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plvtolightt · 22 days ago

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Let Down. chapter 1 (Eugene Roe x fem!oc)

SUMMARY: After lying about her age to join the war, Anette Wrona is recruited into the secret Athena Women’s Project, where she forms unbreakable bonds, falls in love, and risks everything for a country that doesn’t even know she exists.

Her family’s kitchen was silent save for the president’s voice.

They were scattered around the room in different positions. Her mother paced about the tiles, biting at her nails. Her brother sat at the table with his eyes full of fury. Her father clutched his rosary until his knuckles went white. Anette stared at the radio, gently petting her dog’s fur.

“Turn it up,” her brother softly commanded. His eyes never left the scratched wood table, but his leg began to bounce anxiously.

Anette was the closest to the radio, so she lifted her hand to the knob. The president’s voice became louder as he spoke. “With confidence in our armed forces with the unbounding determination of our people we will gain the inevitable triumph so help us God.”

It was horrifying to the family. Just as any slaughter was.

“I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire,” Franklin D. Roosevelt concluded.

Simple as that, her country was at war.

The rest of the world had been for years, but it was so far away. It was easy to pretend that it wasn’t happening when it was across the ocean. But no one could pretend anymore. They were attacked; the war was there.

They sat in silence again.

Her mother continued to nip at her nails. Her brother continued to stare at nothing. Her father continued to pray. Anette continued to idly stand.

Even the dog was silent. Its tail stopped wagging and it stopped kicking.

Her brother broke the stillness. His voice was quiet and shaking as he stuttered, “I have to-”

“You will not.”

Her mother cut in. She stopped biting her fingernails and her pacing ended. Her steps fell frozen in their place. For all the times her mother had been angry, Anette didn’t think she’d ever seen her so riled before.

“Mother, I,” her brother tried. “I have to. This is my country, our country. We have to do something.”

But she stayed unmoving. “We will be doing nothing.”

When no one offered a rebuttal, her mother continued, “This is not our country. There will be thousands of American men signing their lives away. You are not one of them. You are Polish.”

They were immigrants. They left their families behind in Poland to begin a new life in America. They packed her bags and sailed towards New York. Her brother, as young as he was, hardly made the journey alive.

“Mama,” Anette cooed. Her hands continued to stroke her dog’s fur but her eyes looked up towards her mother. “Then, I should be able to help.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on her.

She shriveled slightly, yet she still tried to beg. “You said this is not Joey’s country, but it is mine.” While her heart didn’t ache to bear a gun or grenades, she wanted to help in some way. “I would cook for the soldiers or stitch a wound.”

Anette could sew her own dresses. She could only guess nursing wasn’t too different. She had a steady hand and a resilient patience. She could learn to become a nurse and fix up wounded soldiers. She was fine with that.

“You see what war did to your father?” her mother asked. Her voice was as low as a whisper, but everyone heard her fine. “If you want that to be you, then so be it.”

And her mother left the room. The silence did not leave with her.

It lingered, awkward and motionless, like the smoke of her father’s cigarettes. He had taken them up when he was fighting in the Great War. Her mother detested the smell but she eventually began to smoke them too. It was just about the only thing they had in common.

Anette’s eyes shifted to her father. “I’m so sorry.”

He only shook his head and waved her off. He would do the same routine anytime his past was mentioned. After such time, the Great War was never spoken of inside their household, but its effects were there.

When the neighbors lit their fireworks on holidays, her father would scramble and hide beneath a table. If the dog shifted too abruptly, he would jerk and reach for a gun — it was never there, but his body knew no difference.

Her father tore his gaze from his rosary. He took in a deep breath and stood up. Without looking at anything in particular, he uttered, “Happy birthday, son.” Then he left.

His footsteps echoed throughout the house. They went up the stairs and into his study because that was where he hid.

On the days where his past fought against him, Anette would find him there. Tucked between the wood of his desk and the chair with it. He would be curled in a ball as his hands covered his ears. He would mutter small sentences about his fears.

Anette would bend down with him and take him into her arms. She rocked him like a baby as she soothed him.

But she let him go alone this time.

In his study, alone.

The dog stirred and nudged her with its nose. She looked at the small dog with the tiniest notion of envy. It was pure and innocent. How simple its life was.

Joey hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes stayed locked on the spot where their mother once stood. Anette watched as a fire burned inside him, but she made no move to address it. Instead, she offered a small smile. “Do you still want your cake?”

“No, it’s fine, Annie.” And he gave a small murmur of thanks before he, too, left.

Night came quickly. No one watched the sun set on a canvas of color. The family avoided each other. Dinner was silent. They prayed inside their heads, not out loud like they usually did.

Anette moved in daze. Her body did things on its own while her mind was occupied with one single thing. Her mother’s words quietly echoed: “This is not your country.” The syllables were etched into her head.

But how could that be true? Anette was just as American as the president. She knew all the words to the pledge and all the states. She sang the national anthem with her school’s choir. She celebrated its independence as anyone did, with fireworks and laughter.

This was her country.

It might not have been her mother’s, her father’s, or even her brother’s. But it was hers. She was born on its soil. She spoke English as any other would. She casted her family’s language away, only to be spoken when she was inside her own home. It was hers.

The bedroom was silent. Joey was too occupied with his thoughts, and Anette was too busy contemplating.

They didn’t stir in their bedsheets. They didn’t look at each other. But they both knew what the other was doing.

Anette looked at the ceiling. “I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

Joey turned to face her. He stayed quiet for a moment before he said, “Mother will be mad. You already missed today.”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

She sat up quickly in her bed. “You can come.”

Joey looked at her. His face was unreadable in the dim lighting of the room. “Alright.” It didn’t take any grand announcement, but they both knew what they were doing. They knew what needed to be done.

That was it for the night. They laid in their beds, waiting for the morning to come.

Joey woke up before she did. His bed was made and his pajamas were hung up. Anette soon followed.

She contemplated what to wear that day. Different dresses were set down on her bed. Shoes were placed across the floor. Her favorite ribbons were matched to different hairstyles. There were too many choices.

She decided on a simple brown skirt paired with a pink sweater. New York City was far too cold in December. She thought it was the perfect outfit. It was formal enough to make an impression yet simple enough to not raise any questions.

When she made her way to the door, she found Joey waiting for her.

He held a couple of dollars in his hand and a knowing look in his eyes. Gesturing toward the kitchen, he spoke, “Go wish mother a good day.” He glanced about before leaning in to whisper, “God knows she’ll need it.”

Anette walked forward hesitantly. Her steps were the only sound filling the house. No one turned the radio on after yesterday’s broadcast.

Her mother stood above the stove, cooking something. Anette couldn’t see what it was, but its smell filled the air.

Anette cleared her throat. “Mama, I wanted to say,” She paused for a moment, waiting for attention. When her mother faced her, she continued, “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

Her mother gave a simple hum in response. Anette took that as a signal to continue speaking, “Joey and I are going to eat breakfast at a shop if that’s alright?”

“I know where you’re going.”

She froze. “Mama,” she stuttered.

Her mother turned back to her cooking, “You two think you’re smart. I know.” It was silent. Anette didn’t know what to do. Her heart felt like it was going to fly out of her chest. Still, her mother grumbled. “I just hope you’re happy with it.”

With a simple nod, Anette left the room. She walked to the door and didn’t look back. She didn’t think she’d be able to face her mother. Anette could hear the tears building up, but she couldn’t find the courage to look at them. She wouldn’t be able to leave.

Joey stood at the door. He had heard every word, but neither spoke of it.

They made their way out of their building. They smiled and greeted every neighbor they came across. Each time, it felt forced and unreal. But they did it anyway.

New York was a busy city. But it seemed on that day, it was at its busiest. Hundreds of people took to the streets. They walked in the same direction, with the same determination. Joey and Anette soon joined that crowd.

The walk was strenuous. They went past the coffee shop on the corner. They marched beyond the schoolyard, and Anette found it to look empty. They just walked.

Sometimes Anette would smile at the people around her and offer pleasantries. Other than those moments, the walk was silent.

When they arrived at the center, they found themselves surrounded. It didn’t take a huge sign or lights to display where they were. The hundreds, maybe thousands of men made it clear.

Looking around, Anette questioned her brother. “What do you think you’ll sign up for?”

Joey pondered for a moment before deciding, “Whoever’ll take me.”

“I think they’ll all want you,” a smile fell on her face. “But if you had to choose.”

He shrugged. “The marines, maybe.”

“I like that,” she agreed.

“You?”

She joked, “Whoever’ll take me.”

“Oh, come on.” Joey laughed. He rolled his eyes slightly before raising an eyebrow.

Anette gave it much thought the night before. She could hardly stand sharing a room with her brother, so she couldn’t join the navy or the marines. She just couldn’t be that close to another person for long. So just about the only place left for her was the army.

“We don’t even know if they’ll let me in,” Anette spoke. “I’m not old enough.”

Joey looked at her, really looked at her, before hinting, “Says who?”

And they were back to silence. They waited in a line that went out the door. Neither knew what was at the front of it, but they could guess.

Maybe it was an officer with a clipboard and a rehearsed greeting. Maybe it was a set of desks waiting for people to sign the papers sitting on top of it. The line continued further, person by person, until the concrete from outside became tiles of the recruiting center.

Anette shifted the weight on her feet. She thought about what she would say if they asked. She would lie — that, or go home with her tail between her legs — she knew that much. She thought about her words getting caught in her throat. She thought about getting rejected.

The line kept moving.

They were a heartbeat closer, a few more steps. Without realizing it, they were there.

“Next!” the man holding the clipboard called. Joey looked at her and nodded before he turned and left.

Anette heard very little over the clamour of the room, but she could make out small strings of sentences. She silently mouthed the questions asked as she tried to commit them to memory.

They asked his name, his age, his occupation, just about anything the government should know. She watched as they handed him a pen and paper.

Her concentration was torn away when someone yelled to her.

She shakily walked toward the direction it came from. A tall man’s eyes bore into her. He smiled at her, but her heart beat no slower.

She moved to sit down at the chair.

A hand reached out to her shoulder.

Anette jumped, eyes wide as a deer’s, to see a woman years older than her. She wore a navy pencil skirt with her hair slicked back. Every lightly etched line on her face told a silent tale of authority. Her grip was gentle yet demanding.

“I’ll take this one,” She said.

Anette gripped the side of the chair.

The woman sitting across from her had a small smirk and a sharp eye. Her presence commanded authority. Every moment ticked by slower than the last. “You can relax,” the woman spoke. “You know that, right?”

But Anette didn’t move.

The woman giggled, “We’re not handing out rifles, yet.” She grabbed a few papers, her hands flicking a few away. Her nails were perfectly shaped with a deep red coating them. She found the stack she wanted as she gripped a pen.

It wasn’t her sugar-coated voice or her refined posture that had Anette so inanimate. It was the way she was respected. When the woman guided her away from the crowd of eager men, a path formed. The woman didn’t have to say anything. She let the click of her heels do all the talking.

The whole scene reminded Anette of Moses parting the sea. Only Moses yelled his demands; the lady didn’t offer anything but a glare. When they could sit, alone, woman to woman, the air outside lightened. Someone laughed brashly, and it went back to its constant chatter.

“What’s your name?” The woman asked.

Anette answered in an instant, with a slight tremor, “Anette Wrona.” The woman wrote it down quickly. “What’s yours?”

The woman faltered a second before smiling. “Rita.”

“That’s my neighbor’s name,” Anette stiffly said. Her seat creaked when she shifted, and she didn’t dare move again.

She only nodded in return, “That’s nice. When’s your birthday?”

The room, once filled by the soft scratch of the pen on paper, became silent. That was what Anette dreaded. She knew the question was coming, but she didn’t expect it to erupt so soon. She stayed up all night wondering if she could lie, how well she could lie. Seventeen years old was not enough.

Biting her lip, Anette settled. “December 8.” She bobbed her head, “I, uh, turned eighteen yesterday.”

“Sure, hun.” Rita hummed as she wrote. The ink was slightly smudged leaving a fingerprint behind.

The rest of the questions that followed were much less difficult to answer. They kept coming, but they all blurred together — names, dates, records, family members. Anette answered them all. Sometimes she paused, thinking too long about dates and years, but Rita pretended not to notice.

The pen moved with each response. Rita moved it slowly and deliberately, dragging out each sentence Anette gave. Lies and truths were sprinkled together to create the person they wanted. They fell into rhythm with the pen. She allowed herself to spill out onto the paper.

After her birthdate was written down, Anette stopped lying. Her palms were sweaty, but she didn’t move to wipe them.

Never did Rita challenge her. Even when the story was completely true, Anette found her heart leaping out of her chest. Fear of denial settled in her bones. But Rita scribbled down whatever she was told to.

A while — many questions, many answers — later, Rita put down her pen.

She didn’t reach for another form. She looked at Anette for a long moment, her nails drumming against the wood. The half-drawn blinds cast light in uneven bars, but she didn’t look away from Rita.

Anette’s heart felt heavier. The weight of the lie, her lie, bore her down. She sat unmoving again. The paper with her lie sat between them seeming bigger than before.

Rita’s face didn’t hold any kindness. There were no hidden smiles or silent praises. At the same time, there was no malice. Rita sat, studying her. Her fingers continued to tap against the desk.

“You’re not what the army usually takes.” Rita announced,letting her eyes fall.

Oh. Anette tried not to react. She swallowed and lowered her shoulders.

Rita leaned back slightly. Her voice changed slightly like she was no longer performing for the world around her. It was quieter and more hesitant. “But there are exceptions.”

Anette wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she stayed silent. She didn’t know what answer — if any — Rita expected. If she hadn’t stopped her tapping, maybe Anette wouldn’t have looked up.

At the far end of the desk, across from the uncleaned coffee stain, was a drawer. Rita reached for its key and pulled out a pristine white folder. It stood out from all the other dull, neutral files filled with the same paperwork.

It had no emblem or seal. Only three words, bolded:

ATHENA WOMEN’S PROGRAM.

There was no explanation given; it wasn’t needed.

Rita put the folder between them. There was no fanfare, no dramatics. Anette felt something building inside her. It wasn’t fear, she’d already burned all of hers out. No, this was a quiet awareness.

“This doesn’t exist.” Rita explained. “Not officially. Not yet.”

The quietness of her voice hadn’t gone away, but there was no mistaking it.

“It’s still in development. Most don’t even know about it. But if a woman passes the physical, passes the exams, keeps her chin up.” She paused for a moment. “She’ll be in there with the others. Basic training, just like the boys.”

Anette whispered, “In uniform?”

“In uniform.”

“As a soldier?”

“A soldier. Not a cook. Not a cleaner. A soldier.”

The moment didn’t feel real, not yet.

Rita continued, “They need bodies. The army won’t admit it, but war is war. There isn’t going to be one single battle then a treaty. They need soldiers.”

Anette took a breath in. There was no kindness, no hate. Only the truth. A soldier was a soldier. “What’s the catch?”

“Your life.” Rita answered.

Anette stared at the folder between them. Its three words staring back at her. In them, she felt her mother’s gaze again, heard her father’s silence, and saw the worry on Joey’s face. All of it, condensed in three words, bore down on her.

But more than that, she felt her duty. The same one that came to life when the president declared war. The same one that resonated in her bones, clawing for a way out.

This was her country.

She reached forward, slowly but steadily. Rita didn’t smile or push it away. She only nodded and held out a pen.

“I’ll do it.” And, she took up the pen.

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #doc roe x oc #doc roe #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe #bofb x reader #bofb #hbo war #band of brothers x reader

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narwal-ed-in · 11 months ago

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ARMY GLITTERATI - (Band of Brothers x Bimbo!Reader)

✨glitterati✨- /ˌɡlɪt̬.əˈrɑː.t̬i/ - 1940's slang for famous people, glamorous people, in the spotlight.

Summary: “You want to become a combat medic for the 101st?” “What, like it's hard?”

Warning: Period typical sexism, Fem reader, she/her pronouns, slight body shaming (not directed at reader). NO BETA READ. I WROTE THIS JUST NOW SO PLEASE DON'T EXPECT MUCH.

No disrespect to the real veterans of WW2, all my BoB fanfics are based on depictions by actors in the miniseries.

Borders by @plutism

BEFORE TACCOA

The war is raging and everyone is doing their part to help the men on the front.

For you, that mostly meant trying to look your best at all times, no matter how inconvenient the situation.

"Looking good is a ginormous part of the war effort, it's good for boosting troop morale. I saw it on a poster at the teaching hospital" You reasoned with your father after he complained about you buying another pair of shoes and some expensive vanishing creams.

"Darling, I think they meant that we should all keep our appearances up, not buy out our local department stores"

"Oh my god daddy, you're suffocating me! I'm just doing my part by looking nice..." you glare at your father in his work clothes and eye him with a grimace "...and clearly you're not"

When you get a telegram informing you that you've been selected to participate in a program that aims to send female medics into combat you jump on it.

This is going to be so much fun.

"I'm going to be the talk of the town when everyone finds out. Not even Reverend Smiths boring old story about dying for ten minutes in a car crash and seeing Jesus will be able to outdo this!"

Your supervisors at the hospital are shocked that you've been chosen, seeing as you're not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

You had once walked out of an operation because it was bloody and you were wearing white (all the nurse uniforms are white).

You hoped you wouldn't be assigned to the army or the airforce.

The army is too basic, and if you were stuck on an airbase somewhere then nobody would be able to see how fab you always were.

The navy was your goal, their uniforms were sooo cute, you were just dreaming of all the ways you could style it.

It's just your luck when you get assigned to airborne.

"THIS BLOWS! I'm in the two most unglamorous branches at the same time"

After your initial breakdown you realized it wasn't that bad. If you were jumping out of planes it just meant that your hotness would have a bigger audience since it would literally be raining down from the sky.

"When the Germans see all this falling from the sky, they're going to flip their friggin wigs! AHHHH"

CONNECTING WITH EASY

You're assigned to Easy company and meet the men a few months into their training at Camp Toccoa.

You show up randomly in the middle of the day.

Although the men had been told a woman would be joining them and they had been expecting you, they hadn't been expecting YOU.

You were a ditzy thing and looked like you’d jumped out of one of their pin up postcards. The brass surely couldn't expect them to put their lives in your hands.

"I'm sooo happy to meet everyone. You know, the other girls in the program are such massive liars, they said airborne was where all the uggos went, but that's so not true. After all, I'm here"

You always woke up an hour earlier than the rest of Easy so you would have time to put your face on.

It was one of your tenets to never be seen by anyone outside of family without makeup on, or with your curlers in.

Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, Shifty, Bull, Christenson, Lip and Winters had all been kind to you from the beginning, expecting nothing in return.

But some of the guys had other ideas.

George was one of the men that befriended you initially. And although he did have the ulterior motive of getting it on with you, he eventually stuck around because he actually liked you.

You guys have great play-flirting banter and you're both very entertaining people to be around, especially when you're drunk.

On the rare nights anyone gets passes they want to be around you and George because they know that's where the funs at.

You get sloppy drunk with George, flirt with men from Easy and other companies all night, then end up with your shoes off at 3am, sitting on the curb and crying about one of your ex boyfriends.

Perconte was one of your original detractors but when you found yourselves making the same brain dead comments about obvious things, you both decided to put your two half braincells together to form the singular braincell you share between yourselves.

Talbert was trying to get into your pants instantly. Nobody was surprised.

But just like George he grew to be genuinely fond of you.

What was surprising was Joe Toye taking you under his wing.

Toye could see that you were absolutely clueless and the worst part was, you had no idea.

Toye couldn't bear the agony of watching you skip around camp with your happy-go-lucky attitude, harping on about celebrity gossip nobody cared about.

"Y/N!" Toye yelled as you all got dressed to run Currahee "Why the hell is your PT shirt pink?!"

"Isn't it just the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen, Joe? I put a red handkerchief in with my laundry. Cosmo said carnation pink is the color of the summer"

Huffing and puffing, Toye took out one of his spare shirts and forced you to wear it.

"And when you give it back, it better not be fucking 'flamingo pink'" Toye said.

"Oh honey, this isn't 1939, flamingo pink is so over. I wouldn't be caught dead in that. You know, Joe, sometimes I feel like you don't care about fashion at all" You scoff at his cluelessness as you walk out.

Joe Toye is secretly your best friend in the company.

Toye taking you in meant Gaurnere and Johnny Martin had to be around you, much to their chagrin.

They didn't want some girl hanging off of them.

You win Gaurnere's respect when you coach him on what to write to his girlfriend back home to assure her that he's serious about their relationship when she began doubting his intentions.

And you win Johnny's respect when you help him find the most romantic gift for his wife for valentines day.

"Y'know, back home they call me the love doctor...Well, they used to, before I told Betsy Kline that Rob Jones was her soulmate but then he left her at the altar to elope with his housekeeper"

Sobel despised you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

Not wearing your red lipstick everyday was torture, but you had to stick to natural colours so Sobel wouldn't be able to tell what you had on.

He tried with everything in his power to get you kicked out, but much to everyones surprise, you kept up extrordinarily well with the men when it came to physical training.

"I do a lot of Pilates. It's really good for flexibility and helps you keep a positive outlook so you're not be such a 'negative nancy' all the time. Some of you could really use it. Some more than others..." you said as you side-eyed Skinny who just looked around incredulously

Eventually most of the men come to consider you a friend and a confidante since you give remarkably sound relationship advice.

"It's like sooo hard being the smartest person and the hottest catch in this camp at the same time"

The hardest nuts to crack in your immediate friend group end up being Leibgott, Cobb and Doc Roe, all for different reasons of course.

Leib was snide and arrogant and spoke to you like you were a silly little girl.

He didn't shy away from telling you how dumb he thought you were to your face.

Your relationship eventually becomes friendly but he will still be mean occasionally.

He always ends up apologising though and feels really bad when he makes you cry (the other guys nearly bite his head off whenever this happens).

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, stop being a baby already. I said I was sorry" Lieb said to you as you cried into your pillow.

"You can say sorry to me, Joey, but how are you going to tell Rita Hayworth you're sorry for saying nobody cares about her nighttime face washing routine?" You spoke inbetween sobs.

"I ain't saying sorry to Rita because I ain't sorry I said it. I stand by what I said. Nobody cares how some broad washes up at night"

"You take that back! That routine saved my life" You jumped up, pointing an accusing finger at the man.

"How the fu-"

"You're a horrible, horrible man Joseph Leibgott"

"Oh put a sock in it" Leib rolled his eyes, making you cry even harder.

Toye, ever protective of you, had enough "I swear to god Leibgott, leave that girl alone!"

Cobb was just straight up cruel to you and made sure you always knew "your place".

Roe didn't seem particularly close to anyone.

But as you all of you went into the more specialised aspects of your training and you and Roe spent more time together, he found himself looking out for you.

You were sitting alone on the grass after everyone had groaned and walked off the moment you started talking about an article you read in a magazine.

You sigh sadly, pulling at the grass when a shadow falls over you.

Bringing up a hand to block the sun you finally recognize who it is. It's Eugene Roe.

"I, uh, I was wondering if I could sit with you?" he asked.

You nodded excitedly and he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"What was it you were telling the others?"

You gasped "You really want to know?"

"I guess…"

Doc had seen everyone walk away, and although he didn't care much for mindless conversation, he knew talking to people meant a lot to you and had come over to cheer you up.

Without missing a beat you began one of your famous tirades.

By the end of your first year in Toccoa you end up finding your place.

Thanks for reading! Please like, comment and reblog if you want❤️

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uramakimochi · 8 months ago

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GIVEN ENOUGH

Joe Liebgott x Reader

!!!DISCLAIMER!!!: This story is based on THE CHARACTERS of the show!! Just like you write ff of your favorite character from your favorite serie/movie, this community does the same with this one. I obviously don't mean to disrespect the real veterans and soldiers who fought the war!

WARNINGS: based on ep.8, fluff & angst + comfort, description of war, death and blood, panic attack (i never had one so i'm sorry if it's inaccurate), FEM!R + use of Y/N and petnames, maybe Joe being a bit ooc? Inaccurate american accent because english is not my first language sorry, i tried my best~

"Yeah, absolutely not"

Joe chuckled as he sat on the bed, watching you pace back and forth in front of him.

"Sweetheart, this isn't really something you can decide" he retorted with a bitter smile.

You shook your head in protest as you brought your finger to your mouth to chew on what little nail you had left.

"That's out of discussion. You can't go on that patrol, none of you guys can! It's not fair!"

Joe sighed and leaned forward so he could take your other hand that was free, squeezing it and pulling you closer to him. "Hey come on, c'mere"

Even though you were full of anger at that moment, you let yourself be carried away by his touch and positioned yourself between his spread legs, while he looked at you from below.

"Stop worrying, it's just a patrol, nothing big" he tried to console you, placing his hands behind your thighs and caressing you gently. You let out a breath through your nose, still looking at him worried and angry.

You believed that after overcoming that cold nightmare you had experienced in Bastogne, between the mortar shells, the sharp splinters of the destroyed trees and the freezing Christmas spent huddled in your foxholes, there would be nothing worse in this terrible war. You believed that once you arrived in Hagenau, after losing men in the forest and in Foy, you could relax even just for a few minutes, in a warm bed and with a roof over your head. You believed the end of the war was near. But alas, you were wrong. You were all wrong.

It had been decided that a patrol should cross the river to take German prisoners, to get information.

And none of you liked the idea.

"It's madness. It's a suicide mission and no one cares about the hell we went through in Bastogne and Foy. We don't deserve this" you retorted.

Joe sighed again, trying to give you an encouraging look.

"They know it, sweetheart. Lip knows it, Speirs knows it and Winters and Nixon know it too. It's Sink's orders, not theirs."

"I know they know. It's just..." you murmured, running a hand over your heartbroken face. "We lost too many men. Hoobler, Joe, Bill... Muck and Penkala..."

Joe took your hand to bring it to his lips, kissing the knuckles, remaining silent and continuing to look at you from below, almost pitying your concern.

"I don't want any of us to get hurt again. What if something were to happen to you? I don't know what i'd do-"

"Hey hey no. Look at me baby, look at me" Joe raised an arm towards your face so he could rest his hand on your cheek, making you look down at his eyes. "Nothing will happen to me nor to any of us, okay? Everything will be fine. We've made it so far and i'm certainly not gonna get off the line 'cause of a damn patrol"

You continued to look at him in silence, since even though his words and his eyes tried to bring you comfort in every way, it was difficult for you to free yourself from that horrible feeling of fear and anguish that was slowly devouring you from inside.

Joe looked into your eyes for a few seconds and then sighed through his nose, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"And even if some stupid kraut gets me, at least i know my sweet favorite medic will be there to heal me, right?" he then asked you with a small smile, indicating with a small nod the medic's band you were wearing on your arm.

You felt your heart become lighter even if only slightly and you couldn't help but smile back.

"There it is" Joe murmured and you saw his smirk grow softer. "I would like to see you smile more often. You're so beautiful when you smile"

You felt your face heat up as you tilted your head to rub your cheek against his palm, looking at him shyly.

"I'm glad you're here with me Joe"

He smiled at you and finally stood up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards him to place a kiss on your forehead.

"Same goes for me, sweetheart" he murmured against your skin and you closed your eyes, enjoying the contact. "You're the only reason i'm fighting this goddamn war. And nothing's gonna take me away from you, you hear me?"

You nodded, raising your arms to hug him around the waist and burying your head in his chest, currently covered by the new and clean jacket he was wearing. You had received one too, but you hadn't had time to change yet.

For a few seconds, silence fell between you. It was nice to be able to enjoy those few minutes of intimacy you could have before any of the other soldiers needed you. And although you so wanted to stay there hugging him until the last day of that stupid war, you knew that unfortunately there were many other things to do.

But the calm atmosphere that had been created between you in that dingy little bedroom was not disturbed by you or Joe, but by Babe Heffron.

"Hey Y/n" he called to you appearing in the doorway of the room, also dressed in a clean warmer uniform like Joe. "All the men have taken their showers. You have free rein if you wanna take one too. In fact, i really think you need it, you know?"

You pulled away from Joe to look at your friend with a suspicious look.

"Are you saying i stink, Heffron?"

Babe shrugged, holding back a smile. "Perhaps"

You quickly took a step away from Joe, trying to slap Babe and he ran out with a giggle.

"Idiot" you muttered, shaking your head.

Joe came next to you and took your hand, making your fingers intertwine and starting to walk towards the exit.

"Come on. You deserve a nice hot shower too"

You turned to look at him with a smirk.

"You want to come in with me?" you asked him. "You've already taken a shower"

Joe rolled his eyes.

"Believe me doll, i'd take 10 more showers just to be with you" he said and those words made your heart flutter. "But Winters would never let me. I'll stay outside to make sure no one bothers you"

You reached over to kiss him on the cheek, squeezing his hand.

"My scary guard dog"

After a nice relaxing hot shower and getting changed, there was the patrol meeting and since you honestly didn't want to wait for Joe and the others outside, you went to Eugene to see if he needed any help, as his fellow medic.

When you got to him, Eugene had his back turned to you as he was busy organizing the supplies that seemed like a lot but were never enough. You reached out to the doorframe to knock with your knuckles and he turned to you.

"Need a hand?" you asked.

Eugene gave you a small smile.

"I could use some company"

You entered the room and approached him, clasping your hands behind your back as he resumed his work.

"Are you okay Gene?" you asked him then.

The medic's hands froze, taken aback by the question and he let out a breath through his nose, then continued tidying up. "I should be the one to ask you this question"

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused by his words and fell backwards to rest your back on the edge of the table he was working at. "Why?"

Eugene raised his head to look at you.

"We know it was tough for you and Lieutenant Compton after Guarnere and Toye. So i'll ask you this question: are you okay darlin'?"

You remained silent for a few seconds thinking about what to answer, while his light eyes remained fixed on yours, as if he wanted to search your soul. But you realized that Gene was right.

After all the work you and he had done, after all the wounded soldiers you had taken away from the line, after all the dead soldiers you had lost under your hands, you still hadn't managed to save Joe and Bill from the cruel fate that had been reserved for them. Yes, they were still alive, thank God, but the image of their bodies lying on the snow, which was tinged red from the blood they were leaking from their legs that had got blown off, was something you would never get out of your head again.

Lipton had come to talk to you after the incident, on Gene's advice and he tried to console you as he had done with Buck. But unlike your lieutenant, you insisted on staying with everyone else, you didn't want to leave Eugene and Spina alone.

And now that you were in Hagenau were you better? To tell the truth, you didn't know at all.

"I think so" you only murmured, crossing your arms. "Seeing my friends in that state disturbed me a lot, i'm not gonna lie. But knowing that at least the two of them are still alive reassures me"

You gave him a small smile, trying to let him know that he didn't need to worry. But as if he was reading your mind, Eugene looked at you with sympathetic eyes.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone, right?" he asked you, tilting his head slightly. "We're at war and people die in war, against our will. And when this is the situation we're living in, it's okay not to feel okay, darlin"

Eugene reached out to your shoulder, placing his palm on top of it and stroking you with his thumb. You looked at him with teary eyes and shook your head.

"I don't want to leave, Gene. I don't want to end up like Buck. They need me here" you murmured in a low tone, for fear of bursting into tears at any moment.

But Eugene nodded with a smile and moved his hand from your shoulder to your cheek when he saw a lone tear escape from one of your eyes and gently wiped it away with his fingertip.

"We know you won't leave, you're too stubborn" he retorted making you smile slightly. "Talk to Liebgott about it. Just let him help you. You've always taken care of the others, so let us take care of you now. Okay?"

You sniffed and nodded, running a hand over your face to wipe away the tears that were forming in your eyes.

"Y/n, i have good news baby!" another voice suddenly exclaimed bursting into the room and both you and Eugene jumped in fright.

You barely had time to turn towards him when Joe came towards you to give you a big hug, placing a kiss on your temple.

"What happened?" you asked, looking at him in confusion.

Joe gave you a toothy grin, placing his hands on your shoulders and shaking you back and forth lightly.

"I won't go on patrol" he said and your eyes widened.

"Really?? That's great!" you replied, smiling back.

You didn't like the fact that your other companions would still go on patrol, but for once you wanted to feel selfish and rejoice in the fact that at least Joe wouldn't risk his life.

"But why?" you asked him then.

"It was thanks to Webster. That guy finally did something useful" he replied with a smirk.

"Joe…" you called back to him in a mock reproachful tone, giving his shoulder a light push. "You need to stop treating him like he's a replacement. You and everyone else. He doesn't deserve this, it's not his fault"

Joe rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Fine. Yes ma'am"

And before you and he could leave to go back to the others, you took one last look at Eugene who gave you an encouraging smile.

When night fell, the soldiers crossed the river. Joe was no longer part of it, but he told you he would remain on the outside providing covering fire with the machine gun.

So you stayed with Eugene, bouncing your knee and biting your nails anxiously, hoping that no one would come calling for you to assist someone who had been wounded. You just wanted you and the others to be safe sleeping in your warm beds.

But sadly, your prayers were not answered.

It wasn't long before you began to hear gunshots and mortar blasts outside, accompanied by screams that were getting closer and closer. Then suddenly someone came to you calling your name and Eugene's. It was Johnny.

"Doc! Jackson is hurt! Quick!"

You and Eugene jumped up and followed him towards the basement, your heart beating faster.

"What happened to him??" Eugene asked.

"Wounded by grenade splinters! He threw it himself!" replied Johnny.

As soon as you went down to the basement you heard the myriad of voices filling it in a multitude of echoes. You managed to catch a glimpse of the German prisoners and Lieutenant Jones. Then there were Webester and others hunched around the table, trying to tend to Jackson.

You and Eugene made your way through the soldiers, reaching poor Jackson and once you saw him you noticed how serious his injuries were. His face was full of blood and dirt, scarred by shards of wood and glass.

"We're here Jackson, we're here!" Gene said, placing a hand on his neck and turning him towards him. "Stay calm!"

You positioned yourself next to him and took Jackson's hand, knowing that unfortunately there wasn't much you could do at that moment except try to console him.

"I need light, give me some light" Gene ordered and Skinny next to him pulled out a lighter.

Silence fell for a few seconds as everyone's eyes were fixed on Jackson, Eugene and you. Then Eugene lifted his eyes from Jackson's mouth to look at you.

"We gotta get him outta here, let's go"

You nodded and helped him and the others load Jackson onto the stretcher.

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson exclaimed in pain. "I don't wanna die!"

While he was being carried, you placed your hands on his bloody neck, trying to bring his gaze to yours.

"Jackson listen to me, you're not going to die! Okay??" you exclaimed. "You're not going to die! But i need you to hang on! Hang on, Jackson!"

You placed the stretcher on the floor and Jackson continued to breathe heavily, looking at you with the heartbroken eyes of someone who was afraid of death. "I don't... I don't want to die..."

"Jackson!" you called out to him, cupping your hands over his wounds. "Please hang on!"

"Jackson!" Eugene continued.

But the young boy began coughing and his mouth filled with blood. His head wiggled for a couple of seconds until suddenly he stopped completely and let go like... Like dead weight.

Your hands loosened their grip on his neck and when they left his skin you saw your palms covered in fresh blood. You slowly raised your head to look at Eugene and shook your head.

Jackson was dead.

In the silence of that basement, some of the soldiers began to cry silently, while Johnny stepped forward to place a blanket over Jackson's body.

You had your eyes fixed on your bloody hands, which were slowly starting to tremble from the knowledge that another innocent boy had died under your eyes. Because of you.

"I-I’m sorry…" you muttered to no one in particular, catching the attention of a couple of men.

You stood up and even though your intention was to run outside, you knew that unfortunately it wasn't possible as long as the Germans continued to shoot. So you simply went to a corner of the basement, as free and away from the others as possible, and sat on the floor with your back against the wall.

You tried to wipe your hands on your new uniform, but the dried blood remained on your skin, so to ignore that horrible feeling you hugged your knees to your chest and buried your face between them. You could feel some of your companions gazes on you and it only added to the humiliation you were feeling.

Someone put a hand on your arm, but you rudely made him move away. You raised your head and met the worried gaze of Eugene, crouched in front of you, who still had his hand in mid-air. You wanted to apologize to him for having that reaction, but you didn't have the strength to do so. And looking closely into your shining eyes, he too understood that at that moment it was better to leave you alone and so he did.

You were all grieving in that basement.

As soon as the sounds of the gunshots stopped, you took the opportunity to get up and run upstairs, leaving without saying anything to anyone.

"Y/n!"

Babe tried to call you, as he and Chuck started to follow you, but they were blocked by Eugene who stretched out a hand towards them and shook his head.

Meanwhile you ran into one of the empty bedrooms and almost crashed into one of the bunk beds. It was dark, but fortunately the light of the full moon that was shining in the sky that night was able to make the inside of the room more visible through the windows. You wanted to sit on one of the mattresses and think, but with every step you took, you felt your strength fail, leaving room for another strange sensation of anguish.

You tried to lean on one of the beds with one hand, but your legs started shaking and in a few seconds you found yourself kneeling on the floor. You felt your breathing start to get heavy and you put a hand on your chest, trying to calm your pounding heart, but it was no use. You couldn't calm down, all your mind was thinking about were the images of the bloody bodies of your comrades, of all those you had failed to save. But why were you panicking just now??

As you tried to inhale oxygen through your mouth, you squinted, hoping you could rid yourself of those horrible images. But the bloody and cut face of Jackson, who until a few minutes before had begged you not to let him die, appeared before your eyes. And only then did you realize how much his death was haunting you, like the ghost of a victim searching for his killer.

You wanted to scream but you felt suffocated, you couldn't speak. You felt like you were dying.

"Shit. Hey, Y/n, hey hey hey"

You jumped in surprise when you heard a familiar voice enter the bedroom. The sound of your heartbeat was ringing in your ears and you couldn't hear the footsteps of anyone approaching.

"Look at me. Baby, look at me"

Someone placed a hand on your cheek, forcing you to lift your face towards him and you finally opened your eyes. It was Joe.

"It's okay, it's okay" he said.

You shook your head, looking at him with wide eyes and irises twitching frantically, not knowing which part of his face to focus on. You didn't even know whether to be happy that he was there to comfort you or humiliated to let him see you in that state.

"J-Joe... I can't-"

"You gotta breathe, you hear me? Breathe sweetheart, breathe" Joe replied worriedly. "I know it seems difficult, but you have to do it. Breathe with me"

He began to take deep breaths and you tried to do the same, but it all seemed pointless.

"I-I can’t do it..." you sobbed, closing your eyes again. "I c-can't do it, i can't do it... Joe..."

He tried to comfort you by wiping away with his fingers the tears that had started to come out of your eyes. You didn't even realize you were crying.

"You can do it doll, it's okay. You just need to take a deep breath, hm? Keep trying"

You felt him start breathing again and you tried copying him. Seeing that you weren't showing any signs of improvement, Joe took your hand and brought it to his chest, under his jacket.

"Feel the beat of my heart. Follow it"

He squeezed your hand in his and you concentrated the last strength you had left to focus on his heartbeat, throbbing under your palm.

And finally after a few seconds of pure panic you managed to breathe in sync with him, despite your breaths being occasionally interrupted by sobs.

"That's it" he murmured, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "It's okay sweetheart, you're safe. Just keep breathing"

A couple of minutes passed before you could calm down.

You lifted your head to look at Joe and he gave you a genuine smile of encouragement. But despite the darkness of the night, the moonlight still allowed you to see the thin veil of worry that was still spread over his eyes.

"Doc told me what happened down there" he said and for a brief moment his gaze lingered on your bloody hands. "Is it because of Jackson?"

You sniffed and roughly ran the sleeve of your jacket over your face.

"Y-Yes" you nodded, but then shook your head. "I mean, no... Fuck, i-i don't know..."

Joe looked at you with pity and even though you had just wiped the tears off your face, they started flowing again.

"It's just a lot, you know? I-I'm tired..." you whined with a trembling lip. "I'm so fucking tired of not being able to save lives. Every time i close my eyes i see their empty gaze a-and every time i try to sleep i hear their screams, their cries and t-their moans of pain. They beg me to save them , to be able to go home and see their mother for the last time. And i jus let them die.... All of them"

Joe shook his head, clasping your hands in his to cover the dried blood that stained them. "Sweetheart, you know that's not your fault-"

"How can it not be?" you retorted. "I am a medic and my job is to save people. Yet no matter how hard i try, in the end they all die before my eyes!"

Joe looked at you silently, contemplating what to say. You looked like a little girl crying because she had just had a nightmare. It was strange for him to see you in that state.

Your presence was like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm and it was usually you who took care of him and the boys when they were down. Too busy thinking about others, you had kept inside all the pain that the war had caused you, slowly becoming a bomb ready to explode as the months passed.

Now the bomb had finally exploded. And Joe knew that now it was his turn to take care of you.

"What can i do for you?" he asked you in a sympathetic tone.

You looked at him almost with an insecure look.

"Can... Can you just hold me? Please?"

And he nodded without hesitation.

"Yeah. Yeah doll, come here. C'mon"

He wrapped one arm around your shoulders while with his other hand resting on your hip he brought you closer to him, holding you close to his chest. Your lower lip began to tremble again and your eyes filled with tears again. Within seconds you started crying again, this time not out of panic, but more as a way to let go of everything you had kept inside of you.

"I-I want to go home…" you sobbed, rubbing your cheek against his jacket. "I just want to go home. I'm tired of all this"

"Shh, don't worry sweetheart, it's alright. Shh..." Joe tried to console you, reaching a hand towards your face to dry your tears. "Just let it out"

You covered his hand on your cheek with your own, holding it close to you, as if to make sure he was really there with you. Finally feeling his body heat against yours, you felt your heart become lighter even for just a little and you were immensely grateful to whoever was up there for his presence.

You didn't know how much time you spent crying in his arms but after you were done you stayed there with him, not having the strength to get up and go back to the others.

"You feelin' better?" Joe asked, breaking the silence and you nodded.

"A little"

Joe took a breath, wrapping his arms tighter around your body.

"I want you to know that everything that happened is not your fault. You shouldn't even dare to think that"

"But-"

"No, i'll do the talk now" he interrupted you gently. "Doll, every one of us here is doing everything they can to make it out of this war alive. We're doing what we trained for and so are you. I saw it, the boys saw it. Fuck, you think Winters didn't see it? We all saw it. You're a goddamn hell of a doctor, sweetheart"

You sniffled as your brain tried to absorb everything he was saying. "But… But i could have done more…"

Joe shook his head and lifted your face towards his, forcing you to look into your eyes as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"No. That's the point, baby. You couldn't do nothing more, because you always gave your all. You're not a god, you can't save everyone. You've already done enough for us and that's okay"

You remained silent, pondering his words, your gaze fixed on the floor. Joe continued to stroke you, while with a sigh he turned his head to take a look out the window. The stars that decorated the sky shone in the darkness of the night. It was a celestial, poetic vision, but it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before: during his time in the foxhole, when he wasn't looking out over the horizon at the Germans, he often found himself admiring the sky with you.

"Joe"

When in the midst of the silence your voice sounded faintly in the bedroom, he looked back down at you, at the same time you also turned to look at him again.

"I'm sorry i kept this from you" you murmured, almost humiliated by your behavior. "I know it's better to let go when you feel this way, but i was afraid of showing my emotions. I didn't want you to see me as a weak... Sorry"

Joe shook his head, looking at you apologetically.

"It's normal to be scared, it's normal to have feelings. It's what makes you human, sweetheart. And you know you can always talk to me when you don't feel good, right?"

You nodded and he continued.

"So i want you to promise me one thing: if you ever feel this way again, i want you to go talk to someone about it. Whether it's me, Roe, Lip, or even Speirs or Winters, i don't care. Anyone. But i don't wanna see you suffer again 'cause you think you haven't done enough. Got it?"

You realized that everything that had happened was exactly what Eugene had told you was best to do. Talking to someone helped you on not going insane. It was the only way to move forward. For a moment you felt stupid for not doing it sooner, for keeping it all inside for fear of being judged. But Joe and the others were your friends, your family. They would've never judged you.

So you nodded again and you felt your eyes become teary again at his words, but this time you managed to keep yourself from crying. And finally Joe saw your lips curve into a small, trembling smile.

"There it is" he said, in the exact same tone he had used that morning. That tone that always made your heart beat like a teenager in love. "I missed your smile. You're so beautiful when you smile, y'know?"

You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your body against his and getting even closer to him than you already were. He wrapped one arm around your back, while his other hand went to rest on the back of your head, so that it rested on his shoulder.

"Thank you" you said against his jacket, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm so grateful you're here with me, Joe. I don't know what i'd do without you"

Joe tilted his head to leave a lingering kiss on your hair as he caressed your back with his fingertips.

"Same goes for me sweetheart. Same goes for me"

187 notes · View notes

r4diobaby · 5 months ago

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personally

i think any BoB modern au should actually be late 90s / early 00s cus that’s when the show was made… and it adds a little spice to those modern aus

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awaterfalls · 1 year ago

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bombastic side eye criminal offensive side eye

#eugene roe #doc roe #hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #shane taylor

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she-wolf09231982 · 1 year ago

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Eugene Doc Roe

“Still Falling For You.”

Summary: You did your best to get through the war without getting too attached to anyone. The amount of loss you’ve seen as a combat medic taught you that tomorrow is no guarantee, and that it would be foolish to connect to anyone. That all flew out the window after you met Eugene Roe.

A/N: One shot, EugeneDocRoex!FemMedic, WW2, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO Band of Brothers References, Mentions/Descriptions of Injuries/Wounds, Weaponry, Smoking, Drinking, FOREVER FLUFF/FLUFF AND STUFF

(d)=Dutch

(f)=French

~~~~~~~

October 1944, Holland

You had been assigned to Dog Company while he ran with Easy. You’ve only seen him in passing in Toccoa during training, but it seemed you ran into him quite often in Holland.

This man always had an intense expression. His defined jawline always clenched, and eyebrows usually drawn inward giving his face that constant look of concern.

You had always seen him from a distance. The closest you two ever got was when you both reached for the same pack of dressing at med supply at the aid station in Aldbourne. You reached without looking and his hand accidentally grabbed yours. Startled, you pulled your hand back and you heard his honeyed Cajun accent,

“Oh, sorry, go ahead.” He had said with a weak smile, gesturing to the pack on the shelf.

You were almost a puddle at his feet.

Now as cold October nights came in Holland 2 years later, you’re bumping into eachother more than you can count. Not that you were complaining. He was a handsome man, and it warmed you from the inside to see him.

You never really had a reason to talk to him. You tried to not be a distraction or get too involved with people during the war. You made that mistake when one of the soldiers from Dog Company led you to believe he was interested in a longterm romance with you but you caught him with a local blonde bombshell in England before D-Day.

You felt it best to keep to yourself and do your best keeping yourself busy helping the boys stay alive in the field. So, making small talk with this other medic outside duty related reasons was out of the question. But, goodness, he was quite the tall drink of water.

~~~~~~~

One particularly chilly October evening, you both arrived to the aid station with wounded men from the field.

“Nurse! We got a gunshot wound to the right lower quadrant here. One syrette.” You explain as you followed the litter that carried your wounded man in.

“Thank you, Corporal Y/L/N. We got him from here.”

“I got a chest wound here, nurse. Two, possibly three syrettes were used on this man.” The other medic called out.

“Two, possibly three?” The nurse repeated.

“Yes ma’am. The men who applied them couldn’t remember how many they used, unfortunately.” He clarified.

“I see,” the nurse returned, “thanks, Gene.”

A name….Now you have a name to go with the man. You wished you hadn’t heard it, now it made him more real to you. Without a name, he was just considered a living dream with just a job title. Just a face amongst a crowd. Now, you know his name, pushing him into your reality on a whole different level.

You vigorously shake your head to snap out of your intrusive thoughts.

“Get it together, Y/F/N.” You whisper to yourself.

“That’s a pretty name.” You hear a baritone voice from behind you.

Your heart skips as your breathe catches in your chest. You turn slowly and come face to face with Gene.

You swallow hard, “Uh, thank you.” You squeak.

“I’m Eugene. Eugene Roe.” He introduced extending his right hand.

You gingerly take his hand and shake, “Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Good to finally meet ya.”

“Ha, yeah.” You utter smiling coyly looking down at your boots.

You were known to be impenetrable under pressure. You could easily find a vein and apply an IV of plasma to a man’s arm in the midst of complete chaos during combat…but this guy had you falling apart inside just by speaking to you.

“You doin’ ok over at Dog Company?” He asked.

“It’s been busy. Mostly men with pneumonia. The guy I came with was on patrol and was shot after they stumbled upon a German outpost.” You explained, “What about you?”

“Steady. Moose over there was shot by one of our own guys. Kid got spooked when our CO and him were doing post checks and he shot him thinking it was a German.”

“That’s awful.”

“Well, the worst part was the officers with him didn’t keep track of how much morphine they gave him. Could’ve killed him.” Gene added.

“The nurses are great here, I’m sure they’ll be able to help him.”

He smirked briefly, “Yeah, well good thing he’s a big man, maybe he’ll have a chance.”

You nod in agreement.

“Well, I should get back. See ya around.” Gene said with a smile before he rushed out the door.

~~~~~~~

November 1944

Throughout the everyday chaos of tending to wounded soldiers, you found peace on your downtime (when you did get days off) reading in your foxhole or going into town to grab a hot shower and have a few drinks at the local pub in town. Two medics were assigned to each company, so on slower days when the Germans weren’t raining hell on Americans, they would rotate out to take a break.

It was your turn to take a break, so you hitched a ride into town and cleaned yourself up donning in your dress uniform. You usually sit tucked away at the end of the bar so you wouldn’t be bothered. As more soldiers and locals started to filter in, you notice Gene breeze through the door with a handful of Easy.

You light a cigarette to calm your nerves.

“Nog eentje, mevrouw? (d)(Another one, Miss)?” The bartender asked.

“Ja, bedankt (d)(Yes, thank you).” You reply drinking down the last of what was left in your bottle.

You glance over by the dart boards and see Gene and his group settled at a table and began ordering their beverages from the barmaid.

“Hey, Doc, ain’t that the Dog Company medic you told us about?” Guarnere asked nudging Gene with his elbow.

Gene looked over his shoulder at the bar.

“Sure is.” He acknowledged simply.

“Pretty girl.” Babe professed.

Gene hummed as he took a gulp of beer from the pint the waitress put in front of him.

“So, you gonna go talk to her?” Perconte prodded.

Gene looked at him inquisitively, “Why?”

“Come on, Doc! We know you got it for her. Whenever we come cross Dog Company you light up like a goddamn Christmas tree.” Guarnere exclaimed.

Gene scoffed, “You know that ain’t true, Bill.” He dismissed as he sipped from his glass.

“My ass, it ain’t!” Bill retorted.

“What if I told you she looked over here a couple of times since we got in here?” Babe revealed.

Gene shrugged while twirling his glass on the table.

As the room started to fill up, the music picked up and before you knew it, couples were tearing up the dance floor. Bill and Babe found ladies to dance with while Frank and Gene watched on from their table. You remained at the bar observing the crowd as they whimsically enjoyed their evening.

“She looks bored.” Frank observed.

“Perhaps.” Gene replied.

Frank rolled his eyes, “Just go to her!”

“I don’t wanna interfere with her personal time, Frank.”

“Well, looks like Guarnere is extending the invite.” Frank pointed out.

Gene quickly turned around to see Bill gesturing for you to join them. You were reluctant at first, not wanting to impose, but Gene can see he was insisting as he ushered you off the barstool and guided you towards their table.

As he approached Gene and Frank, he flashed Doc a mischievous grin.

“This here is Frank Perconte. Frank, Y/F/N.” Bill began.

“Good to meet ya!” Frank waved from his seat. You nod to him.

“And I know you know Doc, over here.” Bill added.

“Yes, I��ve had the pleasure of running into him a few times.” You proclaim.

Gene smiled at you as he stood to pull the chair out next to him for you to sit,

“Always my pleasure, Y/F/N.” He returned politely.

~~~~~~~

The night was filled with laughter at that table. You were starting to like Easy better than Dog Company. These guys had a sense of humor and from the stories they told that evening, the rest of Easy were not far off from them.

Eugene was the strong silent type. Only smiling or chuckling as the boys bantered and laughed and only said anything when they asked him to confirm their anecdotes about being on the front line. He would occasionally make eye contact with you leaving you shyly giggling as you try to maintain your composure.

But as the evening came to a close, you felt a sense of dread that you may not get the opportunity to see him again. At least not under these pleasant circumstances. The boys stood up and filed towards the door. Gene pulled your chair from under you as you stood.

“This turned out to be a wonderful evening, Gene. Your friends are a hoot.”

“They sure are.” He agreed with a laugh.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you out there.” You said as you walk together towards the exit.

“Absolutely.” He confirmed smiling.

~~~~~~~

The following week, the Germans were relentless with artillery attacks causing mass casualties to Easy Company. Your CO approached you with temporary orders to report to Winters over at Easy Company because their back up medic had a minor injury while administering care to another wounded soldier.

Your nerves were a wreck as you looked for Eugene’s foxhole. You peered into each hole to no avail until you finally found a familiar face.

“Hey, do either of you know where Doc Roe is?”

Guarnere’s face met yours, “Hey! Look who it is!”

“Hey, Bill! Good to see ya.”

“Yeah, doll, Doc’s over dat way.” He pointed over to the tree line.

“Thanks, Bill, I’ll see ya.”

You look into the hole and see Gene sitting against the dirt wall fiddling with a rosary in his hands.

“Hey, Eugene.” You greet as you crouch over the opening.

He looked up, a smile stretching across his face.

“Bonjour mon ami (f) (Hello, my friend).”

“You speak French.”

“Oui. I was raised in Louisiana and my grandmother mainly spoke French.” He explained.

You hop into the hole and sit next to him.

“You’ll have to tell me more about home sometime.”

“Gladly.”

Just then, you both hear Lipton’s voice in the distance.

“INCOMING!”

You hear a blast from German artillery nearby. You both stand and peak over the edge. You look around in all directions seeing soldiers running to foxholes manning their positions to prepare to fight back. More attacks from the Germans showered dirt and shrapnel everywhere until you heard that familiar call:

“MEDIC!”

You scurry out of the hole and sprint towards the shout for help.

“Y/F/N! WAIT!” You hear Gene call after you.

You dive behind snow mounds and piles of fallen trees for cover everytime a blast strikes close enough to where you are. You squat behind a pine, straining to hear the call for medic again.

“MEDIC!”

You run in the direction of the voice you can hear closest to you. Weaving and dodging blasts and pings of bullets flying past your head.

You finally find a soldier laid out on the ground bleeding from his left arm.

“I gotchya.” You say as you land on your knees next to the man.

“You ain’t Doc.” He said through heaves of breath.

“Glad you can tell the difference, corporal.” You say as you tie a tourniquet on his bicep.

You pull a large gauze out, stuffing it down into the wound opening.

“Ack! Why’s it tingling!?”

“There’s sulfur on it to clot the bleeding.” You explain as you push a dressing into his arm to put pressure on the gash.

When the bleeding stops, you securely wrap his arm to keep the pressure on the wound.

“Can you make it to HQ?” You yell out to him while more explosions erupted around you.

He nodded.

“Ok go!”

As he hurried off, you see Gene waving you over to him to take cover with him behind a pile of fallen trees. You take off towards him until a German shell detonated in your path sending you backward onto your back.

“Y/F/N!” Gene’s muffled voice was the last thing you heard before tinnitus set in.

Delirium had you standing looking for safety, not realizing you were in fact putting yourself in more danger. Through the ringing in your ears, you faintly hear Gene calling your name to get down but all you knew was you were out in the open and needed to find cover.

You continued to walk aimlessly, believing you were closer to refuge until you feel yourself once again propelled backwards onto the ground, this time by Gene tackling you as another explosion emitted less than a few feet away from where you were.

Gene sprang to his feet, taking you by the arm and hoisting you over his shoulder carrying you off as fast as he could to the nearest trench. He slid on his rear down into the next hole he found, bringing you in front of him where he could cradle you in his arms. He shielded your face by tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“I gotchya, mon amour (f) (my love).” He reassured as he rocked you back and forth.

Your eyelids started to feel heavy as tunnel vision began closing in. Gene looked down at you when he felt your body going limp.

“Hey, Y/F/N, stay with me! Stay awake!” He pleaded as he gently shook you.

“I’m so tired-“

“I know, mon amour (f) (my love), but I need you to stay awake.” He implored.

He noticed the right sleeve of your uniform was saturated in red.

“-merde (f)(shit).”He whispered to himself as he unbuttoned your collar to locate the source of the bleeding.

As he pulled the neckline of the shirt off to the side, he discovered you had shards of metal from the German shell spiking out of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna get these out, Y/F/N.” He said as he gently placed you on your back.

He ripped your uniform sleeve to expose your whole right arm, then braced you down with his forearm across your sternum and started pulling them out one by one by hand. You hissed at each extraction, trying not to pass out from the pain. When he finished removing them all, he took a syrette from his pocket and injected it in your tricep.

“You’re gonna be ok, mon amour.” He said softly as he applied a large gauze and wrapped your shoulder.

“Make sure you remember how much morphine you used.” You weakly joked.

His worried features melted into an adoring grin, as he affectionately brushed away loose strands of your hair away from your face.

Last thing you remember was Eugene placing a soft kiss on your forehead before the world around you slipped into darkness.

~~~~~~~

You awoke in a panic two days later, only remembering you had been surrounded by chaos and danger, not realizing you were in the solace of the aid station. A nurse hurried over to calm you when you shot up from the cot alarmed.

“It’s alright, honey, you’re safe. Just breathe for me.” She instructed.

You can’t catch your breath at first, but take a deep breath to slow it down. You suddenly remember the wound on your shoulder and no sooner does the thought cross your mind a sharp pain begins to throb in your entire right arm.

“Son of a bitch!” You bellow as you touch the mummy wrapping across your shoulder.

“Oh my!” The nurse gasped at your language.

You groan, “I’m sorry. Kinda rubs off on ya when you’re surrounded by men all the time.”

“Hm, well let’s get you something for the pain, shall we?” She suggested as she walked off.

~~~~~~~

You hadn’t seen Eugene for days. You began to worry that something might have happened, but according to the nurses, the front lines were quite busy and all medics had their hands full.

“Well, then I need to get back out there.”

“Absolutely not! You’re not even close to a full recovery!” The nurse stated.

“I’m close enough. They need me.” You insisted as you started to put on your uniform.

Against the better judgement of the nurses, you finally left the aid station, hitching a ride to the line to finally see Gene. Before even reporting back to Dog Company, you wander around Easy Company’s camp searching for him.

Not before long, you see a familiar figure with his back facing you. Your heart beats against your ribcage something painful when you see his medic brassard on his left arm.

Your breathe catches in your throat, as a tear escapes the corner of your eye. You want to run to him, but your knees almost give out, so instead you call to him.

“Eugene!” You yell as loud as your lungs would allow.

Gene immediately turned after hearing your voice.

“Y/F/N!?”

You beam at him and quickly walk to him while he trotted towards you to meet you half way. As the gap close between you and Eugene, the concern on his face increased. You each stop less than a foot from eachother.

“Why aren’t you at the aid station??” Gene queried with his eyebrows furrowed from worry.

“I wanted to get back out here to help.” You clarified.

His lips pursed together in disapproval.

“You need to heal. That shell did a number on your shoulder. You lost a lot of blood, too. I know cuz I put the IV in myself to give you plasma.” He declared.

Your heart soars at his confession. You inch so close to him, you feel his breath upon your face.

“You saved my life, Eugene.”

He returned a bashful grin.

“It was nothin’.” He replied simply.

“It must’ve been something. I heard you call me your love a couple of times out there. ‘Mon amor,’ I believe you said?” You presented.

Slightly embarrassed, Gene averted his eyes to the ground.

“I did.” He admitted still avoiding eye contact.

His chest started to palpitate.

“Eugene-“ you began as you slipped your hands into his. He gradually met your gaze.

“Oui?”

You pull him towards you, “I fell for you the first day I saw you. And I’m still falling for you.”

Completely astonished, Gene enveloped you, pulling you against him as he planted kisses on the top of your head, your temple and all over your face. You giggle then look up at him through your lashes. He dreamily looks back at you then leaned in locking his lips onto yours.

He cupped your face, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as you return the intensity. You separate briefly, your mouths hovering over one another as you pant for air.

“Does that mean you feel the same?” You ask playfully.

He rests his forehead against yours, then released an elated exhale.

“With all my heart.” He purred.

~~~~~~~

@mrs-greenside I almost forgot to tag you for this Doc Roe x y/n! Here’s a one shot for you until I write a multiple chapter series with y/n 🪖 ♠️ 🦅❤️

#band of brothers #hbo war #ww2 #101st airborne #easy company #eugene roe #doc roe #shane taylor #eugene roe x reader #medic #eugene roe imagine #one shot #scissors

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 6 months ago

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Bastogne

Eugene Roe X Nurse!reader

Summary: When Y/n gets assigned in Bastogne to help Doc Roe, she doesn't expect what's about to happen in that cold forest.

Warning: Swearing/ mention of blood/ people losing legs/ violence (it's WW2)/ use of Y/n/ kissing/ mention of trauma (not the word but like, you get it)/

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I'm back bitches!!!!! Like I said, I'm rewatching BoB, The pacific and Mota, so inspiration is back!!!!! Here is a Doc Roe fic. Love y'all🤍

When she got assigned to Bastogne, she didn’t know what to expect. She knew it was going to be cold, but nothing could’ve prepared her for what she was facing the second she set foot on the frozen ground. Dick Winters introduced her to the soldiers, and her colleague Eugene Roe, the doctor. She was sent by the army as extra hands for Eugene. She was a trained doctor, but since she’s a woman, they gave her the title of nurse. “I’m Y”n Jones, I studied medicine before the war started. So I'm not just a nurse.” she explained to the doctor. “Alright Y/n, got any morphine?” he asked, his voice was thick and had an accent she found intriguing. “Yeah, they gave me some, I also have-” she didn’t finish the sentence, the second she took the scissors out of her pocket, Eugene grabbed them and ran away.

Bill Guarnere was the first to really talk to her. The third night, he invited her into his fox-hole. “How d’ya end up in a shithole like this?” he asked, smoking his cigarette. “I joined the army.” she replied, stealing his cigarette. Bill smirked, watching the woman smoke his cigarette. “Got a husband?” he questioned. Even if he saw her ringless finger, he thought it would make conversation. “Nah, don’t have time for that, y’a got a wife?” He shook his head and pouted a little. “Meh, they’re too complicated,” he said, making Y/n chuckle. Eugene Roe got to their fox-hole in silence. But he crouched on top of them, looking at the woman. “Jones, c’mon, we got our own fox-hole.” he mumbled. “Night Bill” Y/n said as she got out. “Night Y/n!” he responded.

When she met Eugene, she didn’t think much of him. Mostly because he was in such a hurry that they barely talked. Apart from medical directions, Y/n and Eugene barely interacted in the first days. But she decided that if they were going to work together, they had to communicate. So that night, she jumped in his fox-hole, determined to have a conversation with him. “Jones, is everything alright?” he asked, confused by the presence of the woman. “Doc, where are you from? I noticed an accent, but I can’t put my finger on where it's from.” she asked. He had a little smile. “Louisiana, I'm half cajun, where y’a from?” “I’ve traveled around the States ever since I was born. Never really had a home. Loved Louisiana when I went there, except for the gators-” she continued to blurt out every thought she had in mind. Eugene listened happily. It was distracting him for the wounded men he had to treat every day.

It’s been 2 weeks since she arrived. She had to heal a couple of men, but it was mostly Eugene running around. Tonight was one of the coldest nights they had. “Y/n, y’a had any soup?” Eugene asked, taking a spoon in his mouth. “A little, gave most of it to-” The sound of planes flying stopped her. The Germans were sending more planes. “TAKE COVER!” they heard Winters yell before the explosion made her ears ring. Soon after, the chaos started. “MEDIC!” Eugene ran. “ARGH! MEDIC UP FRONT!” Y/n ran. “HELP!” They both ran. The only light they had was from the fire and the explosions. When she turned her head, she saw her friend, Guarnere running to help a soldier.

That’s when a bomb dropped near them. She was in shock, did her friend die? “MEDIC!” she heard him yell. Her body was frozen, not from the cold, but from fear. Still, she blinked and ran to help Bill. He was missing a leg, and he was in shock. “Y/n, i’m fine. Go help others.” he grumbled. She couldn't believe he was still alive. The main artery was served, he was losing a lot of blood, but he was talking and responsive. Her instincts took over, she was treating him, but it wasn’t her. Her body was moving alone. “Get him in town! NOW! BRING A TRUCK FORWARD!” she yelled. For what felt like hours, she and Eugene took care of the wounded and tried to save a bunch of them. They lost men. Y/n had a mix of blood all over her.

“You okay?” Eugene asked. They were sitting in their fox-hole. She had teary eyes, but still she was in shock.When she didn’t respond, he asked again. She still didn’t answer. “Y/n” he firmly asked. She got out of the trance she was in and looked at him. A tear falling on her cheek. “What?” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “Are you okay?” she managed to nod. “I think,” she said. He wiped the tear with his thumb, leaving a little bit of heath on her face. Y/n looked at the hand of the man, then looked at his eyes. “You did good out there.” he said. “Thank you, you did too” she leaned her head on his shoulder. He laid his head on top of hers. “We deserve silence,” she whispered. He smiled and looked at the sky. Their breath was heavy, the silence meant a thousand words.

The day of Christmas was hard for Y/n, it was the first time she would spend Christmas alone. Last year, her brother came to visit her on the base she was training on. Now, in the cold night, freezing her tits off, she was alone. “Merry Christmas Y/n!” Winters said as he handed her soup. “Thank you, you too.” She drank the soup, but she also warmed her hands on the cup. “Y/n.” she heard Eugene call her. So she went into their fox-hole, under the cover, to preserve the heath. “Eugene,” she responded. “Merry Christmas, thank you for helping me like you do.” he handed her a present. “Eugene you shouldn't have. I don’t have anything for you.” She felt guilty. He gave her a bar of chocolate. She loved chocolate. “Oh my god! I love it, thank you so much!” she said with a huge smile on her face, she was really excited about a bar of chocolate. Eugene giggled at the excitement of the woman, he found it adorable. She threw herself on him, hugging him tightly. “I could kiss you! Thank you Eugene!” she laughed. “It’s nothing, Renee gave me bars, and I know you love it, so I asked for extra” he explained. She had a big smile and took his face with her hands and kissed his cheek. “I’ll get you something, hold on.” With that, she ran, fox-hole to fox-hole in order to get Eugene the medical supplies he needed. After 10 minutes, she came back, hands full with morphine, plasma, bandages.

“I wish I could get you something more, but that’s what I could find in 10 minutes” she said out of breath. Eugene laughed. “Come back here,” he said, smiling. “Thank you for these, but y’a didn’t have to.” he said, smiling. “I wanted to. Thank you for helping me every day with the stuff I don’t know about. You’re a really good person, Gene.” she said. It was his turn to take her face with his hand, but he did it more romantically than Y/n. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, with a low voice that made her blush. She nodded and leaned closer to Eugene. Her breath was shaky, she was nervous. She'd kissed before, but it was different with him. When their lips touched, she melted into him, his hand holding her in place. She reached the back of his neck, she tried to get a grip of something. The kiss was passionate and romantic. It said so many things without them actually talking. When they pulled away, out of breath, their eyes were filled with lust and love. She blushed so hard, she was red as a tomato. Eugene was smiling ear to ear.

During their time in Bastogne, they grew close to each other. After a day of running around, they would lean their head on one another and just enjoy the silence. After a while they began holding hands. Just the physical contact of the other was enough to reassure the other. Occasionally, they stole a few kisses from each other. When they got to the church, they sat next to each other, holding hands. “Is it over?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. That night, they couldn’t sleep, how could they, after what they saw in Bastogne. They sat in the church, talking about their lives. “You got someone back home?” she asked. He shook his head. “Me either, too focused on school.” she explained. “Good, cause you’re coming back home with me,” he said. She looked at him and blushed.”I ain’t letting you go, you’re mine now.” he said, adding to her smile. “Is that a weird way to ask me to be your girlfriend?” she smiled. “Yeah it is.” he took her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Yeah, I'll be your girlfriend.” she leaned to kiss him. At least, someone got something positive in Bastogne.

#eugene roe #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #shane taylor #doc roe #bill guarnere #bastogne

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inglourious-imagines · 17 days ago

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Are you still writing for BOB? I want to request for our favorite Nixon but no one seems to write anymore 😩

Scotch Whiskey (Lewis Nixon x F!Reader)

Summary: You are a spy and Nixon is completely enamoured by you.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines-archive @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday @order-of-river-phoenix @whoahersheybars @nixoninc @iceman-kazansky

Warnings: mentions of blood, some flirting, allusions to sexy time but nothing specific

A/N: What is happening? Am I writing? It's been a while since I saw BoB last so be kind.

He first met her when the unit was still in Toccoa, way back in 1942. She was the only female paratrooper in the 101st Airborne Division and one of the best soldiers Easy Company has even seen. Hell, the US Army has ever seen. She got reassigned from God knows where just three weeks after the training in Toccoa began. Lewis Nixon tried everything in his power to figure out anything about her past and what was the reason that got her reassigned to the paratroopers – but in vain, the intelligence officer found nothing.

What infuriated him even more at that time, was that she disappeared for days on end sometimes and no one said a word about it. Not even Sobel mentioned it once, made fun of her when she got back, nothing from the high command. Everything was quiet and she just floated through the air and space with such elegant ease, not drawing any attention, that he barely realized she was gone until she came back.

It cost him many sleepless nights, many arguments with the HQ when he pressed about the matter, but never any answers. Everyone kept their mouth shut. Not even Richard Winters knew anything, at least not in 1942 or 1943.

It is only in the summer of 1944 when he realizes what it’s been going on right under his nose. Only few know about the many doings of Y/N Y/L/N, because in this branch of a job, the less you know, the better. Richard Winters has been in on it since D-Day, as the HQ informed him about her „additional assignments“ that are highly classified.

It is after the jump when he sees her with Liebgott and Luz, laughing at something, and his heart flutters – with something he does not recognize yet but also with the realization that she is in fact a spy. He chuckles at that, shaking his head at how he could have been so stupid.

“You finally got it?” Richard wakes him up from his daydreaming, hinting at Lewis’s long stare at the female paratrooper.

He somewhat frowns, “What are you on about?”

Winters gives him a rather long look, trying to figure out whether Nixon really knows what he is talking about or if he is really such an oblivious idiot. He leans toward the latter.

“The best intelligence officer I know and still so clueless about the stuff that actually matters,” he replays cryptically with a laugh.

Nixon smacks his arm playfully. “You’re a dick. Stop giving me that Sherlock Holmes shit and spill.”

“Nah, I might let you figure it out yourself. Plus you’re right about that job,” Winter hints at who he’s talking about and refuses to continue with the conversation.

Lewis frowns, his mind racing. He hears her laugh just then, his head instinctively turning to that melodic sound he would much rather get drunk on than his beloved whiskey. He would become an abstinent in a second, if it meant he would hear her laugh, even just once.

And then it hits him.

“No,” he says resolutely, shaking his head obsessively, as if he’s trying to shake that idea out of his system.

Richard just laughs, wholeheartedly, quite enjoying his best friend squirm. “Tell that to your flaming hot red cheeks, boy.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Lewis Nixon retorts, trying to ignore Dick’s knowing chuckles but failing miserably.

“I’m sure that’s what you would like to do to someone.”

He tries to smack Winters for that last comment, but he is already jogging to join his platoon, laughing, leaving Nixon with just his thoughts, red cheeks, and some rather tight pants.

Next time he sees her is in Carentan. That’s inaccurate – he sees her before the attack on the town of Carentan in the provisional headquarters, as she walks out of the general’s doors, passing by like wind and is gone before he blinks. He tries to follow her but loses her the second she turns around a corner and he is like a lost puppy, looking from left to right, trying to find his person.

Only then he sees her in Carentan. The battle is done, some men died, but she didn’t and strangely enough, that is all that matters to Nixon, as cruel as it sounds. He is already at peace with the fact that he is not the noblest of men, but he hopes that somewhere deep inside of him he still is a good man.

He watches her talk to his best friend, their heads together. She has scratches all over her face, one bigger just below her left eye that’s bleeding a little bit. He notices the bruised knuckles and the dried blood on her hands that presumably is not hers. Her left sleeve of the uniform is slightly torn, some leaves stick to her boots, small wooden stick is stuck in her right boot. A soldier simply wouldn’t be able to look like this after a battle like Carentan, he thinks, and smack himself internally right after for analysing her for so long.

He knows what she does and apparently, she is very good at it.

Winters is gesticulating for him to come over and Lewis Nixon, an intelligent officer, soldier in a war, is suddenly nervous, his palms sweating a bit, but his legs carry him over and he is standing in front of her for the first time in his life.

He tries to get himself together but no matter the inner monologue of commanding and insults can get his heart to beat any slower.

“Let me introduce you to my best friend, Cpt. Lewis Nixon,” Winters starts the conversation, as he notices how visibly twitchy the intelligence officer is.

Y/N smiles and extends her hand. “I know who he is.”

And just like that she completely has him, wrapped around her finger, him not trying to resist it one bit.

Lewis Nixon accepts her hand, shaking it, not minding the dried blood of their enemies. “And I know who you are,” he replies, and she laughs at the comment. She laughs and he is in heaven and not in a war-torn France because surely that sound just simply cannot belong in this cruel reality.

“He’s cheeky, I like that,” Y/N says more to Winters than him, and his friend smirks, “I thought you would. I don’t know why you’re meeting just now.”

His cheeks are red again.

“You know what, Dick? I don’t know either. It is a shame indeed,” she says and sends him a wink.

Fuck.

“Gotta run boys, have reports to file and all that crap. But I’ll find you both later and I’ll bring some of that booze you like to keep hidden in Richard’s footlocker, Lew.”

Fuuuuuuck. How does she know about that?

Y/N turns her head once more to him. “Oh and try not to get caught staring too long again, or those drinks might not be the only thing making your head spin, Nixon.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She does indeed find them in the evening, when the Company is given some time off, letting the new reinforcements mingle. She plops herself down next to Nixon, much closer for his breathing to come naturally, but still far away to keep his mind mad and sane at the same time. Lewis notices how she could have sat down next to Dick too, but she made the decision to choose his side, and he lets himself believe that it must have been on purpose and not some absentminded actions. Surely.

He is going crazy, he thinks. Lord, have mercy.

“Quite lively here,” she notes, while looking around the room that is filled with smoke, laughter and hope.

“Maybe too lively,” Richards answers and picks himself up from the floor. “I don’t drink anyway and have some paperwork to do too, I’m sure you’ll do fine without me.”

Lewis shoots him a what the fuck are you doing look but that doesn’t stop Winters from winking at him and walking away from a possible crime scene.

“See you in the morning, Dick,” she says and then, just like that, they are alone.

He is probably too much aware of how close she is to him; he can feel the warmth radiating from her body and he has to do everything in his power to restrain himself.

“So, where were we?” she smiles sweetly and pulls out a brand-new bottle of Teacher’s Highland Cream, a blended Scoth whisky he knows but haven’t tasted.

“You are evil,” he laughs.

She winks at him. “You recognize it?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t had it yet.”

“Oh, Lew,” she chuckles, “you are just so limited in your alcoholism, it’s honestly a bit sad.”

Lew. She calls him Lew, and he is sure he would forgive her everything.

“It is actually a bit like you,” her voice suddenly quieter than before.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she smiles, her eyes looking directly at him as she turns to face him, “it has quite a strong character. It has sweet undertones with a touch of smoke,” her gaze drops for a second to his cigarette hanging from between his fingers, “and it has a warm, lingering finish.”

The last part of the sentence is said slowly, and in such a tone Lewis is sure he will lose his mind any second. He has to. No man can survive this.

“Let me try it,” he hears himself say but it feels like it is not even him saying those words.

She hands him the bottle and their fingers brush against each other for a fleeting moment.

“And I quite enjoy the name. I do like the Cream.”

When he hears her say that he immediately chokes on the alcohol and must take a break. His cheeks flushed and his pants tight, he quickly adjusts his seating position so she wouldn’t discover just how big of an effect she has on him.

Y/N laughs sweetly, patting him on the back.

“You enjoy making men fluster?” he says once he calms himself.

She thinks for a moment and then looks at him. “No, just you.”

His restraint is hanging by a thread at that point. And he knows she is very well aware of it.

“You are playing with fire,” Lewis whispers, not trusting himself to speak out loud.

Y/N moves a bit closer and he can feel her breath on his skin. “I’ve been playing with fire my whole life. You think I’ll get burned this time?”

“You might.”

She holds the eye contact and Lewis sees how she is contemplating something in her head, but then something changes, and he just knows she’s made up her mind in that moment.

“Why don’t we go into my room and find out?”

This sentence right there, that smile that followed, he would wage another war if it meant he could see her smile and talk like that again.

Little did they know they will have their entire lifetimes to tease each other like that one night somewhere in the middle of France.

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seiiven · 9 months ago

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A Sweet Night

Paring: Eugene Roe x Reader.

Warnings: Very slight mention of blood.

Intro: A night between father and newborn, after delivery :)

A/N: This is the first time I make a fanfic and English is not my native language, I’m French so please be indulgent !

°°°°

You and Eugene knew each other since your youth in Louisiana, you lived in his small village on the swamps before mobilizing as a nurse in the emergency posts at the back of the Easy Company.

Eugene, when you were younger, made the innocent and carefree promise to marry you in church, he did it when you both became of age.

After a reckless and torrid night to relax from the stress and horrors of war, you have become pregnant, your cycle having decided against your will. When he learned it, he had at first hesitated, it was not ideal to have a child in a war where the other risked dying every day, but he accepted it with deep love.

A nurse held you in your bed while you were screaming because of the contractions of childbirth, Eugene between your legs, encouraging you to push harder. He was stressed and worried, but very professional and severe at the time. After many hours, your adorable baby was born and you were asleep with fatigue, under the cry of conflicting emotions, pain, and the small, muffled, adorable tears of your son.

While you were resting, Eugene cleaned his son with great delicacy and gentleness of your blood, tears gently tingling his eyes, he was a father, finally a father.

The baby was shaking his small limbs, obviously not liking the feeling of cleaning, so he continued to cry little plaintive.

“I know...I know, but I have to take it all off...”

He tried to reassure his child, his voice low and soft as he passed the cloth of warm water on the small body of his son. He noticed that the baby began to hold with his tiny hand, his father's index finger, he was amazed.

He continued to clean it, a happy smile appearing on his features.

“Calm down, calm down little you... I know you’re crying, but dad’s there, calm down...”

He tried to distract him a little, in order to be able to clean the most delicate areas and calm the crying but the little one seemed stubborn to hold his daddy’s finger.

«You really don’t want to let go of my finger, you...»

He then continued the cleaning below, cleaning around the child’s genital area. The little one, out of a nasty sensation, began to wiggle his small legs, his little feet beating in the air.

"I know, I know... it’s delicate here...little guy"

After a few more moments, Eugene noticed that the cries and tears of the newborn had decreased slightly, a sign that he had regained a slight calm.

He then gently lifted the body of his toddler, the skin of the latter being tender and delicate but fragile, sign that he was still very small and vulnerable.

"Here we are...you see?" He smiled delicately as he said those words. He then covers the child in a diaper, allowing him to stay warm and protected in the small package.

He then observed his child attentively, noticing that the features of the latter were identical to his own; a small straight and blushing nose, soft cheeks, well drawn eyebrows, green eyes...however, he had your lips, your softer and more delicate traits. It was a perfect mix of you two. He had always dreamed of having a child with the woman of his life, you.

His eyes were clouded with tears as he gently embraced the child who seemed to fall asleep in his arms after calming down.

After a moment father-son, he gently placed the small package against your chest, admiring the scene of the two loves of his life.

“I will love you...with all my heart...with all my heart...”

#eugene roe #band of brothers #doc roe #eugene roe x reader #ronald speirs #george luz #gene roe

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plvtolightt · 22 days ago

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Let Down. masterlist (Eugene Roe x fem!oc)

CHAPTERS:

Chapter 1: But beggin' disagrees with me.

Chapter 2: Cigarettes and cursing like sailors.

that's all for now <3

#band of brothers #doc roe #eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #band of brothers fanfic #eugene roe x oc #doc roe x oc #hbo war #bofb #bofb x reader #band of brothers x reader

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blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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We'll Meet Again

[One-shot]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Nine hours is all it takes for Eugene Roe to realize that his hesitance to share his feelings for you was completely misguided.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Pining, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: The title of this fic is based off the song We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn (I recommend the version where she is accompanied by Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of His Majesty's Forces). This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7578

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“Roe it’s not mine, I’m alright. Roe.” Eugene was vaguely aware of your voice as he pulled at your blood drenched field jacket, fingers fumbling slightly as he fought with the buttons before he was able to delve beneath, beginning to tug at your sweater and wool shirt, desperate to find where you were hit. “I’m fine, please…Eugene!” You grabbed his wrists forcefully, your blood-slicked fingers sliding against his skin, but it was enough to finally pull his attention to your face. “It’s not my blood, I’m alright.” You repeated gently as his eyes met yours and he exhaled at last.

He frowned anew as he lifted a hand to wipe at the splatter of arterial spray across your cheek, succeeding only in smudging the scarlet across your beautiful skin, marring it further. You sighed and gestured with your head to the SS officer laying on the table behind him, his now-unseeing eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, the wound at his neck obviously the source of all the blood you wore.

You tugged at his left wrist, which you still held within your grasp, and he looked back to you quickly, following as you led him over to a bank of sinks at the back of the room. As you released him, he watched you grimace slightly at the sensation of the blood growing slightly tacky between your skin and his. You took both his hands in yours and gently began to wash them.

Eugene’s heart throbbed tenderly as he watched the warm water sluice pink before your fingers thoroughly coated his skin with soap then rinsed it clean. Looking up to you with a soft smile, he was reminded of the state of your face and quickly swiped it clean with his wet thumb, lips stretching hopelessly wider at your warm grin.

“Nine hou’s.” He sighed, jaw clenching as his chest constricted painfully, the terror and anguish he’d been desperately trying to hold at bay all day flooding back to him.

“What?” You asked, confusion painting your face and he swallowed roughly, having to fight to focus while standing in your presence after so many months apart.

“Ya were missin’ – a hostage – fo’ nine hou’s.” He pressed his lips together, struggling to hold back the depth and breadth of his feelings on the matter.

He watched you swallow and put on that brave smile you wore for the sake of soothing your patients. “It was just like any other nine hours, except there were German patients and machine guns.”

“Please don’ give me tha’ smile.” He muttered sadly. “Are ya really alrigh’?” He pressed, eyeing you meaningfully.

Your brow twitched, mouth opening, looking about answer his question when the door to the room opened and you stepped back to grab a towel, handing it to him. “I’m just fine, Roe, thank you for asking. The rest of the SS patients are through that door there.” You gestured, nodding to the latest arrival, Webster, who quickly went through to secure the next room with Liebgott hot on his heels.

Roe watched as you assumed your professional mantle, leading him into the room where seven SS men, prisoners now, were being looked after by the rest of the nurses that had been in your hospital convoy when the 6th SS Mountain Division had decided to take you all hostage to provide them with medical care in this abandoned nursing home near Juchen. The women immediately flocked to you for direction and Eugene realized that you now wore a silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia on your collar, promoted since he’d first met you that night in February of last year in Swindon.

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“These heels are killing me…” You muttered as you finally escaped the dancefloor to sit at the table next to Eugene’s, wedging yourself into the corner defensively.

He’d been watching you all night. Watching as trooper after trooper of the 506th from Able right through Item asked you to dance, barely giving you a moment to sit despite how tired you looked, behind that beautiful smile of yours, and how time and again you accepted, too polite to refuse.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your combat boots.” One of your tablemates teased.

A mischievous grin crossed your features and Eugene ducked his head as he found his lips twitching automatically in response to it. “Well, I would have except every time I upend the things, I still find sand from North Africa.”

A chorus of laughter flitted around the table and Eugene was convinced that yours was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, finding himself thoroughly annoyed when it was extinguished by a couple of men sidling over to pull a few of your fellow nurses onto the dancefloor again.

“What was it like…over there…” A timid voice piped up as the band began to play that Vera Lynn song the Brits were crazy about and Eugene risked a glance at your face as you addressed a young woman, she could not be much older than twenty, only the two of you remaining at the table.

“Well, Barbara,” You paused thoughtfully, eyes focusing on some distant memory, the hints of fatigue he’d seen lurking beneath your smile coming to the fore for a brief moment before you turned to your colleague with a reassuring warmth. “It’s exactly like they say it’ll be.” You nodded firmly.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled in relief, nodding in renewed confidence as you each took a sip of your drink. Eugene swallowed, wishing he could hear your real thoughts on North Africa, not just the canned propaganda reels put together to show before the pictures, but the firsthand account of a medical professional. There was only so much training could prepare them for, and they all knew as soon as the weather was right, they were headed for France.

Despite the longing he felt to do so, Eugene did not ask you to dance that night. He drank a few beers and smoked more than a few cigarettes as you forced yourself onto the dancefloor three additional times before you and the youngest of your companions decided to call it a night. Eugene felt that was a sensible idea – the number of buses back to Aldbourne was growing increasingly limited by the hour.

As dictated by the blackout, clumps of people were walking on either side of the road with their flashlights pointed downward, barely lighting their way as vehicles with their headlights reduced to mere slits wended their way through the crowd of inebriated celebrants. Eugene could not help but feel like it was a recipe for disaster, but your laughter, like the peal of bells, pulled his attention from across the darkened street.

“It’s snowing!” You declared with a wonder-filled gasp, and he blinked up at the sky to feel the kiss of melting snowflakes on his cheeks, his breath curling and hanging in the notably colder air.

The peace of the moment was shattered as an unruly group of men from Fox company bolted across the road, trying to reach the same bus stop he was heading for, a drunken straggler not seeing the delivery van and unfortunately the driver not seeing him either – until it was too late. There was a squealing of tires, a ‘crash’ as the load within the van was displaced, and a sickening ‘crunch’ followed by a wail of pain. Eugene lunged into the street, surprised to find you already kneeling beside the victim as you looked him over.

“What’s your name, trooper?” You were smiling warmly, your colleague hovering behind you nervously as the driver had begun pacing anxiously.

“Robert Boye, Ma’am.” He replied through clenched teeth.

Unlike the calm look on your face, your hands were a flurry of movement, honing in on the compound fracture on the man’s leg, lifting your fingers into the slim beams of light to reveal blood from where the bone had broken through his skin. Eugene was already undoing his belt when you turned to him, and you graced him with a brilliant smile that had his adrenaline-fueled heart skipping a few beats.

“I’m a medic, Ma’am. Tourniquet?”

“On his thigh, please, trooper.” You nodded, shrugging out of your overcoat to drape over Boye. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright Robert. Just hold on.” Standing quickly, you walked over to the delivery driver though Eugene wasn’t able to hear your conversation as he finished checking over the man in the road, confirming there were no other apparent injuries.

“You’e from Fox company, righ’?”

“Yeah, that’s right…Easy?” He replied, shaking from the cold or shock – or both, most likely.

Eugene nodded in reply, lifting his eyes as the delivery driver raised his voice at you, the sound of crates and empty milk jugs hitting the sidewalk filling the night air.

“Ya crazy Yankee cunt, what in god’s name d’ya think yer doin’?!”

By then quite a crowd had gathered in the road, and the slur hurled your way had more than just Eugene’s hackles up. Undeterred, you stepped forward, looking the rude and careless man directly in the eye. “You’ve struck an innocent pedestrian and now you’re going to make it right, sir. Your cargo will be right where you left it.”

He returned the look coldly but seemed increasingly aware of the looming threat in the darkness about you, eventually huffing in agreement. You provided directions to a hospital Eugene recognized as the nearest American hospital, surely that was where you were stationed, before sending several men to help him load Boye into the back.

“Medic, please come with me?” You looked to him as you climbed into the van and Eugene nodded quickly, jumping into the back with you as you looked to the wide-eyed young woman standing at the curb, watching you in awe.

“Barbara, go back inside and find Fran. Get her to walk you home.”

“Y..yes Ma’am!” She nodded quickly before hurrying back toward the dance hall as the back doors of the van were closed, leaving the three of you in darkness as the van lurched into motion.

“Medic…” You huffed and introduced yourself properly before asking him his name.

“Eugene Roe, Ma’am.” He replied quickly, turning on his flashlight. He was rewarded once again with one of your heart-stopping smiles.

“Wonderful, you have a flashlight. Thank you. How’re you holding up Robert?” You turned your attention back to the patient, checking his pulse at his wrist, pressing a hand to his forehead – most likely to assess for temperature and perspiration.

“Hurts an awful lot, Ma’am.” He grunted as the van hit a rut and you nodded sympathetically, kneeling on the floor beside him in your dress uniform, balancing easily as the van wove its way through the crowd outside the dancehall with more care this time.

“Thank you very much for being so brave for me. Where are you from?”

“Yakima, Washington.”

“Tell me, Robert. If I were to visit Yakima, Washington what is the food I absolutely must try?” You asked, bracing yourself against the roof as the driver took a wide turn.

“My momma’s cherry pie, without a doubt. My father grows bing cherries. Best in the state. And then my momma makes the best pie you will ever eat in your life.” Robert replied with relaxed smile, conversation taking his mind off the pain in his leg.

“Cherry pie – that sounds positively heavenly. So, you grew up on a cherry farm?” Your practiced smile and encouragement prompted the injured man to ramble on about his childhood playing amongst the cherry blossoms, gorging himself on ripe fruit, and skiing in the mountains whilst you the pair of you subtly kept an eye on his wound and vitals. Ever vigilant for a sudden change in demeanour that might signify a head injury or internal bleeding – your patient management was effortless, and Eugene could only feel his affection for you growing.

He was admittedly a little disappointed when the van came to a stop, the flustered driver opening the doors as a duty nurse came outside and gasped to find the three of you in the back of the unassuming vehicle.

“I’ll be right back with a stretcher!” She called out before dashing inside, returning promptly with two orderlies to help load the injured Boye so he might be carted inside.

The pair of you rushed behind into the temporary hospital in a building that looked like it had begun its life as a warehouse of some kind. The shift Doctor appeared from down the hall, and you quickly provided all pertinent information related to treatment.

“Well, you two had best inform the MPs as well, before that driver disappears on us.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied quickly, shooting Eugene an apologetic look before leading him to the MP office at the front of the hospital to make your report, pulling your garrison cap from your head, reminding him to do the same.

You’d barely started your tale when the MP told you both to ‘take a seat’ and dashed out of the office to try and stop the driver and you looked to him with even more pronounced regret. “I’m so sorry, Roe, I’m sure you were just trying to get back to your billet.”

Your use of his last name undoubtedly came from place of professional courtesy, however a part of him ached with the longing to hear how your mouth might form his first name.

“Not at all, Ma’am.” He gestured for you to take one of the empty chairs, only sitting once you had sunk into it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you very much for your help. I was feeling quite adrift with no supplies but then the universe sent me you.” You smiled warmly and he swallowed thickly.

“Ya did all tha work, Ma’am, I was jus’ there.”

Shaking your head stubbornly, he frowned a little as he watched a small shiver roll through you, belatedly realizing your coat had long since vanished with Boye. He started to pull at the jacket of his dress uniform, and you lay a hand on his arm.

“I’m alright, just tired. Based on your accent, I’d say you need your jacket more than me.” You smiled teasingly and he huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes briefly as he straightened his uniform before lifting his eyes to meet yours quickly.

“It was impressive, Ma’am, how ya stood up ta tha’ man.”

You looked to him earnestly then, not sugar-coating your expression, or your answer, as you had for Barbara. “If we don’t stand up for our patients, Roe, no one will.” You spoke with breathtaking sincerity and all he could muster in response was a firm nod.

The door banged open as the MP hauled the very man in question into the office, his expression going livid as he once again came face to face with you.

“Goddamn Yankee cunt.” He spat at you, making Eugene surge to his feet to stand in front of you protectively, the scent of liquor potent on the man’s breath as he brushed by his rigid frame.

“I’ll be right back to take your statements, one moment.” The MP muttered, putting the uncooperative driver in a back room.

“Could this night get any longer…” You whispered and pinched the bridge of your nose, making Eugene turn back to you.

“How long ya been in England?” He asked, trying your own trick of distraction on you as he resumed his seat.

“Hmm? Oh, landed two weeks ago, I guess. Thought a break from the heat would be nice, hasn’t been quite as quaint as I was led to believe.” You laughed softly and shook your head. “You?”

“Las’ Septembah.”

“Well, I bet you know all the best spots by now then, hmm?” You smirked and he shook his head with rueful smile but did not have the chance to elaborate on his lack of free time as the MP returned to finally take your full statements.

It was nearly two in the morning once all the paperwork was done, the driver of the van turned over to the local police while the MP summoned a subordinate to return the pair of you to your billets.

“See you in a few hours.” The nurse who’d first greeted the pair of you poked her head out of the doorway to the treatment room.

You laughed without much energy. “For sure, Betty. Thanks for your help.”

“You work weekends?” Roe asked quietly, offering a hand to help you into the back of the jeep and you nodded as he settled next to you.

“My days off are Monday, Tuesday.” He must have frowned visibly as you shrugged with a weary smile. “It’s alright, I was the last to arrive here and someone needs to do it.”

As you hugged your arms around yourself tightly in the open back of the vehicle, overcoat still nowhere to be seen, he shifted to try and block the wind with his body. As you shuffled closer, huddling against him slightly, he swallowed thickly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“You’re going to do great out there, Eugene Roe.” You smiled warmly, the vehicle pulling up outside a nearby shop with an apartment on the second floor.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He murmured quietly, taking a shaky breath as you climbed out of the jeep, pausing to wave at him from the curb.

He ought to ask to see you again, to write to you, something, but a part of him was reluctant to start anything he might not be able to see through with his future so very uncertain. He lifted his hand in return as the MP pulled out to drive him back to Aldbourne, regret immediately settling into his gut, leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

Eugene was surprised when his belt arrived at his billet the following Thursday along with a note from you, once again thanking him for his assistance with Robert Boye’s care. You also assured him the patient was doing well and would be ‘fighting fit’ within a few months. He was impressed to see not a trace of blood on the woven fabric, indicating that you had obviously taken the time to clean it for him. Unable to stop the fond smile from unfurling on his features, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his ODs as he heard Spina’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You coming to London this weekend, Gene?” He asked, sitting heavily on his bed in the corner and Eugene found himself shaking his head in return.

“Too much to do.” He replied vaguely, recalling one of the posters from the hospital hallway calling for blood donations.

“You’re missing out.” Spina teased in a sing-song voice, laying back on his bed once he’d taken off his boots.

The smile you greeted him with Saturday morning when he arrived to donate blood thoroughly convinced him otherwise.

“That’s very generous of you Roe, follow me, I’ll get you set up.” You turned to lead him past a few of the occupied beds and he nodded warmly to Boye as he looked up from a letter he was reading. “If you could take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve please, I’ll be right back with the supplies.” You said as you gestured to a cot, unfolding a privacy screen before turning to fetch the necessities.

Eugene complied, swallowing thickly as he watched the way your hospital dress swished around your hips as you walked away, quite frankly preferring this outfit to your dress uniform. Returning with a collection bottle, needle, and some tubing, you lifted his arm to search for a vein. He swallowed thickly at the goosebumps that rippled across his skin, able to smell the scent of soap lingering on you, the proximity nearly killing him.

“I never did ask, Roe, where are you from?” You glanced at him with your professional smile, fingers settling over their target in the inside of his elbow.

“Loosiana, Ma’am.” He murmured softly, watching you insert the needle so smoothly he barely felt more than a pinch before his blood began to fill the bottle in your hands.

“Louisiana.” You repeated warmly, eyes flicking between the bottle and his face, listening while monitoring the volume you were collecting. “Famous for Mardi Gras, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “Tha’s righ’, yes.”

“A lot warmer than England, hmm?” You chuckled and shook your head.

“Did ya get you’ jacket back?” He tilted his head. “Thank ya fo’ returnin’ ma belt.”

“I did, yes. And again, it was the least I could do.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled this time, his heart swelling as he was becoming more skilled at discerning your real versus polite expressions. You pressed a piece of gauze over the needle before pulling it from his arm, the bottle now filled with the crimson fluid from his veins. “Could you apply pressure to that for me please?”

He nodded, fingertips brushing against yours as he took over, a jolt of electricity sizzling through him. Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the task at hand, and he could not help but wonder if you had felt it too. As you lay your fingers over his to lift the gauze and take a peek at the puncture in his skin, Eugene bit the inside of his cheek trying to maintain his composure. Replacing it with an adhesive bandage, you handed him a cookie to eat as you jotted down his information on the label on the bottle.

“Thank you aga–” Your gratitude was cut short by a loud crash over by the nurses’ station that had Eugene quickly on his feet though he noticed you barely reacted. “Sorry about that.” You sighed and urged him to sit back down with the gentle pressure of your palm on his shoulder. “I keep trying to fix that darn shelf, but the screws won’t stay in the wall.”

“Sorry!” Called a timid voice Eugene recognized as Barbara from last Friday’s dance and he looked up to you.

“I’d be happy ta take a look at it fo’ ya.”

You eyed him a moment, clearly weighing your desire to impose on him further. “Eat your cookie and then we’ll talk.” You ultimately said and he nearly inhaled the thing.

“I like fixin’ things.” He murmured once he’d swallowed, rolling down his sleeve and following you over to inspect the carnage Barbara had unleashed.

You helped her stack the last of the clipboards and manuals that were scattered across the floor onto the edge of the desk as Eugene looked over the shelf before eyeing the screws and finally the holes in the wall.

“You’ screws are stripped. Needs some new ones an’ maybe a few anchors.” He added as he eyed the weight of what you intended to store up there.

You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before grabbing a key from the desk. “Maintenance room is this way, shall we see if they have what we need?”

He followed you down the hall and around the corner to a room that was no more than a glorified cupboard. You pulled the cord on the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and he began rooting around, collecting tools in an empty toolbox before nodding to you to signal that he’d secured everything necessary.

“Don’t carry that with the arm I just took blood from please.” You reminded gently and he nodded again, walking back with you. “How can I help?” You tilted your head, nurse’s cap barely hanging on by the pins in your hair, presenting quite possibly the most adorable sight Eugene had ever seen.

“Could you an’ Miss Barbara hold tha shelf up fo’ me, please? Show me where ya’d like it?” He set the toolbox on the ground, grabbing the pencil he’d prepared as the pair of you positioned the shelf on the wall. He made a series of marks beneath it where he would drill new holes and marked the end placements. “Thank ya both, kindly.” He nodded and you set it down with a smile.

The sound of the door opening signalled the arrival of the doctor to do his midday rounds and you glanced at him, looking ready to apologize but he shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, you’ workin’. I’ll get this fixed an’ get outta you’ hair.”

“Thank you, Roe.” You nodded warmly before grabbing the clipboards from the desk and hurrying over with Barbara in tow.

Eugene did a thorough job of re-installing that shelf for you – putting new holes in the studs with the hand drill before tapping in a set of anchors to ensure it would never let you down again. It may have taken him a little longer than necessary due to the numerous glances he stole at you over his shoulder, but when his eyes met yours around the fifth glance, he turned back to his work quickly, cheeks burning, and did not risk another.

Once he was satisfied in the shelf’s structural stability, he began to place the manuals back onto it, hazarding a guess that you would want them in alphabetical order, glancing at you as you stashed the clipboards – now neatly back in their rack – beside them, rounds clearly complete.

“This looks amazing, Roe, I am once again in your debt.”

“It should hold alrigh’, even if ya get mo’e manuals.” He nodded humbly. “It was ma pleasu’e.”

“Well, I assure you we are extremely grateful.” You nodded firmly and he was unable to stop the slight smile that snuck onto his lips, watching as your own grew brightly in return. “Now I’m sure there’s somewhere you’d much rather spend your days off than our boring little hospital.”

He swallowed tightly, quite convinced that was utterly untrue but was unable to verbally disagree. “I’ll leave ya to it then, Ma’am.” He nodded, putting the tools away before shrugging into his uniform jacket once more and heading out into the drizzly afternoon.

It became a habit, spending his Saturdays at your hospital, fixing up little things that were broken but not priorities for the regular handyman. Donating blood every few weeks when you’d let him. It was, of course, all a thinly veiled excuse to see you – not that he would ever reveal that to you. As winter melted into spring, training and preparation for what was to come only intensified, and the potential outcomes remained at the forefront of his mind. If he were to speak honestly, Eugene, like many men, did not expect to survive the assault on France. Hitler had been there too long, had had too much time to get dug in snug as a tick. What they were planning to attempt was nearly impossible – just like his chances of survival.

You deserved better than that. Better than to open your heart to a man like him, if you even cared to, only to have him wiped from the earth by some piece of artillery or some such horrific ending. Eugene had a sense you’d seen enough horror first-hand in North Africa and he wanted no part in inflicting more upon you. So, he remained cordial, friendly, holding his breath and biting his tongue when your hands would brush, when you’d gently fix his tie after he’d gotten it crooked under the sink and when you’d swipe the sawdust from his shoulders before he put his uniform jacket back on.

The domesticity of your care and concern for him made his heart ache something fierce but he bore it stoically, silently, repeatedly like some kind of martyr. A smarter man might have stayed away but Eugene needed those few hours with you every week as badly as he needed the comforting nicotine of his Lucky Strikes. The news that they were shipping out to Upottery in late May was thus a rude reminder that his time, his life, was no longer his own.

The entire time he was packing, Eugene debated with himself before ultimately deciding to jot off a quick note of apology explaining his absence for that coming weekend and wishing you well until ‘next time.’ What a terrible expression it was. Forcing himself to take it to the post office, he sent it to the hospital where you worked before boarding the transit truck to move out. The days passed in almost a blur, the frenetic pace of preparation and practice jumps all leading up to the inevitable.

Eugene was dressed in full gear, having just secured his leg bag when he heard Vest call out his name, waving a letter addressed to him. Settling back down on the tarmac to open it, his brows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Eugene was so taken aback he nearly missed Meehan’s announcement that the jump was off due to bad weather that night, spending several hours re-reading your letter, thinking about the things he wished to write to you in reply. Vowing to put them on paper if he ever saw the end of this thing. By the time he made it back to Aldbourne in July, he made a visit to the hospital where you had been stationed only to be informed by Barbara that you’d left for France with the 47th Field Hospital five days earlier.

He swallowed his bitter chuckle while Barbara kindly scrawled your post address now that you were deployed. “If you’d like to write to her.” She murmured timidly and he took it with a soft thanks before heading back to his billet.

It made perfect sense that you had been sent to France; nurses with field experience were hard to come by and you were obviously too talented to loiter in England. Thus, he had taken the time to reply to you, a proper letter this time, though still withholding his true feelings now that his eyes were well and truly opened to the rapidity with which a man’s fortunes could change.

Mail was slow, your replies taking a frustrating amount of time to reach him, and Eugene was certain you felt the same, especially as it became increasingly apparent that your paths through Europe were remarkably similar and yet did not cross again. Not until Easter Sunday of 1945.

2nd Battalion had left Belgium that morning, crossing the border into Germany in the grey light of dawn. It had been deeply unsettling to pass so close by their former positions in Bastogne, Foy, and Rachamps the day before. Memories, thick as winter fog, had put a damper on the mood of excitement amongst the men at being on the move again, a hush that persisted into the morning. It was a quiet that allowed them all to hear the frantic honking of a jeep horn, many of them, including Eugene, sitting higher in their transports to see a vehicle painted with the Geneva cross pull up beside that occupied by Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Welsh, bringing the entire convoy to a halt.

Craning his neck, Eugene strained to hear the conversation, but his attempts were futile as they were simply too far away. His brow furrowed as the rest of the batallion’s Lieutenants were called up by Speirs, a map was then unfurled on the hood of the jeep, intense conversation occurring amongst the huddled officers. Like some kind of silent movie without the title cards.

“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Heffron griped beside him, and Eugene shook his head, completely at a loss.

It wasn’t until Lipton returned to the back of their transport, hauled up with the assistance of Luz’s friendly hand, that Eugene understood the gravity of the situation.

“Hospital convoy has gone missing, boys. Left Aachen over four hours ago and should have arrived in Juchen by now. There’s no trace of them.” He began putting on his gear, a silent signal for everyone to do the same.

“Nobody just vanishes in Germany, Lieutenant.” Heffron muttered grimly, securing his webbing.

“Major Winters’ thoughts exactly. We have eleven nurses and four ambulances unaccounted for somewhere between here and Juchen. So, we’re going to find ‘em.”

“What hospital, sir?” Eugene piped up as he secured his satchel around his body, the men glancing at him, reminding him that he rarely spoke.

“Uh, the 47th Field Hospital I think, Doc.” Lipton replied before getting the men off the truck to begin combing the roadside for clues.

The 47th Field Hospital. Your 47th. He stood rooted to the spot, blind to all that moved in front of him, sound muffled as he felt like the only thing he could be sure of – your safety – came crashing down around him.

“Hey Doc, you coming or what?” Heffron called up to him and Eugene blinked rapidly before hopping out of the back of the transport to follow quickly.

Eleven nurses missing. Field Hospitals had roughly eighteen nurses, if fully staffed, meaning there was more than a fifty-fifty chance you were among the missing. He shoved his balled fists into his pockets and began searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. The infuriating feeling of helplessness rose within him like the tide, relentless and uncontrollable.

It took a further three hours of driving, stopping, searching, until finally a farmer reported having heard machine gun fire earlier that morning near Titz. A yawning pit of dread opened deep within his stomach as all manner of possible scenarios played out in his mind. The three companies split up then, with Easy heading into the town of Titz while Dog continued on the road to Juchen and Fox turned towards Gevelsdorf.

He was not able to lay eyes upon you for another two hours, and to find you soaked in blood had sent him immediately into a frenzied state of triage, desperate to keep you alive after finding you at last. Calmed only by the proof that you were unhurt, at the reasonable explanation for the state of your clothes lying dead behind him, Eugene had never been more annoyed with Webster and Liebgott than when they had interrupted his chance to speak with you.

The rest of 2nd Battalion arrived, taking over the building for the night and securing the prisoners until MPs could arrive the next day to take them to a nearby prison camp. Winters had ensured a wing was reserved exclusively for the nurses, though you had assured him a guard would not be necessary. Eugene had offered himself and the other Battalion medics to help with the schedule you were drawing up to watch over the patients, but you politely refused, insisting he had done enough. Eugene certainly did not feel that way.

Finding himself unable to sleep that night, he slipped out of the room he shared with Spina, Heffron, and Ramirez, making his way down to the makeshift treatment space you had set up to see if he could be of any use. He stopped at top of the stairs as he nearly ran into you, making your way up to the nurses’ wing with your wet field jacket in your hands.

“Roe!” You breathed, startled, before smiling at him tiredly. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Ya neithah?”

“Wanted to try and get this somewhat clean for tomorrow.” You murmured, gesturing to your jacket before glancing at him. “But no, not really.” You admitted softly.

He motioned with his head for you to follow him to sit on the ledge beneath a large bay window opposite the staircase. You draped your damp jacket over the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, turning to look out over the landscape as raindrops began to patter against the glass. He slid a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, offering it you and only once you had declined with a shake of your head and kind smile, lit it for himself.

“Nine hours isn’t a long time considering the years I’ve spent away from home.” Your hushed voice, a continuation of your conversation from hours previous, broke through the sound of the rain hitting the windowpane.

Eugene exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “It only takes seconds ta die…”

You eyed him sharply in the dim light, shaking your head. “You of all people know how little control we have over that.”

Swallowing tightly, as you did have a point, he nodded. “Sorry Ma’am.”

You huffed a little. “Eugene, every time you call me Ma’am I feel like my mother.”

“But ya outrank me, even mo’e so now 1st Lieutenan’.” His nose crinkled in confusion.

You hummed noncommittally, an uneasy silence falling over the pair of you as Eugene finished his cigarette, stubbing it out against the windowsill behind him. Neither of you seemed certain of what to say or do next. Of what you were anymore – no longer just acquaintances, colleagues, or pen pals. Despite his best efforts, Eugene was terrifyingly convinced you were a great deal more.

“What’s something you wish you had done before you came over here?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he inhaled sharply before giving you his answer without hesitation.

“Shoulda asked ya ta dance tha’ nigh’.”

He heard your breath leave your lips with a shudder, watching you stand with the sinking feeling that he’d misjudged the entirety of your relationship. It was only when you turned back to him with your hand outstretched that he remembered how to breathe.

“Dance with me now, Eugene.”

His eyes widened, confusion surely evident on his face even as he set his worn and battered hand in yours. “But there’s no music.”

Your fingers closed around his, tugging him to his feet as you began to hum that Vera Lynn song, bringing a smile to his face as he set his other hand on your waist to begin dancing with you in earnest. Your fingers laced through his, a shiver running through him as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder before laying your head against his collarbone.

“Cold?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“It’s nice.” He replied as you started humming again, the repetitive nature of the song making him grin slightly. “Finally got ta dance in you’ comba’ boots.” He murmured, discreetly inhaling the scent of you.

You giggled softly against him, leaning back to look over his features in the low light. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance, Eugene?”

He swallowed roughly. “Ya looked tired, Ma’am. Didn’t want ta make ya suffah any mo’e.”

“Dancing with you is not a hardship.” You whispered, the pair of you still moving to the ghost of the song in the now silent hallway. “I would have said yes with one of those smiles you like.”

He laugh softly, squeezing your hand slightly. “I was worried, too. Worried I’d do somethin’ stupid like make ya care ‘bout me an’ then get myself killed. But then I thought I’d lost ya today…did lose ya fo’ nine hou’s…” His throat clenched with emotion, sealing off his ability to say anything further.

Your feet came to a stop as you eyed him intensely. “Eugene Roe, you have no control over that either.” You admonished gently. “I do care about you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of his heart frantically pumping blood through his body filled his ears as he stared at you in wonder, awestruck by your fierce determination to bear affection for him despite the risks.

“M..may I…” He struggled to speak through the overwhelming adoration he felt for you, and you sighed fondly, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His grip tightened on your waist as his eyes fluttered shut, your soft mouth feeling like the finest silk brushing against his. He sighed dreamily as your fingers abandoned his shoulder to wend their way into his hair, drawing him tighter to you. He indulged in the impulse to slide his hand up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, the feeling of your back arching in response headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Your fingers gently unlaced from his, hand shifting to cup his jaw as you pulled back to press featherlight kisses across his brow and down his nose. “You didn’t lose me, Eugene.” You sighed against his skin, lips traveling across his left cheek. “I’m just fine.”

As you made your way along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss you fiercely, tongue darting past your startled lips to communicate all the things he could not seem to be able to say, holding your body so tightly against his as though he wished he could absorb you into his very being. You clung to him, matching the ferocity of his embrace with a reassuring tenderness of your own that had him melting against you, face burrowing against your neck.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He sighed with a bone deep weariness and felt your body shake against his as you laughed softly.

“Call me something better, Eugene.” You chided sweetly, kissing his temple. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to the column of your throat, trailing kisses up towards your jaw, reveling in the way your breath hitched in your throat in response. “Alrigh’ cher.” He smiled warmly before kissing you gently.

“Cher.” You repeated softly once he released your lips.

“Cajun for darlin’.”

He watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, a grin stretching over your face as you looked to him through your lashes making the muscles of his abdomen clench.

“That will do quite nicely, Eugene.” You sighed before your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him in to kiss him deeply.

You were both short of breath by the time you pulled back, hand caressing his face as your features contracted apologetically. “I should go before someone finds us.”

Eugene nodded begrudgingly as you were once again speaking the truth. “Goodnigh’, cher.” He said softly, loosening his hold on you.

“We’ll meet again, Eugene.” You smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth in the not-so-dark hallway as the light of pre-dawn began to seep through the tracks of rain cascading down the window, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the name of that damn song.

“You’d bettah not be covered in blood nex’ time, cher.” He admonished playfully, freshly addicted to the way your lips ticked up at the corners every time he said it.

“Likewise, Eugene.” You laughed and blew him a kiss before grabbing your surely still-damp field jacket, walking backwards as far as you could until you absolutely had to turn around.

He stood on the porch the next morning, hiding from the rain as he watched you load the nurses in your charge into newly arrived ambulances to complete your journey to the field hospital in Juchen. He barely looked up as he heard the scuff of jump boots on the worn brick beside him, Heffron leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, trying to soak in every last moment of your presence before you were inevitably parted once again. It was a great comfort to know you’d be just twenty-five kilometres behind him, perhaps a sign of kinder times ahead.

“So, you get your hands on some tits in Titz?” Heffron asked with a sly grin, making Eugene turn to him sharply.

“Heffron, watch you’ damn mouth.” He snapped at him brusquely, making the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Sheesh, Doc, she must be somethin’ special. Sorry.” He squawked and pointed at the road. “She’s looking this way.”

Eugene looked back quickly to see you, drenched by rain, waving at him with a bright smile he could still see despite your helmet, and he waved back, cheeks aching a little as his expression automatically mirrored yours.

“You’d bettah keep this to you’self, Heffron.” Eugene rounded on him with a serious look that he hoped was intimidating as soon as you pulled the backdoor of the vehicle shut behind you.

“Your secret is safe with me, lover boy.” Heffron winked, and Eugene did not believe him for a second.

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