#ALSO: One of the reasons Alix worked so hard during her OSS training was bc of her PTSD with Clay

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 17

(Ch. 16) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: It seems like the only memories that have returned are the ones Alix doesn't want to remember and when she hits her breaking point, Joe is determined to be there for her every step of the way. He may not know what exactly she's been through but he knows she's been through enough.

WARNINGS: ANGSTY. Trust issues, PTSD episode (flashbacks & panic attack specifically), domestic violence/abuse

A/N: HOOOOOOO BOY, this one really puts the HURT in Hurt/Comfort, folks, so buckle up for some backstory bc this one gets Dark.

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @lieutenant-speirs @mccall-muffin @parajumpboots @brassknucklespeirs @hxad-ovxr-hxart @holdingforgeneralhugs @sleepisforcowards @emmythespacecowgirl @vibing-away

Contemporary: September 22nd, 1944. Zetten-Andelot, Netherlands.

After his disastrous exit the day prior, Alix hadn't expected to see Joe Liebgott ever again.

But nevertheless, when she awoke the next morning and peered over the side of her cot, there he was, lying on the dusty hardwood floor, asleep, with his bunched-up jacket under his head and a rifle by his side.

"Sad, isn't it?" Nixon remarked dryly, following her gaze to the paratrooper's slumbering form.

"One of our best attack-dogs and he's been here all night, waiting for you like a lost fucking puppy." 

"What?" the agent breathed softly, trying to process what her handler had said. "You're kidding."

Why? Why would he bother?

Nixon chuckled and closed the files he had been leafing through, seemingly delighted to take a break for a little bit of gossip.

"Kid's crazy" the intelligence officer commented wryly, taking a stab at the air with his pen for emphasis.

"Whether crazy about you or just crazy remains to be seen. But I heard he even paid Penkala twenty bucks to take over guarding prisoners so he could be here, if you can believe it."

Alix just stared blankly, still grappling with the news.

Nothing was making sense.

She and Joe couldn't have been together in that way..They just couldn't have been.

There was no way someone like him would want someone as damaged as her when he could have anyone...

And besides, Alix reasoned. Fraternization is forbidden.

And even if it wasn't, her mother never would have allowed it.

But even still, it would have been her first real relationship since...So if it had been real, like he seemed convinced it was... surely she would remember...Wouldn't she?

"I can't," she mumbled, feeling a cold wave of nausea sweep over her in her confusion. "I can't believe it."

"Well you'd better start, Ziskeit," a husky voice yawned from below. "'Cause it's true."

Alix glanced toward the noise and saw that the paratrooper from the day prior was awake now, stretching his long legs out in front of him and propping himself up on his elbows with another languid yawn.

The soft morning light pouring in through the nearby window made the room seem several degrees warmer than the icy September air outside and the bright flecks of scattered gold in his eyes seemed to spark in its glow, illuminating them like sunshine through a glass of whiskey.

Even with the mud and grime smeared haphazardly across his face like camo paint, Alix couldn't help but stare as the paratrooper fished a loose cigarette from his pocket.

Eyeing him carefully, it was easy to see how startlingly handsome Joe was, but not in the usual way. He wasn't clean-cut and upper-crust, the type she could bring home to her family. Instead, he was ruggedly attractive, all rough edges and roguish grins that could've brought her to her knees in an instant.

Noticing her gaze, Joe shot her a playful wink.

"Take a picture, gorgeous," he teased. "It'll last longer."

"You're incorrigible," Alix managed lamely.

Joe just shrugged with a wicked grin that made her stomach turn dizzy somersaults.

"Eh, you love it," he remarked cockily, running a hand through his thick brown hair in a vain effort to tame it.

The smugness of his tone made Alix roll her eyes but a grudging smile quirked up the corners of her lips anyway.

"There it is!" Joe announced with a sudden burst of energy lighting up his face. "There's that gorgeous fuckin' smile I been waiting on. Jesus, I missed that."

Alix flushed, suddenly even more self-conscious, when she heard a muffled knocking sound from the other side of her cot, where her case officer was standing, dramatically banging his head against the wall.

"Alright, that's it," he sighed exasperatedly once he had her attention. "I'm out of here. Can't get any fucking reports done with you two lovebirds driving me to drink."

Her handler threw back one last round of liquor from his flask for emphasis.

"Short drive," Alix quipped easily and Nixon choked on his whiskey, coughing.

"Well on second thought, just for that little comment, I think I'll take my sweet time," her handler snarked once he'd recovered, reaching over to the bedside table where he'd stashed another stack of files with a mischievous expression.

As he sifted through the pages of each file, making sure nothing was missing, Nixon was unusually quiet and Alix found herself letting out a slow sigh of relief that he hadn't done anything petty...just as the final folder snapped shut.

"You crazy kids have fun now," Nixon remarked, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face as he noticed Alix's cheeks blossoming a vibrant shade of fuchsia.

"Oh and Lieb--"

He shifted the folders to his opposite arm so he could point directly to the younger paratrooper, who was looking from mentor to mentee with a bemused smirk like he was watching at tennis match.

"Wrap it before you tap it, m'kay? That's a fucking order."

"Yes sir," Joe replied with a lazy salute and Nixon, apparently satisfied with this level of humiliation, made his exit, leaving Alix to cover her face in embarrassment as some nearby patients snickered.

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"Is he that much of an asshole to everyone else or am I just special?" Alix groaned once she was sure her mentor was out of earshot.

"Nixon? Never could tell," Joe answered with a good-natured shrug. "But he spends most of his time with other officers so it's not like us fuckin' grunts see much of him anyhow."

Alix shifted positions on the rusty metal bedframe, which creaked loudly in complaint at every movement, creating a minor vacancy halfway between the foot of the bed and the top.

She didn't want to be too forward or give this guy any ideas but at the same time, she couldn't deny that there was a part of her that was intrigued by him and wanted to know more.

Seemingly oblivious to her reservations, Joe was still lounging on the hard floor beside the bed, smoking yet another cigarette and lightly fingering the worn Magen David pendant linked to his dog tags as though he was checking to be sure it was still there.

"You don't have to stay on the floor, you know," Alix informed him awkwardly, finally working up the courage to address it directly. "I know it's probably not too comfortable down there."

"Eh, 's not too bad," Joe shrugged but he stood up anyway, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

The young paratrooper hovered for a moment, shifting from foot to foot nervously as though waiting for something.

Then it occurred to her: He was waiting for her invitation.

Alix blinked, startled by this newfound realization.

Clay never would have sought her permission for anything; the world had to revolve around him and him only.

The young spy nibbled on her lip for a moment, trying to find the words to encourage the paratrooper, -- Joe, she kept reminding herself. His name is Joe-- to sit on the bed without him taking it the wrong way.

But she didn't want to seem too familiar...Not so soon.

Joe was leaning one shoulder against the wall casually, as though he'd always belonged there, his lanky frame casting a shadow over Alix and shielding her from the bright sunlight.

"Thanks for the shade," she joked and Joe inclined his head politely but she could see something more behind the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Anytime, gorgeous, anytime." 

His voice was husky and his posture self-assured, a little cocky even, but not arrogant.

Leaning against the wall like that and smoking his cigarette, his deep brown eyes tracing her every feature as though trying to figure out a puzzle, he reminded her of those striking, hardboiled P.I.s in the crime melodramas she used to sneak out to see as a kid.

"You doin' alright, Ziskeit?"

He cocked his head and Alix finally found her voice.

"Shit, yeah, I'm...I'm swell," she stammered, inwardly cursing her head injury.

She was nervous enough in front of this attractive stranger on top of it, finding the words for a normal conversation felt like groping around in the dark for a light switch. "Um...Would you...Do you wanna sit down?"

"Sure thing, Zees, just tell me where ya want me."

As close as you want to be, Alix wanted to say but she banished those thoughts as quickly as they'd come.

It wasn't proper to be so forward. What would her mother say?

Perhaps it was simply a trick of the light but the way his warm brown eyes crinkled when he smiled made Alix's stomach do another little somersault of glee and she had to avert her eyes to avoid the heat she could feel beginning to creep up her cheeks.

Taking his place near the middle of the bed, Joe's frame was so slight that the metal didn't even creak.

Unsure of what to say or do next, a minute passed between them as the pair were seemingly struck with an uncommon shyness, each flushing slightly when the other would sneak a glance out of the corner of their eye.

There was a brief silence and Alix found herself praying hoping that her heartbeat wasn't palpable through the bed.

Just say something, Alix, she urged herself as though coaxing a child with stage-fright. Use your words.

But it seemed Joe had the same thought because they both began to speak at the same time, cutting each other off and causing them both to dissolve into nervous laughter.

"Well shit," Joe remarked, his face seeming to light up at the sound of Alix's giggles.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, he gestured politely for Alix to continue with his left.

"I was just going to ask where you're from," she replied with a weak smile, inwardly berating herself for asking such a stupid question.

God, she hated small-talk.

Joe's smile faded almost instantly as the severity of her amnesia finally seemed to hit him.

She really didn't know him.

Realizing the unintended weight of her words, Alix dropped her gaze to the stiff sheets of her cot, studying each wrinkle instead and hoping that Joe would stop looking at her like that.

Like a kicked puppy.

Her stomach twisted in knots; she hadn't meant to hurt him but she really couldn't remember.

Should she have lied?

For a second, Joe looked conflicted, like a part of him wanted to hold her and the other part wanted to break down.

But instead, he did neither, dropping his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out beneath his heel with vigor. 

With a sad smile, he quickly tugged another from his pocket and lit it, hands still quivering slightly but whether from nerves or the chilly autumn air, who could say?

"I'd offer ya one, Ziskeit, but I don't think you're 'sposed to have 'em until you're better."

"I don't care," Alix remarked, only half-joking. "I'd take it if you offered."

Joe shook his head and took a slow drag, leaning away from her for the exhale to ensure she didn't get any smoke in her face.

"Well I ain't offering so you can get that idea outta your head right now, Zees." His tone was affectionate but firm and Alix let out a defeated sigh.

His protectiveness was cute but that didn't mean it wasn't frustrating.

Another few minutes passed uneventfully and Alix found herself studying him again.

His face was thin and a bit pointed with an attractive, almost fox-like cleverness about it.

She got the feeling that in his downtime, he could be amazingly quick-witted, always dancing two steps ahead of every smart remark that came his way. 

"Hey, penny for your thoughts, Zees?" Joe gave her shoulder a gentle nudge, his arm quickly brushing hers, leaving a warm trail of tingles behind. "You been awful quiet."

Shit.

Alix felt her stomach drop and in her surprise at being caught staring again, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You smoke a lot."

Joe chuckled and Alix wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

"I'm from Frisco," he responded, his deep brown eyes seeming to sparkle with a mixture of humor and affection in the light.

"We do that."

There's no way they dated, Alix surmised from the warmth in the paratrooper's gaze. There's no way he could still look at her like that if they had.

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6 Years Prior: December 1937. Philadelphia, USA.

"For God's sake, Alix, this is exhausting. You're being ridiculous."

"Oh I'm being ridiculous?!"

The sixteen year old snatched the necklace from her neck and hurled it at her fiancé next to her with such force that the string snapped, sending pearls tinkling sporadically across the driver's side like tiny comets shooting through the air.

"I wasn't the one with my tongue down some other girl's throat, Clay!"

"Look, I already told you, it was a mistake, alright?" The eighteen year old threw up his hands in exasperation. "What more do you want?!"

"Giving me a bracelet with another girl's name engraved on it was a mistake," Alix pushed, her voice quavering.

"Making out with her at our fucking engagement party is not a 'mistake', Clay! It's a choice!"

"I can't believe you're doing this now." Clayton shook his head reproachfully, still keeping his blue-green eyes locked on the road ahead. "We were having such a good night."

"How long has it been going on? With her?

Her chest ached but she needed to know the truth.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Clay." Alix's voice sounded hollow even to her and her chest felt like it was filling with ice water, like she was drowning. "The blonde girl. How. Long."

"Since the beginning."

It was an answer so quick but so cruel that for a second, Alix was blindsided. Stunned, she blinked in shock, the breath momentarily knocked out of her, and all she could do was stare helplessly at her fiance, whose face was as cold and expressionless as marble.

"W-What?"

"Since the beginning," he repeated as though she hadn't heard him.

"But why?" the sixteen year old croaked, her voice breaking. "I thought...You said you loved me?"

"And you believed me? Good God," Clayton marveled, reaching over to sling an arm around her shoulders in an almost mocking gesture of affection. "Your father's right. You really are naïve."

"Don't touch me please!" she snapped, the very feeling of his hand on her arm making her want to claw her own skin off.

She began to retreat from him, to turn away, but he seized a mass of her curly black hair in his free hand and yanked her close enough that she could feel his repulsive breath on her skin like a rabid dog's fangs hovering by her ear.

"I'll do what I fucking want," he snarled before releasing her with a shove, sending her right shoulder slamming painfully into the car door with a yelp.

With a huff of irritation, the eighteen year old returned both hands to the steering wheel, ignoring the quivering of the girl in the seat next to him.

There was a frigid quiet in the car, an almost sickening stillness before she broke it, rubbing her sore shoulder warily.

Her voice was small and broken-sounding and through the tears stinging her eyes, she turned to look at him but he ignored her, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

She felt like she might choke at the sight, the not-so-distant memory of his hands locked around her throat making it hard to breathe.

"You said you'd never hurt me again," she managed in a voice barely above a whisper but Clayton rolled his eyes again.

"And if you'd stop running your goddamn mouth, I wouldn't have to."

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Contemporary: September 22nd, 1944. Zetten-Andelot, Netherlands.

A gentle tap on her shoulder brought Alix back to the present with a jolt.

Subconsciously, she knew the had been feather-light, more a glancing brush than anything, but it still caused the young spy to flinch away instinctively.

Her head was still buzzing and she remembered the doctor's lecture about stress being bad for her concussion but she couldn't help it: the sick thud of being slammed into the car door and the sharp pain that followed seemed to grow louder and louder, stronger and stronger, becoming a pounding in her ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Alix could feel herself beginning to tremble uncontrollably and her eyes began to sting, hot tears spilling over onto her cheeks before she could stop them. With every desperate, frenzied gulp for air, Alix's heart began to pound even faster and a feeling of terror crashed over her, threatening to break her like a wave on a rocky shore.

Run. She was shaking so violently that the whole bedframe seemed to rattle with her in her fear. You need to run.

But with her dislocated ankle, there was nowhere to go. Her head was pounding and her stomach twisted as though she might vomit.

The feeling of Clay yanking on her hair and shoving her into the door played over and over like a film reel in her mind and she gasped for air but there was none to be found.

Her head spinning, she put a hand to her heart, feeling it racing faster and faster, the buzzing in her ears only getting more intense with her rising panic.

Drowning. It felt like drowning.

The burning in her chest intensified as her shallow breaths increased, each ragged sob sending her further and further into a spiral.

Nothing was happening so why did the world feel like it was crashing down around her?

Was she losing her mind?

Joe noticed quicker than she would have liked.

"Hey..." he said softly. "Hey, you're okay, Ziskeit...You're okay..."

Alix let out a pained whimper, bad memories seeming to hit like flashes of lightning as Joe watched helplessly, running an anxious hand through his thick hair.

"What can I do, Zees?" he begged, trying to keep his voice calm despite the strained notes of concern and desperation. "Can I...Can I hold you? Is that okay? Or d'you want me to go? I can...Fuck, I can go, if-."

"Stay," she managed to choke out through her tears, the first sign of vulnerability she'd shown him recently. "Please stay."

That was all Joe needed to hear. Kicking off the floor, he boosted himself further back onto the bed, gingerly guiding her up with him. Drawing her into his arms, he cradled her as though she were made of glass, his hands ghosting over her skin as though she might shatter at any moment.

Her whole body was trembling, her breaths still coming in short gasps, and he drew her still closer, murmuring encouragements in English and what she assumed to be German as he eased her head gently to his chest.

"I'm here, Zees, I got you. I ain't goin' anywhere, I promise. I promise."

Heaving, Alix wrapped her good arm around him, her breathing still erratic as she buried her face in his chest.

"Ikh hob dikh lib, mein libinke. Mein ziskeit." he murmured and for a brief second, her tears seemed to slow.

That word...Zees-kite...It's not in English but for a second, it seems to cut through the terror. It feels familiar, warm, safe.

But within seconds, the panic has overwhelmed her again, smacking her down mercilessly every time she thinks they're through like a stormy sea, sending her crashing against the rocks and she flinched again, painful memories threatening to drag her to the ocean floor once more.

"Hey, hey Zees, come back," he urged her softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, careful to avoid the bandages.

"Your mind's tryna take you someplace else, okay, but don't let it. Come back to me, Ziskeit, I know you can. Stay here. You're safe, Zees, you're safe."

Brushing the flood of tears away, even as still more come running down her cheeks, Alix clung to him like a lifeline, doing her best to focus on the present moment, focus on the warmth of his body, the subtle rasp of his voice, the callouses on his fingers, built up from years of training.

Joe began to trace soothing circles into her back, still murmuring to her, never allowing the panic to go unchallenged for even a second.

"You gotta breathe, dollface. I know it's hard but you gotta try for me, okay? Atta girl. In...and out. In...and out."

Alix sniffled and tried her best to concentrate, focusing on taking one shaky breath in at a time.

"Good," the paratrooper affirmed, lightly stroking her hair as he kept her pressed close to his chest. "You're doin' real good, okay? Just like that: In...and out. That's my girl."

Slowly but surely, Alix began to calm and to his credit, Joe kept his promise: he never left her side.

They stayed locked in their embrace for what felt like hours as the world seemed to turn around them.

The aid station was in a constant state of overflow and it seemed like there was a never-ending stream of patients being rushed in and out by the few medical personnel they had, meaning that no one even batted an eye at the exhausted-looking paratrooper now occupying the same cot in the corner as the spy.

Small mercies, Alix supposed as she finally relaxed enough to drift off to sleep, still tangled with Joe. Small mercies.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 1

(Ch. 2)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: With WWII raging across the European Theatre, OSS agent Alix "Pyro" Martinelli and paratrooper Joe Liebgott are forced to navigate their star-crossed romance at the worst possible time. With the knowledge that one or both of them could end up dead before the war's end, will their secret love survive the horrors that await them or break under the pressure? Simultaneously, as he prepares to send her into enemy territory, first-time case officer/handler Lewis Nixon struggles to shoulder the ever-present fear that the agent he's come to see as his little sister may not make it back alive.

A/N: Here it is!! Y'all know the drill lol, everything BoB is strictly based on the miniseries & my own headcanons, not the real-life ppl. Also pls be nice to me, this is the first thing I've written since like 2018-2019. It'll get better hopefully lol. (And yes, I'm making y'all wait for that coveted first interaction between Lieb x Alix lol bc I'm evil) 💖

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

The most important ally in a spy's life is their case officer, also known as their handler, and for some reason, Alix’s seemed determined to get her killed before she ever set foot in a war zone. 

"It wasn't a suggestion, Martinelli, it was an order. You’ve been sparring with your dominant hand all day. Switch hands." 

Alix barely had time to fumble her weapon from her belt before Lieutenant Nixon came at her face with a knife. 

"Shit!" 

She ducked as it sailed over her head but managed to pop back up just in time to block an incoming punch with her right forearm.

"Christ," Alix griped, swiping at Nixon with the knife in her left hand, grazing his arm with the flat of the blade. "A little warning would've been nice, y'know!"

"Oh I'm sorry," the intelligence officer remarked snidely, stepping out of her reach to avoid another slash. "Did you think the Krauts would send you a personal invitation?" 

 The younger agent didn’t answer, instead aiming a kick straight at Nixon's stomach. She was shorter than him by a good 6 inches even in boots but her legs were still just long enough to reach him.

The kick was hard enough to connect but gentle enough not to hurt too much, more of a tap than a true kick.

“Weak form,” Nixon called out, although his slight stumble backwards betrayed him.

She knew he was deliberately trying to piss her off so she’d make more mistakes.

He always said “Anger makes you stupid, stupid gets you killed.”

Nixon recovered quickly from the kick, dodging her attempt at a stab and returning one of his own, easily tapping her arm with the dull side of the blade.

“Too slow.”

Yeah? She cocked a perfectly manicured eyebrow. We’ll see about that.

On a whim, Alix faked a punch to Nixon’s left. It was a gamble but it worked. He fell for her ruse just like she’d hoped and as his focus shifted to blocking his left side, she was able to disarm him with a swift kick to the right, knocking the knife out of his hand and into the grass somewhere.

She put her hands on her hips and grinned, panting. That was the quickest disarm she'd done all day and she'd managed it using her non-dominant hand and after hours of non-stop physical training, no less.

Not bad for one of Director Donovan’s “glorious amateurs”, she mused.

Watching her superior fishing around in the pasture for his lost weapon was kind of cathartic, Alix thought to herself with a stifled laugh. Perhaps it was just schadenfreude but it felt nice to see him be the one to struggle for once.

Ever since the first day he’d been assigned as her handler two years ago, Lieutenant Nixon had made it his personal business to make her life a living hell.

She had tried to be cordial to him but he wanted nothing to do with her, even going so far as to only refer to her as “Agent” or “Martinelli”. He had run her ragged during OSS training, ruthlessly drilling her on everything from close-combat and weapon-handling to enduring an interrogation every day for a full three weeks.

Nothing was ever good enough for him; he could always find something to criticize. He expected her to commit written information to memory practically the second she received it and he wasn’t shy about quizzing her at random on everything from poisons to arteries to conversational French.

She thought he might loosen up after her graduation from the OSS program, once he’d seen that she had transformed from a society girl into a capable agent who didn’t need her supervisor breathing down her neck, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

He still saw her as the youngest and smallest trainee that needed constant supervision and strict discipline for even the most minor of infractions. 

Getting transferred to England for further training with their Special Operations Executive had been a welcome change of pace. Her handler had gone back to Toccoa, Georgia with the Airborne and she finally felt like she could breathe again.

Life with the SOE wasn’t nearly as stressful because it was a well-established organization and her superior officers there were much more laidback. She felt secure in her training and confident in her skills. But her relaxation was short-lived because after a year, the Airborne had transferred too and with them came her Draconian handler and a host of new trials to complete. Joy.

Despite Alix’s lifelong fear of heights, even completing her jump-training wasn’t as difficult as earning Lewis Nixon’s approval, and that was really saying something.

For whatever reason, the intelligence officer seemed determined to break her but the young OSS agent was even more determined to succeed.

No matter how hard he pushed her, she always pushed right back. The sight of an intimidating-looking officer glaring down at a petite woman 9 years younger and half a foot shorter than him like she was the Devil Incarnate after a particular bout of sass often provided endless entertainment for troopers passing by the training ground and Alix herself would've found it hilarious if she wasn't on the receiving end of said glare.

Digging her red-painted nails into her palms with frustration, Alix marched over to her handler and cleared her throat expectantly. 

The Lieutenant looked up from his field notebook and cocked a bushy eyebrow. 

“Did you want something, Agent?”

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed. Nixon’s air of deliberate nonchalance was really pushing her buttons and he knew it. The more heated she got, the colder he would get, but she could feel her temper bubbling just under the surface anyway.

“I have a name, you know,” she snapped. “It’s Alix.”

“I don’t care. You’re an assignment, not my friend. Now, what do you want?”

Alright, that’s it.

“Well number one, for you to stop treating me like a fucking child!”

“Then stop acting like one,” was the dismissive reply.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. You’re getting complacent. You’re going to be in extremely close-quarters with highly-skilled German officers, alone. If you make even the slightest mistake, if you're off by even a second, they’re going to eat you alive.”

“I’m a Sparrow,” she shot back. “A trained assassin. I’d like to see them try.” 

“You’re also what, 5’4” and a hundred-something pounds soaking wet? Some threat! If they disarm you, it's game over." 

Alix seethed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at her superior.

“I graduated top of my class. You’ve seen me fight! You know I’m as effective with a weapon as I am without one!” 

“With your right hand, maybe, but what if it’s restrained and you have to use your left?" 

“You worry too much.” 

“You don’t worry enough. You’re not strong enough to be effective against highly-trained soldiers without a weapon. Here, throw a punch with your left, I’ll show you what I mean.” 

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed and she gave a sarcastic smile.

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” 

She swung a long left-hook. Her knuckles had just grazed his jaw when he grabbed her wrist.

Using her own body’s momentum against her, he stepped in, hooking his arm under her armpit and easily flipping her over his shoulder onto the ground with a hard thud. 

“Fuck!” Alix coughed out, the breath forcibly knocked from her lungs due to the sudden impact. Laying on her back, she was winded and her muscles were burning but her mind was racing. She was down but not out.

Catching her breath, she shifted into a crouching position. Now she was seeing red.

Nixon meanwhile, was resting on his laurels. 

“See,” he announced from above with a smug, almost irritatingly paternal air. “What did I tell you? You’re not as effective unarmed. You need to train mo-”

THUMP!

Swinging her leg out in one fluid motion, Alix had caught his ankle, using a Tiger-Tail leg sweep to swipe her handler’s legs out from under him, bringing him crashing down next to her with a string of muttered curses.

“Doesn’t look like you’re that effective unarmed either, sir,” she said with a sarcastically-bright smile. “Maybe you should train more.”

The Lieutenant opened his mouth defensively, about to respond, but he was cut off by the sound of tires on the grass behind them.

Glancing up at the noise, Alix felt relief wash over her at the sight of Sergeant Bull Randleman and Lieutenant Winters crossing the field toward them in a Jeep. If anybody could temper Lewis Nixon’s attitude, it was those two. 

The dark-haired lieutenant got off the ground, dusting off his uniform. Turning to Alix, he offered her a hand but she gave him a scathing look that clearly said “I don’t want your damn help” so he retracted it with a shrug. 

Suit yourself. 

Inwardly groaning at her sore muscles, Alix gritted her teeth and silently dragged herself to her feet. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle.

As long as I'm still breathing, she thought. I'm fucking fine.

As the two officers approached, both she and Nixon saluted them.

“That was a damn near perfect takedown you just did,” Bull exclaimed with brotherly pride, chomping on the end of his trademark cigar as he and Winters approached. “And some disarm too! We saw when we was passin’ by earlier! You're some kinda killer now, huh, Pyro?”

“After two years of training, I sure hope so!” she chirped, grinning at the nickname. The memory of its origin always made her laugh.

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A year earlier: January 1944. Aldbourne, England.

On her first day training for her cover as a combat nurse with Easy, she’d gotten into an explosive argument with some guy named Cobb over a particularly sexist series of comments he’d made while cornering her outside, after one of Welsh’s riveting lectures on map-reading.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here anyway?” he’d asked, looking her up and down with a wolfish smirk. “War's no place for a woman like you, sweetheart.”

“I'm doing my part, same as you," she’d answered coolly. “And just for the record, ‘a woman’s place’ is wherever the hell she wants to be.”

With a bright, "Fuck you" smile, she had just pushed past him to be on her way when she distinctly heard him grumble “Jeez, learn to take a compliment, bitch.”

The shouting match that followed quickly escalated into a physical brawl the moment the phrase “all bust, no brains” came out of his mouth. The fight only ended minutes later when a still-cursing Alix was physically dragged off of a barely-conscious Cobb by Bull, who didn’t want the new girl committing murder on her first day.

“Well ain’t you a little firecracker!” Bull had remarked, shaking his head in amusement. 

And thus, the nickname Pyro was born.

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

“So what are your thoughts, Nix?” Winters inquired. “You’re her handler, after all. Is she ready?”

 There was a short silence and Alix held her breath.

What if he lied and told Dick she was terrible? What if he got her kicked off the mission and the whole Sparrow program never got off the ground because of it? What if- 

“It wasn’t a bad session—” Nixon started after a minute of thought and Alix exhaled.

Thank God. 

 “—But her disarm could’ve been faster. Her shooting is fine with her right hand but she can’t make a left-handed headshot worth a damn, let alone in the time frame she needs to.”

“Well,” Bull drawled matter-of-factly. “considerin’ it’s her left hand she’s workin’ with and ‘s far as we know, she ain’t left-handed, I reckon just bein’ able to hit the target is somethin’. She's somethin' to see shootin' with her right though! Kill-shots every time."

Winters nodded in silent agreement, making some small notations on the clipboard he was carrying before looking over at Nixon, green eyes meeting black.

“Mind if I have a word with you, Lew? In private?” he asked, gesturing for them to take a short walk back to the Jeep and the dark-haired man shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Sure thing, Dick.” 

He gave a curt nod to Alix and a strained smile to Bull before the two men started off. 

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“Now, far be it from me to tell you how to run things,” Winters began tentatively once they had arrived at the car. “But don’t you think you’re being just a bit too harsh on her?” 

He leaned against the Jeep, giving his friend a scrutinizing look. 

“I mean, did you really expect her to be able to make a head-shot with her non-dominant hand? Can you even make that kind of shot with your left hand, Nix, let alone in under 5 seconds?”

"No but I’m also not the one who’s going to be locked in a room every other night, up close and personal, with members of the SS, the Gestapo, or God knows who else,” Nixon countered, beginning to pace. “She needs to be prepared, goddamn it.” 

Dick frowned as he watched his best friend. He’d never seen Lew this anxious before. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could get the words out, his friend cut him off.

“There’s no room for mistakes, Dick,” Nixon insisted, his voice rising. “She’s good, really good, but she has to be the best or she's going to get herself killed out there!" 

“She is the best or she wouldn’t have been recruited in the first place,” Winters replied evenly.

“We all know that Soviet Swallows aren't recruited at random and neither are American Sparrows. She was chosen because she can handle it.”

Nixon shook his head. 

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” the redhead said bracingly.

“She’s been training non-stop for two years, in everything from poison usage to intelligence-gathering, seduction to pickpocketing. Hell Nix, you just flipped her onto the ground and she still managed to take you out too in a matter of seconds! She’s a crack-shot and speaks how many foreign languages now?” 

“Three,” the dark-haired man conceded. “Italian, French, and Spanish. Four if you count a working knowledge of Russian.” 

“Exactly. And on top of it, she has the smartest man I know as her handler. Even if I didn’t have faith in her, which I do, I have faith in you and your abilities and so does Bill Donovan or he wouldn’t have personally assigned you to such a new program.” 

Nixon rubbed the back of his neck worriedly, his mouth set in a hard line.

A part of him knew that Dick was right— all of the relentless pressure he’d put on her had paid off because Alix really was one of the best to come out of the OSS but still, that nagging fear just wouldn't leave him alone.

He had a bad feeling about all this. 

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2 Years Earlier: June 1942. Washington DC, USA.

He thought back to his first briefing on agent handling with the OSS two years earlier. He had been among a group of about eight officers called to OSS headquarters for a personal conference with the director, Bill Donovan himself. 

Once all of the handshaking and small-talk had died down, everyone spread out and took their seats, an expectant hush falling over the small crowd.

“Gentlemen,” Donovan began, his gravelly voice piercing the thick air. “There are whispers in the intelligence community that the Russians are developing a new program.” 

Nixon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, struggling to concentrate. It was stiflingly hot in his uniform and the air conditioner in the office had stopped working, much to everyone’s chagrin.

He could feel the sweat dripping down his back and he grimaced.

This better be good.

“We have received Intel from our sources in Russia that strongly confirms the use of so-called ‘Soviet Swallows’-” 

“Like the bird, sir?” the officer across from Nixon piped up and Donovan let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, like the bird, son. "

Nixon might've laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"These Russian Swallows are part of a new program utilizing female spies who are highly trained and tasked with infiltrating and incapacitating the enemy. They combine the deadliness and discipline of a soldier with the glamour and grace of a movie star."

There were some oohs and aahs from the officers around him but Nixon remained silent.

If they were as highly trained as Donovan was suggesting-- and knowing the Russians, he had no doubt they were-- these Swallows, whoever they were, would be extremely dangerous and effective agents in the field.

"Now," Donovan continued. "Our objective is to get ahead of them. The president has tasked us here at the OSS with creating a similar program, known as the Sparrow Program, and we need capable officers like yourselves to lead it. If all goes well, these young ladies I am assigning you today will be the very future of American espionage.” 

The men in the room all began to exchange curious glances.

The meeting itself had been scheduled for some time but all of the information about it had been considered Classified, so nobody had known how significant the project actually was. The nervousness and excitement in the room was palpable.

“The files that I am handing out to you now, gentlemen, are our first class of agents. Each of them have been carefully selected from the top schools and families across the country. They are the best and brightest that the United States has to offer. You have all been assigned one agent and as her handler, you will be personally responsible for her from today onward. You will be training her, managing her operations, arranging drops and meetings with Resistance contacts, processing the Intel she brings so it can be passed up the ladder, and you will be her lifeline if anything, God forbid, goes wrong.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before he added brightly, “But no pressure."

Nixon made a bitter noise in the back of his throat and sipped the cup of black coffee he’d gotten from the lobby.

Oh yeah, he thought cynically. No pressure at all.

"Now when I read off your name, raise your hand and my assistant will present you with the file of your first operative, who you will be sending behind enemy lines at a time and date to be specified. I will be personally available to answer any questions, should you have them. First up...Atkins!"

Nixon stared straight ahead, past the officer sitting across from him, out the window, to the treeline as he waited for his name to be called.

Great, the lieutenant mused bitterly. I get to be responsible for someone else's life now too. Because I'm doing so well managing my own.

Once the folders had all been handed out, the director began to circle the room, periodically answering questions as they were asked.

Lieutenant Nixon let the file sit closed on the table for a minute, just staring at it, as he mentally prepared himself to look into the face of the person he would be sending into enemy territory.

Steeling himself, he reached for the folder and opened it, glancing inside before immediately slamming it shut. 

The girl looked so young in her photo, barely 21, and for a split-second, in her glossy black curls and dark eyes, he saw his baby sister, Blanche smiling back at him. He suddenly felt ill. 

"Ah, you got Miss Martinelli," Donovan said, suddenly appearing over his shoulder as if sensing his doubts. "Alix is a charming girl. Quite a rebellious streak no doubt, but one of our most promising recruits. A swan among sparrows, if you will. Educated at St. Mary’s-- one of the finest finishing schools in the country, I might add-- and top of her class in our training facility as well. Her father, Emilio, is a good friend of mine. He's in oil, as I'm sure you know."

Nixon gave a half-smile, hoping he looked convincing and interested. He had no idea who Emilio Martinelli was nor did he care.

Rubbing elbows with other rich people was his mother's department, not his.

Casting one more glance at the folder, he took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to rid himself of the violent wave of nausea that hit him relentlessly.

From the moment he saw the photo, it had dawned on him just how easily the girl in the folder could have been his sister and now it wouldn’t leave his mind. She was just like Blanche in almost every way. This was somebody's little sister, no doubt.

And how could he send his little sister to die? He couldn’t.

Donovan had just turned to move on to the next officer when at the last minute, Nixon caught him by the sleeve.

“Sir,” he begged, his voice low. "Not her. Anyone but her. Please.”

The director’s brow furrowed.

“Son, I'm afraid everything's already been arranged. There's no backing out now."

The younger man quailed.

What was he supposed to do? Keep pleading? Tell the director he couldn’t take on the recruit because he couldn’t look her in the face without seeing his baby sister?

That was exactly what he did. 

To his relief, Donovan didn't laugh. Instead, he put a bracing hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. 

“You say she reminds you of your sister back home, right Lieutenant?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Then prepare her like you’d prepare your sister. Protect her. Keep her alive.”

“Yes sir.”

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

Winters cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the silence between them as he wracked his brain for how best to broach the delicate subject on his mind. 

"Lew…uh…"

"Spit it out, Dick," Nixon intoned from beside him without even looking up. 

Winters did his best to oblige.

 

"Is this..um..Is there some sort of a romance thing going on with you and her or something? You just seem really torn up but I thought she had a thing going with.." 

Nixon jerked his head back with a flabbergasted look like he'd just been told Winters was moonlighting as a circus clown.

"What?! Oh God no, Dick, she's like my kid sister! Christ, she's a child!" 

"She's twenty-three, isn’t she?" 

"Yes, exactly! She's a child!" 

Winters laughed and shook his head in amusement.

"You act like being in our thirties makes us ancient. But good, I’m glad we got that cleared up then because I was going to say, if that's your problem, I can't help you. I’m not very good with that sort of thing."

A teasing smile played at the corner of Nixon’s lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Say, do me a favor, Dick?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“If you ever have any more wildly off-base speculations about my love life, keep ‘em to yourself. In all the years I've known you, I don't think you've been right one time."

They both laughed but the auburn-haired officer sobered quickly.

"In all seriousness, Nix, lighten up a little on Martinelli, okay? She’ll be fine. Letting her have a little fun once in a while won’t hurt, especially since we're due out any day now.”

The intelligence officer cocked an eyebrow slyly. 

“Since when are you lecturing me on 'lightening up' and 'having fun'?" he asked, black eyes glittering with barely-contained mirth.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend Dick?”

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