#Joe Liebgott x OC

[indigo-graves]

This Dance pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott

Summary: Part two, in which everyone is fighting to hold back exactly what they want to say.

Word count: 3,857

Warnings: SMUT

There was a conversation that needed to happen that Joe Liebgott was not quite bring himself to start. As they stood in the crowded room, the roaring of the speakers around them felt overwhelming. After settling into the quietness of their lives’ new pace, watching the footage from the Pacific seemed a stark and unwelcomed contrast. Liebgott wondered if he would have felt this way if he had not spent the entire fight in Europe wondering what it would be like to start a life with Evelyn Mosey when this was all over. If there was one thought that got him through the blasts, the cold and wet, seemingly endless nights, it was her. And the idea that he would never be without her again. 

He tried to steal subtle glances over to her as she watched the footage screen. Her jaw was set. Her full lips pressed into a firm line. Her dark eyes were focused intently, never once bothering to look over at him. He watched a wave of tension ripple in her neck. She tilted her head side to side, rolling her shoulders up to meet her ears. A simple gesture that would have gone unnoticed to anyone but him. 

When they shuffled out, he made sure to keep sight of her. The masses that filed out trickled out taking different paths, he made a bee-line for her. Years spent in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to glance, to touch, to speak, he knew how to keep himself at a distance, while still in her warm orbit.  

“I don’t want to talk about it now, Lieb,” she told him adamantly, looking down the hallway both ways to ensure that no one else was interested in their exchange. 

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. Never had he been with a woman who was so consistently unfeeling when it did not benefit her. “Can I just--” 

She watched someone walk past them, behind Liebgott. They exchanged a nod of recognition. Her face fell from its friendly openness to one of frustration when she met his gaze again. 

“Just come in,” she opened the door wider and encouraged him to move quickly. “I don’t want to do this out here.” 

Liebgott had seen her room since their time began at Zell Am See. The time he spent there was less than he would have liked. If he had imagined a true celebration of the victory in Europe, it would not have been so distant from her. 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” She was firm in her words, but her hand was gentle as it touched the buttons on his shirt. He nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. He knew there weren’t going to be any words he could say to demand her to comply. He could not claim her strong will was his favorite thing about her and then admonish her for it when it did not benefit him. “Please?” 

The way she looked up at him with those large doe eyes made him feel a warmth spread in his chest and abdomen. He touched her face gently and nodded, tracing her jawline with his thumb. He had spent half the fucking war holding back a proposal of marriage, children, a life together. He bit back vows of eternity and forever. He withheld the words “I love you.” Surely one more fucking day made no difference. 

She smiled and took him by the hand, slowly backing him towards the bathroom. 

There was an electric current that radiated through every vein in his body when she reached to turn the shower on. He was convinced there would never be a time where he was not breathless in anticipation to see her undress. He felt the twitch of need in his groin just thinking of the moment where he would watch the water touch her naked flesh. So when she started to work on the buttons of her shirt, he sat back on the corner of the clawfoot tub with a playful smirk. 

Evelyn rolled her eyes as she watched him perch himself on the tub. If there was one thing she was going to miss about Joseph Liebgott, it was going to be his boyish charm. The way his eyes danced over her appraisingly caused her skin to catch light with blue flame, so hot it felt cool and caused her to erupt in goosebumps. She stepped out of her boots skillfully as she worked on the buttons of her shirt. When she pulled it over her shoulders and left it in a pile on the ground, she heard a small whistle from her observer. 

Liebgott felt a pang in his stomach while he watched her start to work on her pants. Ignoring all thoughts and feelings (how did she do it?) about what was to come, he focused on the way her deft fingers worked on her buttons, letting them fall to her feet. Though he had ensured that every part of her had been explored by eager hands, lips, and tongue, it was taking everything in him not to get to his knees and help her escort those pants the rest of the way to her ankles. 

She stepped out of the last of her clothes with a smile. He bit his lip as he glanced over her body. Evelyn had resigned herself that there would never be another man who made her so hungry to be stared at in this way again. His eyes carried just enough devotion to balance the intense desire that made her feel like the only woman on the planet. He once had told her he would watch her read the phone book just to stare at her lips. 

Liebgott licked his lips softly, shifting to adjust the fullness in his pants. No coaxing, no teasing, simply the pure sight of her undressing herself, all for him, caused such a stir in him. It was exactly that gesture that Evelyn watched hungrily, her eyes darkening as she pinned her lower lip between her teeth. That was all the indication Joe needed to close the gap between them. 

He braced the back of her head, her dark curls tangling perfectly around his large fingers when he pulled her close. He wanted to taste the spot of her mouth where she had bit down. A needy whimper betrayed Evelyn as it eased up from her throat. It was so very like Joe Liebgott to pull all kinds of unprompted sounds from her eager throat. The way his mouth moved with hers was a dance the two of them had skillfully mastered. Lieb couldn’t help but smirk as he thought about the other kinds of dances she had shared with other men. Nothing could compare to this. Ever. 

His hands worked at the buttons of his own shirt. He made a quick and sloppy job of getting it off and tossing it to the floor, his undershirt quick behind it. There was a simple and intense maneuver Evelyn had mastered in getting his belt undone with nimble fingers. It always left him growling against her lips. He gripped her scantily clad behind and squeezed, pulling her hips into his with a force that caused them both to let out a groan. 

“Joey,” she breathed, her lips swollen, his pridefully wearing the ghost of her red lipstick. He smirked, feeling himself twitch at the sound of her need. He busied himself with kissing her neck, his thumbs teasing the cups of her bra. She worked to unbutton his pants, chest heaving, eyes heavily lidded. 

“Yeah?” He grinned against her skin. She moaned again, biting her swollen lower lip and shuddering as he kissed down over her sternum. “What is it?” he asked teasingly. “Tell me.” The demand was placed just before he nipped at the skin of her right breast. He tugged at his waistband and let his pants fall with a gasp. 

“Take me,” she murmured, feeling his desperate length through his boxers with her hand. 

“You know how this works, doll.” He smiled, making eye contact with her. He could taste her desperate shudders as he pressed their foreheads together. Their eyes were locked so intensely that she felt him twitch under her hand. “You don’t get any of me until I’ve had my fill of you first.” 

She leaned up and kissed him with a groan, reaching around and taking it upon herself to get her bra off. Lieb took the hint and cast his boxers to the floor, slowly stroking himself as she watched her expose every inch of her perfect body to him. The strain his erection had felt boyish, desperate, and fucking incredible. Never in his life did he think he would find himself a puddle of need at the simple sight of a woman. 

She knew it, of course. Evelyn teased him with a smirk as she kicked her underwear to the side with a delicate gesture, her toes pointed. She turned and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her delicate muscles of her back, the perfect curve of her hips, her ass, her strong thighs. He continued to touch himself, the way she always reminded him to, when he watched her turn on the water. He knew she longed to be needed in the way he needed her. Joe tried not to think about who would prove to her just how incredible she was when he was no longer around. Biting back every question that bubbled over in his throat, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. 

When his chest pressed against her back, Evelyn hummed contently. His length settled against the curve of her rear, his lips near her ear as he leaned down. She watched as his hand traced the length of her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps with the gentlest touch. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. He pressed his lips to her shoulder as he slowly moved his hand toward her exposed breasts. When his large hand fully enveloped her, she felt the gentle brush of his palm over her nipple that encouraged a moan. He chuckled in her ear as his other hand trailed the curve of her hip toward her desperate center. “Fuck,” he growled, feeling her wetness with the gentle touch of the pad of his finger. Gently pulling her hair up into his fist, he held it away from her neck as he planted hungry kisses on her skin. Sucking, scraping his teeth, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin where her neck and shoulder met while he drew slow circles around her most sensitive spot. Gasping, pressing back against him, melting into his ministrations, Evelyn felt like she was unable to promise her legs’ ability to hold her up much longer. 

“Please, Joe,” she begged breathlessly. “Please.” 

Joe chuckled from deep in his chest. She felt it rumble against her back. He took his hand away, missing the warmth of her on his fingers immediately. She turned to him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust, searching his desperately. He smiled at her, took the finger that had worked on her so deftly, and placed it to his lips, flicking his tongue over the pad, his eyes locked with hers. 

“Mmm…” He groaned, stepping towards her, backing her into the shower. “God damn…” he growled, watching as her body was hit by the hot water. 

Joe watched her, watching the beads of water create paths down over the curves of her body. With her taste on his desperate tongue, his eyes on her perfect body, his heart beating in his chest, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out much longer. Whether it was the vulnerability of the space they occupied, the time left together that felt too short, or the intoxicating effect he had on him, he couldn’t distinguish. All he knew is that he had to have her. 

There was a beat that passed between them where they were sizing each other up. Evelyn felt the desperation of the moment hit her with a depth she had not recognized. God, if he would just be a little less delicate and loving in those touches, she could excuse away the lump growing in her throat as she watched the way he looked at her. She had always been enough for him. He had always reminded her of that. 

In a quick attempt to avoid him seeing the tears welling up in her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him. The way their lips crashed into one another had an urgency he had not felt from her before. Her hunger was bone deep. He traced her jaw, tenderly caressing her neck, flicking her hair over her shoulder. His length stood at attention between them, gently nudging the flesh of her belly. He rocked forward to feel the friction as he ghosted a gentle trail down her arms to her warm, capable hands. 

When he laced their fingers together, she felt him back her into the wall of the shower. The cool tile was an intense contrast to the warm water that hit her front. He laced their fingers together, pressing it gently against the wall beside her head, pinning it there. She watched a coy smirk cross his lips as he pulled away from her. She giggled, tracing the curve of his lower lip, cleaning up the lipstick he had stolen from her mouth. He leaned down and took that thumb between his teeth, flicked his thumb over the pad, and chuckled. She laughed, a playful swat at his cheek against his cheek, pulled her thumb back and replaced it with her lips. 

Joe held her against the wall with the weight of his body. Slowly, he started to trail those kisses down over her body, his hand still tightly clasped in hers. He loved the feeling of her grip on his hand tightening as he placed kisses to the more intimate parts of her body. The spot between her breasts, her left nipple, just above her belly button (God, would he miss that fucking giggle), the curve of her hip, the top of her thigh. He directed her hand to the back of his head and left it there, needing both of his hands to tenderly separate her thighs, pulling one up over his shoulder as he got to his knees. 

“Joe…” she breathlessly tangled her hands in his hair and gripped as he pressed his mouth to the place where she needed him most. There was a wave of gasps that followed that caused him to smirk against her, following the work of his tongue with the addition of a skilled finger. 

Mindful of shared walls, used to keeping herself quiet by biting pillows and shoulders, Evelyn was left to trap the back of her hand in her teeth as he worked. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her as she touched her, teased her, tongued her with the skill of a much more experienced man. But, she recognized, he was an experienced man. He was a man who knew her so fully that he was able to coax the most unladylike noises from her throat with ease. He knew her inside and out in every way possible. The intimate attention he paid to the details of her body felt like the worship of a deity; the way he enacted that devotion felt sinful. 

Overwhelmed by every sensation between her legs, she found herself grasping at the back of his head and shoulders, her hips moving up to meet his attentive mouth and fingers. He moaned against her repeatedly, desperate to draw every curse she knew from her delicate mouth. Grinning with desire, with power, with pleasure, he worked attentively on her body, his only goal to push her to her limits. He stopped the hand that was working at his own length and snaked it up over her body, tracing her edges to take her heaving breast in his hands. They moaned in unison, his sending vibrations to the core of her being. In that moment, she came undone around his fingers, against his tongue, spilling out desperate whimpers and cries of his name. Joe could have spent an eternity in the sound of her sweet need. 

Evelyn, on the other hand, was unable to let too long pass without any part of him inside of her. His vacancy was felt immediately when she pulled him to his feet, gently guided by the fistful of his dark hair. She kissed him as if it would be their last, unsure if it would be, and teased a hand over his eager length, guiding him towards her. 

Joe, pleased to know she was as needy as he felt, pulled away from her lips and tongue. He gripped her hips and turned her away from him, her ass pulled against his hard length in the most satisfying way. She moaned at the contact, he held his own back. He tucked her hair behind her ear as to not obscure her vision as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. He kissed her temple, her ear, her jaw, neck, and shoulder. His hand encouraged her thighs apart, lifting a leg to the edge of the tub where her foot found purchase. 

Swiftly, skillfully, and perfectly, he entered her, pulling a satisfied, guttural moan from deep within them both.

“Fuck,” he gasped against her neck. The way he gripped her hips was bruising as they both accommodate his eager entrance. He felt her skin erupt in goosebumps against his chest. He pressed forward, making sure he reached her depths with all he had. She reached back, stiffening against him, her fingers lacing with his against her hip. 

Slowly, consistently, deeply, he started a pace with his hips. The water that fell between them from above made their skin glisten and it pooled where their bodies met. The gentle slap of their skin meeting with gentle force made her giggle. He kissed her cheek, unable to hold back the groans of pleasure that spilled from his lips. She gasped, pushing back against him as she angled herself to take him deeper. 

That was all Joe needed to encourage him to pick up his pace. The swiftness in which their bodies collided called new noises from her mouth. He kissed her upper back and shoulders while he steadied himself, pulling her back onto him. 

“Oh, god…” she reached toward the wall to find something to grip. The slick tiles gave her no purchase. That was when she reached behind her, wrapping a hand around his neck, gripping the hairs at the base of his scalp. Liebgott groaned loudly, gripping her hips tighter. His other hand trailed up toward her breast, gripping it gently in his hands, memorizing its shape, weight, the hardness of her nipple against his palm. 

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He grunted into her ear, only further pulling strings of incoherence from her mouth. She bit her lip hard, feeling an overwhelm of emotion take over her body like a wave. The lump grew double in size in her throat as she met his every thrust, stars behind her eyes. Unable to respond, he continued. “You’re so perfect. Fuck, Evie.” Her name felt like chocolate on his lips. She turned over her shoulder to taste it on them. Her eyes screwed shut as the tears burned behind them, he continued to bring her body to new heights. When he reached down between her legs, she became overwhelmed. The threat of tears was hard to fight off. 

“Joe--” she breathed, the sound of his name clipped by the failure to stop a sob from leaving her lips. The phrase he pulled from her next caused her to bite her tongue between her teeth. 

“I--” Joe started. She heard the start of her own words start to come from his mouth. The feeling, the desperation of her overwhelming emotions was contagious. He couldn’t tell where his heartbreak, his pleasure, his love, began and where hers ended. The only way to stop himself from telling her just how he felt about her was to sink his teeth in her shoulder, as she had done to him so many times. Familiar with the sensation, Evelyn felt the pressure, the sting, and every unsaid word behind the contact on her shoulder. She turned away, fearful he would stop if he saw the tears cascading down her cheeks, he would stop. She screwed her eyes shut as she felt a heat building inside of her. 

Desperate to feel her come undone around him, under him, with him, he teased her more intentionally with his fingers, his hips working in time with his skillful touch. If he couldn’t tell her, he could show her. 

“Please,” she begged. He had come to know it as the last phrase, the last push, before he was gifted with her orgasm. “Joe--” 

As he felt her start to push back against him, taking every inch of him, all of him, so intentionally. The feel of her as she let go, her body working desperately to pull him over the edge with her, he followed. The two of them tumbled over together, a tangled mess of limbs, pants, sobs, and everything they swore they’d never fucking say.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 28

(Ch. 27) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: “If we could light up the room with pain, we’d be such a glorious fire.” - Ada Limon

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, the usual.

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me fucking FOREVER to get this out, y'all! A LOT has been going on in these past months (the demise of a longterm relationship, renovations on my house, new jobs etc) but I hope this is worth the wait! 💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu @emmylindersson @flowers-and-fichte

Contemporary: Midnight, December 3rd, 1944. Liart Station, France.

When the door to her private train compartment was opened, Alix made a silent promise to herself: As soon as the war was over, she was turning in her goddamn resignation letter to the OSS and going home. She couldn’t handle any more surprises on the job, not like this one. 

“Sorry, I’m late, gorgeous," a lowered voice had remarked wryly as soon as the compartment door slid shut once more.

"You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

The whisper came from a young man in a heavy coat who casually dropped into the seat next to her as though he belonged there. The dark brim of his fedora was pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in shadow, but she didn’t need to see its entirety to know who it was; she would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded out of the corner of her mouth, making sure to keep her expression neutral as she flipped through her newspaper and fought the urge to smack the newcomer with it. 

“Thought Nix woulda told ya,” Liebgott looked almost amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

He too spoke out of the corner of his mouth; someone had taught him well. 

“Donovan needed an interrogator with an Austrian dialect. Said this one’s gonna be a real doozy. Called me in as a temp.” 

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed, causing her blue contacts to sting.

“You’re the floater? You’re–” 

“Lieutenant Fritz Eberhardt,” he finished with a nod, casually taking his right hand out of his pocket to reveal the worn, silver skull ring of the Werwolf Kommandos, engraved with the tell-tale motto of the SS:

‘Meine Ehre Heisst Treue’. 

My Honor Means Loyalty.

How ironic.

The paratrooper and translator shot her a roguish wink, leaning back with an arm stretched out lazily along the back of his seat like nothing was wrong. 

“I've been assigned to accompany you to your Paris engagement, Fraulein." 

The spy stiffened.

This was the first time that she could recall ever seeing Joe out of uniform and it would be a shame to get blood all over his nice coat but sweet Jesus, Alix was about ready to make that sacrifice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the auburn-haired girl muttered under her breath. “You’re going to get us both killed.” 

“You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Joe chuckles. “Trust me-”

"Right, because that's gone so well for me before," the spy snapped sharper than intended.

Joe's eyebrows shot to the compartment ceiling, his cocky demeanor gone in a flash, replaced by a sudden scowl.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" 

Before Alix could find the words to reply, the shrill whistle of the train screamed out, indicating their departure from Liart Station and the spy took a shaky breath, hearing the rumbling of the wheels on the track underneath them.

She was stuck with him now.

Trying to ignore the ache in her chest at Joe's unexpected presence, Alix tried to force her unfocused eyes to stare at the newspaper in her hands but the words only blurred before her.

"Didja do a bug sweep already?" Joe inquired with a casual yawn as he glanced across her to the window, while Alix flipped the page of her newspaper so hard that she nearly tore it. 

"Of course I did," the spy answered indignantly, unable to contain her irritation.

"That's why you were supposed to come early: to help me look. Listening devices could've been anywhere in here." 

“Don’t gimme that shit,” Joe scoffed in an almost dismissive tone as he tapped the filter of his Reemtsma cigarette.

“Since the liberation, the Krauts have lost a lot of resources and stick to their secret little underground social clubs or whatever. I got the whole rundown from HQ.”

Alix huffed.

Joe was right, damn him. 

While on the surface, France had cleaned up its act, the rotten undergrowth of Nazis and their collaborators remained, festering beneath the surface. 

The chances of them taking the time to bug train compartments were miniscule at best.

“Still,” she responded with a petulant roll of her eyes. “You should’ve been here on time. You never know.”

"Yeah, well you ain't the only one with shit to take care of, okay? I got held up." 

Alix's dark eyes flickered up from her newspaper. 

"Define 'held up'," she said coolly, an undeniably bitter edge to her tone. “What, pray tell, was so pressing?”

Joe crossed his arms and took a long drag off his cigarette before replying snippily,

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tatiana.”

"It's Tanya, Alix snapped before flipping another page on her newspaper as though she were reading it instead of boring holes into Joe’s face.

“And I would like to know, actually. Because I'd like to think you wouldn't be late to your first assignment without a good reason but maybe I don't know you as well as I thought." 

“Fine.”

Joe's warm brown eyes were suddenly as hard as the wood paneling in the compartment they shared but he shifted the side of his coat up nonetheless, just enough to show a huge cherry-red stain that had blossomed across one side of his ribs.

"There, that a good enough reason for ya?" 

“Madonna mia!” Alix exclaimed, all pretense of anger gone in a flash. “What the hell happened?! Are you alright?”

Joe shrugged nonchalantly.

“Somebody did a shit job friskin' the prisoners so ol' Jerry got to bring a fuckin' boot knife with him to interrogation,” he muttered as he readjusted his coat. "'S not as bad as it looks.”

"Did you have Gene take a look at it?" Alix asked, eyeing his red-soaked shirt with concern. "That's a lot of blood…"

"No, I didn't have 'Gene' look at it," Joe shot back, a mocking edge to his voice as he spat the medic's name, biting down on his cigarette.

"’S fine. Barely a scratch." 

The auburn-haired girl snorted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her tone.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

The translator took a long drag, his expression unreadable. 

“Well, I ain’t your problem anymore,Your Majesty,” he remarked sardonically as he let the smoke curl into the air.

"So you can lay off."

  “You’ll always be my problem,” Alix grumbled under her breath and the pair lapsed into a chilly silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of the newspaper under her fingertips and the rumbling of the train on the tracks.

Still keeping her head angled downward to avoid that familiar ache that seemed to rise in her chest whenever she looked him in the face, Alix let herself study the compartment instead.

In truth, their private compartment was borderline ostentatious – plush maroon upholstery upon the seating, rich mahogany paneling upon the walls, thick velvet curtains adorning the windows to keep the outside world at bay– but the spy could barely concentrate on the luxurious decor either.

Instead, she found herself studying Joe's hands. She still had only fleeting memories of him from before her fall but his hands were one of the few things she remembered the most. 

They had been paler back in England, not yet marred by the blood and grime of the battlefield, the blue veins still snaking up the back all the way to his wrist. She remembered tangled sheets and breathless laughter as they each struggled to catch their breath. She remembered her own scarlet-polished nails tracing each vein in the hand resting beside her, feeling the way his pulse would quicken when she smiled at him.

His fingers were still as calloused and long as she remembered, almost graceful in their strength, and she could still feel the ghost of them interlocking with her own like missing puzzle pieces finally finding their way together.

There weren’t any more ink stains on his fingertips, Alix realized, and she was suddenly half-tempted to make a snide remark about chasing two girls and getting neither, but she kept her silence. 

No need to make an already awkward situation worse, she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Like it or not, they had a mission to complete.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

The French countryside seemed to pass by in blurs of green, gold, and blue, like the vibrant swirls of a priceless Van Gogh but Alix hardly noticed. 

The spy had been fiddling with the worn handle of a discarded leather briefcase that had been left behind in the luggage rack under her seat. Beside her, Joe was violently twisting the Werwolf skull ring around and around upon his finger, wrenching it with such ferocity that it looked as though he might tear his finger off in the process.

"I hate this," he muttered bitterly, seemingly more to himself than to Alix as he glared down at his calloused hands. 

"I fuckin' hate this." 

"Hate what?" the spy inquired softly, cocking her head and allowing some of her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.

Joe glanced up at the sound of her voice, clearly not expecting her to speak to him, but he recovered fast as ever.

"This," he replied simply, gesturing to the Werwolf skull ring. 

"Wearing this. Gevalt, it makes me wanna claw my fuckin' skin off.” 

Alix felt a pang of sympathy. She couldn’t even fathom the excruciating cognitive dissonance Joe must be experiencing right now, playing a role he despised…but why bother playing it in the first place? 

Why put himself through the unnecessary pain? He was only a floater– a consultant– for this one mission. He had the power to back out at any time. It didn’t make sense but then, nothing about Joe seemed to make much sense lately.

Alix watched as he lit up another cigarette, his third in an hour, glaring across her, out the window at something unseen. 

He was chainsmoking again, like he always did when he was agitated, and all she could do was let the silence sit and watch him wrench the skull ring harder and harder around his finger.

It was unsettling when Joe was quiet: his rage she could combat; his brooding she couldn’t.

The auburn-haired spy found herself sneaking quick glances over at him out of the corner of her eye, the tension hanging thick in the air around them like the early morning fog.

Surprisingly, Joe was the first to break.

“Look, you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“What is there to say?” Alix retorted, her grip on the briefcase’s handle tightening considerably. 

“I’m perfectly capable of traveling on my own. I don't need a floater and I certainly don't need you.”

Joe crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the seat. 

“Well tell that to Donovan then, ziskeit,” he yawns. 

"'Cause I got orders to watch your six till the job's done." 

Alix opened her mouth to complain but she was interrupted by a light knocking on the compartment door and Joe immediately shoved his right hand deep into his pocket to hide the infamous skull ring. 

A disgruntled train attendant appeared, regarding both Joe and Alix with the same beady, bloodshot stare as he stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Papers,” the Frenchman demanded with an outstretched hand.

Alix nodded with a casual “Certainement” and set aside the discarded briefcase, retrieving her false identification from her handbag and passing it to the man with what she hoped was a convincingly haughty eyeroll. 

The attendant--whose yellowed nametag identified him as Guillaume-- wore a peevish expression almost identical to their old CO, Captain Sobel, which brought a smirk to Alix's face.

The thought of the sadistic superior officer who had made their lives hell for so long being reduced to a glorified bellhop punching tickets and checking IDs was enough to bring them both a smidgen of joy.

Her gaze flickered over to Joe, who returned the smirk with one of his own, the inside joke seeming to almost bridge the gap between them.

The attendant skimmed over Alix's paperwork, handing it back to her without issue, and then it was Joe's turn.

“You, identification.”

Compliantly, Joe dug into his jacket pocket for his passport with his left hand but as he passed the small booklet to the attendant, it slipped from his fingers toward the carpet. 

Automatically, the translator’s dominant hand shot out of his right pocket to intercept them but it was too late: the skull ring on his right hand was in full view. 

The attendant swore as he snatched up Joe’s fake Austrian passport, staring down at it and back to the tell-tale ring as his face reddened with rage.

“Y-You-” he snarled, his lip curled in disgust and a gloved finger shaking as he pointed at Joe. “You are-” 

“Wha- No, no!” Joe protested, immediately reaching out for his passport back in a desperate bid to quiet him. 

“I’m not-” 

But the Frenchman shoved him off roughly and spat an anti-German epithet at him as Joe’s back hit the seat.

“Boche!”

Joe’s eyes narrowed instantly at the slur and he came back strong, lunging forward to seize the attendant by the collar but Alix stood up, trying to shove her way between them to keep the scuffle from getting out of hand. 

The auburn-haired spy could smell the heavy stench of cheap wine on the older man's breath as she separated the pair and she knew there was no reasoning with him.

The drunken attendant spun on his heel, immediately heading for the compartment door, his final words slurred as his rage boiled over. 

“Filthy swine! Nazi pig! You-”

Alix felt a block of ice drop into her stomach as the man’s large, gloved hand reached the door handle. 

It was no secret that since the liberation, people of German extraction weren't exactly welcome in most of French polite society. 

The épuration sauvage was in full-swing, thousands of suspected collaborators being beaten, tortured, and executed by incensed crowds of French people.

If this man went and ran his mouth off about a Werwolf Kommando on the train, Joe could be mobbed as soon as he set foot outside their compartment. 

This chilling revelation seemed to flip a switch in Alix’s brain: If the man left their compartment, Joe’s life could be in danger.

She couldn’t take that risk.

Slipping behind the drunken attendant with the silent ease of a tigress, the world seemed to slow around her as her training kicked in. Hopping onto the seat for a better vantage point, Alix reached out and yanked the attendant backwards into the compartment by the collar. 

The man staggered a couple steps back, thrown off-balance in his surprise, just close enough for Alix to deftly slice the small blade of her lipstick knife across his throat.

The weapon reached the targeted arteries with surgical precision, right below the larynx. Now unable to scream, the man could only gasp and gargle as his legs gave out and he sank downwards toward the carpet in a heap. Following him down to the ground, Alix gathered the excess fabric of her dress's skirt and slapped the material over the wound to stifle the bright arcs of blood that were spurting out like a gruesome fountain.

The pale lace was already growing heavy, turning from an icy blue to a deep, blood-soaked maroon, the arterial spray oozing through the delicate material slower and slower as the man’s heart gradually stopped beating. 

Then the attendant went limp, his jaw falling slack as a sickening gurgle emanated from his cut throat, and the auburn-haired spy knew he was gone. 

No loose ends, she told herself inwardly, repeating the instructions of her superiors over and over like a mantra in her head.

He could have gotten Joe killed. You did the right thing.

But did she? 

She didn’t even remember pulling the knife, not really. 

Not that it mattered: a civilian was still dead.

Alix’s hands were shaking as she stared down at the attendant’s lifeless form, too scared to see the shock and revulsion written all over Joe’s handsome face. 

He’d never seen her kill, after all. 

If he didn’t hate her before, he most certainly would now.

But when she finally looked up, there was nothing like that. 

No disgust, no outrage, no fear.

Instead, there was the same old glint to his gaze and an unspoken warmth in his whiskey-brown eyes that filled her with a strange calm.

“Well ya didn’t hafta do all that, Zees,” Joe remarked finally as a small, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“But I ‘preciate it. Nice to know you care.”

“I don’t,” the auburn-haired girl muttered as she knelt, quickly rifling through the corpse’s bloodied uniform for anything useful. 

A billfold full of francs and an identification card from the train company.

Alix handed the wallet over to Joe, averting her gaze to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the brush of their fingertips.

“He was putting the mission in jeopardy,” she added lamely and straightened up, shifting the thick curtains to the side so she could undo the window’s latch.

“Yeah?” Joe snorted as he dragged the lifeless body by its outstretched arms to the open window and turned back to shoot her a sly wink over his shoulder.

His usual crooked grin quirked up one corner of his lips wryly, almost flirtatiously, and the knowing expression in his whiskey-colored eyes caused a small flurry of butterflies to appear once more in her stomach.

It was like he could see right through her.

“Well Ziskeit, ‘the mission’ thanks you.” 

With a grunt, the scrappy paratrooper managed to haul the corpse half onto the window’s ledge before turning back to his partner.

“Now let's get this mamzer dealt with, huh?”

Alix hoisted the corpse's legs up, giving it a final, unceremonious shove out the window, sending it rolling down into the snowy French countryside somewhere.

That was one problem taken care of...But unfortunately, there were more where that came from.

"Madonna mia," Alix swore as she frowned down at the blood-spattered blue material of her dress.

“I gotta dump this somewhere.”

Joe took his seat again and shrugged, watching Alix's nimble fingers close the window once more and re-draw the curtains.

“So change then." 

The auburn-haired girl balked, nearly losing her footing in her surprise.

“Right now?"

“Nah, next Tuesday,” the paratrooper deadpanned with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. “Christ, Zees, you're actin' like I ain't ever seen ya undress before. Hey, remember that one night at your billet when-”

“Don’t remind me,” Alix muttered, the infuriatingly obvious blush of her cheeks making her grit her teeth as the night he is referring to comes back in vivid colors.

She shook her head to banish the memories, her straightened auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders.

"Besides, it was a long time ago anyway. It doesn't matter now."

The lie tasted bitter as cyanide.

"Yeah?" Joe took another slow drag off his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling before he spoke again, his raspy tenor flat with thinly-veiled hurt.

"Guess that's the difference between you an' me. 'Cause to me, it matters a fuckin' lot."

[sergeant-spoons]

21. A Necessary Promise of Somewhere Else

Bernadette Noel

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​​​​​​​​​ @chaosklutz​​​​​​​​​ @wexhappyxfew​​​​​​​​​ @50svibes​​​​​​​​​ @tvserie-s-world​​​​​​​​​ @adamantiumdragonfly​​​​​​​​​ @ask-you-what-sir​​​​​​​​​ @whovian45810​​​​​​​​​​ @brokennerdalert​​​​​​​​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​​​​​​​​​ @claire-bear-1218​​​​​​​​​ @heirsoflilith​​​​​​​​​​ @itswormtrain​​​​​​​​​​ @actualtrashpanda​​​​​​​​​ @wtrpxrks @hanniewinnix

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The old sayings go that absence makes the heart fonder, and that time heals all wounds. Berni wished she could say the same about the waiting. In the month that had passed since Tare's split, the women on the English side of the ocean had seen little improvement in their company spirit. Even the welcome guidance of the long-missed Major Harbridge couldn't do much to encourage the girls when all they could think about was their other half on the other side of the Atlantic. When would they see their sisters-in-arms again? Would they find themselves in battle before then? Would they end up in Europe while Polly and the rest shipped off to the Pacific at the whim of some American commander with strong ties to English air command? Berni didn't like these thoughts. They made her upset, and being upset made her angry. The girls didn't deserve an angry captain, but when she got a little too harsh with them during a flight drill or a landing test, they went easy on her. They understood how she was feeling. They felt the same.

Some of the crew adjusted better than others to the unpredictable hours and the risks and stressors of their commissioned undertaking. Ferrier flight orders could be issued around the clock and canceled just as readily. They all started paying greater attention to the weather than they had before, and that was saying something, coming from these seasoned pilots. After a week straight of touch-and-go runs, interrupted drills, air raid sirens, and near-misses in uncontrolled airspace, Berni had had it with her superiors. She had to send Fiona to bed to catch up on the sleep she'd missed for three days straight, make Délia take a shower to destress after a male pilot caused an oil spill all over the tarmac and nearly set Délia's plane up in flames, and drop Addie off at the hospital to deal with a case of walking pneumonia. After all that, Berni promptly marched into Battalion CP to put in her two cents and barged right into the head office. She took a bit of a tongue-lashing for her insolence, but she took the reprimand in stride, and in the end, her boldness paid off: her efforts grounded Tare for the next two days. It meant no planes or flying at all, sure, but it also meant no ferrier runs—it meant they could finally catch their breath.

For the first time in weeks, Berni could finally go to bed sure of what tomorrow would bring.

The sun rose through a haze of mist on Ellis Osbourne's birthday. The temperature had dropped overnight, and the resulting early-morning fog was pleasant to look out upon as the girls got up that morning. Berni would have let them sleep in, but today was a special day and warranted early celebration. They could sleep in the next day (more of a promise to herself than the others, made privately as she frowned at her disheveled appearance in the bathroom mirror). She brushed her teeth as the rest of the girls slowly got up and got ready for the day, noticing how, fortunately, the two-day grounding and the birthday plans seemed to have bolstered spirits enough to mess around a little despite the early hour. Fiona and Délia came into the bathroom and play-fought with Berni for space at the mirror; she almost won, but then they teamed up to tickle her into surrender, and she lost.

"You want me to stab you with this?" she giggled as she waved her toothbrush back and forth. "Because you know I will."

She knew she couldn't dissuade them, but she didn't really care. Fiona attacked again, and Délia cackled as Berni squeezed her toothpaste tube too hard and squeezed it onto the sink, the mirror, and her and Fiona's pajamas.

"Oh, now look what you've done," Berni laughed, backing out of the bathroom in surrender but taking a dampened towel with her to try and clean herself up. In the bedroom, Addie and Thelma were making their bed while Ellis, the birthday girl, sat on the tiny couch by the window and read a postcard from the States. It had a painting of the ocean and a boardwalk and a long row of buildings, and Berni thought it looked faintly familiar but couldn't quite place it.

"Who's that from?" Thelma asked as she lit up her customary morning cigarette, then offered one to Berni. The captain declined.

"Just somebody," Ellis answered vaguely, and Thelma snorted as Addie pushed her towards the courtyard, insisting she smoke outside.

"So it's from McClung, then?" Thelma figured, then snickered her way out the door as Ellis blushed and got defensive.

"As long as he wished you a happy birthday," Berni supposed, and Ellis begrudgingly informed her captain that Earl had, in fact, remembered her birthday. After a moment, Ellis lifted up her pillow and showed Berni that McClung hadn't just sent a postcard, he'd sent a gift as well. Ellis looked embarrassed at the nature of the gift, but Berni said it was the nicest pair of lingerie she'd ever seen—

"Seems he likes your ass more than I thought."

—and Ellis forgot her embarrassment in favor of smacking Berni with her pillow.

Once Fiona and Délia left the bathroom and Berni was able to step back inside to finish freshening up for the day, she used the toothpaste mess as an excuse to stay behind and asked Ellis to wait with her. Ellis didn't seem to suspect anything out of the ordinary—the captain just liked to have company; she asked all the girls to hang back with her an equal amount—and Berni made casual conversation about the foggy weather and the fortune of having today off to celebrate. Ellis responded more often than until she didn't, and Berni had just finished wiping down the mirror and brushing her teeth (again) when she realized Ellis had gone silent. She poked her head out the bathroom door and dropped her towel right on the ground when she saw Ellis slouched over on the end of her bed, crying. Realizing she'd just drooled toothpaste all down her shirt, Berni swore under her breath. She jumped back into the bathroom, hurriedly spit into the sink, and haphazardly wiped her face with a fresh towel as she left the bathroom for good. Ellis kept her head down as Berni approached, and Berni felt bad for interrupting her in her embarrassment, but she would have felt worse for not trying to comfort her.

Sitting on her legs on the floor in front of Ellis, Berni tilted her head and asked, "What's wrong, El?"

"It's my birthday," Ellis admitted sadly, "and I miss my sister."

Berni felt suddenly and deeply guilty. It had been her that had separated the two. Ellis here in England; Erma back in the States. She winced and took Ellis' hands.

"You won't be apart forever," she reassured, giving Ellis' hands a squeeze. "I swear, you won't. Life's not that cruel. Not even the daft tossers we landed as higher-ups are dumb enough to keep our company split up like this for long. It just doesn't make sense. Hardly makes sense why they did it in the first place, but to hell with them, and here's to you—and Erma."

Ellis shrugged and tried not to smile, but Berni had coaxed one out of her, and the captain jumped on the opportunity.

"In the meantime, well..."

She leaned back to steal a glance out the screen door. Délia, Fiona, Thelma, and Addie had gathered in the courtyard just as they'd planned last night while Ellis was taking a shower. Délia shot Berni a thumbs-up, and Berni turned back to her less-tearful comrade.

"Maybe we can celebrate your birthday in our own way?"

Ellis looked confused, but before she could even finish asking what Berni meant, the four other women in their party leaped through the door, carrying decorations and balloons and birthday pancakes. Ellis looked alarmed, but then they—plus Berni—burst into the happy birthday song as loud as they could sing it, and she started to cry again, but less so out of sadness. They spent the next half-hour decorating and eating and swapping stories of their own birthdays, especially during childhood, until Major Harbridge poked his head through the door to say hello, to lightly scold Berni for being clever enough to steal her girls a break but not enough to get him her flight logs on time, and to inform them that their singing had woken him up in his officers' quarters two doors down far earlier than he would have liked this morning. He waved off their apologies and wished Ellis a happy birthday, and all was well again—until that afternoon, when Berni found Ellis crying for the second time that day. Ellis didn't cry much, so twice in one day was real cause for concern. Again, all she could say was she missed her sister. Berni felt even guiltier, so much so that she let Addie take the reins.

"She made me a cake, last year," Ellis remembered, getting choked up. "She makes the best cakes."

"That she does. But hey, you know, I just happened to have a few hours free last night, sooo..."

At Addie's gesture, Berni popped the lid off the platter Fiona and Délia had just snuck in the back door.

"Who wants cake?"

It was a ridiculously ugly cake, and that had more to do with Berni trying to help Addie bake it than Addie's own skills. They didn't have any baking powder and Berni dropped their last two eggs on the floor before they could make it to the mixing bowl, but the one thing they hadn't lacked was sugar. Hopefully, that could make up for its lopsided, half-baked existence somewhat. Ellis acknowledged it was the thought that counted, wiped away her tears, and indulged them in a few bites before everyone agreed the cake was basically inedible and they should just go out for dinner and drinks at the pub instead. Berni bought everyone a round (and then a second round for Addie and Ellis to apologize for the cake), and they had a merry old time. It was enough to forget, for a little while, their grievances and small bickerings and the people they missed that should have come home by now. The feeling didn't last past morning, but for the moment, it was enough.

The rest of the summer of '43 passed in a slog of repetitive paperwork, risky (but necessary) missions, and a general sense of uncertainty towards what the future might hold. On both sides of the Atlantic, the pilots of Tare made the best they could out of their unfortunate lot. The separation did little for their belief in the designs of their superiors, but it cemented their sense of camaraderie, and it was the only part of the distance that Berni could earnestly be grateful for. Even flying wasn't the same without her whole crew behind her. She missed them just as much as anyone. Maybe even more, though she wouldn't claim it aloud. She had to be tough for the women she'd been trusted to look after here in England. If she couldn't keep her head on her shoulders, how could she expect them to?

Frank sent her letters every week to report on the happenings with Easy and the rest of the 506th. When he could, he gave news of the pilots he could get ahold of between the women's training drills and Sobel's near-constant revoking of weekend passes. Berni always found time to write back, even if it had to be in the wee hours of the night, waiting for two of her pilots to return from a midnight delivery. Though she couldn't have known it, from army base to army base across the States, Frank wrote his letters and pretended not to notice Joe Liebgott looking over his shoulder when he read Berni's replies aloud to his cabinmates. Any mention of him in her letters would have sufficed to calm the fitfulness he'd carried with him since the day she left, but Berni never did. She wouldn't even hint that she thought of or remembered him by description or name.

Maybe it was what he deserved, not knowing.

There was one thing. She always ended her letters with give the lads my love. Joe wanted to assume her wishes included him, but he couldn't be sure, and he never had the balls to write her himself and ask. Especially not with how they'd parted ways last April.

Damnit, Joe, get your head out of the clouds. Flygirl's not comin' back. Not to you, anyway.

Berni had her share of scares that summer. They had more close calls than she would have liked; more than she could count on both hands. In May, her and Thelma's plane took a beating in a freak hailstorm over Guernsey and almost didn't make it back to England. Thelma nearly lost her fingers thanks to the rough emergency landing they had to make on an airfield just six kilometers from their home base. Thelma broke four of her fingers in total. She couldn't fly for two weeks after that, which meant Berni couldn't, either. Not without her flight partner. And she wouldn't have wanted to fly without Thelma, anyway. That would have felt, in a word, insensitive.

In June, Fiona suffered a broken wrist and a dozen bruises during an air raid on Norwich. She'd gone there on furlough, just in time to witness a German bomb topple a church steeple and send its bell careening down towards the street where she stood. Thankfully, Fiona's instinct was to run, and the impact only blew her back a few yards and knocked her straight through the glass door of a local deli. The owner of the place, seeing her military uniform, quickly pulled her into the cellar, where they and the owner's family waited until the sirens stopped and the raid was declared over. At first, Fiona didn't want to touch a plane, but after a week, something snapped in her, and she begged Berni to put her back in the air. Berni told her she had to wait until Fiona's wrist healed—it was regulation, and besides, Berni had Fiona's safety to think about—and Fiona gave her the cold shoulder until Délia shook some sense into her.

In July, Ellis and Addie were nearly shot down over the Channel. Their plane made it back to the base badly damaged, and it was all the girls could do to get their friends out safely before something went terribly wrong and exploded the whole thing. Berni had never seen fireworks like it. The combustions lit up the night sky like daylight, so bright that Major Harbridge declared a state of emergency and enforced a blackout across the entire base in case the Germans testing their luck over the Channel tonight had spotted the accidental pyrotechnics show. It took until the end of the summer to get that part of the runway back into shape. They needed new cement, new regulations, new everything. The paperwork was a headache and a half, but Berni wouldn't have traded it for the world. Addie and Ellis were safe—if a little scorched—and that was all that mattered to her.

In August, nothing much happened until the end of the month. With a third of the runway out of commission and a solid excuse to focus on the maintenance and repair of their planes, Berni and her crew spent the majority of the month with their boots on the ground. She hardly wore her flight jacket, half because she didn't have a reason to and half because it had gotten so hot out. This had to be the warmest English summer she could remember. She said 'English' summer, because even this heat couldn't compare to the day she and her girls had first set foot in Georgia. She didn't envy those still in the States for the humidity they must be facing all over again this sweltering season. Then again, they were over there, and not here where they belonged, so what did she have to be jealous for?

On the second-to-last day of August, Berni received a telegram from Colonel Sink of the 5-o'-6. Major Harbridge ought to have read it before her, as was customary, but he passed it along to the captain without so much as breaking the seal.

"Good news, or maybe bad, I think," he mused from behind his bushy mustache. "Whatever it is, I expect they'll think better of it from you, not me. Especially if it's nothing good."

That didn't do much to bolster Berni's nerves, but the official-looking envelope did invoke a level of seriousness that she hadn't seen from Sink since the last time she'd shaken his hand goodbye. He'd sent her, Major Harbridge, and their shared superiors telegrams many times over the summer, but none had given Berni the sense of change to come. She tried to tell herself it was nothing other than the coming fall cheating her reason and getting her hopes up, but by the time she sat down in the summer grass with her girls to crack the envelope open, she felt as jumpy as a hare listening for a hound on the hunt.

"'...wish you well'," she read aloud to eager ears. "'Important news to relay. Knight takes queen, pawns follow to king. Checkmate.' And that's... that's all it says."

Berni looked up from the letter. Only Addie seemed to have caught on to Sink's meaning.

"What?" Thelma asked, looking between her girlfriend and her captain. "What does it mean?"

"It's chess," Addie explained. "Now, if England's the queen, and we're the king, I expect you can guess who the knight is supposed to be."

"They're coming to Europe," Berni realized, a smile stunned right onto her lips. "All of them."

After a beat of personal amazement, she looked up and saw she was being watched with wonder equal to her own.

"You mean...?" Ellis asked tentatively, too afraid of guessing wrong to finish the question.

"You think?" Fiona chimed in.

"Could it be?" Délia added with wide eyes.

"Bloody hell," Thelma cursed, and Addie squeezed her hand, tight-lipped.

"That's right."

Berni thought she might cry a little, and for once, she didn't think herself any less tough for letting a few tears fall.

"Our girls are coming home."

"And," Fiona added with a grin, "if I ken my chess, an' I do, those pawns the colonel's on about may well be our bonnie, braw paratroopers along for the ride. And not just a few of them, either."

"That so, Fee?"

Berni's smile grew and grew.

"Bring 'em on."

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

Yet another long-overdue update. Cheers!

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 23 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: The days go on in the freezing hell, but there seems no end to it. Though Liv is finally reunited with Joe, the loss of their friends and fellow soldiers is taking a big toll on them.

Warnings: Language, War wounds, death

A/N: Okay, okay, okay, okay. I'm BACK! I'm literally not happy with that chapter and I'm soooooo sorry, it took me so long. I had a massive writers block and now this is what came out of it. I'm sorry, I'll try to do better with the next.

Here is my Masterlist

Taglist: @brassknucklespeirs, @liebgotts-lovergirl, @lieutenant-speirs, @mads-weasley, @emmylindersson

January 2nd, 1945 - Bastogne, Belgium

This morning, I finally gather the courage to approach Babe. Over the last few days, he's been avoiding me, and the tension between us is palpable.

I spot him standing with the others, waiting for food, and I steel myself for the conversation. As I walk up to him, he glances up but quickly averts his eyes, and I can feel the uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding us. Taking a deep breath, I call out his name, "Babe."

He responds with a slightly sarcastic tone, "What is it, Sarge?"

"I need to talk to you. Now," I assert, gesturing with my head for him to follow me away from the others.

Reluctantly, he joins me, crossing his arms defensively. "What is it?" he asks, clearly on guard.

I sigh, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Listen, umm... I'm really sorry about Julian," I say, and Babe finally looks at me, but he remains silent. "You know that I didn't have any other choice."

Babe snorts, shaking his head. "You know the funny thing about that sentence is, that it's bullshit. You always have a choice."

His words weigh heavily on me. "Maybe that's true. And yesterday, I made that choice. I chose not to let you die, too. Do you even get that? If I had let you go for him, you would be as dead as he is right now!"

"So now you want me to thank you for saving my life? Is that it?" Babe retorts with bitterness.

"No, for fuck's sake! Of course not!" I reply, my frustration evident. "I just want you to understand what I did. I don't need you to like my decisions because, hell, I couldn't care less about that. I just want you to understand them because you are in my platoon, and I want to look out for my men."

There's a moment of silence as Babe absorbs my words. He rubs his nose, sniffs, and looks at me again, his eyes glazed with emotion, and his lip trembles.

"He was my friend, you know?" he finally speaks, his voice shaky.

"I know," I respond gently, nodding slowly in acknowledgment.

"I know what you settled with him," I continue, my voice softening. "I'm glad you can keep your word."

Confusion flickers across Babe's face. "What do you mean, Liv?"

"We were able to get him. Julian," I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out his Class ring, wallet, watch, and dog tags.

Babe is taken aback, almost unable to comprehend my words. "You-? What?" he stammers, as I hand him his fallen comrade's possessions.

"We sent out another patrol this morning. The Krauts retreated, and we found Julian. I don't think they even noticed him yet," I explain, my voice tinged with sadness.

"If you want... If you want, you can look at him," I offer softly, placing a comforting hand on Babe's arm, though he quickly shakes his head.

"I- I can't," he whispers, his emotions overwhelming him. Then, he looks at me with teary eyes, hesitating before asking, "Did you- did you lead...?"

I press my lips together, knowing what he's trying to ask. With a heavy heart, I nod, and Babe breaks down, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"Thank you!" he whispers, and I gently stroke his back, offering comfort in the face of loss.

"It's okay," I reassure him, understanding the depth of his emotions.

As Babe returns to the others, my attention is caught by Joe, standing before me. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I nervously bite my lips as he eyes me. Trying to hide the scar under my left eye, I lower my head to the left.

"Liv," Joe whispers, stepping closer to me. My lips begin to tremble as he places a hand under my chin, gently lifting my head. "Hey," he says softly, looking me in the eye. "Why are you trying to hide from me?"

I've imagined this moment countless times, but now I feel ashamed of my scars and vulnerability.

"It looks terrible," I admit, barely audible, and the redness under my eye only worsens my insecurity.

"Liv," Joe says firmly, his expression filled with tenderness. Then, he envelops me in his arms. "I don't care about any of that. The main thing is that you're standing here in front of me, alive!"

Tears well up in my eyes as I press myself against his chest, feeling the warmth and security he provides.

God damn, how can one person always evoke such a profound reaction in me?

As we hold each other in the freezing forest, surrounded by the sounds of war and the remnants of tragedy, the intensity of our emotions overwhelms us both. Joe's arms tighten around me, and I find comfort in his embrace. The world around us fades, and it's just the two of us, connected in this moment of vulnerability.

"I missed you, Liv," Joe whispers into my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. "I couldn't stop thinking about you when I was away."

"I missed you too, Joe," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was so relieved when I heard they pulled you away. But now you're here again. What if we won't make it through this fucking hell?"

"We're both still here, though," Joe says softly, lifting my chin with his fingers so I meet his gaze. "And I'm not going anywhere, not without you."

The weight of the war, the losses, and the constant danger seem to fade away when we're in each other's arms. In this desolate place, I find solace in the bond we've forged, knowing that I'm not alone in the midst of the chaos.

As I pull away, I feel a sense of tranquility, knowing that we have each other to lean on in this tumultuous time.

"I don't know what the future holds, Joe," I say, a hint of sadness in your voice. "But right now, being here with you, that's all that matters."

Joe nods his expression a mixture of determination and love. "We'll get through this together, Liv. I promise."

As we stand together, hand in hand, you both know that the road ahead won't be easy. The war continues to rage on, and the future remains uncertain. But at this moment, we find strength in each other and the knowledge that we have something worth fighting for.

"We should head back," Joe says, breaking the silence. "They'll start wondering where we went."

I nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. As we walk back toward the others, I know that our relationship is no longer a secret. And while the dangers of fraternization persist, I find comfort in the fact that I have a love that keeps me grounded amidst the chaos.

January 3rd, 1945, Bastogne, Belgium

After holding the line at Bastogne we were once again called on to help push the Germans back through the Bulge. I stand next to Buck, overlooking a map with Lip and Buck. Bill stands next to us and Muck and Penkala also. We have the map on Don's back.

"We were here this morning and then we came this way", Buck explains. "Right, so, right here's gotta be the logging road coming into here, which means we get right there", he says showing it with his finger and then hitting Don on the head.

"Hey!", Don says. "Take it easy." I chuckle and nudge him.

"Stop crying, Malark or I'll nail it to your head", Buck then says and I chuckle.

"Good, it's made of wood", Bill says and Buck is looking at me, before he nods. I nod back at him.

"Guarnere, move them out, let's go", Buck then says.

"Yes, sir. 2nd Platoon, let's go!"

I'm glad to be out of my foxhole and moving again. Even if only to get warm. We are being sent to clear the Bois Jacques the woods near the town of Foy in preparation for what we knew would be the eventual assault on Foy itself.

During that 1,000 yard attack through the woods we encountered German machine gun fire and had a couple of casualties. But, for the most part, met little resistance. Hoob's run-in with the German officer on was the most dramatic moment of the day.

Amidst the freezing darkness of the night, we huddle together in a small foxhole, seeking whatever comfort and warmth we can find. The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions serve as a constant reminder of the perilous reality we face. Exhausted and weary from the relentless battles, we are startled by the sudden sound of a gunshot, piercing through the quiet night.

"What the fuck was that?" I exclaim, my heart racing as I instinctively reach for my rifle. Beside me, Don looks equally alarmed, his eyes wide with concern.

As the echoes of the shot fade, the urgent voices of our fellow soldiers guide us toward the source. "Jesus, it's Hoobs, he's shot!" someone calls out, and without hesitation, we rush to Hoob's side.

"What? Sniper?" I inquire, fearing the worst.

"No, he shot himself," comes the disheartening response.

As Lip joins us, his face reflects the gravity of the situation. "What happened?" he asks, seeking to understand the circumstances.

"It just went off," Hoobs explains, his voice filled with pain and regret. Kneeling down beside him, I take his hand, trying to offer some comfort amidst the chaos.

"Why is there a loaded gun in your pants?" I inquire, struggling to comprehend what led to this tragic event.

"Liv, I wasn't touching it or nothing. Goddamn it," Hoob desperately responds, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I wasn't touching it, I swear."

Sighing with a mix of frustration and concern, I call out for the medic, knowing that Hoobs needs immediate attention.

"Medic!"

Doc quickly arrives at the scene, his experienced hands taking charge. "Hold on. Wrap him up. Hang in there. Come on," Doc reassures Hoob, doing his best to stabilize the wounded soldier.

"Lip. You said I was a great shot, right?" Hoob asks, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

"You're a great shot. Come on, you jump out of planes. You're tough," Lipton responds, trying to encourage him.

As we gather around, trying to keep Hoob warm, we continue to talk to him, hoping to distract him from the pain and fear.

"He's still shivering," I note, my heart breaking for our wounded comrade.

"It's not that bad at all, come on," Perconte tries to reassure Hoob, but the situation remains dire.

"Stay with us. Hoob, take it easy," Doc urges, his dedication unwavering despite the grim circumstances.

"What are we gonna do?" Don asks, his voice heavy with helplessness.

"How are we doing?" Lip inquires, seeking an update from Doc.

"You're gonna be fine," I assure Hoob, holding his hand tightly.

"We've gotta get him to an aid station. Hold on tight. All right, let's get ready to move him. Take it easy. Stay there, Hoob," Doc commands, already preparing for the difficult task ahead.

As we work together to get Hoob ready for transport, I call out to Doc, my voice filled with concern and desperation. "Doc!"

But before Doc can respond, I realize the truth, and my heart sinks.

"Can't see anything", Doc says still occupied with Hoobs leg.

"Doc!" I point to Hoob, who is already gone, and the weight of the moment settles heavily on us all.

"Jesus," Doc murmurs, shaken by the loss.

"Lipton, we need a jeep," Perconte says, his voice heavy with grief.

As we reflect on the tragedy that has unfolded before us, we come to the sad realization that Hoob's life has been cut short by an unfortunate accident. Despite our frantic efforts, his injuries proved too severe, leaving us with a void that cannot be filled.

As we return to our foxholes, the weight of his loss hangs heavy on our hearts, and the darkness of the night is now intensified by the shadow of a fallen comrade. We mourn the loss of a fellow soldier, knowing that his memory will forever be etched in our hearts as we continue to face the relentless turmoil of war.

The following day, we're pulled back a little to grab a much-needed meal after that horrific night. Word spread out fast, that we lost our friend Donals Hoobler that night.

Seated on the ground next to Joe, I massage my temples, trying to soothe the incredible headaches that have haunted me since I was hit. I close my eyes, attempting to find some relief from the pain. The pills Doc Roe gave me are helpful, but there's just not enough to fully ease the agony.

In the midst of my discomfort, I hear Muck's voice raise, and I open my eyes to see him approaching. "Fellas, look who I found. Joe Toye, back for more," he announces, with Joe Toye standing next to him. Joe looks a bit worse for wear, but knowing him, he's determined to soldier on.

Joe nudges me, and when I look at him, he winks quickly, as if to reassure me. However, my attention is soon drawn back to Muck, who's joined by Don, Penkala, and a replacement named Webb. They're sharing stories of how people got hit, trying to lighten the mood.

"Don't worry, there's enough crap flying around here. You're bound to get dinged sometime. Almost every single one of these guys has been hit at least once. Except for Alley, he's a two-timer. He landed on broken glass in Normandy... and got peppered by a potato masher in Holland," Muck says as he walks through the ranks.

I follow his gaze and chuckle, appreciating how he's trying to downplay the danger we face. The camaraderie and banter among the soldiers provide a semblance of comfort in this harsh reality.

"Now, Bull, he got a piece of an exploding tank in Holland," Muck points out, and Bull doesn't seem too thrilled about the reminder. "And George Luz here has never been hit. You're one lucky bastard."

"Takes one to know one, Skip," George playfully retorts, drawing laughter from me as I rub my eyes, still struggling with the headache.

"Consider us blessed," Muck shrugs, before making his way over to us. "Now, our dear Sergeant Stark over there, that blonde beauty you see, got a nice graze in Nuenen - 26 stitches, right Liv?" he remarks, and I lift my head, feeling slightly annoyed.

"29, actually," I correct him.

"Oh, whatever. And as you can see, she got a little Christmas gift from the Germans on her face as well. An improvement, if you ask me."

"Bite me, Skip," I respond, playfully giving him the finger, which only elicits a chuckle from him.

"Eh, come on, Sweetheart. But don't try something with her, or you don't need to worry about ding flying around. Liebgott, the skinny little guy next to her... will take care of you then, if you know what I mean," Muck teases, drawing Joe's attention as well.

"Ah, shut up, Skip!" I interject, feeling the teasing becoming a bit too much. I stand up and walk over to Don, who's smirking.

I offer him the rest of my bread and nudge him affectionately. "Just telling the truth here, Liv," Muck defends himself. "Well, he got pinged in the neck in Holland. Right next to him, that other skinny little guy, that's Popeye. He got shot in his scrawny little butt in Normandy."

"And Buck got shot in his rather large butt in Holland," Don chimes in with a smirk.

As they continue their banter, I step away, seeking a moment of solitude to collect myself. The headache persists, and I take a sip from my water bottle, wondering how I'll endure this hellish war when it feels like my head could explode at any minute.

[softspeirs]

Everything Has Its Place

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x OFC (Anna) Summary: Anna and Joe have a heart-to-heart after an argument. Mid-war timeline. You can read more about Lieb and Anna here.

But sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon And just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

It’s absolute chaos during and after taking Carentan. Anna feels like she hasn’t had a second to breathe in days. Between her and Shifty nearly being pinned down and the endless combat, her eyes are practically crossed due to exhaustion.

“Drink.” A hand is in her face, thrusting a canteen at her. 

She looks up, eyes barely open, seeing Liebgott standing over her. “You should save it for yourself.” 

He looks-- well, he looks like shit. He’s as tired as she is, no doubt. There’s something else in his eyes she doesn’t recognize. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, gesturing at her forehead as he sits down next to her. 

“Oh,” she says, like she’d forgotten, reaching up to dab at the half-dried blood on her face. “Comes with the territory unfortunately.” 

She and Shifty had been pinned down on opposite ends of a chicken coop for nearly a half hour during the heat of the battle. Between the fucking chickens squawking their heads off and the bullets whizzing by, enough debris and shrapnel had been flying around to cut Anna’s face in several places. 

She also feels sore on one arm, but she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been hit. She’s not bleeding, at any rate. Her rifle arm especially feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. She had her arms upright for nearly the entire battle. 

“Here.” He tries again, and this time she takes the water, chugging some of it before handing it back to him. 

“You okay?” She asks, glancing at him up and down. He looks alright, but there’s still that... something on his face from earlier.

“Fine, only a few scratches. I-- Tipper got hit. Bad.” 

“Shit.” Anna swears, turning to face him. “Is he--”

“I don’t know. He was alive when I left him. I don’t-- Jesus, Anna, you should have seen him. There was so much blood, and his fucking legs...” 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” This is Joe’s best friend they’re talking about. To live through Normandy and then have to go through this? The world is a cruel place sometimes, and she hates that Joe Liebgott is the one bearing the brunt right now.

They both sit there for awhile in silence, heads leaning back against the wall at their backs. Anna’s breath slows and Joe is pretty sure she’s asleep. He’s hesitant to wake her, but Lieutenant Welsh starts hollering, and she startles awake.

“Easy, Tiger.” He says, and she glares. 

“Let’s go, first!” Welsh calls from the distance. “Cunningham!” He shouts, and Anna’s on her feet with a groan, Joe right beside her.

“Be careful,” she says quietly, and with a small smile, she’s gone, leaving him to watch after her, that tightening feeling in his chest getting worse when she’s out of his sight.

.

That night they finally have some rest, though everyone is on edge. They took some fire earlier in the day and Anna was grazed, and everyone’s been walking on eggshells around her ever since.

Everyone, that is, except Joe Liebgott.

He’s glaring at her now from across the foxhole, as the Germans on the other side of the hedgerow keep right on singing as if they don’t have a care in the world.

“You need the aid station.” He grumbles, eyes fixed on the spot on her shoulder where a white bandage is soaking through. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but Anna can’t deny she’s hurting. 

“Doc said--”

“I heard what he said.” 

Anna’s face scrunches in displeasure. “What’s with you, Lieb?”

“Maybe I just got done scrubbing my friend’s blood off my hands from fucking  earlier, and I don’t want to have to do it a second time.” Without thinking, he absently rubs his hands over his pant legs. 

“In case you missed it,” Anna hisses, trying to keep her voice down, “I was already hit, Lieb. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that.” He fires back, eyes dark. “And you don’t need to remind me that I wasn’t there.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Denying you a chance to play white knight, Joe? Jesus Christ.”

He leans forward, grabbing her arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Cunningham. Sorry I wanted to help my fucking friend.” He says, vitriol lacing his words.

She knows she’s being unreasonable, but she’s also a goddamn sniper. One of the best marksman in Easy, and she’s tired of everyone acting like she needs to be rescued. Especially Liebgott, who, as he so gently put it, is supposed to be her fucking friend. He’s supposed to have a little bit of faith in her.

“You can’t be behind me every time, Lieb.” She says tiredly, trying to soften her words. “They’re firing at me more than they’re firing at you.” 

“Just leave it, Cunningham.” He says, and before she can reply, Talbert is there, waiting to get Liebgott for his watch. 

“All right?” Tab asks, hesitating, watching Lieb go.

“I’ll be fine.” 

He raises a brow, but doesn’t challenge her, just tips his helmet to her before heading off to follow Liebgott. 

.

The next day is another shit show. They’re in it from the moment they wake until nearly nightfall, but the 2d armored division shows up right in time to save their asses. 

Joe and Lieutenant Welsh are sharing a cigarette on the edge of a hedgerow with shaky hands when Anna shows up, sliding in next to them. 

“Cunningham, how we faring today?” Welsh asks, a big grin on his face. 

“I’ll be hard of hearing for years, sir, but I’ll live.” 

He nods. “That’s my girl.” He swats at her helmet, knocking it askew. 

She scowls, but it transforms into an easy smile, the adrenaline of winning the fight hard to keep off her face. 

“I should go find out what’s what.” Welsh says, and leaves her there with Joe, who hasn’t looked at Anna once. 

“You hit?” Anna asks him, and he shakes his head. 

“No. A few close calls, though.”

“You’re telling me.”

He takes a deep breath, then finally meets her eyes. “Look, I’m not good at apologies, okay?”

She shrugs. “Me either. And for the record, I wasn’t asking for one.”

Joe fidgets, looking down at his hands. “Tipper-- that scared me, alright? I just... I don’t want to see that happen to anyone else. Especially you.”

Anna freezes, but the look on his face passes. “You can’t protect me forever, Joe.” Before he can open his mouth to reply, she continues, “You know I’ve got your back, right? I don’t mean to be so--”

“Bitchy? Reckless?” He snipes, but there’s no heat behind his words. In fact, she can still see the lingering worry in his eyes.

“I have to be, Lieb. You know that. Everyone was expecting me to fail on day one, and be some wilting flower. I had to cut that shit out of my personality. I’m not doing it to worry you or-- be a bitch, as you so eloquently put it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that. It’s me you’re talking to.” He lights up another cigarette with slightly shaking hands. “’M sorry, okay? Christ.”

She rolls her eyes at how exasperated he sounds, but nudges his shoulder with her own. “I know you are, stupid. I am too. We’ll be alright, you and me.”

He meets her gaze with that look again, the one she can’t decipher no matter how hard she tries. It’s gone as soon as he blinks, but she feels the weight of unspoken things settle in between them again. 

She just knows one thing for sure - they’re a pair. In one way or another, they go together. They have since basic when they were paired together for nearly every drill, every exercise. It’s been Anna and Lieb since day one, even if they had to quit arguing for two seconds to realize how well they worked together.

It’s always been Anna and Lieb, and she’s going to work damn hard to make sure it stays that way. 

Everything has its place It is certain to me now Wild and arranged We were built for the same purpose somehow As sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon Just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

[donovanlizzie]

Hidden affections - Joe Liebgott

Masterlist

Band of brothers masterlist

The tension between Joe Liebgott and Y/N during basic training was palpable, their constant bickering earning them a reputation as the pair who couldn't stand each other. Yet, hidden beneath the surface, there was a strange connection that bound them together.

One evening at the bar, the air was thick with the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversations.

She found herself watching Him from across the room, despite the tension that existed between them. His animated conversations with friends drew her attention, inadvertently coaxing a smile from her.

As she observed, George Luz snuck up behind her, curiosity etched on his face. "Who are you smiling at?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice.

However, his smile quickly faded and his expression shifted from playful to concerned as he followed her gaze to Joe Liebgott.

"Really? " George scoffed, looking at her like a disappointed parent "Liebgott?, after the way he acts around you?"

"It's complicated Luz" she replied, taking another sip of her beer.

Luz raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Complicated? That's one way to describe it. I mean, he acts like he can't stand you half the time."

She sighed, her gaze lingering on Joe as he laughed at something Talbert had said. "Yeah, well, maybe it's his way of dealing with things. Doesn't mean there's not something else there."

George smirked, leaning against the bar. "You're telling me there's something more to Liebgott than meets the eye? Colour me intrigued."

Chuckling she shook her head. "You wouldn't understand, Luz. It's like we're constantly at odds, but when it comes down to it, he's got my back. And I've got his."

George gave her a skeptical look. "Got his back? More like got each other's throats."

"Trust me, Luz, i know there's a lot more to Joe Liebgott than what he shows. " she replied cryptically, swirling her beer in her glass.

George sighed, "Well, just be careful. Liebgott's a complicated guy, and complicated usually means trouble."

She nodded in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I can handle a little trouble."

--------------------------------------------------------

Liebgott sat at a nearby table, the conversation he was engrossed in had become irrelevant as his ear pricked up at the mention of Y/N's name from the table behind him , overhearing Roy Cobb, a fellow paratrooper, running his mouth about her to a group of new replacements.

"Y/n? Oh, you mean Easy Company's little sweetheart," Cobb remarked with a mocking tone, eliciting a few chuckles from the newcomers. "she's just a liability. She should've never shown her face in easy company! My bet is she's been playing the commander, putting on a show of competence that's going to get someone killed. Sobel should've gotten rid of her a long time ago."

Anger flared in Joe's eyes as he clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as Cobb continued to tarnish her name.

"And have you seen her? No wonder she hasn't found a man yet. Who would want to be with someone like her? It's not surprising she's still single; she's probably too busy ruining missions to care about settling down."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Joe jumped up from his table and approached Cobb's group with a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck did you just say about her?" Joe sneered at Cobb, who tried to laugh it off and reason with him. "Come on, Joe, you know what she's like – my bet is she's had half the company now-"

Before Cobb could finish his sentence, Joe's fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor. The commotion drew the attention of the entire bar, and the rest of Easy Company rushed to stop the impending fight.

She and Luz watched, exchanging puzzled glances. "What was that about?" She asked, concern furrowing her brow.

George shook his head. "I don't know, but Liebgott looks pissed."

As the men of Easy Company pulled Joe away from the scene, Cobb nursed his bleeding nose and shot a glare in her direction. She met his gaze with a cold intensity, her eyes daring him to say another word.

Joe, still seething, was restrained by his comrades. "You talk about her again, and I'll do more than just break your nose," he spat at Cobb, the words laced with a dangerous edge.

The bar returned to its uneasy quiet, the rumours quashed by the unexpected confrontation. Joe may have acted on impulse, but his protective instinct for her had been laid bare for everyone to see.

She watched as Joe stormed out of the bar in a huff, cursing under his breath. She placed her empty pint glass on the table in front of her and felt a sense of urgency to follow him. "Hey, where are you going?" George called out, walking back to the bar - no doubt to get another drink.

"Don't worry about it," she mumbled back, not wanting to explain as she made a beeline for the door Joe had just stormed out of. Once outside, the cold air hit her like a thousand tiny needles, causing her to shiver. Walking a few steps away from the door, she scanned the darkening area, the sun just starting to set, painting the sky with an orangey-red hue.

Her eyes fell upon Joe, leaning against one of the nearer barracks, smoking a cigarette. She took a deep breath and began walking towards him, the stones crunching under her shoes catching Joe's attention almost immediately , his jaw tightening in response.

"What are you doing out here?" Joe asked, stubbing out his cigarette. Ignoring Joe's question, She confronted him,

"What the hell was that back there?"

"Never you mind," Joe replied dismissively.

"Joseph Liebgott, I will mind. You punched a fellow paratrooper in the face!" Her tone carried a mix of disbelief and frustration, feeling as if she was scolding a schoolboy.

"Cobb said some shit that wasn't true, and I hit him – no big deal," Joe responded, trying to downplay the situation.

"What did he say, Joe?" She pressed, her voice rising a little.

"Damn it, Y/n, what is this, 21 questions?"

"Liebgott, tell me what he said!" She insisted, her frustration evident.

Joe sighed pushing off the barracks wall and walked over to her, the distance between them closing until they were almost nose to nose , his breath fanning her face, the smell of the recent cigarette lingering in the air.

Joe's gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Look, I might not always show it, but I don't like hearing lies about people I... care about," he admitted gruffly, avoiding direct eye contact.

Her expression softened in return. "Care about? Liebgott, you're not known for being the sentimental type. Why would you care about what Cobb says about me?"

Joe hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching. "I hate to admit it, but... I don't like the idea of anyone talking crap about you. Especially when it's a load of bullshit."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his admission. "Joe Liebgott, did you just say something vaguely nice about me?"

He scoffed, trying to deflect. "Don't get used to it. I just... I don't know, I just don't like people thinking less of you because of some idiot's lies."

A small smile played on her lips. "Well, I appreciate that, Joe. It's strange, you know? Despite all the bickering, I never thought you'd... care."

Joe mumbled something incoherent, avoiding her gaze. The tension between them lingered, the unspoken words hanging in the cold air. , Feeling a mix of emotions, She took a step closer to Joe.

"I don't hate you, Y/n. I might not show it, but I..." Joe's gruff words trailed off, and before he could finish, She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing her lips against his. It was a moment of unexpected intimacy, fuelled by the unspoken emotions they both struggled to express.

Breaking the kiss, Joe sighed, his forehead resting against hers. "I hate to admit it, but I... I like you, a lot."

She looked at him, a mix of surprise and a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, that's something," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Joe rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it."

As they stood there, the realisation of the unexpected turn of events settled in. The tension that once hung between them had transformed into something different – something neither of them had anticipated.

[bandagesandloveletters]

Band of Brothers Masterlist

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎!

Tag list: If you like my work, feel free to comment, and I can add you to a tag list for any future works either in general or for a certain character.

Lewis Nixon

Cold as Ice -A little something where Nixon learns to ice skate but it’s all part of a deeper plan. Pairing: Lewis Nixon x OFC.

Richard "Dick" Winters

Hidden Love - A request written around the reader and Dick having a hidden love for each other. Pairing: Richard Winters x Reader

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon - Chuck gets a visitor to cheer him up. Pairing: Chuck Grant x OFC

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses - In the cold depths of Bastogne, a little warmth is always welcome. Pairing: Floyd Talbert x OFC (Rosie Moretti)

George Luz

Sentimental Journey - A dance brings two kindred souls together. Pairing: George Luz x OFC (Ellis White)

Joe Liebgott

A Sergeant's Sorrow - A conversation between two friends after Brécourt. Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Platonic!OFC (Lizzie Welsh)

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Masterlist

American Horror Story

AU!AHS multi-chapter

War meets Death - Michael Langdon x O/C Female **Currently on pause

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Band of Brothers

Drunken Confessions - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader (1st person POV, male and female) one-shot, fluff

The next day - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader, Drunken Confessions pt 2, one-shot *smut*

Green Dress - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader (1st person POV, female) one-shot *smut*

Pen pal's - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader one-shot, fluff/slight angst

Truth or dare - Joe Toye x F!Reader (1st person POV, female) one-shot

The game continues - Joe Toye x F!Reader, Truth or dare pt 2, (1st person POV, female) one-shot *smut*

That final line - Joe Liebgott x F!Reader one-shot *smut*, fluff & angst

Oil and water - Joe Liebgott x F!Reader (1st person POV, female) requested one-shot *smut*, angst/fluff ending

Body heat - Joe Liebgott x F!Reader (1st person POV, female) requested one-shot, *smut*

In her arms - George Luz x F!Reader requested one-shot, angst/fluff ending

Leverage

New Hope - Eliot x Reader one-shot/drabble

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 1: The Fall

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's finest soldiers fall through a foxhole and into another time?

Words: 1,314

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Author's Note: HERE WE GO LADS!! The first chapter of my self-serving BoB time travel fic!! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know !!

Luz was the last one to arrive on the ground, immediately crashing into Malarkey with a resounding thud… Well, resounding for someone as small as Luz. He was the last to drop onto the pile of Easy Company men - a giant pile of limbs, helmets, and olive drab was groaning in pain, bewildered eyes darting in every direction. One minute they were dropping into a foxhole in Bastogne. The next?

Winters was the first to jump to his feet, helping his men find their footing. Up came Nixon, Liebgott, Roe, Guarnere, and Bull Randleman. Speirs and Toye had gotten themselves up and situated, looking to make sure they had all their gear. Luz was still on the ground, trying to get his bearings, while poor Malarkey was doubled over underneath him. “FUCK, LUZ!” Cried Malarkey, his hands shooting to his ribs as his body folded in pain. “I think you broke something!” Malarkey’s feet rammed themselves into Luz’s back, flinging the soldier off of Malarkey and onto his stomach with an “oof!”

“You say that like I did it on purpose!” Luz cried, wincing from the boots in his back. By the time George finally got his feet beneath him, Roe was already looking at Malarkey’s side, inspecting his injury.

The Cajun grimaced and shook his head. “It might be broke, Malark. We should get you to the aid station,” Roe spoke thoughtfully. "Which way sho-" Before the medic could finish his thought, all the boys realized something. They had no idea where they were.

The boys all looked around and took in their surroundings. “Where the fuck are we?” each soldier thought to himself, attempting to find a single scrap of familiarity in the landscape around them. The higher they looked, the taller the walls on either side of the group grew - not tall enough to be skyscrapers, but tall enough to tell the ten men that they were not in Bastogne anymore. What was once a frigid warzone, one step away from death, now became… warm? Sunny? Well, it seemed sunny at the ends of the alleyway.

“...are we in an alley?” Bull mused to no one in particular. He absentmindedly chewed on his Emotional Support Cigar, using this to contain his anxious thoughts and energy.

"It appears so Bull…" Winters replied. He had intended for the sentence to be more assuring, but the men's leader was just as confused as the rest of them. The captain exchanged a glance with Nixon beside him, the only man he was comfortable sharing his worry with. The two looked at each other, their eyes conveying confusion mixed with anxiety - how could this happen? What exactly happened?

"Captain Nixon, you're an intelligence officer right? Do you know where we are sir?" Guarnere asked as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, still taking in the alley around them. The brick buildings on either side of the men provided shade from the sun shining down on the pavement. The alley appeared to be barren, save for a Hershey bar wrapper beside Luz's feet. Bending down to get a closer look, the radioman saw a piece of text on the wrapper that morphed his confusion into panic - "expires January 2023." Before Nixon could answer Guarnere, Luz's shaky voice spoke up.

"Um, Captain Winters? You might wanna see this sir," Luz said as he handed the wrapper to his CO, his mind going a mile a minute. Dick took the wrapper from George and saw the text, scrunching his face as he read the expiration date.

"Nix, how long does it take chocolate to expire?" Winters asked, looking up at his captain.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know that?" Nixon replied, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Only after Lewis posed his question did he see the infamous date on the wrapper. Nixon paused for a second before he spoke up, "well surely it would expire way before 2023…"

Upon hearing the year, every man's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Excuse me, sir? I think I heard you wrong, sounded like you said 2023," Liebgott questioned, a nervous chuckle following his words. He couldn't have heard Nixon right…right? Winters simply handed the wrapper over to Liebgott, the poor man's stomach dropping down below his feet.

"That's not possible, this isn't possible…" Toye muttered under his breath, trying to shake the idea from his head. While all the men were trying to process what Nixon said, Speirs had already made his way to the end of the alley.

"Captain Winters!" He called out, twisting his body to call out behind where he was standing. Winters nodded to Nixon, a silent request to keep an eye on his men, before making his way down to Speirs. The warm sun at the end of the alley was a welcomed surprise to Dick - it felt like forever since he felt mild, comfortable weather. Bastogne was the literal manifestation of hell frozen over, and the sun kissing Dick's skin was its absolute anathema. "Sir, I don't think this is Bastogne," Speirs' comment shook Winters from his mind, reminding the captain of the problem at hand. The two took in the scene around them. Winters thought he was seeing cars - they had four wheels, and they were driving on the street, but they were far beyond any car anyone in the company has ever seen before. The soldiers seem to have landed in a city of some kind. All the street signs were in English, giving Winters a small amount of relief - wherever they were, they spoke the language. Something different stood out to Speirs, though… the noise. It was not bombs exploding and trees breaking like in Bastogne. It was just as loud, but more…lively? The sounds, whatever they were, seemed to celebrate life rather than take it - honking horns, vehicles driving by, music Speirs had never heard before blaring from their windows - he would never admit to it, but Speirs felt a pang of relief knowing he was not in a war zone.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Ron," Dick replied before hearing their medic call out.

"Sir! We need to get Malarkey to the ai- uh… I guess a hospital," Eugene called out as he made his way towards Winters and Speirs, supporting Easy's other redhead on his shoulder. Malarkey's face twisted in pain as he held his side with the arm that was not slung over Roe's shoulders. Dick nodded in understanding at his medic and stepped a foot out of the alley, getting a better look at the buildings around him. To his right, Winters spotted the red cross universally associated with medicine displayed prominently on a tall, light-colored building riddled with mirrored windows. Beneath the cross were the words "Emergency Room."

"You think they can help Malarkey?" Speirs asked, hopeful but confused at the words. Seeing Roe holding up Malarkey, the officer quickly made his way to Malarkey's other side, taking his arm over his shoulder to help the soldier.

"It's worth a shot, wait here," Winters replied, heading back to the rest of the men to tell them the plan. "Alright men, there's a place that looks like a hospital a short walk from here. Keep your guard up. Just because it doesn't look like Bastogne, doesn't mean we're in friendly territory," he instructed the six men before him, "Keep Speirs, Malarkey, and Roe in the center, I'll lead the way to the hospital." A chorus of "yes sirs" was heard from Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, and Bull, while Nixon nodded in understanding and walked up beside Winters.

"Are you sure about this?" Nixon asked under his breath, ensuring only Winters heard his question.

"Got any better ideas?" Dick replied, cautiously emerging onto the sidewalk. The men left the safe haven of their alley and began the trek to save their friend.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think and be on the lookout for Chapter 2: the Hospital!!

Taglist: @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @executethyself35 , @stolen94 , @dontirrigateme

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Daisybilly

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Softer | Roy Kent coming soon

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This Dance Pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott 18+

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Rusty | Lewis Nixon

Rusty pt. 2 | Lewis Nixon 18+

Curahee | Joe Toye

Warmth | Eugene Roe

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 24

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

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

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

WARNINGS: Angst, Espionage, the usual

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

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

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

Disgust. Shock. Pity. 

Or worse: Admiration. Affection. Kindness.

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn't the world they lived in.

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

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

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

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

"I'd like to meet the guy." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" 

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

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

Alix pressed her lips into a grimace. 

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

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

If you did, you wouldn’t want me.

But Joe gently leaned his shoulder against hers again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want one?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe cocked an eyebrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well thank you… I think?” 

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

“‘Cause I ain’t done."

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

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

He chuckled and teasingly gave her a light nudge.

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

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

Joe haphazardly tossed his cigarette away before continuing, 

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

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

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

Her eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

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

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

"'Cause I think you do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words were on the tip of her tongue: 

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

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

It wouldn’t be fair– 

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

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

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

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

“Joey, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, how?!" 

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

 

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

"How bad was the leak?"

"Bad," Nixon uttered, shaking his head. 

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

They might've captured Jennie?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of them.”

[sergeant-spoons]

20. With Certainty & Charm

Bernadette Noel

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Hello, my lovelies! Sorry for my lack of my updates on most of my fics these past few months; between periods of sporadic busy-ness, a long bout of writer’s block, and the holiday exchanges I’ve been involved in, I haven’t had much energy or time to work on these longer fics. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll be getting back into the swing of things in the coming months. 🤞 In the meantime, thank you for your patience. 💕

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

Six months ago, on a troopship not unlike this one, Berni had been surrounded by arrogant show-offs with no regard for personal boundaries and what seemed to be a strange vendetta against any woman to outrank them. She'd punched quite a few of them and might have done worse to others had her compatriots not reeled her in, and just when Berni was starting to be of the opinion that she could never in her life work with scoundrels like these, she could not have been more relieved to discover through the 101st Airborne that not all American soldiers were quite so foul. She was even starting to like the skies of the Southern states—they were good for flying in—but then everything went to pieces and Berni returned to anger and hurt. She'd been stewing in her emotions ever since they left Camp MacKall, and that was a week ago. Unfortunately, there weren't many places to go on a boat (even a big one); cut off from her beloved planes, it was only a matter of time before the captain resorted to other, less reputable means of letting off steam.

"Keep it up, Captain! Let 'im have it!"

"Come on, Jonesy! You can't pick a fight with a woman and then lose!"

"This broad's gonna make a fool of herself!"

"Hey, hey-" The man facing Berni in their makeshift ring turned and waved down his wolf-whistling friend. "-knock it off, Mack."

Berni chuckled and readied her fists, wrapped in white cloth that was already a little bloody from her last bout.

"Ready?"

Her opponent turned back to her with a cocky grin.

"Only if you are, Captain."

Someone whistled, and before the shrill sound had even left the air, Berni took the first swing. The fight lasted a good seven or eight minutes, and that wasn't just for show. The men around them shuffled around a bit, holding up their cash as motivation for the boxers, but no one went far, and the boundaries of the ring made by the spectators' bodies remained relatively secure. It was a good, clean match, and when her rival finally ceded victory to her, Berni was impressed enough to hand him a glass of water that someone passed initially to her. He panted for a minute, sipped at the water, then came to shake her hand, a move which delighted her. He was the first of her competitors to do so, and though he was mocked for doing so, he didn't back down. Berni might have stayed to talk with him a minute and make sure she hadn't bruised his jaw too badly, but she was already being drawn away into the excited crowd. As she collected her winnings from a rather disgruntled-looking fellow, another soldier lit up a smoke and offered it to her; when she opened her mouth, he stuck it between her teeth.

"Mmm, thanks," she mumbled to the stranger, counting her cash with one hand and pinching the cigarette with the other, "you're a good chap."

"You're better," laughed the American, "you just won me a hundred bucks!"

Fiona and Délia surfaced then, drawing near as the crowd dispersed. Fiona looked a little perturbed but was trying to hide it, whereas Délia was just about vibrating with excitement. Berni glanced up, gave them a nod, and let a purl of smoke slip through her lips.

"Don't look at me like that, Fee," Berni hummed as she unwrapped her hands, rolling her cigarette between her teeth.

"Yer bruisin'," Fiona said, pointing at Berni's shoulder, forearm, and collarbone.

"Wow!"

"Augh, no, Deets, not 'wow'," Fiona protested, but Berni, smirking, shot Délia a wink, and Délia had a hard time suppressing her grin.

"So?" the captain asked, tucking her wrappings in her pocket, planning to wash them later. "Where's the fire?"

"Oh, no," Délia chuckled, "we put that out an hour ago."

Berni, chewing on her cigarette, slowed.

"You know what? I'm not even going to ask."

"Aye." Fiona cleared her throat. "Well, ah, Cap'n, it's, ah, it's Thelma."

"What about her?"

"She says ye left somethin' in her cabin last night and wants ye t' come get it."

Délia snickered, and though Fiona elbowed her, Berni had heard.

"What?" she asked, squinting at the pair, and Délia giggled again.

"Ye should go on, and go fast," Fiona said, her cheeks reddening slightly. "She said if ye don't, ye might be interruptin' somethin' ye don't want te."

"Ah." Relaxing, Berni ruffled Délia's hair as she made her goodbyes. "Don't start another fire while I'm gone, if you can help it."

"We won't."

Berni made sure to knock when she got to Thelma's cabin, and she heard a mattress creak as if two figures were moving to sit apart. When she called that it was only her, the mattress creaked again in the opposite direction, and she made sure to shut the door behind her when she came in. Thelma and Addie were cuddling on one of the cots, Berni wasn't sure whose. They seemed altogether innocent save for the way Thelma had her hand under the back of Addie's shirt and the way Addie was blushing as she admired her girlfriend's face.

"Afternoon, ladies," Berni said as she shut the door behind her, "good to see you're doing better, Coffey."

"I am, Cap'n, thanks."

Berni nodded nonchalantly, crossing to the chair where her bomber jacket hung. She'd left it there last night after a late-night smoking visit with Thelma while Addie spent the night in the sickbay with a nasty stomachache.

"You mind if I...?"

Berni turned around, holding up a pack of cigarettes, but neither of the women on the cot had heard her, too busy staring into each other's eyes, so close their noses brushed.

"Oy." Berni waved her hand, and Addie looked over, her blush deepening. "Thelma, these yours?"

"Yes'm."

Berni slipped them into her pocket, getting the sense that she (and all others) would be barred access from this room for the next hour or so.

"Hey," Thelma groaned, pointing at Berni's hand in her pocket, "those are my good smokes. Leave a few for me."

"Sure, sure."

Back out in the hall, Berni lingered for a few seconds until the lock clicked shut behind her. With her suspicions confirmed, she couldn't help a small smirk, and she hummed a few tuneless notes under her breath as she checked her pockets for her lighter. She was a few yards down the hall only to be called from the opposite direction, and she pivoted as she walked, her head turning before the rest of her body.

"Captain," Ellis called again, smoothing down her shirt, and a slight frown creased Berni's brow.

"What is it?" the captain asked, slipping her lighter back into the pocket where she'd found it.

"They've spotted shore," Ellis said, and Berni noticed only then that she was a little out of breath. "I thought you'd want to see."

Berni's smile shot wide across her face, and she hastened to her meet her fellow pilot.

"Remind me to buy you a drink next time we're out at the pub," the captain chirped, clapping Ellis on the back as they beelined for the stairs.

"What about Coffey and Duran?" Ellis asked, looking back over her shoulder at the closed door. "Should we get them, too?"

Berni snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Best not to interrupt them."

"Interrupt them? With wh-" Ellis cut herself off, and Berni didn't have to look to know Ellis' face had just gone a bright beet red. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

They made it to the top deck within the next half-minute only to find it already crowded with Americans curious about the new shore. Berni, unphased, drove through the crowd as Ellis held on to the back of her jacket so as to not fall behind. She commanded things like "Move aside gents, Captain coming through," and as soon as the men heard her, they made way. Some didn't bat an eye, while others looked at each other in surprise, having expected one of their superiors to push past, not a slightly-disheveled, five-foot-six Englishwoman with a hundred fly-away hairs and more authority to her voice than Winston Churchill had to his. A few of the taller Americans a few yards back from the bow recognized Berni from the boxing match and were quick to escort her and Ellis to the railing. As soon as they had a clear view, the coast became apparent before them, and Berni made sure to move her smoke away from her lips before she sucked in a breath through her teeth. A smile turned up her lips, and as she slung her arm around Ellis' shoulders, she took a long drag from her cigarette.

"I'll be damned," she said, staring straight ahead the same as a hundred others. "That's England, alright."

The pilots of Tare were some of the first to disembark the ship two hours later. They scampered down off the gangplank and ran up the dock, the others close behind, and Berni nearly kissed the soil when she felt the English grass beneath her boots. A patriot at heart, she couldn't deny her utter joy to be returned to the land of her birth. Anything to do with family was neither here nor there—she couldn't claim any substantial blood relations even if she'd wanted to—for it was more than enough to have her girls with her. Her spirits rapidly rising for the first time in many days, Berni wrapped one arm around Délia's waist and the other around Ellis', and together, they laughed and stumbled across the gravel to their waiting transport. They all knew which it was at once, the open-air bus more familiar to them than any American truck or jeep. Their driver held a sign that simply read "Tare" in neat handwriting that Ellis recognized as that of their old commander.

"You think we'll be back with the Major?" she asked Berni as she accepted a hand up, and Berni shrugged.

"I can't say for certain, but I'd sure like it to be true."

They drove for the rest of the day, arriving just after nightfall in Newcott, where they'd be staying for the foreseeable future. Their driver dropped them off and then continued north; where to, he wouldn't say. As soon as they were beyond prying eyes, Addie picked Thelma up and spun her around, cheering for their freedom. The other girls politely looked away as the couple shared a sweet kiss, then they regrouped and made for their lodgings. They marched in the door, doubting they'd know a single soul around only to be greeted by a familiar face smoking a pipe behind bushy white whiskers. They had their reunions over a late supper, and Major Harbridge could hardly catch a breath in-between all the stories the girls had to tell him. Berni spent most of the time watching their old commander, certain Ellis' guess had been right, to some extent. He looked older, and not by the six months that had passed, more like by three or four years. There was a new wrinkle on his forehead and he had to flex his hands every now and again when they seized up. His arthritis had always given him grief; Berni hoped it wouldn't take him out of the service entirely. The Major had always been so kind and open-minded with Tare, and Berni knew for a fact that their position within the ATA would be threatened without his supervision.

The Major finally told them over pudding what Berni had been waiting for. He was indeed going to resume command over Tare, but not quite in the way he had before. While Berni would remain the chief officer, Major Harbridge would act as a pipeline between the higher-ups in the RAF, Tare's work with Easy, and the two other ATA squadrons who were being outsourced by the Americans. The Major drew Berni aside as the others yawned their way upstairs to unpack and get some sleep. He wanted to know who was Flight Captain of the remaining girls, the ones who'd stayed in the States, and was pleased to hear Berni had left Polly in charge. Reassured in her decision, Berni told him further about Corporal Hennessy Honor Corsair and how she would additionally be assisting the girls under Colonel Sink's jurisdiction. Telling her she had put an old man's mind at ease, Major Harbridge shook Berni's hand and dismissed her to bed.

Upstairs, Berni expected most of her girls to have crawled into bed, but her attempt at a quiet approach proved unnecessary, as the lights were still on and everyone was crowded around Fiona's bed.

"What's all the fuss?" Berni asked, shrugging off her jacket, and Délia jumped up and drew her Captain over by the arm, chattering away in Portuguese like she did when she was excited or annoyed and forgot no one but Fiona could understand her.

"Look, Cap'n," Thelma said, tilting the newspaper in Fiona's hands so Berni could see, "we've made the front page."

The headline read "The Attagirls Are Home At Last!" with a photograph of the women rejoicing on the grass by the docks. In their excitement, it seemed they'd missed the photographer entirely, but he sure hadn't missed them. Thankfully, the article painted the pilots favorably, describing their moment of frolicking as patriotic enthusiasm and gratitude (which, for the most part, it was). Fiona, who was the only one to have read the full article so far, pointed out a few mentions further down. The author of the piece wondered at the mystery of only six pilots out of twelve returning and then made the following supposition that something dreadful had happened to divide the crew. Berni, who'd seen enough fluff pieces in her life, waved off the comments as negligible speculation despite agreeing with the description of the "something" that had separated Tare being "dreadful". She'd been expecting curiosity, but not on a large scale, and this paper was a local one, not from London or even Bristol, where they'd come into port. No doubt the author of the spread wanted to see his name on the front page; adding a bit of suspense to his article seemed to have done the trick.

"'The Attagirls'," Berni mused, eyeing the photograph as Thelma borrowed the newspaper. "I'd almost forgotten that's what they call us."

"The papers have got everybody saying it," Addie said, nodding toward the window. "Our driver, the lady who checked us in downstairs, probably even the Major."

"Look at this," Thelma chuckled, showing the continuation of the article a few pages in. "We've got star billing, sure, but the Americans aren't far behind."

Berni scanned the article and pursed her lips as her brow furrowed. Of course, the Yanks had taken up something ridiculous just as soon as the English had left. It wasn't their Yanks, per se, but still.

"Can you believe it?" Thelma snickered. "Not sure who these guys are, but they've gone and built their aircraft backwards."

Berni groaned. "Just because American doesn't mean Amerishould."

Thelma burst into such laughter that Addie had to take her out of the room to calm down so the others could get to bed. Berni was still the last under the covers, staying up well past midnight to write a letter on the day's happenings to Hennessy, and by extension, all her girls back in the States. She closed her eyes just after 01:00 hours and opened them again just before 06:00. Leaving the others to sleep a little longer, she went downstairs for a cup of coffee and was soon joined by Addie. They woke the rest of the girls about an hour later and gathered for a quick breakfast before heading out to their new assignment. It felt almost like a field day, discovering the airfield at Upottery was at least twice as big as anything they'd seen in the States. They could really work here. Ellis said they should send a photo back to the other girls, but Berni said that wouldn't fly for two reasons. First, there was no point in stirring up envy, and second, a photograph detailing an Allied airfield so close to the coast of the English Channel would never make it past the censors. Ellis assented, and the crew continued down the tarmac toward the hangar.

Major Harbridge arrived at almost the same moment they did, and he and Berni did the honors of opening the hangar doors (though he needed a bit of help from Thelma in the end, with his arthritis and all). The planes within appeared to be good sturdy bombers at first, but upon further inspection, they turned out to be the same kind of transport used by the American Airborne, Douglas C-47 Skytrains. The pilots were puzzled—why would they be flying the Skytrains without the paratroopers? Major Harbridge had an answer for them, and it was that they wouldn't be, these planes were here in storage. The planes the girls would be flying were on the other end of the hangar, where the expansive doors opened directly onto the runway. Délia took off first with the others hot on her heels; Berni took a more professional stance and walked calmly alongside the Major, though her feet itched to run and her eyes burned to see. When they arrived, Berni was surprised to see the others staring up at the medley of planes in awe, slowly realizing something she had yet to clue into.

"Congratulations, girls," said the Major, saluting the women, who saluted him right back. "You've been officially commissioned in the RAF as ferrier pilots."

It had taken two and a half years and a whole lot of grit and gumption, but they'd made it. Colonel Sink had mentioned something along these lines in that unwelcome meeting that was mostly a bitter blur to Berni. The captain didn't realize she was just standing there until Thelma came over, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her over to a bomber, a Martin B-26 Marauder, one that they'd flown before, together.

"You won't begin your service officially until tomorrow morning," Major Harbridge informed them, raising his voice to be heard by the women who'd scattered. "Today is for getting yourselves used to flying these planes again. Captain Noel?"

"Sir!"

"I presume you'll be alright running a few drills on your own?"

A smile finally broke across Berni's face, and she saluted her commanding officer with certainty and charm.

"Yes, sir!"

"Then I'll leave you to it. Cheerio."

Berni turned to Thelma, barely able to contain her excitement, and her friend flashed a grin, offering her a lit cigarette.

"To the skies?"

Berni raised the smoke toward the hangar roof as if giving a toast.

"Aetheris Avidi!"

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

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 24 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: Just as Liv was finally reunited with Joe, they are being separated once more. Her only light - Don. But then the horrors of war show their ugly face once more.

Warnings: Language, war wounds, loss

A/N: Have I already said that I kinda *hate* writing these things in Bastogne... It makes me feel sad :( And it only gets worse guys.

Here is my Masterlist

Taglist: @brassknucklespeirs, @liebgotts-lovergirl, @lieutenant-speirs, @mads-weasley, @emmylindersson

Late in the afternoon on January 3, we returned to our old position in the woods overlooking Foy. And it was a massacre. I walked next to Don, looking around, wondering what kind of hell the men must've been through.

"Holy fuck", I breathe and look at Don, who frowns.

Suddenly, we hear Joe Toye behind us, calling out. "You gotta be fucking kidding me. Someone's gonna die. Someone's gonna fucking die. Guarnere, look at this shit!"

I walked over to Joe. "What's got your panties in a bunch, Joe?"

"One of those 1st Battalion fuckers took a dump in my foxhole", he answers, and I lift my eyebrow, looking at him.

"I think they shit in everyone's foxhole, Joe," Bill chimes in and looks around. We are all thinking the same, as Bill says it. "I don't think they wanted to spend much time above ground."

While we were in the Bois Jacques, the Germans had been shelling our old position. There were signs of tree bursts everywhere. That got our attention.

As I navigate my way back to the foxhole that Don, Bill, and I have begrudgingly come to call 'home', the weight of command sits heavily on my shoulders, yet the camaraderie among us offers a peculiar comfort in this hellscape. The sight of the shattered woods, a grim reminder of the fury unleashed upon us, fails to dampen the spirit of defiance that binds us together.

Settling into the cramped space with Don, I catch him casting a sidelong glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a word needing to be passed between us. "I meant to ask you before... How did it go with Babe?" he finally inquires, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. The question hangs in the air, a ghost of our last mission that had almost broken us.

Taking a deep breath, I recount the ordeal, not sparing the details of the harrowing decision to retreat under fire, leaving Julian's body behind. It was a moment that tested us all, pushing us to the brink of what we thought we could endure. "Babe was... devastated," I begin, the memory still fresh, painful. "He thought we'd left Julian behind for good. That we'd abandoned not just a fellow soldier, but a promise."

I pause, the weight of leadership and the decisions it forces upon you never getting lighter, only more familiar. "But we went back for him," I continue, the resolve in my voice mirroring the determination that had surged through us that day. "Took a few men, dodged more bullets than I care to count, and we got Julian. Got him and his belongings," I add, the tangible proof of our success being the personal effects we managed to salvage — a class ring, a wallet, and a watch, symbols of a life cut tragically short.

Don listens intently, his expression a mix of relief and respect. "And Babe?" he probes further, knowing all too well the emotional turmoil that must have followed.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I remember Babe's reaction. "Let's just say, he was more than relieved. He hugged me so tight I thought he might never let go," I admit, the raw emotion of the moment breaking through the soldier's facade I've had to maintain. "He understood then, the choices we have to make. That sometimes leadership isn't about the hard call, but about going back to make things right, even when the odds are against us."

Don nudges me gently, breaking the silence that had settled between us as we took refuge in the dimly lit foxhole, the sounds of war a constant echo in the background. "So, you finally saw Joe again, huh?" he asks, a hint of mischief in his tone, but not without a genuine interest. His gaze drifts to the scar beneath my eye, a permanent reminder of the war's brutality, now seen by Joe for the first time.

With a heavy sigh, I nod, the memory of the encounter flooding back with vivid clarity. "Yeah, I did," I start, the cold of the night biting at my skin, yet the warmth of the memory offering a temporary respite. "He... he saw this," I gesture to my scar, the words trailing off as the image of Joe stepping closer, his hand gently lifting my chin to meet his gaze, replays in my mind.

Don, sensing the depth of the moment, leans in closer, the flicker of interest in his eyes now mixed with concern. "How'd that go?" he prods gently, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, a habit that offers him a semblance of normalcy in the chaos that surrounds us.

Taking a deep breath, I let the scenes unfold, painting the picture of that raw, vulnerable exchange. "It was intense," I confess, the cold seeping through the fabric of my uniform doing little to dampen the warmth that memory ignites within me. "He just... wrapped me in his arms, Don. Said the only thing that mattered was that I was alive, standing in front of him." The words tumble out, a mix of awe and disbelief at the depth of emotion Joe had displayed.

The mention of tears and the overwhelming comfort found in Joe's embrace brings a softness to Don's usually playful demeanor. "God damn," he murmurs, lighting the cigarette now perched between his lips, the glow briefly illuminating his face in the darkness. "Sounds like a goddamn movie scene, Sweetheart."

I chuckle, despite the seriousness of our conversation. "Felt like it, too," I admit, the reality of the war creeping back as the sound of distant artillery fire reminds us of our present. "He said he missed me, Don. That he couldn't stop thinking about me. And I... I told him the same."

Don takes a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the night air, a silent testament to our shared anxieties and fears. "You two are something else, you know that?" he says, exhaling slowly. "Fucking war tearing everything apart, and here you two are, finding your way back to each other."

The conversation shifts then, to the uncertainty of tomorrow, the constant danger we face, and the stark reality that any moment could be our last. Yet, in recounting that moment with Joe, a glimmer of hope flickers to life in the depths of my heart.

"Yeah," I agree, a wistful smile playing on my lips. The weight of Joe's words, the promise of a future uncertain yet filled with the possibility of moments stolen from the clutches of war, settles around us like a blanket, offering a semblance of comfort in the cold.

Don nods, his expression softening. "You hang onto that, Sweetheart. Whatever this fucking war throws at us, you hang onto that hope." He flicks the remnants of his cigarette into the darkness, the ember briefly lighting up the night before fading into oblivion.

"Yeah," I whisper, the resolve strengthening within me. "Together."

And as we sit in silence, the camaraderie between us a steadfast anchor amidst the chaos, I can't help but cling to the promise of a future where the war is but a distant memory, and love, in all its forms, triumphs over the desolation that seeks to consume us.

The sudden appearance of Lip cuts through the night like a knife, his voice low but firm as he reminds us of the noise and light discipline. The reminder snaps us back to reality, the gravity of our situation pressing down like a physical weight. "Don, Bill, Liv, keep it down," he says, a sharp edge to his voice that brooks no argument. "Liv, need you to make a few rounds, check on everyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, I nod, understanding the necessity of his request. "Got it, Lip," I respond, my tone equally serious. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I step out into the cold night, the air crisp and unforgiving as I begin my rounds, the solemn responsibility of checking on my brothers-in-arms weighing heavily on my shoulders.

The camp is eerily quiet as I move from foxhole to foxhole, the muted whispers of my comrades barely breaking the silence. The tension is palpable, a silent testament to the constant threat looming over us. And then, without warning, the ominous sound of incoming bombings shatters the stillness, a terrifying harbinger of chaos.

"Incoming!" My voice cuts through the night, a desperate warning as I sprint back towards our foxhole. The echo of Lip's voice amplifies the alarm, his command carrying across the camp with urgency. "Get to cover!" he yells, mirroring my own panic.

Don's voice reaches me next, laced with concern and fear. "Liv!" he calls out, the single word a plea for my safety. My heart races, adrenaline surging as I navigate the treacherous path back, the sounds of explosions growing closer with each passing second.

Finally, I slip into our foxhole, the familiar faces of Don and Bill a sight for sore eyes. "I'm here," I pant, barely catching my breath as we huddle together, bracing for the impact. The world outside explodes into chaos, the deafening roar of bombs tearing through the night, obliterating everything in their path. We cling to each other, a desperate bid for comfort in the face of impending doom.

And then, as suddenly as it began, silence falls, a haunting absence of sound that is almost more terrifying than the bombardment itself. We remain still, barely daring to breathe, the aftermath of the attack settling around us like a heavy blanket. The smoke, the debris, the stench of explosives hanging in the air—it's a scene from a nightmare, yet all too real.

Don's hand finds mine in the darkness, his grip tight and reassuring. Bill is beside us, his presence a silent pillar of strength. We don't need words; our shared experiences, the bond forged in the crucible of war, speak volumes. In this moment, in the aftermath of terror, we are reminded of the fragility of life and the unbreakable bond that ties us together.

The silence that envelops us in the aftermath of the bombing is suffocating, a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned moments before. We're left in a limbo, the uncertainty of whether it's truly over hanging heavy in the air. Don, ever the proactive one among us, breaks the tense silence first. "We should check if anyone was hit," he suggests, his voice low but filled with concern.

Bill, however, is quick to remind us of the grim reality we face. "That's exactly what they want, Malark" he counters, his tone grave. "For us to pop our heads up so they can pick us off." The wisdom in his words is undeniable, a hard-earned lesson from countless nights just like this one. Yet, the tension between the need to help our brothers and the instinct for self-preservation is palpable.

Then, cutting through the night, a sound none of us can ignore reaches our ears—a whimper, followed by painful moaning and then desperate cries for help. It's a sound that chills to the bone, the unmistakable voice of a man in agony.

"You hear that?" asks Don.

"Is that Joe?" adds Bill, and the three of us look in the direction the cries for help are coming from.

Recognition dawns on us simultaneously; it's Joe Toye. The realization hits like a physical blow, the urgency to act clashing with the knowledge of the risk involved.

Bill's reaction is immediate; his decision is made the moment he recognizes the voice of his best friend. "I'm going to check on him," he declares, determination etching his features. It's a testament to the bonds forged in the heat of battle, the unspoken vow to never leave a man behind.

But as he makes to move, I reach out, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to hold him back. "Bill, it's too dangerous," I plead, the fear of losing another person close to me making my voice tremble. The thought of Bill—or anyone else—venturing out into what could very well be a death trap is unbearable.

Bill, however, is unwavering, the resolve in his eyes unshakable. "I can't leave him out there," he states firmly, his voice laced with an emotion that brooks no argument. It's a declaration of loyalty, of the deep-seated belief that we are all we have out here, the only family within reach amidst the horrors of war.

The conflict within me is torturous. The strategic part of my mind screams that Bill's impulse, while noble, could lead to disaster. Yet, the human part, the part that has seen too much death and too much suffering, understands all too well. In this hellish landscape, where tomorrow is never promised, the bonds of friendship, of brotherhood, become our strongest lifeline.

As Bill prepares to brave the unknown for Joe, the weight of command, of responsibility, bears down on me. It's a harrowing reminder of the choices we are forced to make and the risks we take for those we consider family. In the end, all we can do is cover for him, pray, and wait, hoping against hope that both Bill and Joe make it back to us. The reality of war spares no one, but it's in these moments of selfless bravery that the true strength of our bonds is tested.

The night turns into a living nightmare as Bill disappears into the darkness, his determination to reach Joe pushing him beyond the relative safety of our foxhole. The minutes stretch into an agonizing eternity, each second ticking by with the weight of a lifetime. And then, as if the very heavens conspire against us, another barrage of bombings rains down, each explosion closer, more ferocious than the last.

Don reacts instinctively, pulling me close, our bodies pressed tightly together in a futile attempt to offer each other some semblance of protection. The ground shakes beneath us, the air filled with the deafening roar of explosions and the ear-splitting shrieks of incoming artillery. We're caught in the maelstrom, powerless against the fury unleashed around us.

As the cacophony dies down, leaving behind a ringing silence, my frustration and fear boil over. "Fucking hell, Bill's a goddamn idiot," I grumble into the darkness, anger laced with dread at the thought of what might have happened to him and Joe. My heart races, pounding against my chest as if trying to escape the inevitable truth of war's cruelty.

Don, ever the voice of reason even in the midst of chaos, catches the shift in my posture. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" he asks, his voice tight with concern.

But before I can answer, a desperate call pierces the night, cutting through the remnants of explosions and the heavy silence that follows. "Medic!" The call, repeated, becomes a beacon, guiding me towards the source, towards my duty.

"Doing my job," I say, a determined edge to my voice as I pull away from Don's protective embrace. "Stay down," I instruct him and the others I pass, each step taking me closer to the unknown.

Then, almost colliding with Lip in the dim light, I barely register his presence before the sight before us brings me to a standstill. My blood turns to ice, the scene unfolding like a grotesque tableau of war's indiscriminate brutality. There lie Bill and Joe Toye, their bodies a testament to the horror of what we're fighting against. Joe's leg is a mangled mess, blown off from the knee down, while Bill's is similarly destroyed, the carnage nearly too much to comprehend.

"Fucking hell," the words escape me, a whisper lost in the chaos. The reality hits hard, the sight of two of my brothers reduced to this state, igniting a fury and sorrow so profound it threatens to overwhelm me.

But this is no time for despair. Shaking off the shock, I kneel beside them, my training taking over as I try to assist Doc Roe with assessing their injuries. The urgency is palpable, every second counting as I help to stabilize them, to do what I can amidst the madness.

This is the reality of war, a reality we live day in and day out. It's brutal, unforgiving, and indiscriminate in its cruelty.

As Doc Roe and I work in tandem, the urgency of the situation tying our movements together with practiced efficiency, Bill's voice cuts through the tension. "Gimme a smoke, would ya?" he asks, his voice strained but tinged with that unmistakable Philly accent, rough around the edges but familiar in its resilience.

Without hesitation, I fish out a cigarette from my pack, lighting it and placing it gently between his lips. Turning to Joe, I offer him one as well, our eyes meeting in a silent exchange of solidarity and understanding. The simple act, mundane under any other circumstances, takes on a profound significance here amidst the snow and blood.

I can't help but glance back at Bill, a mix of admonishment and relief in my eyes. "Told you it was too fucking dangerous," I say, the words heavy with the weight of what could have been lost. But Bill, even in pain, manages a laugh, a sound that carries more warmth than the cold night air could ever leech from us.

"Sweetheart, you know me..." he says, the term carrying with it the weight of all the battles we've fought together, a testament to the bond forged in the crucible of war. It's a farewell, though neither of us says it, as he's loaded onto a stretcher and carried away, his silhouette disappearing into the night.

Joe follows soon after, the severity of his injuries casting a pall over the makeshift triage area. As he's taken away, the reality of the situation, the sheer brutality and randomness of it all, finally hits. I'm left kneeling in the snow, the cold seeping through my uniform, a stark reminder of the harshness of our existence.

The hand that falls on my shoulder is both unexpected and immensely comforting. Don, his presence a steady constant in the ever-changing chaos of war, stands beside me, his own grief and concern mirrored in his eyes. Don, like me, was close with Guarnere and Toye, the bonds of brotherhood tying us all together in ways that words can scarcely describe.

"Fucking hell, Liv," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger, sorrow, and exhaustion. "This is a goddamn mess." His grip tightens, a silent show of support, of shared pain and determination to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.

"Yeah, it is," I reply, my voice low, the enormity of the night's events settling in. Together, we stand in silence, a moment of mourning for what's been lost and what's still at stake. The war rages on, indifferent to the lives it upends, the dreams it shatters.

But in this moment, there's a silent vow made between us, a promise to keep fighting, not just for our survival, but for those who can no longer stand beside us. The bond we share, strengthened by adversity, becomes our beacon in the darkness, guiding us forward in a world torn asunder by war.

As we help each other up, ready to face whatever comes next, the resolve in our hearts is clear. We will endure, we will fight, and we will remember. For Bill, for Joe, for all those we've lost. This is our burden, our honor, and our duty.

As I look up, I see George standing there, still looking down at the place where Bill and Joe just lay. I walk up to him and put my hand on his shoulder when Lip walks up to us.

"How's Buck?" he asks, and we all look over to where Buck is sitting on a log, rubbing his face. George doesn't answer. "Luz, how's Buck?"

"He- He's fine." George finally answers, and Lip looks at me.

"You sure?", Lip asks.

"Yes, he's fine," George repeats and looks at Lip.

I sigh deeply, my gaze wandering to Buck once more before I look back at Lip. "I think you should probably go talk to him now."

Lip looks back at me and slowly nods. "All right."

[marycorleone]

The Girl Paratrooper - Joe Liebgott X F!OC

Prompt: Mary and Lieb met while training at Camp Toccoa. Both were paratroopers of Easy Company. But the rules were clear: Dating or romantic involvement was prohibited. This made Lieb and Mary date in secret, 'til the girl found out that he had cheated on her.

After breaking up with Joe, Mary grows closer to Bill Guarnere, and what was meant to be just a friendship becomes a marriage. But Bill and Mary don't love each other, and Liebgott is sorry. What will happen?

Warning ⚠️: the character 'Leigh Spencer' was created by @msmercury84 . I asked for use the character in my fic and she allowed. Thanks, Leigh! ❤️

Chapter One

Mary was walking along the road and doing her patrol, when Joe Liebgott showed up. The girl smiled from her boy, who came to her and kissed her.

'Stop, Lieb! Winters can see us!'

'Winters know all about us. Everyone else know all about of us. We just haven't assumed our relationship yet cause of the formalities of the war, but as soon as this is all over, I'm going to hug and kiss you without major problems.'

Joe hugged Mary, lifting her off the ground. 'And I love you so much and I want to marry you, Mary Corleone. You know that. Don't you?'

'Oh!' She screamed in fright, kicking her feet in the air. 'Joseph D. Liebgott, put me down now!'

'Don't scream! It will draw everyone's attention here!' He warned with a smile. Then Joe announced that he had an appointment and took his leave, leavin' Mary to complete her patrol.

A few hours later, when already was the morning, Mary was sleeping when she heard Pat Christenson's voice. He arrived fumbling, knocking a coffee pot off the table, startling Bull, Guarnere and Babe, who were sitting in the room next to where Mary was sleeping.

'What happened, Pat? It looks like you saw a ghost!'

'It's Liebgott!' Christenson was scared and stuttering.

Mary jumped on the bed, but didn't make a sound. She wanted to hear when Pat was going to say. In the next room, Bill asked.

'Let's go, Pat! What happened with Liebgott?'

'A girl. He was in his dormitory with a girl!'

Everyone was silent and after a few seconds, Bull affirmed.

'Mary is sleeping in the next room. She just got back from patrol. Liebgott is a piece of shit.

'I went in there to get an outfit I had forgotten, and when I got there, I saw the naked girl on top of him. He would spank her ass and say he never had such a nice girl in his life.'

'Damn! Mary will be devastated!' Bill cursed and rubbed his face.

'Shall we tell her?' Babe finally spoke.

'No. We shouldn't.' Bull asked.

Guarno was about to say what she needed to know when Mary appeared in the doorway.

'I heard everything I had to hear. It's unfortunate that you wanted Lieb to keep fooling me, Bull. You shouldn't have even thought about it. It was your duty, my friends, to tell me. Liebgott asked me to marry him, and you know it. I was going to let that son of a bitch put a ring on my finger, and you were wondering if you were going to let him keep fooling me!'

'Mary, I...'

'All right, Pat. I already heard what I needed. Where are they?'

'In Lieb's dormitory. Mary, wait! If you make a scene, you can be expelled from the paratroopers. The rules are clear: Dating is prohibited!' Babe tried to stop his friend, but she just walked away.

'Can't we date? But is okay fuck local girls? I'm tired of hanging my head. I've been doing this since Toccoa.'

Furious, Mary went towards where her fiancé was. They boys wanted to go after her, but Bill told the to wait there, and that only he would go. And so, Wild Bill followed Mary.

Next chapter coming soon. And currahee!

[roadtogracelandx45]

Band of Brothers Day 6: OC:

this is the first of 3 parts: Betsy Michael and Marla Stewart will be the other two and be posted later today. pictures were found on Google and pinterest, credited to the original owners

Captian Olivia Stewart-LIebgott - she is appearing in Courage Under Fire.

Olivia and her twin brother Robert had just turned 18 the same day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and their whole world was turned upside down. Robert joins the Army while Olivia is recruited to join the Army Nursing Corps where she quickly rises to the rank of Lieutenant and is sent with a squad of girls to the second ballation of the 506 and Easy Company. Where her twin, childhood sweetheart Bill Guarnere, family friend Lewis Nixon and future husband Joe Liebgott are.

Along with trying to keep her girls and the boys alive, Olivia finds herself falling in love with a cabbie from San Francisco and struggling with the fact that her ex boyfriend and former best friend are there too.

"We were never supposed to go to the front lines like that but in those direct moments when you have spilt second to react, you do. And I ended up putting myself between flying bullets and shelling to try and protect those boys. And if I had a choice I would do it again. No questions asked."