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luzlylovely · 4 months

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Thanks For Coming, I'll Be Here All Week

Rating: T (modern au, referenced alcohol abuse, angst with a happy ending, pre-relationship)

Joe watched him without saying anything and George fought to keep still under his gaze. It was heavy, calculating; like he could see right through George’s skin and into his threadbare soul. It was uncomfortable, and George didn’t do well with uncomfortable. Usually, he’d crack a joke to break the tension, but he just didn’t have it in him. And something was telling him that Joe didn’t need or want that.

Hello! I love Band of Brothers so much and I've been so excited and nervous to write for these characters. I haven't written any fanfic in over two years but these fellas consume my thoughts, so here we are.

This was definitely not intended to be as angsty as it became, but I cannot get over Luz using his humor to cope and this just happened.

I hope you enjoy it! Thank you kindly!

Read it on ao3

By design, George Luz could not, under any circumstances, keep his goddamn mouth shut. The words on this particular night in question hadn’t even been some of his better work, which was the real crime. But the universe was a fickle bitch, and tonight she’d decided that George would end it with his ass firmly planted outside the bar on the wet curb and not even close to the level of drunk he’d been aiming for.

“What’d you say this time?” Frank Perconte asked, silhouetted against the lights of The 101 ’s partially burnt out sign.

George shrugged, pulling out his last cigarette and patting his pockets for a lighter he knew wasn’t there, “I’m embarrassed to say.”

“C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’ here.” Frank handed him a sleek silver zippo, “I’m on the edge of my goddamn seat.”

“‘Your mother’.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Frank hummed, “Not your best work.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” George shrugged again, leaning forward on his knees and taking a drag on his cigarette.

“That’s really all you said to get kicked out?”

“That’s really all I said to get kicked out. Some random, drunk asshole was being a drunk asshole, I said ‘your mother’, Dick didn’t want anything to kick off, so here we are.” George pitched his voice to mimic that of 1970’s television host, “Tune in next time to see what happens to our contestant on ‘Unlucky In Luz’ .”

“‘ Unlucky in Luz’ , huh? That’s actually not bad.”

George responded with a noncommittal grunt, attention focused on the pavement between his feet. Stared at his hands and the bruises and scratches that hadn’t healed from a few days ago, scattered over the knuckles of his right hand. What a way to end a week, huh? George’s recent string of bad luck just wouldn’t seem to run out.

“Well,” Frank turned towards the door. “They can’t keep you out forever.”

George chuckled ruefully, “Yeah, especially since Lew asked me to cover two shifts this week.” He got up, brushing off the seat of his jeans, “Shit, I guess I’ll catch you later, Perc. Keep out of trouble, yeah?”

“Not a problem when you’re taking it all with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George waved him off as he turned up his collar. He took one last look at the entrance to The 101 as Frank went inside then put his cigarette to his lips and ducked his head down against the cold to trudge home. He had about a third of the cigarette left, just enough to last him on his short walk to his shitty studio apartment if he hurried. An easy-peasy end to an otherwise stupid fucking night.

Or, it would’ve been, had it not been for the absolute bulldozer of a man George ran into at full speed.

His cigarette flew out of his mouth and onto the damp pavement, “Oh, Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, fuck!” The other guy huffed out, stumbling back. “The fuck are you doing?”

George was hunched over, scrabbling for the cigarette before the damp cement killed it, “It’s my last one, man.”

“That’s disgusting.”

He brought it to his lips and puffed quickly, watching the cherry glow with relief, “Yeah, well, desperate times.” As George straightened, he wiped his hands on his pants, “And if you were watching where you were going, I wouldn’t have to be smoking a dirt cigarette right now anyway so–”

Shit .

Well, if tall, dark, and glare-y wasn’t the best looking guy George had ever seen, he probably would have finished that sentence with some sort of scathing quip. One for the books, really. But as it happened, tall, dark, and glare-y was the best looking guy George had ever seen so George just stood there staring at his stupidly gorgeous face with his slightly damp smoke drooping between his lips wishing he’d be struck by lightning or hit by a rogue hot air balloon or something.

“Right, well maybe take your own advice and watch where you’re going next time you’re traveling with precious cargo.” His tone was vicious and his voice was oh, so rough. If the guy didn’t look so ready to fight and coiled up like a spring, George would probably turn into a jelly mold of himself at that voice.

But, given the circumstance, George just blinked. He’d been in his share of brawls sure, but, for one, he didn’t want to fight this guy because, second, he was sure he’d lose.

George noted the squared stance, the flexing hands, and the fire behind the stranger’s challenging stare. Jesus, I thought I was having a bad night .

“Look, man. Whatever, alright? I’m sorry I crashed into you, it’s not been my best day, it’s my last cigarette, I’m grouchy, I’m backing off, how about you back off, huh?” George almost closed his eyes as he waited for the punch to land, but he leveled his gaze instead. Patiently– though it had never been one of his strong suits.

“Have a nice night, asshole,” the guy huffed, and he turned and walked away.

Nasally laughter rang out, and for the first time, George noticed that the guy wasn’t alone. He watched as the two of them continued down the sidewalk before entering The 101 .

He took a drag of his cigarette and was granted nothing for his efforts. Burnt down to the filter.

Fuck.

He tossed the yellow butt to the ground and made the rest of his journey home, committing to memory every detail he could remember about the surly stranger.

Rich, brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes. Strong nose and jaw. A furrowed, expressive brow. Kiss-me mouth. Christ , a face like that oughta be criminal. George also distinctly remembered the feeling of being bulldozed by the built-like-a-brick-shithouse body. He might actually wake up with bruises. He hoped he woke up with bruises.

How long had it been since he’d gotten laid?

George made it to his building; a squat row of a couple vacant spaces, cheap restaurants, one florist, two laundromats that somehow stayed in business– though he never saw anyone enter the premises– and a few studio apartments on the second floor. He walked around back and trekked up the rusted steps to his landing to fumble with his keys before making his way inside. He had to shove the deadbolt into place, because it didn’t really sit right in its place and wouldn’t likely do much against an intruder. Like most of the apartment, it was, in truth, falling apart. The radiator didn’t work quite right. The AC also didn’t really do its job. The refrigerator didn’t stay closed unless you shut it at the right angle (a lesson learned thrice too many times), and the shower head made a high pitched squealing noise that sounded like an amateur mosquito mariachi band. But George was handy when he needed to be, and at the lack of a landlord that gave a shit, he was at least better off than he had been at the start of renting this place. And, well, it was home.

Shuffling off his coat and kicking away his shoes, he called out, “Honey, I’m home!” to John Wayne, his cat.

She glanced at him primly from her perch on the windowsill by the bed as he set about refilling her food and water before getting ready to turn in for the night. Many had asked how he’d named the snow white, demure little puff ball after the legendary cinematic cowboy, but George vowed to never tell.

“You would not believe the night I had, little lady,” George began, before regaling her with the night’s adventures.

He settled into bed, scratching gently behind John Wayne’s ears and she nuzzled into his palm with a purr as he finished his tale that included far more details and half-truths than were probably necessary.

“Me and my big mouth, huh? Can’t be too mad at it this time, though,” George booped her nose. “Not the worst kind of trouble it ever got me into before. Not by a long shot” He settled back against his pillows, arms behind his head, thinking of rich, brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes, “Better than I deserve, at least.”

*****

“Would you look at what the cat dragged in,” Harry drawled as George shouldered his way into The 101 .

“Hold the applause, please,” George deadpanned as he stowed his jacket and keys away beneath the bar and rolled up his sleeves.

Harry leaned against the bar, shit-eating grin smeared across his face, “Lew tells me Dick kicked you out on Friday.” George lifted a shoulder in confirmation, pouring himself a pint that Harry benevolently ignored. “He also told me you missed all the fun.

“Oh yeah? What fun was that?”

“Couple friends of Babe’s came in after you got booted and one of them ended up knocking the lights outta the guy you mouthed off to. All of Dick’s hard work towards keeping the peace with you out the window within an hour, how about that, huh?”

George took a beat for a few swallows of beer, “What did this guy look like? Tall, dark, and grumpy? Did his friend sound like he’d been battling a cold for the better part of a decade?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry shrugged, “I didn’t come in after you’d gone. I heard this all second-hand. Why, you know these guys?”

George shrugged, “Maybe. I ran headfirst into a couple of guys on my way home and one of them looked like he was ready to hit someone, I was just glad it wasn’t me.” I might’ve been glad if it had been me . “We didn’t really get to chatting.”

“Well, Babe’s planning to show up tonight, and I’m sure he did some damage control with Dick so who knows? Maybe his violent buddies will be back to give our good Captain another heart attack.”

George nodded noncommittally as he finished his beer and got ready for his shift. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Babe was expected to be at The 101 tonight. There was a solid group of regulars that showed up most days, and when he wasn’t working, George was usually among them. He wasn’t sure how they’d all come together over the years, but the bar had molded them into a rather tight knit group and George considered them his good friends.

The first to make an appearance that night was Joe Liebgott, and George chucked an ice cube at him when he sat down.

“Hey! What gives, Luz?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Liebgott reached over the bar to pour himself a beer, “Grabbing a drink, what else would I be doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” George glared, “literally anything else considering this is your shift that I’m covering right now.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for that, buddy. I owe you one,” He said with a smirk and a wink that George responded to with another handful of ice cubes. “Be careful where you’re throwing those things, alright? I’ll pull you from the magazine if you’re not careful.”

George offered his own hidden beer from behind the bar– was that his third of the night so far? Got to keep better track of that, George – to clink together in truce, “Your empty threats fall on deaf ears, Lieb. You might be able to find a better designer, but no one would put up with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that,” they toasted their respective drinks and settled into casual conversation.

George knew there wouldn’t be an explanation from Liebgott about why he’d needed coverage for his shift and why he’d shown up anyway, and George knew he wouldn’t pitch in to help out, so George let the subject drop and shot the shit as more customers trickled in. Mondays weren’t usually busy, and he could take the time to talk to a friend in between pouring a pint. They talked about the magazine Joe owned, an underground punk publication that George did the graphic design elements for. It wasn’t very big, but they sold a decent amount of online subscriptions and had started to sell physical copies in a few record stores around town in the past months. It had also introduced George to Liebgott and The 101 , so he supposed he could deal with covering a shift that didn’t really need to be covered.

Eventually, Skip Muck and Don Malarkey came in, and sometime after that, Frank, too. A handful of others that George vaguely recognized were scattered around, playing darts and shooting pool while his friends were laughing at the bar. But, each time the door opened, he couldn’t help but hope to see those brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes.

He looked to the door again as it swung open, and felt guilty for being disappointed at seeing the tall and pale Buck Compton.

“George Luz! We missed you on Friday, could’ve used your commentary.”

He quirked a grin and poured a scotch, “I heard it was a real knock-down-drag-out affair. How’s it going, Buck?”

“Same as it always goes, can’t complain, anyway.” Buck paused, seeming to mull over what he was going to say next, “What about you?”

George didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. Everyone knew about his big blow up last week, even if they’d hadn’t been present, he didn’t doubt that word had traveled fast. You hear about Luz? Yeah, didn’t he punch a wall or some shit? That’s what I heard. What happened? I don’t know, apparently he didn’t say anything about it and just left. Showed back up the next day like nothing happened.

Everyone knew about it, and everyone had the good sense to let it lie. Everyone, that is, but Buck Compton.

George pressed a smile into his lips, the lopsided one he knew told people that he was a fun guy to have around, a real laugh, the life of the party, “I’m swell, Buck. No complaints here, either.”

He watched as Buck’s eyes flickered down to the knuckles on his right hand, now yellowed and still scabbed over in a couple places where George hadn’t been able to stop from picking.

“Glad to hear it, Luz. Glad to hear it.”

Buck started a game of darts with Muck and Malarkey, so George was left to go about his business. He should’ve felt relieved, but it opened a pit in his stomach the size of Texas.

That night last week had been his worst in a long, long while. He’d been able to push away the shame and guilt of knowing his friends had seen him like that, his coworkers– shit– his fucking bosses, had seen him like that because everyone else had been as ready to sweep it under the rug as he had been.

It wasn’t Buck’s fault that he wanted to check in on George, he couldn’t be mad about that. It’s what friends did. It’s what George would do if the roles were reversed, he told himself. But, Christ, if it didn’t just remind him that all these people in his life knew what a fuck-up he was. He just had to get his shit together.

George suddenly felt the weight of someone’s attention upon him and he looked up to see the pale face, brown eyes, and red, red hair of Babe Heffron across the bar leveling him with a look of concern, “Hey, George, you good? Haven’t been taking too much advantage of those complimentary employee drinks, have you?”

“Who, me?” George was quick to turn on the charm, lopsided grin in place, “No, just thinking about how much I was missing you, Babe. And look! Here you are, returned to me at last.”

Babe appeared to be convinced at that, and George relaxed enough to notice that he wasn’t alone. Slightly behind him was a shorter man with a steely glint in his eye and a hard-set jaw, but the kind of lines around his eyes that told George he liked to laugh a lot. And next to him was George’s stranger.

He felt his eyes widen as he recognized the good-looking man, now confirmed to be one of Babe’s friends from Friday, and the object of all of George’s daydreams since then. He didn’t seem to recognize George, which stung a bit, but that might be for the best.

“Usual for you, Babe? What can I get your friends here?”

The shorter man ordered in a slightly nasally voice George recognized, and then tall, dark and handsome got the same with that gravelly timbre that had George’s toes curling.

“Yeah, George, these are my buddies from work Bill Guarnere,” the shorter, “and Joe Toye.”

Finally the stranger had a name! Joe fucking Toye! George was ready to put on his best West Side Story performance. Joe Toye.

Babe was still talking, “I brought ‘em here Friday to introduce to everyone, but, uh, you’d already left, so I was told.”

George snorted as he finished pouring the beers, “And it was quite the evening, so I was told.”

He glanced towards Joe to see his jaw twitch and Bill laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Oh yeah, our buddy Joe here made a real good first impression. We’re lucky to have our sweet angelic baby-faced Babe here to smooth everything over for us, or I don’t think there’d be a bar in the county we wouldn’t be banned from.”

Joe remained stoic and Babe and Bill continued their ribbing, glancing over at George who averted his gaze.

“Why weren’t you there, anyway? I’d heard you’d been kicked out for the night, but no details.”

George rolled his eyes, “Jesus, you guys gossip more than my mother. I was running my mouth and Dick didn’t want anything to start up so our kind and amenable George Luz volunteered to vacate the premises.”

“Yeah,” Babe scoffed, “I’m sure that’s exactly how it went down.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed and he smacked a hand against Joe, “Hey, didn’t we run into you? Yeah, yeah, you were the guy who barreled into Joe and dropped his cigarette.”

Joe really looked at George then.

“Yeah. That would be me.”

Joe just lifted the corner of his mouth in a phantom of a smirk, “You were a real sorry sack of shit. I would’ve felt sorry for you if you hadn’t headbutted me.”

George froze, caught right in Joe’s gaze. The heat of embarrassment rose over his collar and he saw amusement dance behind the brown of Joe’s eyes. Well, at least the guy still isn’t mad.

Bill laughed again, and some of the other guys came over to say their hellos to Babe and reintroduce themselves to Bill and Joe, so the conversation ended there.

The rest of his shift was spent in a whirlwind of pouring beers and half finished conversations, and George didn’t really get to talk to Joe again. But, he looked whenever he could spare the glance. And if he caught Joe looking back, the bar was just dim enough he could convince himself it was just a trick of the light.

As the bar closed down and he and Harry got everything set up for the next day, Dick called his attention.

“George, can I borrow you for a second?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He finished wiping down the table he was at, casting a last look towards where Joe was walking out of the bar with Babe and Bill and the rest of the guys, and walked out back to where he knew Dick and his auburn hair were waiting. He probably wanted to talk to him about Friday. Anytime George had to be sent home for his mouth, they had a “conversation” about it later in which Dick would very sternly tell him to be more courteous, George would say ‘sir, yes sir’, and they’d both walk away knowing they’d have the same conversation in the near future. Dick knew George was mostly harmless, and George knew that Dick just really cared about his people and his business, so it worked out.

“What can I do you for, Dick?” George leaned against the wall and lit up a cigarette, offering one knowing that Dick would refuse.

As expected, the bossman declined. Instead, he heaved a sigh, “Buck’s worried about you.” George started to respond, but Dick stopped him, “I am too, so is Lew and Harry. Everyone is. What happened last week, George?”

“I’ve become a gym rat. Pre-workout got the best of me.”

“George.”

Jesus, tough crowd. “Look, Dick, I’m really sorry about last week. I know it was stupid and you have every right to fire me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I’m not firing you,” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth before crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m just trying to get you to talk to me, here. You keep a tight lid on things, I know you know that you do, but I don’t think you’re doing well. Besides hitting a wall, I’ve seen you drinking more. Do you think it’s good for you to be working at a bar right now with whatever’s going on?”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I’m not saying you are. But, you’re clearly not talking to anyone about this, so maybe drinking is an easier way to get through it?”

George sagged against the wall, “You’re real perceptive, you know that?”

“I try to look after my people,” Dick gave him a small smile.

George could open up to Dick. He was a good man with an open heart and the kind of loyalty that was hard to come by. George could tell him about the constant feeling of inadequacy and being a disappointment. The need to perform, to constantly earn his place in each and every relationship he has for fear of losing it. He could tell Dick all these things, and Dick would listen and reassure him and would never breathe a word of it to anyone else. It would probably lift that sisyphean burden that pressed upon his shoulders some.

But, no. George couldn’t do that. Speaking any of his shit out loud made it too real to bear, and he was only just holding on as it was.

“I’m just going through a rough patch right now. The wall thing was a one-off, I swear to you. And I know about the drinking, I see it, too, and I’ll cut back.” Dick didn’t look convinced, so George pressed on, “I’m doing better, I’ll do better. This really helped, actually. It’s good to know I’ve got people in my corner, you know?”

Dick sighed, “I’m not the only one, either. Just, let someone know if you need a hand, George. And I’m limiting you to two drinks per shift.”

“Yeah, man. Thanks.”

*****

George worked three more nights at The 101 that week, each one much the same as the last. He limited his drinking, even if he did sneak a shot or two when he knew neither Dick nor Lew was looking, and kept a tight leash on his growing sense of anxiety. A smile was always in place, a joke was always at the ready, and a pep was always in his step.

For the most part George was pretty sure it was working. Dick kept giving him the kind of looks that reminded George of his mother, but Buck seemed placated, and no one else appeared concerned, so George was taking his wins where he could.

He even saw Joe again, on Wednesday, when Babe and Bill returned. Like Monday, they had a brief conversation, and then spent the rest of the night playing darts or talking with other patrons, but George was happy to just look at the guy.

He started to notice things about Joe.

Joe was pretty quiet, usually taking the backseat to Bill and Babe’s raucous laughter, but George always noticed the hint of a smile that peaked through at their joking. George’s ears also seemed particularly attuned to his deep voice and how it rolled over the room whenever he made a rare quip. Always wicked sharp and cool without being cruel, humor in the driest sense that had George hiding a smile every time.

George liked those moments, when he could be a part of the audience and not the entertainment.

He tried not to be too disappointed when Joe didn’t show up on Thursday.

When Friday dawned, George rolled out of bed already exhausted. He had some work to do for Liebgott’s magazine and the stupid radiator was acting up again, so he already knew it was going to be a long, cold day.

John Wayne meowed at him, a not-so-gentle reminder that it was well past her breakfast time. “Deepest apologies, my love,” he yawned, trudging to the kitchen to fill her bowls.

Soon enough, his coffee was ready, too, and a bagel was toasted. But, George had forgotten to buy more oat milk and cream cheese, so breakfast sucked. Then, he couldn’t get the layout to look right for the spread he was working on for the newest issue of the magazine, which also sucked. And to top off the day, by the time he got around to trying to fix the radiator, he realized he didn’t have the right part– more than two hours into the project, by the way– and the hardware store down the road had already closed. Premium suckage.

George was cold and crabby, but at least John Wayne didn’t seem bothered in the least. She, in all her fluff, was curled up contently next to the internet router that he knew was steadily radiating warmth. Unlike the actual radiator.

“Must be nice,” he grumbled.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, George stood up from where he knelt by the useless appliance, considered giving it a good kick, and checked his phone instead. There was a text from Frank asking if he was going to The 101 and George flopped onto his bed with a sigh. He hadn’t planned on it, knowing that Dick was still keeping an eye on his drinking, and given the day he’d had, hell, the past couple of weeks he’d had, the idea was just to stay home and plow through a six pack on his own while watching The X-Files and fantasizing about Fox Mulder.

I don’t know, probably not, he sent back.

Frank’s reply came quickly, Cmon, man. Everyone’s coming out tonight, I’ll make sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble.

George didn’t think that was particularly likely, he and trouble were two peas in a pod. But, if everyone was going to be there, that meant Babe. And if Babe was going to be there, maybe Joe would, too.

Alright, fine.

He tossed his phone to the side and stared at the ceiling.

This was probably a bad idea, going to a bar in the hopes of bumping into a guy he was lusting after when he felt so fucked up inside. Then again, isn’t that what most of the single population of the world did every Friday night?

“John Wayne, you’ll pick me up if I fall apart completely, right?” He looked over at the pristine white cat to see her lift an eyelid before settling back into her nap. “Thanks, love.”

By the time George had eaten dinner, showered, gotten dressed, and changed his mind more than a few times about going out, it was already past ten-o-clock. The walk to The 101 was cold, and he pulled his coat around him tightly, cursing Frank for inviting him out and cursing himself for accepting. He pulled out a cigarette right as it began to rain, cold and biting.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He opened the door to the bar, damp and barely suppressing a shiver. His signature grin was nowhere near it’s usual brightness, even he could feel it, but at least he could blame it on the rain.

Only a few heartbeats passed before he heard a chorus of voices calling out his name. George found the source toward the back corner of the room near some of the dart boards and sent a wave before heading to the bar. Liebgott was working tonight along with Lew, who was at the other end.

“Hey, Lieb, how’s it going?”

A pint of George’s preferred beer was already being poured, “Nothing but the same, yourself?”

“Yeah.” George hesitated before asking, “Can you do me a favor?”

Liebgott frowned slightly before nodding.

“Cut me off at four tonight, would you?”

“Sure, George. You got it.” He didn’t ask why and George wasn’t going to tell him, so they left it at that.

He turned away from the bar, about to join the others when he almost ran face first into the broad torso of Joe Toye.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Joe grumbled in that low, toe-curling voice, mouth quirking up at one side in the ghost of a smirk.

George swallowed before chuckling, “Well, everyone’s always telling me I’ve got no sense. Maybe if I run into you a couple more times it’ll knock some into me.” Yeesh, couldn’t come up with anything better than that?

Joe at least had the grace to lift his shoulders in the semblance of a laugh before saying, “So, you trying to cut back?”

“What?”

He nodded to George’s drink, “Limiting yourself. Do you tend to go overboard?”

“Oh,” George felt his neck get hot, “it’s just been a weird couple of weeks, you know? And, well, I work here and I don’t want the bossman to see me making a fool of myself or anything.” Again. “So, just, playing it safe, I guess.”

Joe nodded, looking hard at George for long enough that he felt like fidgeting. “Well,” Joe finally said, “good luck. I’ll see you around. We’re playing darts.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

Leaving Joe at the bar, George joined the rest of his friends. The night went as they usually went; bets on dart games, half true stories told to get laughs, and drinks all around. Buck occasionally slid him sidelong glances, but when George helped him hustle Joe and Bill out of a couple cartons of cigarettes, the looks stopped. Muck, Malarkey, and Alex Penkala had control of the jukebox and were playing nothing but Cher songs before Johnny Martin and Bull Randleman shouldered them out of the way, but then those two were stuck arguing over classic rock or classic country, so the Cher played on. Through it all, George was laughing and putting on the Luz show, belting out showtunes when appropriate and providing impressions when asked.

And, Jesus Christ, was he getting tired.

Not even two hours in, and he could already see the bottom of his fourth drink.

“Luz!” Frank shouted from three whole feet away, “Do that one guy who would come in and always clog the toilet!” Muck and Penkala egged him on.

George sighed inwardly, downing the rest of his beer before altering his voice into a stilted cadence, “Excuse me, but, uh, I think that, uh, someone may have clogged… the toilet!”

The trio laughed and George joined in, if halfheartedly. He stared at his empty glass and considered ordering another, but knew it wasn’t of any use. Liebgott could be a real prick when he wanted to be, but he’d hold George to his request and cap him at four, and he knew that Lieb had been keeping track.

“Heading out soon?”

George looked up into brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes and raised a brow.

Joe waved a hand towards the empty glass, “That’s your fourth, right?”

“You been counting?”

He shrugged, “I might’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need it,” George felt blood creep up his neck and he lifted his shoulders in an attempt to hide it.

“You got a smoke?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, sure?” George almost tripped over his own feet as he made his way towards the back door the employees used for their smoke breaks. Neither Lew nor Lieb would stop him from bringing a friend around back for a cigarette, if he could call Joe a friend.

George opened the door and held it for Joe who walked out and waited for George to lead him on. George directed them towards the back wall, opposite the dumpsters where there was a curb, and promptly sat down. Joe quirked a brow, to which George merely shrugged as he fished out his pack, and joined him.

As George passed him a cigarette, Joe asked, “Do you always get that tired of it?”

“Jesus Christ,” George groaned, “you’ve got a real habit of asking me questions that I don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about.”

Chuckling, he took the offered lighter, “The only time you’re not putting on a big act is when you’re surprised, so I’m trying my best to keep you on your toes.”

“Well, yeah, okay. You’re doing a bang up job.” George was certainly surprised, “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not the stuff like what you like to eat or if you have any pets. But, I’ve noticed you, and how you change when you think no one’s looking at you. You’re always putting on a show for people, why is that?”

“You know, I thought you were the quiet type.”

Joe laughed at that, “Maybe I’m not trying to always impress everyone all the time. I don’t feel the need to always run my mouth,” he shot George a pointed look.

“Okay then,” George’s stomach twisted at the sound of Joe’s laugh, but it didn’t override the fact that Joe was seeing too much, saying too much. “Why’d you hit that guy last week, huh? You weren’t trying to impress anyone then?”

He stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the elbow closest to George so he faced him, offering the cigarette because George still hadn’t lit one of his own, “I’d had a shitty day and sometimes my anger gets the best of me. He was being an asshole. Why’d you mouth off to him before we got there?”

George took the cigarette and brought it to his lips, “He was being an asshole.”

“There you go,” Joe nodded, sagely. “So, you going to answer the actual question, now?”

It wasn’t raining anymore, George realized, but the pavement was still wet, and he could feel it soaking through the seat of his jeans. He looked at the knuckles of his right hand. The bruises were completely gone and the scabs had all but healed, there were only a couple thin white lines over the knuckle of his middle finger that had scarred. They’d probably disappear with time.

“Do you ever feel like you’re going to be left behind?”

Joe inhaled, “Sure.”

“I feel like that all the time, like every moment’s a test of whether I’m worthy of keeping around. Like If I don’t keep convincing everyone around me that I’m a swell fucking guy, that I’m funny, or a good time, then they’ll just forget all about little old me and I’ll be eating their dust.” George took a drag of the cigarette and watched the smoke drift away as it left his lungs, then another, and another, “So I put on the show. I do the song and dance because if I don’t, what’s the point of keeping me around, huh?” He supposed that, maybe, if he were someone else he might cry having spilled his guts like that, but he was just so damn tired.

Joe took the cigarette from his fingers, and George finally looked at him, expecting the worst. Maybe he’d have pity in his eyes, maybe he’d look disgusted, or maybe– God forbid– he’d be crying.

No, Joe looked at him as hard and as cool as George had ever seen.

“That sounds exhausting.”

George barked out a laugh, “Yeah, it fucking is.”

“Is that why you punched that wall?”

He glanced at Joe out of the corner of his eye, “You heard about that?”

“I might’ve heard something,”

George put his head in his hands, “Yeah, yeah that’s why I punched that stupid wall. I was just so tired and overwhelmed and I had nowhere to put all of the… everything.” He scrubbed his face, “I’d never done anything like that before, it just exploded out of me. Hurt like a bitch, too.”

“You should get yourself a pair of brass knuckles, I know I could use a pair,” he held out his own hand for George to see the faintest of yellowing around his knuckles from where he had his own fight last week. They sat in silence for a while, sharing the cigarette back and forth before Joe asked, “Those guys in there, are they your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Joe nodded, turning his face to look up at the clouds, “and if they were going through some tough shit and were being moody as all hell, would you drop them just because they weren’t as happy and up as usual?”

George groaned, “Alright, I see where you’re going with this. And no, I wouldn’t, but it’s not the same–”

“Sure it is! You’re just thinking about it as cutting yourself some slack, which you won’t allow yourself, right? You can’t let yourself be the one that’s bringing everyone else down? How about you put some faith in your friends in there and trust them to stick around. They trust you to stick around, don’t they?”

George nodded.

“And you do– stick around?”

“Of course I do!”

Joe exhaled a laugh and turned to look George in the eye, “Then allow them to do the same for you once in a while, why don’t you?”

“It’s not that easy,” it came out closer to a whisper than George was willing to admit.

“Yeah, I know, but it gives you a good place to start. And it gets easier, I promise you that.”

George swallowed and took the cigarette back from Joe’s grasp, finishing it off, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They sat that way for a while in companionable silence, watching each other and watching the clouds. And for the first time in a long while, George felt the weight on his shoulders lessen. For once it seemed like not being able to keep his goddamn mouth shut might’ve gotten him out of trouble.

“By the way,” George turned to Joe with a smile, “I have a cat. Her name is John Wayne.”

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it <3

#luztoye #luztoye fic #band of brothers #george luz #joe toye #joseph toye

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