had been there for her when she needed him most and then…then nothing.

Had it just been pity for her distraught state that kept him there that night?

All signs pointed to Yes.

A month of silence, empty gestures that clearly meant nothing to him, and then a letter from a sweetheart he had apparently been writing to the whole time... Frankly, Alix wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or slap him.

Perhaps both; perhaps neither.

Deep down, under all of the hurt and confusion and betrayal she felt, all she wanted to do was run to him for a hug and for answers, for the truth:

Was any of it real or was it all just an act?

Was she just a passing amusement for him?

Was trying to woo her some sort of sick joke?

Had it just been to prove that he could?

Regardless, she’d rather take a nosedive off the Strawberry Mansion Bridge in midwinter than ask.

No man was worth that kind of humiliation, not even Joe.

With a sigh of annoyance, Alix tried to turn back to her worn copy of Wuthering Heights but found herself staring emptily at the pages again.

Skip and Don had been in and out for most of the morning, on some patrol or other, leaving the more or less immobilized spy to her own devices as she waited for the patrol to return, hopefully with a medic so her ankle could be fixed and she could finally get back to work.

She could feel Joe’s eyes on her again, could feel the mournful puppy-dog stare she would encounter were she to look over, and it took all her self-control not to limp over there and tell him to go make eyes at his darling Millicent but fortunately, she didn’t think she’d be able to hop down off the fallen oak by herself.

Just then, a thickly-accented voice interrupted her ruminations.

"’Scuse-moi but uh, Nixon said you were lookin' for me…?"

Lifting her head from her reading, Alix saw a medic standing a bit away, hands in his pockets and shifting from foot to foot as though nervous to approach her.

He was taller than she’d expected him to be, pale and square-jawed with close-cropped black hair and tired eyes so dark a blue that it took her a second to register their color.

“Did he?” she inquired, her brows knitting slightly.

It wasn’t like her case officer to go out of his way to be nice.

The man inclined his head, the ghost of a small smile gracing his face like moonlight over frost.

"Mais ya. Said you banged up your ankle real bad an' that I oughta have a look at it before you make it worse."

There it is, Alix thought with an inward chuckle. There’s the Blackbeard I know.

“Fair enough,” she replied with a simple shrug. "C'mon then."

The man's eyes were alight with quiet mirth, but Alix could see the worry lines etched into his forehead, his thin lips pressed together pensively.

He seemed almost afraid to smile, the spy noted, taking a peek at him overtop of her book as he got himself situated.

Like any moment it could be taken from him.

He was watching her too but Alix pretended not to notice, leaning down and focusing her energy instead on gingerly untying her shoelaces.

Her ankle had been numb most of the day but as soon as she attempted to shift the tongue of her boot even slightly, an agonizing bolt of lightning shot up her leg and she let out an involuntary yelp of pain.

Both the medic and Joe’s heads whipped around at the sound of her cry but before the latter could put down the letter he was writing and get to his feet, the former was already at her side.

“You wan’ some help with that?” the dark-haired medic inquired, concern written all over his features but at first, Alix tensed out of sheer habit.

There was nothing she hated more than asking for help.

But there wasn’t a trace of pity or contempt in the medic’s voice, only kindness, and she slowly allowed herself to relax.

“Maybe,” she answered apprehensively. “If you can keep it from hurting like that again.”

“I can try but it’s gonna start out painful. You gonna hafta trust me."

"Not exactly my strong suit.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” the medic replied, extending a hand with a shy smile.

“I’m Eugene, by the way…Eugene Roe. But you can jus’ call me Gene, if you wanna, like y–”

A loud cough of irritation interrupted their conversation and Alix discreetly peeked over her shoulder to see that Joe had paused yet again from his scribbling to light up his third cigarette of the hour with a scowl as dark as a storm cloud.

Alix shot him a death glare which he pretended not to see.

The sheer audacity of Joe Liebgott to be acting jealous when he had been leading her on for so long, when he’d abandoned her for a month, all while writing home to his real sweetheart, when he was writing to her even now with Alix sitting feet away…

How dare he.

With a toss of her hair, Alix turned her attention back to the medic in front of her, who seemed a bit taken aback by the intensity of her expression.

“Pleasure to meet you, Gene,” she replied with a bright smile. “I’m Alix.”

"I know," he admitted sheepishly. "We met before, used ta work together actually. Was gonna tell ya earlier but…"

He trailed off, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the abrupt interruption.

"Sorry,” Alix said, wincing at her own impaired memory. “My recall's still shit."

But Eugene seemed to take it in stride.

"C'est bon," he responded with a shrug and an understanding smile. "Was a long time ago anyway."

"Still," the spy confided with a frustrated grimace. "I hate not being able to remember things…people..."

"It'll come back, cher," he assured her with a comforting hand on her cheek and her eyes went wide but she didn't pull away.

"Jus' gotta give it some time. For now–"

He gave her a sweet smile that made her feel warm inside.

"Think of it like a fresh start."

From several feet away, Joe cleared his throat again, a raucous sound, and the medic seemed to instantly come back to himself.

Losing his nerve, he quickly pulled his hand away, focusing all his energy on positioning them lightly on her boot instead.

"Now, uh, you ready to get this thing off?"

Alix nodded with gritted teeth and Eugene began to count down.

“Une…Deux…Trois!”

One sudden flash of pain and both her sock and boot were off.

“Merci beaucoup,” she exhaled, her whole body seeming to sag with released tension.

Thank you so much.

The medic’s face lit up with delight like a kid on Christmas.

“Your French don' sound half bad, cher!"

"After 12 years of it in school, I sure hope not," Alix joked and the medic visibly brightened at the sound of her laughter.

"Mais ya, it sounds real good. Y'ain't Cajun but then, there isn't nobody outside the bayou that talk like us."

Suddenly seeming to remember what he'd come for, he busied himself with rolling up her pants leg and examining her swollen ankle, which was now a mottled black and blue.

True to his word, he was careful to touch it as little as possible.

"You been walkin' on it a lot, eh?"

"A fair bit," she conceded. "Just when necessary."

The medic shook his head, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

"C'est pas drole que's all fucked up then. You got a dislocated ankle, cher, an' you been overworkin' it."

No wonder, huh?

Alix could've laughed. She'd spent her whole life chafing against life's constraints. She couldn't stay off her feet for too long even if she tried; she'd go crazy.

"What do you want me to do, Gene, quit my job?"

It had been a joke but the medic wasn't laughing.

"If that's what it takes," he intoned as he began to rifle through his bag in search of a splint set, scolding her affectionately all the while.

"You're lucky you ain't got a fractured foot! Once I do the reduction, you gotta be gentle while it's healin'. That means you gotta stay off it, you got that, pichouette?"

Pichouette.

Mischievous girl.

A term of endearment but a playful one.

“From cher to pichouette that quick, huh?” she teased and he shook his head at the ground to hide his shy grin.

"You really shoulda been more careful, y'know," he chided gently, ignoring her teasing as he began busying himself with his bag.

"You got me… an' Joe an' uh, other people real worried about you."

“It’s sweet of you to worry but I’m not your problem, Gene,” Alix mumbled but he paused his search to glance up at her.

“If you were a problem, I wouldn’ta been worried at all, cher,” he said kindly and Alix could feel the warmth of his tone like a hug.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to hop down an' lay flat on your back for me, ya?”

But the spy shook her head, suddenly self-conscious.

“Um Gene…One problem.”

Eugene cocked his head, brows knit in silent confusion.

“I can’t.” Alix mumbled, inwardly berating herself for forgetting.

“Not without landing on my bad foot. Skip helped me up here but I’d need help getting down.”

The medic immediately rose from his kneeling position, arms extended.

“Jump.”

The spy shook her head emphatically.

“That’s a negative, Gene. I don't do heights, especially not after my last jump."

Eugene cocked his head.

He didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“You don’ trust me?”

“Don’t take it personally,” the spy grimaced. “I’m just not in the habit of trusting people too easily.”

The sweet-faced Eugene took a timid step closer to the trunk of the oak, his voice soft and reassuring.

“Mais, lemme change that then.”

Alix could feel her resolve waning bit by bit but she still had some lingering doubts.

“What if you drop me?” she asked, noting the man’s almost fragile-looking frame

but he chuckled, a sound as warm as the sun rays dappling nearby leaves.

“Cher, I been carryin’ 200 pound wounded troopers back an' forth for Lord knows how long now. I ain’t gonna drop you.”

There was such an earnestness about the medic’s face that she didn’t have the heart to refuse any longer.

“Fine,” she grumbled, trying to keep from looking down. “But you’d better not drop me.”

Even a minor jump felt major since her previous but she resolved to trust him anyway.

After taking one last breath to calm her nerves, Alix leapt into the medic’s waiting arms.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Despite his slight build, Eugene was a great deal stronger than she’d expected and when he scooped her out of the air, Alix couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest, even as their noses nearly brushed.

“Okay, okay, you proved your point,” she giggled as he gave her a boost, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist for security, but Eugene wasn’t done.

“Told you I wasn’t gonna drop you, cher,” he remarked with a rare, playful grin, those entrancing eyes of his sparkling in the sunlight.

“Gonna hafta eat crow now, eh?”

Alix swatted at his shoulder jokingly and was it her imagination or were the tips of his ears turning bright pink?

“You, Eugene Roe, are ridiculous,” she mumbled as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself.

Roe licked his lips nervously, his gaze seeming to linger on her mouth for a second as though he were pondering something he shouldn't.

For a brief second, she was somewhere else as an image of herself and Joe flashed before her, the two of them kissing in the moonlight...

But Alix's mind brought her crashing back down to Earth as the memory of the letter, of Millicent's smiling face, of the words "My Love" sealed with a kiss swam before her...

Feeling her stomach drop, Alix turned her head away suddenly, and Roe got the message, his gaze returned to her eyes immediately.

“I'm sorry, I-I uh…” he stammered and Alix gave him an understanding smile.

“Don’t worry about it."

The medic swallowed anxiously, his heartbeat thundering stronger and stronger against her chest like a caged animal.

Keeping his hands securely wrapped around her, he gently guided her down onto her back in the grass, his body just grazing over hers and Alix felt something strange stir within her.

There was a delicacy about his features, even in shadow, that Alix hadn't noticed before his face was hovering inches from her own.

Joe was a blazing wildfire, as passionate and intense as the sunlight beating down on Gene's back, and she was a moth, ever attracted to his flame.

But Eugene... He was different, more aloof, almost serene, but with a gentle magnetism as well that drew her curiosity like the moon and tides.

Even hovering just above her, with his arms lightly caging her against the ground, there was still an unfathomable distance in the medic's eyes, as though he was searching for something in her eyes that he couldn't quite reach.

He radiated a more subdued light but it was still present, and there was a gravitas that grounded him in even his lightest moments.

He wasn't Joe. But maybe that was okay. Maybe he didn't have to be.

The tension between them was as thick as a morning haze and Alix found her own pulse racing as she looked up at him, the flurry of butterflies in her stomach battling the confusion in her mind and the heartache in her chest.

An unspoken fondness seemed to radiate from within Gene’s night-blue eyes as he gazed at her and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been lingering under the surface all along.

He had said they’d worked together in the past… If that was true, then perhaps he’d kept that fondness hidden for a reason.

Just another "impossibility", Alix thought sadly. Another "almost".

Still, she couldn't deny that there was something about him, a warmth, a comfort that she hadn't noticed before that seemed to pull her to him.

Perhaps it was his gentleness that both drew her and repelled her at the same time.

After all, he had been trained to save lives; she had been trained to take them.

Life and Death.

An impossibility.

She saw his gaze drift down to her lips again, but this time, she didn’t turn away, even as she heard the angry clatter of Joe dropping his canteen to the ground.

Eugene leaned down, his eyes timidly asking a question she already knew her answer to, when a piercing wolf-whistle rang out, startling the medic so much that he rolled off her immediately with a muttered “Merde” just as a cluster of paratroopers emerged from the brush.

"Way to go, Doc!" someone jeered and there were snickers and scattered applause throughout the remainder of the group as the medic sat up and began feverishly rifling through his canvas bag instead, sorting bandages and the like as he avoided the stares.

“You guys are a real riot,” Alix commented sarcastically, propping herself up on her elbows and making a face at the gawking newcomers.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than gape like goldfish?”

A man near the front of the group who Alix recognized as Joe's friend, Sergeant Talbert hooted,

"Damn, we go on patrol and miss all the fun! Wonder if they–"

"Tab, shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you!" Joe snarled uncharacteristically from his spot in the clearing and Tab held his hands up, wisely choosing not to continue his statement.

The spy glanced nervously over at Joe who set his jaw and turned away, glaring daggers at the grass instead as though daring it to wilt under his stare.

"All y'all can get a move on already," Bull commanded with the exasperated sigh of an elementary school teacher attempting to control an unruly class.

"Ain't nothin' to see."

Once the returning group had begun to disperse, the medic ceased his search and turned to look at her, seeming almost helpless, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"I'm sorry… I mean, I shouldn'tve… Mais, you an' Joe… Did I–"

"NO," she stated sharply– more like a punch to the gut than a reassurance– before shaking her head and correcting herself.

"No," she repeated, gentler this time. "You're fine, Gene."

"But I thought y'all–" Roe began, casting a worried look over his shoulder at Joe but this time it was Alix who reached out with a wan smile and a reassuring hand on his cheek, turning him back to her.

"Well, you thought wrong."

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 22

(Ch. 21) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: A closed reduction is painful but not as painful as a broken heart.

WARNINGS: Description of Injury Correction

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

“Genie, how long do I have to stay like this?” Alix groaned as she stared up at the sky with her knee bent while the meticulous medic inspected her ankle yet again.

“My leg’s starting to cramp.”

"Jus’ hang in there, cher,” he soothed as he cautiously applied a bit of light pressure to the area once again, causing her to hiss in pain as he examined her range of motion.

“You don’ want me rushing this.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alix caught a glimpse of Joe nearby, pacing back and forth like an anxious guard-dog, his forehead creased with worry lines as he took a hasty drag of his cigarette.

"Whaddya need, Doc?" he asked as Roe assessed her ankle one final time. “What can I do?”

“You already asked him that,” Alix snapped, eyes narrowed. “Three times.”

“Well ‘scuse me for being fuckin' worried about you,” Joe shot back.

The heartbroken spy was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his false “worry” when Eugene's slightly modulated voice cut her off, giving Joe an instruction seemingly from the depths of Alix’s own heart.

"Hold her hand."

Alix practically choked on air.

"What?!"

The spy began struggling to get up but the medic stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder and lowered his voice so only she could hear.

"I ain't exactly jazzed about it either, cher," he said softly and with the mournful look in his beautiful blue eyes, she didn't doubt it.

"But puttin' personal feelings aside, you gonna need somebody to grab onto so you don' pass out."

Alix scoffed inwardly.

"Putting personal feelings aside," he'd said.

As if there had ever been a time when Gene put his feelings anything but dead last.

"I'd rather be unconscious than touch him," she muttered bitterly and perhaps it was his guilty conscience or perhaps it was genuine concern for her well-being, but either way, Gene wouldn't hear any more of her protestations.

“Jus' till the reduction's done,” he pleaded as he helped Alix out of her jump jacket, which she would need to bite on for the pain.

“Mais, if I could find Spina, I'd hold your hand myself an' let him do it, but he ain't close."

Alix chewed on her bottom lip, glancing around the clearing as she weighed her options.

Don had gone in search of a German Luger for his nephew and Skip had gone with him to ensure he wouldn’t die.

The pair had offered to carry her but she didn’t want to encumber them.

The woods were dangerous enough as it was without adding another load to their packs.

So, they had gone, leaving Alix with Gene, Joe, and her own thoughts, surrounded by a group of relative strangers.

As much as she hated to admit it, Joe was looking like the only option so reluctantly, she relented.

“Fine, whatever, let’s get it over with.”

With a satisfied nod, Roe began assembling the necessary components of the splint set and Joe knelt beside her.

Shivering slightly in her camisole, she tried to pretend he wasn't there, staring straight ahead into the tangle of branches and shadows that comprised the surrounding forest.

“Hey, you okay, Ziskeit?" Joe inquired, the familiar gravel of his voice softening around the foreign word.

Zees.

Zee-skite.

There was something comforting about the way it seemed to roll so easily off his tongue like a reflex, like a prayer.

Alix shook her head to clear it.

Remember who he is, she told herself, noting the ink-stains that seemed to mar his fingertips.

Ink stains from the letter he had been writing earlier, no doubt a reply to the one that haunted her memory.

Remember all the lies.

She wondered vaguely if he called Millicent that word back in California.

Zeeskite.

Probably just another recycled line.

But even still, when he slowly reached for her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away and as he laced their fingers together, a flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach.

Their fingers interlocked perfectly, like they were made for each other.

"You can squeeze too, y'know," Joe added, giving her shoulder an affectionate brush with his own. "If ya need to, that is."

Alix fought to keep her face neutral and inwardly cursed the stubborn heat creeping up her neck and cheeks anyway.

"I don't wanna hurt you though," she squeaked but Joe just chuckled.

"Break my fuckin' hand for all I care, Zees," he joked with an easy shrug and his laugh felt almost… familiar, as if she’d heard it a million times before.

But he sobered quickly, using his thumb to lightly caress the back of her hand.

The blinding sunlight light up each ray of honey-gold in his hypnotic brown eyes, creating a dazzling shimmer almost like the flicker of a flame.

"Seriously though, this ain't about me." His forehead was etched with worry lines.

"You're the one who's gonna be in pain so you fuckin' squeeze as tight as you need to, okay? Don't worry 'bout me; I can take it."

He was being so considerate that it actually hurt and she found herself wishing he would've just been an asshole. It was easier to remember to hate him that way.

"Don't," Alix mumbled, the frigid ache in her chest returning as she noticed the ink-stains on his skin for a second time and she very nearly pulled her hand away.

"Don't do that."

Joe's brows scrunched in confusion.

"Do what?"

There was no malice in his voice anymore when he spoke, the sharp edge from earlier seemed to have evaporated with the morning mist.

It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer.

Could she give him that?

Alix dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye as she answered, studying each blade of grass they were seated on instead like a coward.

Her voice sounded hollow, the words burning in her throat like sawdust as she spoke:

"Don't pretend to care about me."

She would've rather endured a hundred interrogations than take comfort in his lies, especially now.

There was a heavy silence for a moment as Joe registered her comment, followed by a small sigh as his chest seemed to deflate.

"Christ, Zees, you think I'm pretending?"

He wasn't angry, although she wished he would be.

If he just shouted at her then she could return fire and the dislike wouldn't feel so goddamn one-sided.

But he didn't treat her like he did the men of the company. He might bristle at her accusations, might even snap as he rose to her bait, but she had never once heard him truly yell in anger, not at her.

For a man with such a reputed temper that prisoners would slouch to avoid his gaze, it was almost unfathomable.

An unexpectedly soft hand on her arm roused her from her thoughts.

It was Eugene, who gave her a wan smile.

“You ready, cher?”

"You're gonna be okay, Zees," Joe murmured with one last encouraging squeeze of her hand and Alix took a shaky breath before confirming her assent.

"I'm ready."

"Une…"

The medic tensed as he positioned one hand on her hind foot and the other on the lower part of her shin. Alix bit down on the sleeve of her jump jacket.

"Deux…"

There came a slight pressure to her ankle like a warning and she braced herself, leaning subconsciously against Joe's shoulder for comfort.

"Trois!”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Nothing could have prepared her for the pain.

Feeling the pop of bones slamming back into place was like a thousand kitchen knives stabbing her nerves, like a roaring fire engulfing her ankle, needle-sharp sensation so intense that it was momentarily blinding.

Alix gripped Joe's hand so tightly that she lost feeling in her own as a strangled cry was ripped from her throat, fortunately muffled by the thick material of her jacket.

“Jesus Christ, Doc!” Joe snapped and Alix could feel the instinctive coil of his muscles, like a wildcat set to pounce as he rounded on Gene.

“Give her a second, will ya, you’re fuckin’ hurting her!"

The medic ignored him for a moment, focusing his energy instead on the first internal rotation of her ankle, causing Alix to groan in misery and squeeze Joe’s hand still tighter.

"Don' got no choice," the medic grunted apologetically, not even looking up from his work.

"Can’t stop now. Shoulda stayed at the aid station where they got anesthetic. But she almost done; Jus' got one more part of the reduc an' one more rotation."

"One more, Zees," Joe mumbled, releasing her hand and wrapping his arms around her like a protective blanket.

"Just one more. You’re doing real good."

“Une…"

Through the red fog of her misery, Alix could vaguely feel Gene readjusting his grip on her heel as he counted down and she sank back into Joe as she fought to remain conscious.

"Deux…"

The medic was beginning to apply pressure and feeling her tense in preparation, Joe pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to gently smooth her hair in an attempt to offer comfort.

"Trois!”

"Dio Santo!" Alix swore, bolting upright as the final bone slid back into place with a pop, causing involuntary tears to slide down her blanched cheeks like rain.

"C’est tout," the medic announced a moment later, sitting back on his heels.

"The hard part's done. Now we jus' gotta keep it all in place."

As the medic positioned the wire splint against her foot, Alix managed to summon enough strength to slide herself out from under Joe’s arms.

She wanted nothing more than to lean back into him again, to let him hold her close, but she couldn’t…Not when she knew he would only be thinking of Millicent.

“It went good, cher,” Eugene praised as he began to wrap her ankle in protective bandages, oblivious to her conflicted thoughts.

"But don’ let me catch you walkin’ on this thing till it’s good an’ set, you got that? You need somethin’, you better be askin’ somebody to go get it.”

Great, Alix thought, watching forlornly as Eugene finished and began packing his remaining supplies into his bag.

She’d be stuck for at least an hour and she doubted Joe would miraculously decide to leave her alone.

“I gotta go make my rounds, cher, but I’ll be back, alright? Soon as I can.”

“Can I at least sit back on the log then, Genie?” she bargained and the medic nodded grudgingly as he stood up, thin lips twitching into a smile.

"Mais ya, as long as you're careful."

Scooping her up like he had before, Gene plopped her comfortably onto the fallen oak before giving her a lightning-quick peck on the cheek.

Alix had always imagined that the first kiss between two people would be magical like the ones in the novels she read.

When Heathcliff burst into Catherine’s room in Wuthering Heights and swept her up into his strong arms, planting a whirlwind of passionate kisses upon her, their love was like a force of nature.

But when Gene had kissed her cheek… No lightning strike, no giddy sparks like fireworks going off in her head.

Nothing at all except for a tiny twinge of guilt serving to only make her more confused.

This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it, what all her curiosity about the medic had led to?

Then why wasn’t she satisfied?

Why was she always searching for something she couldn’t find, something she wasn’t even sure existed?

But clearly Gene had been satisfied because when he stepped back, the tips of his ears were scarlet again and his half-mumbled "I'll see you around, cher” came out almost dazed.

He had just turned to leave when Joe jumped to his feet, stopping the medic by his elbow as he passed, and Alix held her breath as she awaited the seemingly inevitable conflict.

The medic froze in his tracks, the two men standing face to face.

Eugene was taller by a good 5 inches but even so, Alix had no doubt that Joe would gain the upper hand in a heartbeat.

But to her surprise, no conflict ensued.

"I- uh– just wanted to say thanks, Doc,” Joe said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Y'know, for takin' good care of my... of Alix."

Even so, Eugene eyed him warily.

"Lieb," he began, his tone cautious. "Jus' so you know, I'm not tryna-"

"Doesn't matter."

The medic raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What?"

Joe exhaled slowly and he tried to muster up a smile but there was a flicker of pain just behind it.

When he spoke, there was a catch in his gravelly voice and the words were so quiet that Alix had to strain to hear them.

"If she's happy, I'm happy."

The spy distinctly saw Eugene's shoulders relax at his fellow trooper’s words and the Southerner gave him a polite nod before walking off, leaving Alix alone with the one person she had been trying to avoid.

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

Text

Fire On Fire: Chapter 25

(Ch. 24) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "Friendship isn't a big thing– it's a million little things."

A/N: Here it is, y'all! 💖

Contemporary: November 20th, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

She had been told that her confinement in the dilapidated cabin was for her own protection but Alix was almost certain that the real purpose was to drive her mad enough that even if she were to be captured, she’d have nothing useful to say.

And it was working, the agent thought as she flipped aimlessly through Wuthering Heights for the umpteenth time.

She was going to go out of her mind.

No one in the OSS knew where the leak had come from meaning that everyone was now under suspicion, so the only conceivable solution had been to tuck Alix away somewhere verifiably secure until the source was discovered.

Her sole contact with the outside world came in the form of visits from Captain Nixon, who was the very picture of maladaptive coping mechanisms as he collapsed into a beaten-in armchair by the fireplace with a drink in-hand.

"Any word on Jen– I mean, Agent Perrault?" Alix inquired hopefully but her handler shook his head.

"Not since the last time you asked. Sorry to say but I wouldn't get your hopes up."

He gave a sympathetic grimace before reminding her gently,

"MIA usually means captured or dead."

"'Usually'," Alix insisted doggedly.

"But not always. There's still a chance she's alive somewhere, waiting it out."

Her case officer's expression was strained but he said nothing, opting to take a swig of his drink instead of discouraging her any further.

There was a beat of comfortable silence between the pair and Alix picked at the shoddy couch-cushions beneath her leg with a chipped nail.

She desperately wanted to ask about Joe but she knew better.

She would play it cool.

"So what'd I miss? How is everyone?" she inquired casually but her handler let out a snort.

"You mean, how's 'Joey' ?"

One of the many downsides of being friendly with an intelligence officer, Alix thought ruefully: They Know Too Much.

"A loose cannon, that's how he is," Nixon answered himself before taking a gulp of what was undoubtedly whiskey in his flask.

"He's worried as Hell about you and he's taking it out on anybody within arm's reach. Not to mention, he keeps trying to weasel SITREPs out of me like your status and location aren't strictly Classified."

The captain shook his head with a grudging, mirthless smirk.

"Have to say, I admire his tenacity but I swear to Christ, I'm half-tempted to put a rush on your paperwork just so I can get some goddamn sleep and Dick can have his best interrogator back. Liebgott's no good to anybody like this and don't we all know it."

Joe was worried about her?

Alix didn't know what to say.

Why should he be?

Shouldn't he be relieved that he didn't have to tie up their inconvenient affair with a neat little bow?

But her conflicted musings were interrupted by the crinkling of cardboard.

Nonchalantly fishing a small, rectangular snack box out of his pocket, Nixon tossed it over to her with an exaggerated sigh of reluctance.

“From Muck again,” he elaborated as she caught it, as if she didn’t already know.

Skip had made it a habit of saving his fruit bars for her. He had told her case officer that it was because he was bored of apricot but Alix knew for a fact that was a lie.

It had started long before that.

╔══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╗

9 Months Ago: February 5th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

“Hey Doc, is it normal to lose feeling in your legs?" Alix wheezed as she and the rest of the company made the final trudge up the hill to their makeshift campsite.

"Because I think mine have died."

“Lucky you,” Don groaned from behind her as he plopped down onto the dirt.

“Mine feel like they're on fire.”

"Mais ya, Pyro," Roe answered as he settled across from her on the ground, swiping some sweat off his forward with his sleeve.

"We jus' did an all-night hike an' on empty stomachs, no less. Perfectly normal to feel numb, I reckon."

"Enjoy it," Penkala advised as he took a seat on the empty patch of grass next to Eugene.

"After the Charley horse I got in Mile 9, I'd welcome some numbness right about now."

From a little ways away, Alix saw Skip Muck– their other best friend– shifting from foot to foot anxiously as he waited in line to speak to Captain Sobel.

As the only NCO in their friend group, it was Skip's job to report their times on each excursion.

Alix was reasonably confident in their speed– especially on nighttime hikes which were a lot less grueling than in the blistering heat of the day– but Muck always did his best to pad their times anyway to avoid anyone getting in trouble.

That was just the sort of person he was and Alix was eternally grateful.

The blond mimed dramatically shooting himself with his finger-gun as he waited for the unfortunately long-winded Mike Ranney to finish handing in his group's times and she let out a small giggle behind her hand.

"Wonder if he'll be done by noon," Don snickered, voicing her own thoughts and Alix shrugged.

"We can dream," she joked as she began to unbox her breakfast unit. "But I'm too famished to wait any longer."

"Agreed," Alex Penkala chimed in and the usual bartering began.

"Hey Penk, I'll trade you my Pork & Eggs for your cereal bar," Alix piped up hopefully but the brown-haired trooper sat forward and squinted, his green eyes skeptically taking in Alix's offering.

"That's what that's s'posed to be?" he asked, seeming genuinely horrified. "Are you sure?"

The Italian's weak nod was the only confirmation he needed to cement his decision.

"Nie, sorry," Penkala answered, partially in Polish and partially in English.

Alix sighed but at least he had the decency to look somewhat apologetic.

"Maybe another day?" he added as the spy turned to the friend seated on her left side.

"What about you, Mal? Pork and eggs for half your biscuits?" she offered but Don jokingly shielded his crackers in response.

"Fat chance," the redhead quipped. "These are getting drenched in coffee, soon as it's done."

"I'll remember this the next time you ask me for a Wrigley's," Alix teased before turning to the medic across the way, whose dark blue eyes were already fixed on her.

"How about you, Gene? Up for a trade?"

She held up the tin with a hopeful smile so the medic could view the breakfast ration within but he shook his head apologetically.

"Uh…'fraid I gotta pass on that," he responded, shooting her a sympathetic grimace as he eyed the tin.

"It don' look fit for human consumption."

Roe wasn't wrong.

The medic's prepackaged block of oatmeal had to be soaked in water from his canteen until it was an almost slop-like consistency the color of wet cement but it still looked better than the culinary monstrosity sitting before her in her own tin.

Using her fork as a poking stick, Alix lightly prodded the chalky egg yolk, hoping to find an angle at which it might at least look a little bit appetizing but found none.

The blocks of pork were so solid that she could hardly get her fork through them and she found herself thinking wistfully of home.

When she was home for breaks in Chestnut Hill, Penny would make the most incredible Irish breakfast known to man every morning – the fluffiest golden eggs, the most mouthwatering sausage accompanied by the scent of sizzling bacon and bread so fresh that you could hear the melodious crackle of the crust.

Just the thought of it was making her stomach growl but her musings were interrupted when Doc Roe reached out from across the way and plunked 4 of his 8 biscuits onto her tray with a shy smile.

"Ya can have 'em for free though, if ya want 'em, che– er, Pyro," he corrected quickly with an awkward cough before adding, "Hope they help."

Alix beamed back at him.

"Gene, you're a real peach, do you know that?"

The tips of the medic's ears turned bright pink and he replied with a "De Rien" so soft that she barely heard it.

Taking a bite of one of the biscuits, Alix let out a sudden yelp of pain as one of her molars connected with the rock-solid bread.

"Cazzo! I think it chipped my tooth!"

"That's why you soak 'em first, genius," a familiar voice bubbled from behind her and Alix turned to greet her other best friend.

"Well well, look what the cat finally dragged in," she remarked playfully as she scooted to make room for Skip in their little circle.

"Christ, Skipper, did you get lost?" Don piped up in-between mouthfuls of soggy cracker.

"Nope, can't afford to," the blond replied with his trademark glowing grin and unflagging positivity, even as he settled cross-legged into the dirt.

"Somebody's gotta keep you two outta the nuthouse."

Eagerly pulling his breakfast unit onto his lap, Skip began sorting through the goods and Alix peeked over his shoulder.

It seemed like that day, only Skip had anything actually worth eating: a Dromedary Bar.

As he slowly peeled back the cellophane, the blond took a second to admire the tropical fruit concoction in his hands and Alix's stomach rumbled enviously.

"Hungry?" he inquired as he began to worm the bar out of its packaging and Alix sighed wistfully.

"Starving."

Flicking out his pocketknife, the blond sawed the bar into two neat halves before scarfing his portion down and gallantly offering the second to his friend.

"You're a saint, Skipper," she proclaimed with a grateful grin as she eagerly wolfed down her half of the sweet treat.

"Nah," he chuckled modestly, wiping his juice-stained hands off on his ODs. "Just looking out for family."

“Bon Dieu,” Eugene had marveled from his seat across from them, shaking his head in quiet bemusement at the pair who had both already finished their sections of the bar.

“Remind me not to let y’all near my mama’s beignets when she send 'em!”

That had been the moment when Joe passed by.

It had started off innocuous enough, just another paratrooper admiring the scenery with his friends, those beautiful russet eyes roving the English landscape around them when they met hers and Alix’s heart thudded in her chest.

The electricity of the unspoken seemed to crackle in the air between them like a lightning storm, so much heat in one glance that it made her cheeks flush like a wild rose.

For a brief second, a conflicted expression flashed across his face and Alix remembered the thought in her mind clear as day:

Two months.

It had been two months.

Joe looked as if he wanted to say something but before he could get it out, one of his best friends– Popeye, she remembered– had distracted him, babbling on and on about their future return to civilization in the coming days.

Alix had never seen Joe appear less enthused. As he was being led away to where the rest of his friends were sitting, he took one last look over his shoulder at her, as if trying to commit her features to memory, as if gathering strength to stay away.

But why?

Two months, Alix remembered thinking sadly as she had watched the handsome paratrooper disappear. It had been two months since-

╚══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╝

The sound of snapping fingers dragged Alix from her memories like a vaudeville cane and when she looked up, she glimpsed a half-concerned, half-amused Lewis Nixon staring back at her from his spot in the armchair.

"Welcome back," he remarked and Alix let out a snort of derision, shrugging off his bemusement as she silently grappled with her thoughts.

Why did the memory of seeing Joe all those months ago make her brain burn? Why did that cryptic phrase echo in her mind: Two months. Two months since what?!

Shaking her head to clear it, the spy focused instead on lifting the ration box's lid and delicately unwrapping the cellophane in her lap.

“Jesus Christ, Nix, nice of you to save me some," she commented dryly, inspecting the remains of a crumbled chocolate bar with a cocked eyebrow.

“Consider it repayment for making me your goddamn mailman,” Nixon deadpanned and Alix rolled her eyes.

“Well if I was allowed outside, I wouldn’t have to have a mailman, now would I?”

“Not this again,” the intelligence officer groaned, holding up his hands in an exaggerated display of helplessness.

"I'm sorry I said anything!"

But it was too late; the floodgates had opened and Alix was already launching into her spiel.

“Nix, it’s been weeks,” she griped, slamming a free hand onto the moth-eaten sofa cushion beside her for emphasis.

“I can’t take much more of this shit! I’m tired of twiddling my fucking thumbs while there’s a war going on out there!”

“You’re preaching to the choir," her case officer said dryly, picking at a twig stuck to his fatigues.

"As soon as your new cover's been backstopped, you'll be the second to know, I swear. So give it a rest, okay?"

A beat of silence ensued and Alix wished fervently that she'd been allowed a radio so she could listen to music.

But alas, a radio signal was too dangerous.

There was no swing jazz on Earth that was worth being found by the Gestapo.

"Have you heard anything about my next assignment?" she probed curiously and the flicker of recognition in his eyes told her he had.

"That's 'Need To Know'," he replied evasively, casting a glance onto the worn-in floorboards. "And you don't, not yet."

Alix huffed impatiently and strained to reach the knife set by her shoulder on the side-table.

Flexing her fingers around the grip, she gave it a leisurely throw just behind Nixon's shoulder at the faded red target on the wall with a THWACK causing him to duck in alarm.

"God, Runt, could you not do that please?" her handler snapped as Alix sent another sailing over his shoulder, the blade whizzing through the air and sinking into the target with another THWACK!

"It's unsettling."

"Is it?" Alix cocked an eyebrow with a smirk, flinging her last knife at the target, the sharp metal sinking into the center with one final, satisfying THWACK!

"My apologies."

"You don't sound very sorry," Captain Nixon grumbled. "But you're going to be in a minute."

Digging into the canvas rucksack he'd placed on the floor earlier, the officer retrieved a hefty stack of paperwork and handed them over the coffee table to her.

"More notes, to be typed into complete reports by 8:00 tomorrow morning. And that's an order."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Nix," Alix commented sardonically over her shoulder, as she rose from the sofa and crossed to the faded black typewriter resting on the kitchen table.

"They can't keep me cooped up here forever. Soon, you'll have to type up your own fucking notes when I'm in the field again."

"Well you're not there yet, hotshot," Nixon snorted derisively, the corners of his lips quirking up into a grudging smirk.

"So get to work.

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