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theboredwritertm · 4 years ago

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Turn Into the Noise - Nixon

Summary: In 1942, a female soldier, Alice Crowley, joined the ranks of Easy Company at Camp Toccoa. Nixon tries to cope with his growing feelings for the woman throughout the war, but is forced to deal with her budding relationship with Spiers.

Warnings: brief mentions of assault, descriptions of a concentration camp, alcohol abuse.

A/N: This is part of a series I’ve been writing on and off for about...geez, maybe 4 or 5 years now. I had planned on waiting until I was finished writing all of the chapters to post them, since I wanted them read in a specific order (they’re written by character, rather than in chronological order, with each chapter being about the relationship between the chosen character and my OC). I realized I might never get a chance to finish it all the way I want, but I’ve always been happy with this chapter - it’s also the only one I’ve managed to finish. This is the first time I’ve posted any writing on tumblr, too! There are some jokes/references that will make more sense once the other chapters are posted.

Words: 16 820 (it’s a long one)

Pairing: Speirs x OFC, Nixon x OFC

***

I was three days in on a drunken sin

I didn’t much care how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

- (The Work Song, Hozier)

7th May, 1945

Berchtesgaden, Germany _________________

They sat out on the terrace with bottles of expensive champagne, celebrating a victory that had been a long-time in the making, and after spending the better part of three years playing their own parts in achieving it, the spoils they now reaped were all the sweeter.

Nixon lay back on one of the chaise lounges, his arms resting behind his head as he took in the stunning views around them. On the next chaise over, Harry Welsh grinned as he chugged from his bottle of champagne, embracing the joy of the moment, thoroughly drunk. He glanced over at the man seated at the end of the lounge by his feet. Speirs had barely taken his eyes off Alice since Winters had announced the German army’s surrender. The lieutenant herself was staring out across the vast, mountainous landscape, deep in thought.

“You two set a date yet?” Harry asked them, hiccuping as he glanced between the pair. He thought of the girl waiting for him back home and set his bottle down on the table beside him. He hadn’t thought he could feel any happier than he already did, but recalling the glowing face of his beautiful fiancee the last time he had made love to her gave him a surge of joy he had forgotten was possible.

“Yeah, June 6th,” Alice deadpanned, turning back to them, glancing first at Nixon. He stared ahead with a grin, shaking his head.

Laughing more than the joke merited in his drunken state, Harry reached once more for his alcohol and sent the bottle crashing to the marble below. “Oops,” he said, laughing all the more.

From his position by the balustrade, Winters tried his best to throw the man a disapproving look, but his small, signature smile gave him away. This was one of the happiest days of their young lives – knowing that the long years of training and fighting – the pain they had endured, the friends they had lost – it was all somehow worth it.

Harry reached for the bottle in Speirs’s hand and the captain held it out of his reach. “Get your own.” He looked up as he felt the bottle pulled from his grip regardless, and watched his bride-to-be take a long drink of the golden liquid. She smirked as she drank, and tipped him wink, reveling in the smile that her small rebellion had managed to draw from him; his wild, brown eyes still filled with a lust they had yet to sate.

Though even the privates had managed to find time to bed the local women, fortune had never smiled on the two officers. They had either been too busy leading the men, planning and executing orders, or simply finding time somewhere in between for the most basic of needs, like eating, showering and sleeping. Not to mention keeping their relationship under tight wraps – fraternization was a punishable offence, and there was no question that either one of them, or both, would have been sent home if anything had gotten back to the colonel.

It hadn’t been too hard to hide – Lieutenant Crowley treated all the men the same, never showing favoritism, even when rank was involved. She had always held onto the belief that respect was something to be earned, not forcibly given, and her time at Toccoa with Captain Sobel had only strengthened that belief. She cared for every single one of the men she had served with – Speirs just happened to be the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She frowned to herself now as she found her beverage depleted, upending the bottle just to be sure. Catching the original owner’s look of annoyance, she placed a hand on his shoulder and grinned.

“There’s plenty more,” she reassured him. Her fingers brushed against his neck briefly as she passed by and he smiled once more. “Anyone else while I’m up?” She looked to Winters, who shook his head.

“I- Um, me. Please,” Harry requested, but she shot him a look.

“I think you’ve had enough, Welshy.”

“What?” he attempted to argue.

She glanced down at the shattered remains of his last bottle. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I don’t think I’ll be the one thanking you in the morning,” he chuckled to himself, seemingly proud of his little joke. He looked over at Speirs and the laughter died from his face as he caught the dark glint in the captain’s eyes. He had to be drunk to make a comment so suggestive. Hiccupping again, he looked back at Alice and found she wore an almost identical expression.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, given the circumstances,” she told him, and he seemed grateful for the gesture, knowing her reputation well, “But thank-you for proving my point.” She stopped by the last person in line. “Nix?”

He shielded his eyes and squinted up at her. “Mm?”

“You want anything?”

He caught the little crease that appeared between her brows as he stared at her, taking too long to answer.

“You know what? I think I’ll come take a look with you,” he smiled, getting to his feet. “You always did make volunteering for things look like fun.”

Speirs turned to shoot her a subtle look and Alice gave a reassuring little smile. He was worried. She didn’t blame him after what had happened the last time she and Lewis Nixon had found themselves alone together.

“Where we headin’, Crow?”

Alice turned to give her helper an odd look as they walked through the living room of Hitler’s favorite retreat. Nixon had never once called her by her company nickname. It was the only sign he had given that he was even remotely drunk.

“What?” he asked with a playful grin, but she just shook her head.

“Kitchen. I think I saw some bottles in there.”

“God, I wish I’d taken you to see Goering’s wine cellar.”

“Why’s that?”

“I could have used the extra pair of hands.”

She chuckled. “I never took you for the looting type.

“I wasn’t looting,” he replied, with a teasing frown, “I was liberating the bottles from their shelves.”

She threw him a disapproving look for his choice of words, and paused to survey the surrounding cabinets and the pantry at the rear. Most of it had been picked clean by the other soldiers as they had made themselves at home in the place; but the alcohol was making her hungry, and the effect of the beverage was hitting her much harder than usual for the same reason.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“Why? You gonna whip me something up?”

“Yeah, well now that the war’s over, I thought I’d better put myself back in my place.”

He laughed and watched her pull open a cupboard door.

“Goddammit. Beans! I’m sick to death of fucking beans!”

She slammed the cupboard door closed.

“You know, I heard someone say Hitler was a vegetarian,” Nixon told her.

“No shit?”

“Yeah. He didn’t smoke or drink, either.”

“Christ, no wonder he started a war. Too much time on his hands.”

He chuckled. “Explains how I keep so busy.”

While Alice continued her search, Nixon grabbed a few of the bottles that sat grouped on the counter. When he turned back, he found her leaning against the opposite counter looking thoughtful.

“Hey, Nix?”

His eyebrow quirked up as he approached her.

“Yeah?”

“Say you were to get a certain…invitation. In the mail.”

“Mm?” he teased, knowing exactly where she was going before she even asked. He leaned back on the counter beside her and watched with a small smile as she struggled to find the right way to ask.

“Would you come to the wedding?”

“Depends whose it is,” he joked, his smile widening to a grin when she rolled her eyes. “Sounds mighty mysterious to me.” Then she turned her gaze back to him and he felt the same uncomfortable flip in his stomach he had gotten the night he had landed himself in trouble with her. He had thought the feeling had gone away – but it was proving to be like a cancer; coming back just as it seemed to be cured. He caught her eyebrow twitch and realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Of course I would come.”

She smiled, looking almost relieved. “Good. That’s…that’s good. I’m glad.”

And he knew it wasn’t just about the wedding. It was her relief in knowing things were okay between them. He had been one of the first people to welcome her at Toccoa; the first to make her feel welcome. He had been the one stupid enough to put that friendship on the line, yet here she was making the effort to make things right.

“You might have some trouble during the ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace’ part, though,” he joked, wondering just how much he actually meant it. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“No, I just thought I’d send out a bunch of invitations to people I don’t want there. You, Sobel, Dike…”

He let out a good laugh at that and she screwed up her face.

“God, it doesn’t feel right putting you on a list with those men.”

They smiled at each other, then her gaze shot to the doorway where Speirs was standing, and some of the humor died from her face. Every time he looked at her when she was in Lewis Nixon’s company, she felt as if she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Get what you need?” he asked her, glancing briefly at Nixon.

“We were just on our way back.” She plucked a bottle of champagne from Nixon’s hand and tossed it to him. Even in his semi-drunken state, the captain managed to catch it – just. “I believe I owed you half a bottle.”

“This is a full bottle,” Speirs pointed out, with a smile Nixon found odd, but Alice had come to find endearing; it was just another of the man’s many quirks that she had grown to love.

“So just drink half,” she replied with a crooked grin.

Smiling to himself, his mind swallowed up with thoughts like crashing waves, Nixon suddenly realized why Speirs had come to check on them. He had always found it amusing how possessive the man became when Alice was around him – and it was only ever when she was around him; Nixon had never seen the captain act that way when she was around the other men of Easy Company. To him it almost suggested that there really was something dangerous between them. Maybe Speirs sensed some competition. But there really was no competition – Alice had made that very clear to him on that fateful night. He hated to think about what he had done to her, almost as much as he hated to think back to what he still considered to be the single worst week of his life. He had made it through D-Day, had shivered his way through the snowy forests of Bastogne; still, nothing compared to that one day back in Landsberg, when all the events of that week had culminated into one stupid decision that had nearly cost him the friendship of a good woman.

***

25th April ,1945

Heidelberg, Germany _________

“Hey, you’re back!”

Normally, hearing her voice and seeing that sly grin would have lifted his spirits; but as he stepped out of the building Winters had designated Battalion HQ, Nixon couldn’t even muster up a smile. She climbed the stairs, pausing on the step just below him to take a seat on the slanting concrete balustrade, arms folded across her chest.

“How was the jump?” she asked, her voice a little softer now as her piercing green eyes searched his, sensing his mood.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. She nodded, reading his answer loud and clear.

“You want coffee?”

He gave a soft snort and finally a small smile appeared. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.” The words felt forced. He would have loved even more to get blind drunk and pass out in his bed, but just couldn’t find it in him to turn down a drink in her company.

Moments later, he was seated out the front of the building that was serving as the company supply store, staring at the surrounding ruins of bombed-out buildings. He heard the distinct voices of George Luz and Alice as they argued over something trivial, the dispute peppered with occasional bouts of laughter. When she finally returned, Alice was smiling and shaking her head, a steaming metal cup in each hand. She passed one to him and sat down beside him. Taking a sip, he glanced down at the contents as an odd taste hit his tongue.

“What’s in this?”

She glanced over, fighting back a smirk. “A pinch of love, a dash of devotion...”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t recognize it. Two ingredients my wife’s never used.”

“I’ll pass on the recipe.”

He chuckled and met her gaze, holding it for a moment as all thoughts of the woman back home melted away.

“I made yours Irish,” she finally explained, “You look like hell, Nix. What happened?”

His smile fell away and he stared out at the rubble once more. He looked as if he had aged years, despite having only been in combat for several months; his once handsome face now pale and drawn, a stark contrast against his dark hair and brows. Alice recognized the signs of battle fatigue when she saw them, having witnessed it many times in the freezing cold Hell of Bastogne: the listlessness, the irritability, the vacant stares, and the dark circles around once playful eyes.

“Plane went down. I made it out with two other men. That’s it. Now, it’s up to me to write letters to all mothers of the men who didn’t make it off. Make it sound like their deaths were worth it, somehow.”

“Isn’t that their CO’s job?”

He simply shook his head. The CO hadn’t made it either.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Oh, plus I’ve just been told I’ve been demoted, so there’s that.”

He took a long sip of his coffee, not caring that it scalded his throat on the way down, desperate to work the added alcohol into his system.

She had a pretty good idea why he had received such a harsh penalty, and suddenly felt guilty for adding the whiskey to his drink. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lew.”

He glanced over at her and managed a small smile. It was oddly refreshing to hear a woman cuss the way she did. He had become so accustomed to the ‘proper’ women his mother and father invited around for their dinner parties, and their high teas, and their little meetings for whichever new club or association they happened to have joined. The women who wore their hair in the latest styles, dressed in the finest clothes with their little matching purses and shoes. Women who gossiped about women who dressed the same way they did and went to the same meetings and events they did, but somehow managed to find themselves ostracized for one imagined faux pas or another. And then there was Katherine. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought of the woman he had married. Straight out of college, they had fallen into bed and then quickly into what they had believed was a loving relationship. Looking back, he wasn’t sure if love had ever been there to begin with.

“Really hasn’t been your week.”

“No,” he replied bitterly, “That it has not.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice had never been good at knowing the right thing to say, and though she held a lot of love for the man beside her, she couldn’t think of an appropriate way to voice it. It had taken her a long time to work out her feelings towards him, mistaking them at first for genuine adoration; she enjoyed his company, she cared about him immensely, and she knew if it came down to it, she would take a bullet for him – but then that went for every man in her company. The biggest difference, as she had come to find, was the attraction. Even now, sitting next to him, knowing what he had been through, knowing that he was married, she felt the urge to comfort him in a more physical way. She drove the thought from her mind.

It wasn’t until the following day, when Nixon received his long-expected ‘Dear John’ letter, that Alice witnessed him let loose an unbridled tirade of frustration. She had never seen such a raw display of emotion from the man, and the look of concern from his best friend – Major Winters – only drove home just how deep Nixon’s problems went.

It wasn’t long after that they bundled into their jeeps and troop carriers, and drove on to their next destination along the Rhine. Alice stood at the rear of her own vehicle, half-tuned in to the conversations going on between the men behind her, the other half of her focused on the car behind them that carried Winters, Nixon and Speirs. Speirs had offered her the seat next to him, but she had declined, opting to travel with the rest of the troops, where she had always felt most comfortable. Looking back at them now, she noticed Nixon’s gaze was unfocused, his expression blank. She glanced over at Speirs and he smiled at her. She returned the gesture as best she could and then turned away, running her fingers back through her hair with a sigh before replacing her helmet.

“I’m gonna find me a nice Jewish girl,” Liebgott was saying, “with great big, soft titties and a smile to die for, marry her, then I’m gonna buy a house. A big house with lots of bedrooms for all the little Liebgott’s we’re gonna be making. She oughta like that. Hey, lieutenant, it’s a shame you’re not Jewish.”

“Yeah, I’m missin’ out big time,” Alice joked absentmindedly, her brow still marked with a troubled frown. A few of the men chuckled, Liebgott included, but having known her since Camp Toccoa, he knew when something was awry.

“Hey, Al,” came Luz’s voice now, full of mischief, “Get this, right? Janovec here’s readin’ an article says the Germans are bad. Can you believe that?” He grinned at her expectantly, waiting for the witty retort she never failed to provide.

The lieutenant threw them a look of mock-concern. “Gee, Janovec, I think you oughta tell Eisenhower. You might be onto something there.”

Luz laughed and gave the private beside him and playful whack, but seated across from him, Liebgott still hadn’t lost his look of unease.

“Whatta you got planned for when you get back, lieutenant?” he asked her, hoping to distract her from whatever thoughts were bogging her down.

Her eyes flicked over to him and she considered the question. “You mean if I make it back.”

“That’s just Speirs talking,” Webster remarked with a grin. She looked to him, smirked, and cocked an eyebrow, before considering Liebgott’s question some more. Of course, she knew very well what she would be doing, but she wasn’t in a place to reveal that information just yet.

“You know me, Lieb, I never have a plan. I make it up as I go.”

He smiled at the reply, but others weren’t so satisfied with the response.

“You mean you’re not gonna marry– ”

“Who, Janovec?” she cut him off quickly, her expression suddenly severe. One look at her sharp eyes and the private swallowed the rest of the question and dropped his gaze.

“No one, ma’am.”

The men who knew her best exchanged looks, struggling to hold back smirks, and she looked around at them, her look of warning softening. She turned back to the jeep. Speirs was observing the surrounding landscape and Winters was reading through some papers with his usual look of steady focus, but Nixon had finally managed to shift his gaze to meet hers. It still held that vacant quality from earlier, but underneath that she could see the turmoil he was going through, and the contrast from his usual jovial self was painful to witness.

She found him later, in a rare moment of free time as the division settled into the town of Buchloe for the night, not far from their intended destination.

“You can always get another dog, Nix.”

He chuckled, but it was tinged with a hollow bitterness. Sitting beside him, allowing him a minute to gather his thoughts, Alice put a hand on the back of his neck and massaged gently – an instinctual gesture to comfort someone in pain. As she rolled her thumb in small circles, working her way into his tight tendons, Nixon dropped his head forward and hummed.

“This is the worst it’s gonna feel, the day you receive the news. It’ll get better from here. I promise.”

She spoke as if from experience, and since he knew she had never been married or divorced – as the intelligence officer, he was privy to a lot of information, especially when he sought it out directly – he wondered what pain she had gone through that could allow her to relate. Then he remembered: her baby brother. God, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten about that – he had even been the one to summon her to Winters’ office. He didn’t think he had ever admired her more than when he had read that letter from her mother; knowing that she had been sitting on that loss for such a long time without ever saying a word.

“Until I have to go back home to the bitch,” he replied now, pushing the thought from his mind.

He watched her stick two cigarettes in her mouth and light them.

“So, don’t go back,” she suggested, holding one of the smokes out to Speirs as he passed by on his way into the building behind them, where Winters had made himself at home. The captain took it as if he had been expecting it, then kept walking without saying a word. She held out the second one to the man beside her, but he shook his head. He had noticed the way her hand had fallen to his shoulder as the other man approached, reducing the gesture to something less intimate.

“Germany’s not so bad,” she went on, “You know, once you get used to the fascism.”

She felt his body vibrate with laughter and he turned to give her the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a while.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is a pretty little place. I guess I could stay. But only if you stay with me.”

She met his gaze and the humor-disguised proposition hung awkwardly between them. His smile fell away, and for the first time she felt the true extent of the feelings that had been forming between them over the past two years. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Speirs returned. She looked up at him. He gave the slightest jerk of his head and the lieutenant was on her feet.

“Well, duty calls,” she said, “Look after yourself, okay?”

Nixon didn’t answer, staring blankly ahead and only came out of his trance when she clapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up, gave a very unconvincing nod, and then watched her walk away with the man he knew she was in love with. What hurt more was knowing Speirs felt the same way about her.

28th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ____________

“Alright, two bucks.”

Alice watched as her captain tossed a couple of notes into the middle of the table. Frowning at his optimism, she attempted to sneak a peek at his cards and couldn’t help but laugh as he jerked them away and threw her a disapproving look.

“Are you in or what?” Speirs asked her, gesturing to the pot, “Or too busy cheating?”

“Christ,” she laughed at his harsh words, “Here.” She smacked two bills down and leaned back in her chair, taking a long drag of her cigarette. It was a cozy little setting, drinks served all around and a fire crackling merrily just behind them. It was the most comfortable they had been since they’d left Aldbourne, what felt like another lifetime ago. Somehow, out of all the countries they had been to, it was the homeland of their enemy that felt the most hospitable.

To her left, she watched as Nixon made to pour himself a new glass of his beloved Vat 69 only to find the bottle empty. To his left sat Carwood Lipton, then their final player, Harry Welsh. The men stared at the boozy captain, waiting for his bet. He sighed and tossed down his cards.

“I’m out.”

Whether he meant out of the game, or out of his favorite beverage, Alice wasn’t sure. Nixon rose noisily from his seat and looked around for another bottle, wandering into the adjoining room when he failed to locate one. Alice watched Speirs’s face turn stony at his fellow captain’s behavior. Unlike the three other men, he and Alice had opted for coffee on the off chance they were suddenly called back into combat. It seemed highly unlikely at this point, but it was in the man’s nature to be practical like that, and she had followed his example. He caught her gaze but didn’t say a word.

“Alright,” Lipton said, tossing in his own money, “I’ll call your two and raise you another two.”

“Geez, get a little alcohol into this guy and he takes no prisoners,” Alice joked, “Kinda like you, Ron.”

“Are we still talking about that?” Speirs replied.

She threw him a smirk and he stared back, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Lipton smiled at the reference in that good-natured way of his, but the moment was interrupted as a loud clang sounded from next door. They turned their heads, but were quickly drawn back into the conversation, trying their best to ignore their friend’s frantic behavior as he continued his hunt for more alcohol.

“I can’t believe we’re not jumping into Berlin,” Harry mused, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“No shit,” came Lipton’s reply.

Tuning out for a moment, Alice turned in her seat to check on Nixon, hearing a strained ‘Goddamn it’ as he crouched in front of Major Winters’ trunk. Her expression grew heavy with concern. They had all ignored his habit at first. They were in the middle of a war, witnessing and playing hand to horrific things on a daily basis – it seemed like a reasonable way to take the edge off the day. Then it became so that she rarely saw him without that familiar silver flask in his hand. More recently, after his third jump into occupied territory, the toll his addiction was taking on him had become all too obvious. As the battalion’s intelligence officer, it went without saying that he needed a clear mind to relay the important information and any new orders they were given; a single incorrect piece of information could mean the difference between life and death for hundreds of men.

“This war’s not about fighting anymore,” she heard Speirs saying, “It’s about who gets what.”

“Like finders keepers?” she said as she turned back, recalling the brazen way he had stripped almost every house of its valuables from the moment they had stepped into Germany.

He smiled and looked at her with the dangerous glint in his eye that the men seemed to find terrifying, but that she found alluring. “Yeah. Like finders keepers.”

Nixon appeared from the bedroom and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, looking forlorn.

“Deal me out of the next hand,” he said before walking towards the front door. Alice stared after him, frowning, then lapsed into thought.

“What about your money?” Harry called after him, but the only reply he received was the sound of the door slamming as the captain stepped out into the cold, wet night. Harry sighed. “Are we waiting on him again?”

Lipton nodded, answering in the affirmative, when Alice was struck by a sudden recollection.

“Oh, shit!”

The three men looked at her, slightly taken aback by the outburst. They still hadn’t gotten used to the sound of a woman cursing, though Speirs knew he’d likely have a lifetime to do so.

“I just remembered something,” she told them, pushing back her seat and tossing her cards face-down on the table, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Now we’re waiting on her, too. Great,” Harry sighed, “Anyone else have somewhere they need to be?”

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” they heard her call back as she moved down the hall towards the exit, and the two remaining lieutenants laughed. Speirs’ face was still, however, as he silently watched her exit the building.

It was pouring rain outside, and the sudden burst of cold brought back memories of the hell that was Bastogne. Alice paused at the top of the steps, allowing a moment to bring herself back to the present, then turned onto the street below. She caught sight of a familiar figure.

“Nix! Hey, Nix!” she called, in a voice that had the ability to reach across an active battlefield.

He turned towards her, drenched from head to toe, looking utterly lost.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked her, catching the way she shivered. He strode over to her and led her over to an undercover area.

“I’ve got something for you,” she explained, voice raised to compete against the torrential weather.

“What do you- ” he began to ask. She gestured for him to follow, and they came to the building he knew she was staying in. The confused frown he had worn since she had first appeared on the street only deepened as they stepped into her room. In his drunken state, he was having trouble thinking of anything other than where he hoped this odd encounter was going. He glanced over at her bed, thoughtfully.

With a swipe of her hand, Alice shoved the discarded items of clothing and small stack of books off the top of her trunk, and opened the lid with a loud creak that brought Nixon back to reality. He heard her make a pleased sound and she got back to her feet.

“Here.” She held out a new bottle of his beloved drink. He just stared at it.

“How did you…?”

“I talked Winters into letting me take one. I thought something like this would happen one day.”

“Something like what?”

“That you’d run out.” She cocked an eyebrow and he couldn’t help but wonder just how badly he’d been behaving in the absence of his booze.

“You did that for me?”

“Well, more for the benefit of everyone else, really.”

He chuckled and stepped towards her, completely ignoring the bottle he had been so desperate to find.

“God, I think I love you.”

The smile seemed to melt from her face, replaced with confusion as he wrapped his arms around her waist and mashed his lips against hers. There was a split second of indecision where she almost considered giving in to her long-growing attraction – to risk the love of a good man for a moment of self-indulgence with another; then the odor of the alcohol and the stale smell of his sweat hit her and she was brought back to her senses, struggling to free herself from his grip.

But he wouldn’t let go.

It was only when her fist connected with his jaw and he was stumbling backwards that he realized what he had done. The look on her face, the mix of confusion, betrayal and regret, was something he had never forgotten. He looked down at her hand as she flexed her fingers and tested the pain in her knuckles. She was probably going to bruise. Rubbing the spot on his jaw, he thought that he probably would too, but he didn’t care. Nothing in that moment hurt more than knowing she might never look at him the same way ever again.

“Ron and I are engaged.”

The statement was a rude slap that shocked him awake better than a cold shower ever could have.

“When the hell did that happen?”

Trying her best to ignore the sharp edge in his voice, she said, “He asked a couple of days ago, and I-”

“And you said ‘yes’,” he finished for her, with a bitterness that made her blood boil. “So you’ve been engaged this whole time? Comforting me, telling me things are going to be okay, meanwhile you’ve promised yourself to that fucking lunatic?”

When he glanced up to meet her gaze, all resentment and anger fell away. He had never understood how the other men could fear this woman – she was always so quick to smile, easy to laugh and one of the most selfless people he had ever come across. But as she stood before him now, he saw not the warm and accepting Alice he had come to love, but Lieutenant Crowley of Easy Company; the cold, ruthless battlefield commander. And all at once he understood that fear.

“I’m sorry your wife’s divorcing you. I’m sorry you got demoted. And I’m sorry you lost all those men on your last jump. But if you ever lay your hands on me like that again, I will knock your fucking teeth out. Do you understand me?” She spoke in a hushed tone that only managed to intensify everything she said.

A flush crept into his cheeks as her words unlocked a deep shame that the alcohol had been doing well to keep contained. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, croaking out, “Yeah, I got it.”

Then all at once the other Alice seemed to reappear. She glanced at his jaw, lifted her hand towards it, hesitated, and then rested it awkwardly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nix.”

And he knew it wasn’t just for the punch.

When they finally made it back to the poker game, walking in a heavy silence, their waiting buddies looked up. They were a miserable sight, drenched from head to toe, expressions downcast. Spotting the bottle in Nixon’s hand, completely missing the mood between the two in his own semi-inebriated state, Harry smiled.

“Hey, look at that! You found one!”

Nixon stared at him, before he realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, yeah. Pays to have friends, I guess.” He glanced over at Alice as they both returned to their seats, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lipton and Harry exchanged the briefest of looks, but said nothing.

As Alice moved to pick up her cards, Speirs spotted the bruises forming on her knuckles and glanced up to see the other captain rubbing gingerly at his jaw as he poured himself a fresh glass. Speirs tensed, but the second he moved to get up, Alice placed a hand on his thigh to still him. She didn’t look at him, but in the light of the fire he could see the mix of emotions glistening in her eyes.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” Nixon began, attempting to sound conversational, but failing to hide his bitterness. That seemed to do it for Lieutenant Crowley. She tossed her cards onto the table and pushed back her chair, caring little for the amount of attention she drew to herself in the process.

“You know what? I’m out. Keep the money. I really don’t care.”

Everyone but Nixon watched her leave, and when he felt their eyes burning into him, wanting some answers for her sudden change in temperament, he stared down into his glass.

Speirs waited for the slam of the front door, then folded his cards, stating casually, “I think I’m going to call this one, too.”

Harry sighed and downed the last of his drink. He checked his watch and saw it was well past midnight. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Might be the last decent night’s sleep we get.”

Lipton glanced from Nixon to Speirs, and caught his commanding officer throw the other captain a dark look as he got to his feet. Like most of the men of Easy Company, Lipton was well aware of the relationship that had formed between the CO and his first lieutenant; but as for her and Captain Nixon – Lipton had only ever seen the two talking and joking around since they had first met back in Toccoa, though it had always appeared the same as the friendship she shared with him and the other men. Catching the bruise as it now formed on the disgraced man’s cheek, Lipton fought the urge to go and check on her.

Nixon emptied his glass in one gulp, quickly setting to pour another, ignoring the scrapes of chairs as the others got up. He caught Harry’s gaze as the lieutenant grabbed his winnings, and watched the man force a smile.

“See you in the morning, Nix.”

Nixon stared down at the liquid in his cup as if deciding whether or not to drink it, and gave a sad, empty chuckle. “Yeah. Sure.” Then without any further hesitation, he drained the glass.

29th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ______________

He tried to find her the next morning, to at least catch sight of her, but she was either avoiding him, or keeping busy elsewhere. He was standing beside Winters, who had already twice questioned the dark bruise along his jawline, when he was caught off guard by the familiar face as Lieutenant Crowley approached them. Ignoring him completely, she stopped in front of the major.

“Sir, do you mind if I tag along on that patrol this morning?”

“You like volunteering for patrols, Al?”

She gave a light chuckle, though she didn’t like to think back on the one she’d led in Haguenau.

“Just feeling a little homesick. Thought a stroll through the woods might help.”

“Might not be a stroll,” Winters reminded her. Though it was unlikely they would come across any trouble, word had come down from battalion that there had been instances of German soldiers retreating into the forest and forming a kind of guerrilla resistance.

“Honestly, sir, I could use the distraction.”

Hearing those words, Nixon finally looked away from her as his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch; a feeling he knew well – guilt.

“That’s fine. I’m sure the men would be glad to have you along.”

Offering a final smile, he gave a nod to dismiss her and turned his gaze immediately to the officer beside him once she had left.

“What happened, Nix?”

He took in the bruise on his friend’s cheek and pieced it together with the lieutenant’s unusually cold behavior towards him, disliking what it added up to.

“A misunderstanding,” Nixon replied with a sigh.

“Do I need to ask her?”

“What? Jesus, no. If you did, she’d tell you the same thing, anyway.”

“I need this resolved. She’s one of my best officers. We’ve come too far to let something personal cloud decisions that could get people killed.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it under control, alright? And it’s not…it’s not personal.”

Winters stared at him, expression firm, eyes searching his face in that uncomfortable way that made him feel almost naked.

“Nix?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and looked up with a begrudging, “Yeah?”

“Stop lying to me.”

“So, can you or can you not teach me the best way to find a beehive?”

“Luz, I swear to God.”

Stepping through the trees of the forest on the outskirts of Landsberg, Alice felt herself smile for the first time since the incident the night before. She looked at the men around her: Luz, Perconte, Randleman, Powers, Christenson, Vest and O’Keefe, and felt herself relax as they made their way through their designated area.

Perconte scrunched up his face, “Whatta ya talkin’ about, a beehive?”

Luz just grinned, holding his lieutenant’s irritated look, then shook his head, “Never mind.”

“Say, Al,” Perconte went on, and she knew just from his tone that he was about to say something she wasn’t going to like, “I heard you got into it with Cap’n Nixon, last night.”

Luz whacked him on the arm to shut him up, but the gesture came too late. Perconte looked back at him, shrugging him off, and George just rolled his eyes. Turning back to see if he would receive an response, he found Lieutenant Crowley gazing at him in a way that made him stop in his tracks.

“You heard what?” she asked. Her voice was casual, but one look at her eyes and he knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

“Nothing,” came his nervous reply. He heard Luz give a chuckle as he passed by. “Shut up,” he told him, but it only made his friend laugh more.

“Why’d you want to come along, lieutenant?” Christenson asked now, caution to his tone after witnessing the exchange with Perconte. He had always found Alice to be quite amicable – it was Speirs that terrified him – but it had always made him uneasy that she seemed so comfortable in that man’s presence, even from the very beginning when the rumors about him had been most prevalent.

He recalled one incident in particular, back in the woods in Bastogne. He had been one of a handful of men who had been left behind to hold the line while the others moved out to take Foy. He had been sitting in his foxhole with Perconte and Sisk, listening to the story of the executed German prisoners for the first time, when the rumored killer himself had made an appearance. Obviously having heard the retelling on the infamous story, Speirs had offered them each a cigarette, which, alarmed, they had politely declined. Then up sauntered Lieutenant Crowley with a casual, “Mind if I bum one of those?” She had pulled one from the pack, pausing to let him light it for her before asking, “Going my way?” He had replied with an odd smile and a simple, “That I am,” and then the pair had walked off together, leaving the three soldiers gaping after them.

“Don’t you know? She loves to volunteer for patrols,” Bull replied now, through a mouthful of cigar.

Alice chuckled, thinking back to Winters’ similar response. “I had no idea that was a running joke with you guys.”

“Ain’t no joke,” Bull told her, “Only you’d be crazy enough to keep volunteerin’ for shit that’d get ya killed.”

“I dunno, this doesn’t seem so dangerous to me,” Shifty said in his gentle Southern drawl, surveying the quiet forest around them.

“Exactly,” Alice nodded, “Shifty the sharp one, as always.”

“Kinda reminds me of Bastogne,” Perconte interjected with a frown, glancing around at the others, “Doesn’t it remind you of Bastogne?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Luz replied, “Except of course there’s no snow, we got warm grub in our bellies, and the trees aren’t fucking exploding from kraut artillery. But yeah, Frank, other than that, it’s a lot like Bastogne.”

The others grinned, but as usual the sarcasm went over Perconte’s head.

“Right?” he agreed.

“Bull, smack him for me, will you?” Luz said. “Thank you.”

They had a good chuckle as Randleman clouted the soldier in the back of his helmet, then continued on in a comfortable silence. Alice fell into step next to Luz, feeling the weight of her uncertainty gradually falling away. She had been in desperate need of a distraction, between dodging an apologetic Nixon, and a concerned Speirs. She almost felt like she was a sergeant again; back amongst the men without the worry of managing an entire company. It was the breather she had needed, and it was only then that she realized she had been spending too much time among the fellow officers. She hated that feeling of isolation from the rest of the men.

“How ya been, Al? You doin’ okay?” Luz asked her, in a voice low enough that the other men wouldn’t hear. As she considered her answer, she flexed her fingers, testing the damage from the night before.

“Yeah,” she assured him, “Gettin’ there.”

He smiled and clapped her on the back, stepping passed her as they continued on. Alice lapsed into thought, keeping her ears pricked for any unusual sounds, but the further she walked, the more she seemed to notice that something wasn’t right. She glanced to Shifty, who had taken point, and caught his eye, noting the crease that formed in his brow.

“George,” she called in a hoarse whisper, signaling for them to stop. Luz turned back to look at her, a frown crossing his face when he caught her expression.

“What is it?” Christenson asked.

“It’s quiet,” Shifty answered for her.

“Yeah, cause Perconte stopped yammerin’,” said Luz.

“Hey, Luz, you know what- ” Perconte began, but was quickly cut off.

“Shut it, you two,” their lieutenant ordered, taking a few steps forward. All around them, the forest was still. Not so much as a birdcall cut through the unnatural silence. She had only ever seen something like this once before, back when a fire had broken out a few hundred miles from her home. The mere smell of the smoke had driven all surrounding wildlife to safer ground. Testing the air now, she caught a different scent. “You guys smell that?”

“Again, Frank,” Luz joked, but Alice held up a hand to shut him up. The humor fell away from his face and he sniffed the air. There was a bad odor, now that she mentioned it. He hadn’t noticed it much before, happy to simply be among friends on a relatively safe patrol for once. Plus, they’d experienced their fair share of bad smells throughout the campaign; body odor, vomit, excrement – both animal and human – blood, spoiled food and the ever-present smoke as buildings went up in flames. But this one hit closer to home. This one they knew all too well.

Bull stepped forward. “Smells like–”

“Death,” Alice finished for him.

It was then that she spotted the thin tendrils of smoke wafting through the tree line up ahead. Without a word, she took off towards it. The men quickly followed.

They stepped out of the forest and spotted the source of the smell and the smoke. At first, they were unable to comprehend what they were looking at. One by one they looked to Lieutenant Crowley for orders, but for the first time she appeared just as lost as they were.

“Frank,” she said, “How’s your ass feeling?”

Perconte looked over at her with a frown. “My ass?”

“Reckon you can make it back to base?”

Realizing what she was saying, he nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off the barbed wire.

“Yeah. I can manage.”

“Get Speirs,” she ordered, her mind going instantly to the person she trusted most in her moment of uncertainty. He would know what to do, she told herself. Perconte turned to move, slinging his rifle across his back when she said, “No, wait. Get Winters. Just get an officer. Any officer. And medics. I think we’re going to need ‘em.”

“You are an officer,” he said stupidly, as if she had somehow forgotten, but she just shook her head.

“I think we’re going to need someone higher up for this.” Her mind whirred as she considered someone who might at least have some insight into what they had found. “And bring Captain Nixon.”

When they first pulled into view of the camp, Nixon spotted Alice beside Sergeant Randleman. Easily one of the biggest, toughest men in the company, Bull was now crouched on the ground with a broken look on his face. The lieutenant was speaking softly to him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying hard to hold herself together in the process. Each member of the small patrol held the same expression, as if it had become their new squad insignia; a telling mark of their recent discovery.

Hearing the crunch of tires on gravel, Alice looked up with a blank kind of confusion. As the officers jumped out of the jeep, Winters came towards her first. Nixon began to do the same, but faltered for a moment until she met his gaze for the first time that day.

“Lieutenant Crowley?” Winters said gently, as she stared off, then when she didn’t answer, “Al?”

She looked at him and he caught the lost look behind the eyes that were usually so confident and focused.

“Sir?” she blinked. He stared at her a moment before she realized what he wanted, but at first she struggled to find the words. “Uh, we were travelling north through the forest, Shifty on point. The smell hit us first. Then we followed the smoke. I had Luz, Christenson, and Vest scout the perimeter while Powers and Randleman did a sweep of the surrounding woods. I remained on watch with O’Keefe at the front gate. We attempted to make contact with the, the people, the, uh, prisoners. None of them speak any English. We found no guards, no enemy soldiers. I have no idea how long these people have been alone for, sir. As far as I can tell, they’ve been without food and water for a while.”

“The fires are fresh,” Speirs noted, looking up at the rising smoke as he stepped up beside her, and she nodded, feeling a little better with him by her side. “Guards can’t be long gone.”

“That’s fine,” Winters told her. Then, sensing her distress at her inability to find some way to help the people behind the wire, added softly, “You did good, Al.”

“You haven’t heard of this sort of thing back at headquarters, Captain Nixon?” Alice asked, turning to the other officer.

He didn’t respond for a moment, not used to being addressed by her in such formal manner. “Uh, no. Nothing like this.” He couldn’t help but stare, completely thrown by her behavior. He had only ever seen her like this once before; back in Haguenau, the morning after she had lost a man on patrol. She had blamed herself his death, somehow concluding that it was a reflection of her abilities as an officer. Even now she almost looked as though it was somehow her fault that the people behind the fences had met such a horrific fate, as if she could have prevented it from happening had she done something differently.

“I didn’t have any way to get it open. I just thought…”

It was the first time they had seen her at a loss for what to do. Winters nodded, understanding, and they turned to look back at the dozens of emaciated figures. Behind them, more men from Easy climbed off of a truck, each of them coming to a halt the moment they caught sight of the living skeletons, a few of them covering their noses as the smell washed over them.

Acquiring bolt-cutters from the truck, Christenson stepped forward and opened the perimeter gate. Alice and Winters stepped through, then exchanged an uncertain look.

“Open it up,” Winters ordered.

As Christenson cut the chain on the final gate, urging the starving prisoners away from the entrance with some help from Perconte, Alice felt someone step up beside her. She looked at Nixon, then turned to the group of medics behind her, ushering them in first to evaluate the condition of the men in the filthy, striped clothing.

“Do you speak any German?” Winters asked Christenson, but the man shook his head. He turned to Alice and she did the same.

“Is Liebgott with you?” she asked him, “I’ll go find Liebgott.”

She moved quickly, glad to finally be of use again, creating as much distance as she could between herself and the camp, finding it difficult to breathe. She paused for a second, took a deep breath, and then pushed through the group of Easy company men who were filtering in, passing Speirs along the way. He paused to say something to her, but she barely seemed to notice him.

“Liebgott?”

“Yeah?” came a voice from the back group. She spotted him holding the perimeter with a couple of others.

She jerked her head for him to follow her, her expression saying enough.

“What the hell is this place?” he asked her, another one to note the worrying change in her usually self-assured demeanor. After spotting the telltale patches on the prisoners’ chests, Speirs had been quick to place Liebgott on the perimeter to create some distance between him and the camp. The Jewish-born soldier hadn’t questioned it; he hadn’t seen much of what they had found, but with the smell coming off it he was only happy to oblige.

“That’s what you’re going to find out for us,” Alice replied, fighting to hold back the bile in her throat as the breeze blew the rancid smell of decay into their faces.

“Alright, boys,” she heard Lipton instructing as they walked passed, “These people need care. Give them water, any rations you might have. Grab some blankets.”

Hearing the clear, logical orders, Lieutenant Crowley seemed to snap out of her daze, walking with more purpose as she led the translator back to Major Winters.

She stood beside him, with Nixon to her left, and Speirs behind her as Liebgott questioned the healthiest of the men – and considering the condition of some of the others, that really wasn’t saying much. His clothes were filthy, draped over his emaciated frame. His skin had a waxy, yellow pallor to it as it stretched across his bones, and his eyes were two sunken pits. The stench coming off of him was not unlike that of the camp itself.

The guards had left that morning, he told them, running from an enemy that they knew was closing in. In a last ditch effort to hide their atrocities, they had shot as many prisoners as they could, before burning down a few of the huts with the men still inside. Any prisoners who had tried to stop them had also been shot. Without time to destroy all of the evidence, and running short on ammunition, they had locked those remaining inside and left them to die of starvation and disease that many were already well on the way to succumbing to.

Winters listened carefully, then asked the most pressing question: how was it that these men had come to find themselves treated with such cruelty? There was no reason in his mind that could compel men to treat fellow human beings with such brutality, but perhaps the minds of the Germans worked differently. He recalled the treatment of the women back in Eindhoven who had been accused of sleeping with German soldiers; the way they had screamed and begged as they were beaten on the streets, their shaved heads still bleeding from the townspeople’s vicious conduct. Humans always found a way to justify their violence.

“Can you ask him what kind of camp this is? Why are they here?”

Liebgott relayed the question and they waited, watching the gaunt man consider his words before he replied.

“He says it’s a work camp. There was a word he used, but I’m not familiar. ‘Unwanted’, maybe?”

“Criminals?” Winters guessed.

Liebgott tried that, but the prisoner frowned at him, clearly offended, and gave a very clear ‘no’.

“Doctors, musicians,” Liebgott translated, “Tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals.” He shook his head, not quite understanding how these things related to their imprisonment. Then the man spoke a word that resonated deeply with the soldier. He asked him again, just to be sure, and the man nodded. Like Speirs, he too had noticed the stars stitched onto their soiled clothes as he first entered the camp, but hadn’t made any correlation between the symbol and the men’s incarceration. It was beyond his reasoning that something as simple someone’s religious faith could have them wind up in conditions like this.

Winters stared, waiting for the reply.

“They’re Jews,” Liebgott said. The prisoner continued on, then seemed to become deeply distressed, gesturing up the road, voice breaking with emotion as tears welled in his eyes.

“Liebgott?” Nixon asked, brows knitting together as the prisoner began to cry.

“The women’s camp is up the road.”

Alice broke from the circle then, hands on hips, overcome and finding it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just the smell; it was knowing that no matter how hard they had fought, they hadn’t been able to stop the suffering of these people. Maybe if they had made it sooner… She walked in a daze towards the front gates and came to a stop when she felt it was far enough. Taking a few deep, even breaths, she gazed down the road and considered her next move. A hand found her shoulder and she jumped.

“You’re not going,” Speirs said evenly, reading her mind. Though he somehow managed to maintain his usual stoic expression, she could see just from his eyes how much he had been affected, too.

“They’re out there, just like these people were. They’re locked up in there, waiting for help to come.”

“You’re not going,” he repeated in the same tone. “They’ve got someone on the radio to send another company over there. You don’t need to see that.”

Her breath became uneven again and she asked with a tight voice, “Ron…what if there’s children?”

He considered the horrific possibility, looking away from her and into the forest, then realized the more likely truth. He sighed as he considered whether or not to voice his thoughts. “I don’t think there would be.”

It took her a moment to process his response, and when she realized what it meant – how the men in this camp had barely managed to survive – she gave a quick nod and took a few steps further out with her head bowed. She came to rest beside the troop truck and in a moment of violent release, drove her fist into the side of it. She felt the already-bruised skin split, but didn’t care. The pain grounded her. She looked at the smear of blood she had left on the vehicle, then turned stare out into the forest for a moment. Speirs watched her take a deep breath and turn back, walking with purpose, her expression suddenly focused and determined.

“Stop,” he said, blocking her path. She watched him with a curious frown as he patted down a number of his pockets, finally coming across the object he was after. He took her hand gently in his own and wrapped it in the small bandage he had kept from his field kit. “I’m not having you catch something in there,” he frowned, clearly disapproving of her sudden outburst. “And you need to give that fist a break.”

She glanced up at him, finding an unusual softness to his usually sharp eyes. “That’s why God gave me two, Ron.”

He threw her a look of warning, but that too had a strange gentleness to it. It was the same way he had been looking at her that morning, as they’d briefed the men about the patrol. That presumption of vulnerability from a man who had once witnessed her beat a man to a bloody pulp – who had seen her take out a kraut-infested building on her own with a gunshot wound to the arm – had quickly begun to drive her insane.

He followed her back through the gates. The rest of Easy Company had fanned out, helping whoever they could and exploring the rest of the camp, which stretched out much further than they had first imagined.

Seeing more prisoners pouring out of the surrounding huts, Alice turned to Speirs. “What are we going to do with all of them? We can’t leave them here.”

“Where are we going to take them?” he replied, as if that were the better question, his face drawn as they passed shriveled corpses by the roadside. “I don’t even know if they’d survive the trip.”

“Not back to the town. For all we know, they’re the ones who put them here.”

He nodded. “Sink’s on his way with the regimental surgeon. They’ll figure it out. For now, we do what we can.”

They came to a stop behind Captain Nixon and Major Winters, and stared up at the looming train cart as the door was pulled back. The stench hit them immediately. Bodies were stacked inside, each in various stages of decomposition, some with their mouths open, frozen in their final death rattles.

Alice turned away, covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. She spotted Bull and Luz coming out of one of the huts looking troubled, and moved to approach them. Catching her questioning look, they shook their heads, but she misread the gesture.

“More dead?” she asked, voice solemn.

“Some are,” Bull replied in a similar manner, “Most o’ them are alive. We need to get some more doctors out here.”

“They’re on their way.”

“Christ, what the hell is this place, Al?” Luz asked, and together they looked around, taking in the horror they had stumbled upon.

“This?” Alice replied, barely able to comprehend it herself, “This is why we fight.”

“Winters wants us to find some food,” Nixon relayed to the two officers in front of him. He looked like hell. He had made it halfway through the bottle of Vat 69 Alice had given him, before passing out on his bed, waking up that morning in a puddle of his own piss. He had accepted it as his lowest point. But now, seeing the starving, dying men imprisoned in the Nazi work camp, the piles of corpses scattered around the yard, his own problems had quickly been thrown into perspective. He felt a deep shame work its way inside of him, and as he glanced between Captain Speirs and Lieutenant Crowley that feeling of self-loathing only intensified.

“We don’t have a lot of rations,” Speirs thought aloud.

“We’re going to have to loot the townsfolk. There you go, Ron. Something you’re familiar with,” Alice joked absently, retaining her solemn expression.

His mouth twitched in a grim smile, “What did we have there? A bakery?”

“Yeah, a couple of cafes, too, I think. Maybe a general store. Want me to tell the men?”

Speirs glanced up, biting his lip in thought and gave a nod.

“Tell Winters we’re on it,” Alice said to Nixon, and he, too, gave a nod of approval.

On the orders of Lieutenant Crowley, second platoon returned to the town of Landsberg and took any food they could find, most of it coming from the storerooms of German businesses. Ignoring the complaints of the owners, who had somehow managed to go about life as usual while innocent men and women were dying just outside their gates, the soldiers obeyed her one rule; no unwarranted bloodshed. But that didn’t mean things didn’t, at times, get violent. Still haunted by the smell and the sights of the camp, the soldiers took out their disgust on the German villagers.

By the time they made it back to the camp and began handing out the food to the crowd of desperate prisoners, Colonel Sink had arrived with the regimental surgeon, Major Louis Kent.

“We need to stop giving these men food,” Major Kent explained to them, “These men are starving. If we give them too much, too fast, they will eat themselves to death. Also, we need to keep them in the camp until we can find a place for them in town.”

“You want us to lock these people back up?” Nixon asked.

“We’ve got no choice,” Sink assured him, not liking the idea any more than they did.

“Otherwise they might scatter,” the surgeon added, “We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better…”

“Lieutenant Crowley!” Winters called, keeping it formal in front of the colonel, but Sink was quickly dragged away to a radio call.

Alice glanced over from where she was supervising the distribution of the food with Lieutenant Welsh, and made her way over.

“We need to put them back inside until we find a better place for them,” Winters explained.

She narrowed her eyes, as if unsure that she had heard right.

“Al, we’re gonna need to lock them back up,” Nixon told her.

“Come again? You want us to put them back in there? With the dead?” she asked, the emotional toll of the day growing evident by the edge in her voice, “These people think they’ve just been liberated.”

“They have been liberated,” Winters assured her.

She nodded, “A little hard to tell someone that while they’re looking at you from behind a barbed-wire fence.”

The two men dropped their gazes.

“We need to get this done,” Winters said softly.

“Who’s gonna tell ‘em?”

He looked back at her and she already knew the answer. Her hand moved to her face as she rubbed her eyes and drew in a steady breath. She sighed, willing this nightmare to be over; for the prisoners, for the soldiers, and for herself.

“Alright. Christ. Liebgott!” Spotting the soldier among the prisoners, she waved him over for the second time that day.

“You want me to what?” he said, after she had relayed the orders. “I can’t tell them that.”

“You have to, Joe,” Winters replied.

There was a quiet moment when the guilt of those instructions hung heavily on all of them, and Alice found herself wishing she could speak the language, if only to relieve Joe of the painful task. This one hit too close to home for him, they knew. Just as she was considered having Webster carry it out instead, Liebgott finally answered, “Yes, sir.”

Alice walked with him and stood by the back of the truck as he climbed up and spoke the dreaded words. The relief and happiness drained from the faces of the starving men as they stared up at him. All at once they began to panic and, just as Major Kent had predicted, the prisoners made an attempt to scatter; after their fleeting moment of freedom, they were once again under someone else’s control. The men of Easy herded them back through the gates as gently as they possibly could, sending the crying, begging men back to face the bloated, fly-blown faces of their friends and loved ones who hadn’t made it. The mood was grim as they watched the tortured souls milling around the fence in a desperate frenzy, their frightened moans stirring some of the most battle-hardened men to their own silent tears.

Standing in a daze, the day’s events weighing on his mind, Nixon looked back at Liebgott. He watched as Alice climbed up beside him in the truck and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her as his body began to shake with silent sobs. She didn’t seem to notice the glistening streaks that fell along her own face.

That evening, after getting a head start on his drinking for the night, Nixon found Winters in his office going over papers and constructing his report of the day’s events. The captain looked pale and lacking in decent sleep as he looked through the liquor cabinet to his friend’s left, attempting to read the foreign labels on the unfamiliar bottles.

“Thought you weren’t drinking the local,” Winters commented, pausing from his work.

“I’m just…browsing.”

Winters threw him an unconvinced look, then went on, “I heard from Division. Been finding camps like this all over the place. Seems the Russians liberated one a lot worse.”

“Worse?” Nixon narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than what they had witnessed behind those barbed-wire fences.

“Yeah,” the major sighed, weary at the thought, “Apparently. Ten times as big. Execution chambers. Ovens.”

Nixon cocked his head and waited for him to elaborate on the last part.

“For cremating all the bodies.”

“Jesus,” Nixon said, at a loss for any other words to express the disgust that sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

Winters nodded. As he spoke the words, he almost understood why his friend drank as much as he did; it was enough to make any man turn to alcohol. Almost any man. Winters preferred to use those thoughts as a means of keeping sober.

“Locals claim they never heard of the camp,” Nixon told him, “They say we exaggerate.”

He recalled the trip back into the village to collect food for the prisoners. Speirs had been right to send Alice to lead the mission; she was just the right balance of commanding and compassionate, and when it came time to forcibly remove the food from the citizens, she had maintained a surprising level of civility. He had even seen her break up a few violent confrontations started by the traumatized men of her platoon, despite her own obvious desire to lay into the people who had allowed such suffering to go on right under their noses.

“Well, they’re gonna have a hell of an education tomorrow,” Winters said, looking somewhat pleased by the turn of events, sharing the attitude of the other soldiers of Easy in terms of the civilians. “General Taylor declared martial law about an hour ago. Ordered every able-bodied German in town aged fourteen to eighty to start burying the bodies, and they’ll begin tomorrow. Tenth armored are going to supervise clean-up.”

“And what about us?”

Glancing up at his friend, Winters couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Usually Nixon would be the one telling him these things; but that was before he had been demoted. Now he was out of the loop and, it seemed, simply out of luck.

“We head for Thalem, tomorrow. Twelve-hundred hours.”

Nixon nodded, and another thought came to him. He considered the best way to word it without sounding suspicious, so instead of asking after the person directly, went for the next best thing – the less obvious thing.

“You seen Speirs?”

When Winters looked over at him again, he realized he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought in his semi-intoxicated state.

“I think he’s with Al. Why? You need to talk to him?”

Nixon chuckled, aware that Winters was only teasing now, though the major’s expression remained stern. He recalled her confession from the night before, the one bit of information he was certain only he was privy to, and in a burst of alcohol-fueled impulsivity, said to the major, “You know they’re together, right?”

Winters went back to his papers, answering casually, “I’m aware.”

“You know that they’re engaged?”

Hoping to catch him off-guard with this bit of information, too drunk to care that it could get both officers in question booted out of the company, he was surprised again to see the man nod.

“Yeah, Ron told me this morning. It’s not impacting their performance on the field. I don’t have any issue with it. Plus, I think it’s a good match.”

“You do, huh?” He wondered what had compelled the man to inform Winters of the pending union, then recalled his thoughtless offer of ‘congratulations’ the night before. So, Speirs had thought he would be so petty as to try and get them reprimanded out of pure jealousy. Maybe he was right. After all, he was certain that Alice hadn’t shared the secret with him out of faith in his character. It had almost sounded liked she was trying to remind herself why she couldn’t give in to whatever urge she had been feeling. He had felt it in the kiss; a moment of indecision when she had started to kiss him back. He had gone to bed with that thought still playing in his mind, even with the dull ache of his bruised jaw reminding him what a stupid idea it would be to pursue it any further.

Nixon stared down at the floor, focusing on the frayed edges of the rug as he found himself caught off guard again. Realizing the risk he had just taken in divulging a secret that wasn’t his, he considered the outcome had he not been speaking to such a reasonable and considerate superior officer. On one hand, Speirs could have been transferred, even kicked out, losing Easy Company the best CO it’d had since Winters, and leaving a gap in Alice’s life for Nixon to try and edge his way into. On the other hand, they could have lost Alice, the next best officer they had; a woman who had worked hard to prove herself good enough for the paratroopers, and one who had not once hesitated in the battlefield to protect her fellow comrades, even when it meant putting her own life on the line. Still, with her gone, he would have had one less distraction, one less reason to want to drink himself into a stupor every day.

The sheer selfishness of those drunken truths made him sick to the stomach, and he left to find something to sober himself up; hoping a cup of coffee and a conversation with the lieutenant herself would do the trick.

He ran into Speirs as he stepped outside holding two empty canteen mugs. Though there were plenty of fine china cups inside the house, he knew Alice hated them after once witnessing her being served coffee in one. She had lifted the delicate item awkwardly between her calloused fingers and joked, “If you see my pinky sticking out, do me a favor and cut it off.”

Ever observant, Speirs glanced down at the two aluminum items then back up to meet his gaze.

“For Winters and I,” Nixon lied, annoyed that he felt he even had to explain himself.

Speirs gave a nod, but the glint in his eye told Nixon that he had caught the fib. As the demoted officer moved down the stairs, Speirs called, “I take mine black, no sugar.”

Nixon looked up in time to catch his disconcerting smirk, and muttered some colorful words as he trudged away.

He hadn’t expected to catch Alice in her room, since she wasn’t one to sit around in once place for too long, so when he ducked his head in to check, he didn’t notice her straight away. She was seated on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, her back resting up against the frame. For a second he thought that he had caught her at a vulnerable moment, but when she turned her head, catching the scent of the hot coffee, she offered him a gentle though somewhat unsure smile. He gestured with one of the cups, hoping it made a good enough excuse for his presence, and she nodded for him to come in.

Stopping in front of her, he passed her one of the mugs before considering the best place to sit. There was up on the bed beside her, but he felt like that was an invasion of her personal space – and for all he knew, she was already sharing that space with another man. He glanced around for a chair, feeling at a loss for appropriate options, when his gaze came to rest on Alice. Holding back an amused chuckle, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she patted the ground beside her.

“I just…I wasn’t sure if-”

“Just take a fucking seat, will you,” she chuckled softly and shook her head. He laughed with her and did as she suggested. They sat in silence for a moment, coffees steaming between their hands as they replayed the events of the day, the silence quickening into a soundless grief.

“Do we need to talk about last night?” he finally asked her, forcing himself to look at her.

“Christ, that’s what you came here to talk about?” There was an edge of disbelief to her voice that he didn’t like. “I was about to ask you what you’d heard about the prisoners, what Sink’s plan is with them. How we’re going to help them. I think that’s a little more important than whatever happened last night, don’t you?”

Her sharp reasoning cut deeply as he was reminded yet again of his inadequacies as an officer. He had never felt the contrast between them more than he did at that moment: her, selfless and focused on the task at hand; him, selfish and increasingly preoccupied with his own personal dramas. He saw then why it would never work between them.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual,” he said, attempting to make her smile again. It worked. He considered telling her about the larger camp Winters had spoken of, but saw the redness of her eyes and the distant look that often came into them as they sat there; images of the sick, dead and dying flashing back into her mind against her will. He doubted any of the soldiers from Easy would be getting any sleep tonight. Finally, he settled on one piece of information he thought couldn’t hurt.

“General Taylor’s ordered all able-bodied townsfolk to bury the dead tomorrow. Tenth armored is overseeing it.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at her and saw an almost disappointed look grace her features. “You don’t want to be there to see that,” he told her.

She recalled Speirs saying the same to her only hours earlier, and shook her head, but it wasn’t to agree with the statement. “I thought we should see it through.”

His thick eyebrows pulled down into a curious frown as he stared at her.

“I wanna be there to see their faces when they’re forced to confront the things they’ve allowed to go on,” she explained, “I wanna see that.”

It was a twisted confession, but one he found he could relate to. Not one of the citizens had believed him when he had asked them about the camp up the road, yet he was certain the death camp contained former residents of the town.

“We could go, if you want? Drive out in the morning? Honestly, I’m curious to see how they take it, too.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

“How the fuck could they let them just take them like that? I wonder if they knew what they were going to do to them…”

“I can’t imagine they had a lot of choice,” Nixon replied, “A lot of what the Gestapo and the SS get up to tends to be by force. Guns to heads, all that.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Nixon glanced over at her, somewhat skeptical considering the scenario. A dark look came over her and the battle-hardened face of Lieutenant Crowley was suddenly looking back at him. “If someone came up to me, put a gun to my head, and said ‘We’re taking Liebgott, and there’s nothing you can do about it’, I’d do my darndest to prove them wrong. Hell, even Sobel doesn’t deserve a fate like that.”

“No one does,” Nixon agreed. She ran her hand back through her hair, and he caught sight of the bandage. Knowing she hadn’t done nearly enough damage the night before to warrant a wrap, he asked, “What happened there?”

She sighed. “I punched a truck.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You punched a truck?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding disappointed by her impulsive outburst, “I punched a truck.”

“What did the truck ever do to you?”

“It tried to kiss me.”

He laughed for what felt like the first time in days. “Okay, I deserved that.” They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, the incident weighing heavily on both their minds. “Did I ever actually apologize?”

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, her tone suggesting how uncomfortable the whole topic still made her. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I did.”

He chuckled again and nodded. “Yeah, that you did.”

“I guess I figured that, after that punch, you were well and truly sorry anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

She turned to look at the mark she had left on his jaw, fingers moving up to touch the purple discoloration.

“How’s it feel?”

When her eyes flicked back to meet his and she saw the way he was looking at her, she withdrew her hand immediately.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“For what? Christ, I’m the one with the problem, here. You’ve never done anything wrong by me. I mean that, Al. I mean, what the hell was I thinking?”

“You were drunk.”

“When am I not?”

He joined her as she chuckled, but his sounded empty, almost bitter. As they lapsed back into a more comfortable silence, a thought came back to Nixon.

“So, how’d he ask?”

“Hm? Oh. Um, he just said ‘We should get married after this’ and I said ‘Sure’.”

“You said ‘Sure’?”

She chuckled, a playful grin on her face, “Yeah, you know Ron and I, we’re not big on theatrics. We like to keep it simple.”

“Already with the ‘we’?”

“Yeah, well. It’s been ‘we’ for a long time. How are we going to take out those German guns? What are we going to do with these German prisoners? Not that we were always on the same page with that stuff.”

“Did you ever talk to him back in Toccoa?”

She smiled to herself as she thought back to those days. “I ran into him a few times. You know that story about me beating up that guy from Able?”

“Yeah?”

“He was there.”

Nixon’s eyebrows shot up again. “That actually happened?”

She gave him a sheepish look, forgetting that it had always been treated as a rumor.

“Who was it?”

Thinking back to D-Day, where she had watched the life drain from the young man’s eyes as he bled out under her hands, Alice just shook her head and said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, are you really going to marry him?” Nixon asked her after a moment.

The content smile that appeared on her lips told him all he needed to know, but she still replied, “Yeah, I am. I love that fucking lunatic.�� She turned her gaze to him with a playful scowl and he recalled his words from the night before. Her expression turned a little more serious and she said softly, “You know it would never have worked between us, right?”

The comment hit him hard. It was something he had considered so many times before, something he had used to ground himself whenever he caught her in a rare moment of vulnerability and felt his stomach flip as he was hit with a rush of adoration for her.

The first time he had felt it was way back on D-Day. She had approached the officers on her way out of the town she had just helped secure for use as Battalion HQ. Her uniform and hands had been stained with someone else’s blood, some of it smeared across her forehead; her stripy, black paint mixing with sweat as it ran down her face. He had watched as she’d removed her helmet and swept her hand back through wet strands of pale-blonde hair, forgetting about the blood and leaving a crimson streak in her wake. She had just made it back from taking a third building, and the motley group of soldiers she had collected after landing still tagged along after her like a mother duck. He had listened to the respectful words of appreciation she had spoken to them before telling them to disband and track down their original units. Then she had stalked over to him with a grin, a greeting of ‘Hey, Nix!’, and a smack on the shoulder that had sent the first shock-wave of affection through his body.

“Why do you say that?” he finally asked, aware of the tightness in his voice.

“One of us wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Well, that’s the foundation of every good marriage, Al.”

She threw him a look and he realized she wasn’t kidding around.

“Besides, I usually feel pretty good when I’m with you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he waited for her reaction.

“We’re from very different worlds,” she began, acutely aware of the overriding melodrama in the words.

“You never read ‘Romeo and Juliet’?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, must have been exclusive to you Ivy Leaguers. Maybe Webster can give me the rundown.”

He laughed again and took a sip of his forgotten coffee, testing the temperature. It had cooled down enough to take a hearty gulp.

“I mean, can you imagine taking me to meet your parents? The esteemed Nixons of New York City meeting Alice Crowley of the Appalachian Valley. ‘Well, howdy, Mr and Mrs. Nixon, real fuckin’ nice to meet you. Your son’s a helluva guy. Sure was nice servin’ with him, especially when it came to those debriefin’s…”

Nixon snorted into his cup, sending up a spray of coffee that splashed them both.

“So, you see my point?” Alice grinned, as he cleaned himself up.

“You’re putting that accent on.”

“How could you tell?”

They gazed at each other, smirking at the playful exchange they had grown accustomed to when in each other’s’ company. Alice could see exactly where he was coming from. It didn’t matter that their backgrounds weren’t the same, or that his parents might not approve. There was enough there to lay the foundation for a genuinely happy relationship. But she would never be able to look past the alcoholism, and deep down she knew it was the seed that would take root in her heart and grow into a destructive bitterness that would eventually drive them apart. He was not the man she was supposed to be with, even if, in that moment, she felt a familiar nagging doubt in the back of her mind, urging her to reconsider.

She broke the gaze and finally took a sip of her warm coffee, frowning as an unfamiliar taste hit her tongue.

“What did you put in this? Not love and devotion, I’m assuming.”

“Didn’t think you’d drink it if I did,” he replied, grinning, “I made yours Irish. You look like hell, kid. What happened?”

***

June 6th, 1946

Boston, Massachusetts ____________

Lewis Nixon was not at all surprised by the amount of familiar faces inside the church, and suspected that every single member of Easy Company had made the effort to show up; they were not about to miss the union of two of the most feared and respected officers that the company had ever seen. He was certain he had even caught a glimpse of Colonel Sink as he’d found his seat in the pews. He had received his invitation about a month earlier, and could only shake his head when he saw the proposed date. True to her word, it was something only Alice Crowley would do.

Ronald Speirs stood at the altar, staring expectantly down the aisle, a look of marked determination on his handsome features. The captain looked particularly dashing in his dress uniform, but when the music started and the bride stepped in, the husband-to-be was completely forgotten. All eyes turned to Alice. She looked stunning in her white silk gown; her pale, blonde hair hung down her back in glossy waves against the snowy tulle of her veil, and her red lips brought out the healthy glow in her cheeks as she smiled. She looked so happy.

Escorting her down the aisle, Dick Winters looked the part of the proud father, having accepted her request for him to stand in Elliot Crowley’s place, since the man himself had been killed in an accident many years before. Viewing Winters as a sort of father-figure all throughout their European campaign – despite there being the smallest of age gaps between the two – he had been her first choice for the role. Exchanging a glance with him now, her grin grew wider and he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. As they passed Lewis in the pews, they both turned their heads to look at him and he simply smiled back, ignoring the way his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Alice in her attire.

Somewhere nearby, Nixon heard Bill Guarnere whisper loudly, “Fuck me dead,” and caught the woman next to him jab him in the side with her elbow. Alice had to press her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

As they reached the altar, Dick gave her away with a nod to his old captain, who returned the gesture, unable to hide his joy at the sight of his beautiful bride.

When the time came for them to exchange their vows, Nixon couldn’t help but think back to his comment in Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest all those many months ago, pushing the thought from his mind as the priest began to speak.

“Repeat after me,” he said to Alice, “’I, Alice Martha Crowley.’”

“I, Alice Martha Crowley.”

“Take you, Ronald Charles Spiers.”

“Take you, Sparky.”

The church erupted in laughter as the groom stared at the woman before him, fighting back a grin. She stared right back, challenging him to keep a straight face as their friends called ‘Sparky!’ from the rows in front of them. Nixon joined in the merriment, but his own laughter felt hollow in his chest. Finally, after the laughter and catcalling had died down, they reached the part he had been dreading. The priest turned to the congregation as the happy couple stared into each other’s eyes, the entire world falling away around them in their moment of bliss.

“If anyone here has any reasons as to why these two individuals should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Nixon took a deep breath…then breathed it out in a heavy sigh. He caught Winters’ eyes flick over to him and suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Dick knew him better than any man or woman in that building. He had actually been considering speaking up – that thought had actually crossed his mind. Thankfully, he was not nearly drunk enough to act on it.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Over a hundred heads craned forward to witness the act they had long imagined happening in secret on the battlefront, and knowing this, Speirs did his best to add a touch of showmanship. With one hand behind her neck and the other on the small of her back, he leaned her back and kissed her with the same amount of passion he had the first time, back in Germany after their victory had been announced at the Eagle’s Nest. The scene was met with the kind of whooping and hollering only men of the US military could provide, and when Alice was lifted upright again, they cheered all the more for her pink, glowing face as tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

“You finally did it, huh?”

“Hey, Nix!”

Catching her alone after the ceremony, he allowed himself to be pulled into a friendly embrace. The other guests milled around outside the church; Speirs caught in the middle of a mini Dog Company reunion as his old squad mates shared their congratulations.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Alice said, stepping back.

“You always were a woman of your word.”

He took her in from the closer proximity. He hadn’t thought she could look any more beautiful, but outside, under the churchyard’s big oak tree, with the sunlight dappled across her skin, she was a far cry from the sweat and dirt encrusted lieutenant he had seen fighting back in Europe.

“What?” she asked, and he realized he had been staring. Dropping his gaze, his eyes came to rest on the shape of her belly. The dress was doing a good job of covering it, but from this range the bump was undeniable. Catching his expression, Alice winced. “We got started a little early.”

“You’re pregnant?” he asked, his thick eyebrows jumping up.

“Yeah. We were hoping no one would notice,” she chuckled. “Especially the priest.”

“Wow. God, that’s…. I can’t imagine you as a mom.”

“What are you talking about? I raised a whole goddamn company of kids. I think I’ll be alright.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you might actually have something there.”

“So, what’s her name?”

“Who?” He looked up at her, momentarily confused by the question, distracted by the brightness of her eyes. “Oh, her. That’s Laura. She didn’t want to come.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well, she found the invitation, asked how I knew you, and somehow ‘we served together in the airborne’ wasn’t a good enough answer.”

“So, what, she thinks I’m an old girlfriend or something?”

He chuckled and replied, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Alice gazed at him for a moment, sensing his apathetic mood.

“You don’t like her,” she realized.

“Well, I better. Since I’m marrying her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was kind of sudden. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to return the invitation. But, hey, maybe you can make it to the next one.”

“Geez, Nix.”

She frowned at the joke and watched as he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his old, familiar flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, and then, catching her concerned look, he held it out to her. She looked around and spotted Speirs still surrounded by his old comrades.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, then with a mischievous smirk she grabbed the container and took a sip.

“This is a new low,” Nixon told her, “Giving whiskey to a pregnant lady.”

“Hey, I could have said no.” She passed him back the silver flask and gave a little sigh.

He watched her for a moment, and simply seeing the content look on her face ate away at his long-harbored bitterness. Finally, he smiled. “Congratulations, Al. I’m really glad you’re happy.”

She looked back at him and realized that he genuinely meant it. With a small smile of her own, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks for coming, Lew.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if that meant leaving Laura at home. Oh, that reminds me, I should probably go find her, before she remembers how much she doesn’t want to be here.”

Chuckling, Alice watched him go with the painful realization that she might never see him again. Her heart ached at the thought of not being able to enjoy the company of these men every day, as she had for the better part of the last three years, but seeing them all with their family, their girlfriends and their wives, she couldn’t help but feel excited for the next chapters of their lives. Glancing over at her new husband, she caught his gaze and smiled, looking forward to the next chapter of her own.

Lewis found his fiancée chatting with Dick and the man’s long-time love, Ethel. Laura smiled brightly as he approached, and he quickly put on his own most convincing smile in return. As he listened in to the conversation, his arm draped around his bride-to-be, he looked around at the crowd of guests, glancing back every now and then to assure his interest in what was being said, laughing when the conversation called for it. He finally spotted Alice talking to Bill Guarnere, George Luz, Donald Malarkey and Buck Compton, the bride holding their rapt attention as she smoked a cigarette and grinned as she retold some story from their time in Europe. Even in her wedding dress, made up like a Hollywood starlet, she still managed to stand like an officer addressing their troops, and that was how he decided he wanted to remember her; not as the blushing bride of Ronald Speirs, but as the woman who had managed to capture a town with only a handful of men on D-Day; the woman who always managed to have a smile just for him.

#band of brothers #bob #band of brothers fanfiction #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #hbo war

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powerovernothing · 4 years ago

Photo

(The artwork included in this tale belongs to the amazing artist by the name of @evisen! Thank you ever so much for taking the time to capture the scene absolutely perfectly~)

The fading warmth of an evening sun cascaded across lush emerald hilltops nestled beside the outskirts of the city of Cheydinhal. Night was fast approaching and would soon come to blanket the quiet streets with an all too familiar darkness, and although it beckons him to venture into the depths of abandoned homes, and hollow wells… he ultimately decides to remain hidden.

Resting upon his back from within shadow kissed branches of the oak he had so masterfully stolen away for himself only prior, he lies in wait. As the golden hues, and rich sanguine gradually shifts into colors of twilight, and the cooling breeze brushes over leaves and tickles his skin, he chuckles under his breath with a secret smile.

The plan was proceeding almost as perfectly as he had hoped it would, and the glorious moment he had been dreaming of was within his grasp at last. Perhaps just out of reach, just enough that he could only brush his fingertips against it, but not for very much longer.

For he knew the dedication he had spent in preparation was about to pay off in a matter most grand. And from it he could nearly taste victory upon his lips as the seconds passed by, and a wave of intense glee coursed through him at the oh-so wonderful thought. All that remained was simply watching for the moment in which his mark would fall into their proper place, and he would finally have his rightful due.

It was only a matter of time, and although he was so much more than eager... what was truly just a few moments more? After all, he had studied his target’s movements for several days, and knew their schedule inside and out.

He knew they would rise early, long before the other members of their family; and, upon waking, spend at least two full hours gathering the appropriate equipment, and tools needed for their profession, make their way out of their home via a backdoor – his mark was paranoid, so very paranoid, and it made what he had in store all the sweeter – avoiding any and all that passed them by on the path connected with the eastern gate, and proceed towards the Nibenay Basin.

Only then would they carry out one of the following depending on the hour, as well as the day: either disappear into the secluded wilderness to partake in a ritualistic hunting session to appease the deity they so fiercely worshiped, or bypass the hunt altogether, and merely take shelter within the lair they had devised for themselves and did, Sithis only knew what, until nightfall.

Where they would then leave the confines of their makeshift hideaway, return home, and begin the cycle anew with the coming of the dawn.

Thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully for his target’s dwindling wellbeing, the dates of the calendar seemed to align on one of the latter days. Meaning there would be no grueling hunt taking countless hours, or a careful disappearance into the depths of the forests, only to return days later, bruised, bloodied, and with gruesome evidence of a fresh kill.

Instead, they would depart their so-called fortress, embark on their short journey back into the protective walls of the city, and cross underneath where he waited not so patiently for his moment of glory.

Of when he would lash out, take them by surprise, and have one of his deepest desires finally be achieved.

It was flawless, foolproof, and absolutely brilliant! Nothing could dare to go wrong, or think to sour the wonderfully sadistic image that danced in his mind as he counted the rays of sunlight peeking through the leaves from where he laid upon the bark, and yet...

The longer he lingered within his clever perch; arms folded comfortably underneath his head, and the longer he watched out of the corner of his eye as the sun dipped beneath the distance mountains, and night slowly took its place in the sky above... the more he came to realize that he was very much a lone hunter without the presence of his chosen prey.

Where in all the infinite shadows of the Void itself was his expected target?

By his perfectly flawless calculations, they should have already been on the curving path leading back to the city by now. The exact same pathway that would lead them beneath numerous trees much like the one he hid himself in.

He planned for this; he knew they would pass this way – they always did – but to his keen gaze they were seemingly nowhere to be found.

The sounds he was certain to hear upon the wind – distinct rustling of bushes as a darkly dressed stranger navigated through them to make his presence less obvious to any that may have been watching, a muffled groaning as they breathed in the cool air for the first time in hours, followed by a stretch to release tension in their back after spending a full evening hunched over a dreadfully uncomfortable desk, before running a tired hand through barely maintained grey streaked hair – only brought forth bitter silence to his ears, and his delighted smile in regard to his impish intentions is soon replaced with a wave of dread.

What could have suddenly changed, and caused a vast difference from the set schedule he thought he knew so well? What could he have overlooked in all his careful planning? Could it have been that he greatly underestimated the intelligence his mark possessed then he first assumed? Or missed a step somewhere, or overstepped, and been found out before he could put his plan into motion?

And if that was surely the case, were they now already on an entirely different portion of Cyrodiil altogether? And he was simply wasting precious seconds alone, waiting in a damn oak tree, when he could have already been acting, scouting, trying so very desperately to grasp onto the fragile remains of an already rapidly crumbling –

No, no, no, wait – there.

And just when he was prepared to admit defeat to a far superior adversary that had, by some means, managed to outsmart him, and choose to abandon his treetop vigil for another attempt on another day, does he witness a fairly recognizable shadow skulking out of the main gate of the ruined fortress.

His brows furrow in confusion at the peculiar, and strangely out of character sight. He had expected them to venture out via the trapdoor – quite similar to the back entrance of their own home – just as they always had come the ending of their days spent within their hideaway, and yet there they were… apparently going entirely off script.

But no matter how bewildering it was to his eyes, no matter how much he questioned the reasoning behind this change, and his mark’s newly formed motives, he knew that could still easily make do with an all too irrelevant shift.

As it meant that it was not nearly as hopeless as his overly frantic mind first thought it to be. There was no hasty escape to relocate to a remote corner of the province, or even some well-crafted and entirely unforgivable counterattack about to befall him when he least expected it.

It was a slight delay, and nothing more.

Now his target was here at last; blissfully unaware of their impending fate, and he could feel his excitement overtaking him once again.

Slowly rolling onto his stomach – ever careful not to creak over the wood, or shake loose the leaves, and give away his location prematurely – he watches as they walk with their arms neatly tucked within the long sleeves of their robing, and he forces himself not to cackle with sheer glee when he sees them slowing their pace, before leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

Leaving themselves wide open for the perfect ambush.

‘The fool, the absolute fool!’ He thinks excitedly to himself. ‘They just sealed their fate! They just dropped themselves into my lap for my greedy, eager little hands to take advantage of! Topped with a soon-to-be bloodstained bow! And that means... that means it’s actually going to work this time! I’m actually going to win! At long last!’

With a barely contained giggle, he shifts his body until he is able to secure his legs around the length of the branch, and then swiftly drops upon his ill-fated, unsuspecting target with a sudden fierce scream.

"Oh, you thought you were being so clever, didn’t you?" Korbin happily cries out with an upside-down grin spread over his lips. Swinging forward with legs bent, he tightly grips his now trapped target's robing to hold them in place while openly taunting them over their failure.

"You actually thought your surprise delay would somehow save you from my wrath! And yet, in the end, it was all for nothing! For it did not matter how brilliant you thought you were being with your actions, as I finally have you exactly where I want you, and there is no possible hope of escaping me now!"

Lucien chuckles warmly as he listens to Korbin ramble on about his triumph in a single excited breath, and he reaches to clasp his hands over Korbin's forearms in the hopes of balancing him as he sways back and forth. When Korbin finishes speaking and is left panting – still with the same overjoyed, infectious grin – Lucien cannot help but mimic it with a shadow of a smile of his own.

"Why yes, it does seem as though you do indeed have me precisely where you want me," He tells him as he frees one of his hands to place it upon Korbin's face with a gentle pat. "Quite a remarkable display of skill, I must say; very well done."

Korbin swings back, pulling himself from Lucien's grip, and his grin grows wider as he claps his hands together in response to the candid praise.

"Ah, thank you, Lachance!" He says with a bright twinkle in his eye. Turning his gaze and watching as Lucien dips underneath his arms – circling where he dandles from the tree – his voice shifts from pleased excitement to a more composed murmur.

"But while I so dearly cherish your admiration of my skills..." He starts to say, trailing slightly as he watches Lucien go around his body several times in a row and feels his head beginning to spin. Refocusing his vision, he then points to Lucien as he returns to the front of the trunk after the third loop. "Do you not realize why I am so happy with the outcome of this? Even more so than I am usually?"

Lucien leans back and folds his arms over his chest. "Because you are easily amused by childish games?"

"No!" Korbin shouts almost instantly; a pout taking the place of his grin as he adverts his gaze and reaches to scratch his beard. "Well, I mean, all right... yes, I am easily amused, but!"

He turns his head, and then swings himself forward once more; jabbing a finger into Lucien's chest with every spoken word. "But... that... isn't the reason... I’m happy... right now, thank you very much!" He pulls his hand back. "Because you see, the reason why I am so damn delighted about this is because of what my hard-earned victory actually means!"

"And what is it that it means, exactly?"

"It means that I did it, brother! I was finally able to get one up on you!" Korbin exclaims with an upside-down pump of his fist. "And not only that, but I was also able to strike from the deepest of shadows! Without you ever knowing I was there in the first place!"

"So, I see..." Lucien mutters to himself as he unfolds his hands, and presses against Korbin's chest to push him. "Well, I suppose if you wish to see this joyful excursion of yours as finally earning your long-sought victory... then by all means, do not let me stop you in your celebrating."

Korbin sways from side to side, raising his hands over his head in an effort to maintain his balance. Feeling the grip that his legs have around the tree branch beginning to give way the longer he remains in place, and the longer he endures Lucien's shoving, circling, and whatever else he surely had planned.

But even from where he lingers – and starts to slip – he is able to make out the faintest of smirks twitching over the corner of Lucien’s lips, and his eyes narrow in suspicion.

"...What do you mean 'if I wished to see it as a victory?'" Korbin questions; paraphrasing slightly and jerking his legs to move closer to his brother's face. "And what’s with the smirk? I may be upside down, but I can still see clearly enough to know that is the very same smirk I positively hate you wearing! It never means anything good; and likely means you're plotting something horrible!"

Lucien's smirk widens as he moves Korbin back by touching a finger to his forehead with one hand – rewarding him with a groan of annoyance from him as he does – and waves dismissively with the other.

"Now, now, my beloved Silencer," He chides in a near sing-song tone of voice. "I do believe that you have stayed dandling from this tree for far too long, and the blood has rushed to your head, and muddied your thoughts. As you are seeing threats where there are surely none to be found."

Korbin frantically waves his arms. "No, no! See, now you're doing the other thing I hate!" He puffs out his cheeks in irritation, and then points to Lucien a second time. "You're trying to distract me with your words! And you're using that tone of voice as you speak them! The tone you only use when want to protect my pride after I did something foolish! Despite me assuming it would be fool-proof, and it wasn't, and now you’re lying to soften the harsh blow of reality, and..."

"And?" Lucien prompts when Korbin trails off; moving the palm of his hand in a half circle and signaling for him to continue. "Why brother, do not leave me hanging in the air as you currently are. Grant me the right to hear your finished thought, unless" – He looks up, and his smirk is so mischievous that it makes Korbin retch – "you are mere moments away from losing consciousness, and I should do my best to catch you?"

However, Korbin says nothing in response to Lucien’s characteristic dry wit and surrenders himself to his own thoughts as he recalls the events that led him to this moment.

The sudden delay that went against Lucien’s set schedule Korbin thought he knew so thoroughly, and how it made him question whether he was away on some sort of assignment outside of Cheydinhal and had missed his chance.

How, when Lucien did appear amid his frantic worrying, he chose to exit from the main gate of Fort Farragut, and not use the hatch hidden in the hollowed-out trunk further in the forest, just as he had done so many times before.

And then, instead of using the natural shadows of the hillside, Lucien walked upon the path leading directly to the tree that he was waiting within, and so casually leaned back against the trunk without any reason to do so, and began counting down on his fingers, and –

Korbin clutches the sides of his head, and howls in rage as the truth becomes all too brutally clear. "You manipulative little bastard!" He cries out as though he is in genuine pain. "Are you trying to tell me that you knew where I was all along?! That you knew from the very beginning of all of this?!"

He clutches his hands into white knuckled fists. "This is the reason why you smirked, isn't it?!" He spits his accusation; summoning forth a great deal of self-restraint to keep himself from strangling Lucien for daring to play with his emotions in such a way. "And why you didn't stop me in my celebrating when I already thought I won! Because you were waiting for the moment where I realized my success was nothing more than an illusion!"

"Ah yes, perhaps that is all indeed the truth, Korbin," Lucien says smoothly; his back against the trunk as speaks. "And perhaps it is the reason behind my every action throughout this evening: the sudden shift in my voice, and the sight of my unnerving smirk, and so much more that you have plainly stated in the fervent heat of your own anger..."

A dark chuckle then slips from his lips, and he moves to grab a fistful of Korbin's armor; pulling him close enough to whisper into his ear. "Or, perhaps, just as I said, you have simply been within that tree far too long, and I should rectify such a foolish decision immediately."

Korbin opens his mouth to speak – to properly question Lucien's obvious ulterior motives, and make sense of the secret meaning behind his words – but before he has a chance to do as much, he feels his brother's grip tighten considerably, while his other hand slowly comes to curve around his shoulders... and then all at once, Lucien roughly yanks him from his tree branch perch, and sends him crashing to the ground below.

A scream is ripped from Korbin’s throat as he collides into the dirt, and a sudden heat rushes to his cheeks with equal amount of embarrassment and frustration, as the sound of Lucien's satisfied laughter rings in his ears. Raising his head, he mutters certain choice swears under his breath – all the while spitting the gravel that had made its way into his mouth – and glares angrily.

"Dammit, Lachance!" He shouts; attempting to force himself upright so he might accuse Lucien of his truly terrible behavior more easily. "Why must you be so terribly unfair to your poor innocent Silencer time and time again!?"

However, despite his valiant efforts, Korbin ultimately ends up stumbling back onto the ground with a light thud after a single pushup. And from such a display – coupled with the blush over his cheeks, and the furious look in his eyes – Lucien's laughter greatly amplifies, and Korbin becomes increasingly more flustered as a result.

"You see?! This is exactly what I mean!" He rests his arms under his chin to serve as a makeshift prop with a hardened scowl. "First, you choose to make my task next to impossible, as you outright despise seeing me succeed in any possible way, then you stand there and mercilessly taunt me when my plans end in heartbreaking failure! And yet, somehow, even that is not enough for you! Because you go one step further in your twisted games and toss me to the ground just to rub salt in my open wounds!"

Korbin unfolds his arms – ignoring how his chin falls and kicks up dirt into the air in the instant he does so – and waves them about as he wails on. "Which makes all of this utterly unfair, I say! Unfair, cruel, vicious, and any other word that comes to mind to describe what you are doing!"

Lucien runs a careful hand over the corner of his eyes where tears of amusement gather as Korbin reaches a new personal record in the sacred art of melodrama.

"...Yes, yes, I am indeed a terrible human being," He muses with a smile; speaking with a slight gasp to his words as his laughter at his brother’s expense slowly subsides into lighter chuckling. "In any case, is my 'poor, innocent' Silencer quite finished with all his needless rambling?"

"No, he most certainly is not!" Korbin all but shrieks; twisting his body and sitting crossed legged in front of Lucien instead of face down at his feet. "There is much more that I have to say, I will have you know"–He holds out his hand, counting on his fingers as Lucien shakes his head–"As I haven't reached the point where I accuse you of being an awful sibling for cruelly mocking me, or where I demand an answer as to why you didn't just be honest about knowing where I was hiding all along; thus sparing me from the countless embarrassment that I am feeling now!"

Lucien raises a curious eyebrow in response; his faint smile transforming into a knowing smirk, and Korbin rests his cheek against his knuckles with a heavy sigh. "...And I just answered my own damn question, didn't I?"

"I do believe you have," Lucien replies, pulling away from where had been leaning, and gestures theatrically with his arms spread wide. "After all, if I had thought to be so straightforward, I would have denied myself the pleasure of witnessing you in the childish state you are in now."

He turns his head and places a palm against his forehead; unable to resist the urge to mock his brother anew for the way he is behaving. "And to miss out on such a remarkable sight, why... it is enough to shatter my Assassin’s heart into countless pieces from the mere thought of such an unfathomable tragedy!"

Korbin’s expression darkens as he watches Lucien intentionally act utterly ridiculous, and positively loathes just how quickly his anger rises the longer he suffers his brother’s horrendous imitation of his beloved flair for all things dramatic, and over the top.

"...Were you listening when I said there was a part in my rant where I accuse you of being awful for daring to mock me in my most humiliating moment?"

Lucien turns back to address Korbin in a more natural tone. "But of course," He says, as he slowly closes the distance between them. "I heeded your every word with rapt attention... although I am quite certain you said nothing about this being your most humiliating."

"Well, it is! Even if I did or did not say it!" Korbin quickly corrects; pointing a finger in emphasis. "And that hour of accusation? It is now! Right now! Right in this very moment! And when I take back every breath I have wasted in all my arguments, then I will gladly proceed into the many, many different ways that you are, without a doubt—"

Korbin feels a sudden weight come to press down over his head and temporarily obstruct his eyesight underneath his messy bangs. Effectively stealing his words before he has a chance to state even a single reason why Lucien is indeed being one of the very worst possible siblings in all of Nirn itself with all his teasing – the very same teasing causing his, already blurry, vision to cloud over with a thick red haze – and how Martin would never even consider acting in such a way!

With a low grumble in regards to one thing, or perhaps many at this point, Korbin jerks his head upright to lock golden eyes with brown, and then comes to realize that the weight he feels is actually Lucien’s hand as he runs his fingers through his hair in a strange show of gentle affection.

"Are you aware there is actual reasoning behind why I often seek to make your efforts to take me by surprise nearly impossible to achieve?"

"...You mean outside of the twisted joy you feel from my constant suffering?" Korbin questions with a frown as he struggles to pry Lucien's hand from his hair.

Lucien scoffs in response at first; his grip remaining firm within the messy grey locks nestled upon his brother’s head as Korbin wiggles underneath the extended touch.

"Yes, a reason outside of that," He tells him as he steps back – granting Korbin and his hair the freedom they so desired in the process. "You see, I do all of this as I only wish to remind you of what it is you have so clearly forgotten in your profound delusion of accomplishing your – at this point – futile little goal."

Korbin blinks in genuine confusion. "Wait...what are you...? What are you talking about?" He asks with the slightest stutter, as he smooths down the awkward strands of hair gained by Lucien's tousling. "Other than the offensive jab at my fragile hopes and dreams... I don’t quite understand. What do you believe I have forgotten?"

"That it is I, alone, who holds the responsibility of teaching you the very same skill set you think to use against me time and again," He proclaims; circling around Korbin as he explains, and the younger of the two Assassins chokes back an oncoming wave of nausea as he mistakenly follows him with his eyes. "Your tactics were once my own. Your experience in the art of stealth? Refined from my present mastery of the craft. Meaning that I surely know your actions long before you, yourself, even begin to formulate them."

With a shake of his head, Korbin brings his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose in a means of composing himself with an uncomfortable groan; deliberately ignoring the devious chuckle that escapes under Lucien’s breath as he does so.

"And from your grievous oversight – now brought kicking and screaming into the light – you should realize one thing, and one thing only... that no matter how many times you attempt this task in vain, no matter how often you revise your plans in the hope of some alternate outcome, and – most importantly – no matter what comforting shadow, or shaded tree you shelter yourself within to await your chance" –Lucien continues on without pause to neither his movements, or his words; slamming his hand down upon an open fist as he finally reaches his point –"The truth of the matter is that, unless I personally deem it otherwise, I shall always have the advantage over you in the end."

Lowering his hand from his face, Korbin stiffens considerably; deeply offended by Lucien's incessant lecturing. "Now, wait just a moment there, Lachance! I don’t think that’s–!" He cries out in the fervent tone commonly preceding another equally as passionate ranting session, as he rocks in place and pulls himself from where he had been sitting.

But in the moment that he lifts partway from the ground, the very same hand comes down upon one of his shoulders and prevents him from rising completely.

Lucien pauses at Korbin's side, and bends with his freehand intentionally hidden from view. "However, if you refuse to believe the words that I speak," He whispers carefully into his ear, and Korbin braces himself for whatever horrific misfortune he is about to endure. "Then allow me the honor of providing you an appropriate demonstration."

When he finishes speaking, he then pulls away from Korbin's shoulder, and quickly snaps the fingers behind his back. Deftly triggering the use of his Greater Power and vanishing from Korbin's line of sight in the blink of an eye.

Korbin staggers back with a cry as he witnesses Lucien stand beside him one moment, and then disappear seemingly into thin air the very next.

"Lu-Lucien?" He stammers as confusion and unease overtake his tone at the use of a familiar – and yet unfamiliar all the same – source of Magicka. "What are you...? Where did you... go?"

Slowly scrambling to his feet, Korbin walks along the base of the oak; scanning as best he is able for any trace of Lucien's sudden invisible presence with heightened desperation.

"If... if this is what you meant by demonstration, then you should know that I am… that I am not very amused!" He shouts to his surroundings, utterly blind to the shimmering figure lingering directly in his shadow. "Because at least when I was hiding, I actually thought to use the environment around me, and didn't just cheat my way to victory with the help of some fancy little spell! Which obviously means that I’ve won, as you went against the rules by using magic!"

Shifting his weight, he leans partially against the bark, and unknowingly leaves himself open. "So, why don't you go ahead and de-cloak yourself from wherever you’re skulking about from, and let me prove to you, once and for all, that my abilities most certainly–"

Korbin’s words die in his throat, rendering the remainder of his playful taunting incomplete as some unknown force suddenly captures his arm in a death grip behind his back, and a flash of green mist envelops in the edge of his vision.

Feeling as though he is caught in a sudden loop of repeating events, he turns to glance over his shoulder – somehow hoping to make sense of what is happening – and is met with a stern gaze as Lucien reappears from what Korbin could only assume to be the very depths of the Void itself.

"...As you were saying, my Silencer?"

Korbin opens his mouth to explain that he was only joking, but that, too, goes unheard as Lucien spins him on his heel, and roughly shoves him back with an open palm to his chest in a single fluid motion.

Far too quickly for Korbin's mind to even begin to process how long Lucien must have been listening to him in silence, when he chose to make himself known by grasping his arm, and why exactly – for the love of the Dread Father himself – he allowed himself to be overtaken and tossed helplessly to the ground for the second time.

In the instant awareness returns to him, thankfully just before he crashes face first, he throws his hands out to prevent himself from crumpling in a miserable amalgamation of pained limbs and flushed cheeks... yet is not nearly fast enough to spare himself from the sound of Lucien’s arrogant laughter.

"Oh, you foolish boy," Lucien murmurs between amused breaths. The words being spoken less as an insult, and more as a term of endearment. "Now, do you see my meaning? I have just single-handedly proven that—"

"—That your abilities certainly outshine my own?" Korbin interrupts with a deep grumble; cutting Lucien off and saying what he had intended to use at his brother's expense to spite himself before Lucien could in his place. "That I was being too overzealous with all my taunting, and deserved your sneak attack, perhaps? Or that what you said of my desires being so impossible was very much the truth, and I should have learned to listen long before I ended up face down once again?"

Turning his cheek, he sighs and looks away. "...Feel free to tell me when I'm getting close."

"And indeed, I gladly would... were it not for the fact that you aren't close. Not even remotely," Lucien says with a shake of his head; coming to stand at his side. "And while you carry some manner of truth with your suggestions, and I could very easily ridicule you just as playfully as I had throughout our time together, that was surely not my intention..."

His voice trails, and he lowers himself into a more causal sitting position. "For in reality, all I wished to say was simply how obvious it had become that you still have so much left to learn from me, and nothing more. Which, you would have realized, had you only thought to let me finish before choosing to interrupt."

"W-Wait... really?" Korbin stammers; unable to mask the genuine surprise in his voice as he turns his head and glances up at Lucien. "That's it? No hidden tricks, or clever spells? No playful teases, or sudden attacks when I least expect it? You're just going to half compliment me, and half insult me with the very same breath?"

"All whilst I sit beside you and catch said breath; yes."

Korbin runs a hand over his chin in thought. "Well, if that really is the case, then... do you want to know what I personally think about this, brother?"

"Oh, do enlighten me." Lucien prompts with a tired chuckle.

"And thus, I shall! And rather happily!" Korbin exclaims as he pushes himself up from where he laid upon his stomach and presses a finger into Lucien's cheek. "As I will have you know that after everything that happened between us: my failed sneak attack, your successful one, the teasing, the roughhousing, your joy, my embarrassment, as well as everything else I am possibly forgetting, I have come to the shocking realization that I am" –He pulls back his hand, and grins from ear to ear –"quite man enough to admit defeat when clearly bested by my superior."

"Well now, consider me thoroughly astonished then," Lucien says; resting his arm over his knee when Korbin finishes speaking. "As I half expected you to throw no more than three more full fits of childish rage before finally relinquishing victory to me."

Korbin laughs. "Well, I suppose if you're so eager to see me react in that way... I could always toss a handful of leaves into the air or kick up various clouds of dust with my feet!"

"As wonderful as that sounds to my ears, I do believe I will unfortunately have to pass on that such honor for the time being," Lucien replies simply. "I'm sure you can understand."

"Yeah, I kind of thought you would say something like that," Korbin mutters as he lays back against Lucien's shoulder. "Regardless, I do hope that you won't let this miracle success of yours go to your head, and make you feel as though you've won so wholly... as you should be aware of the fact that I am walking away from our battle with half a win myself!"

"...Whatever do you mean?" And then it is Lucien's turn to blink in confusion...

And Korbin's turn to bend forward with a far deeper, far more genuine laugh.

"Well, it is just as you said! About how you believe that there is still so much left for you to teach me," He tells him in an almost excited breath as he wraps Lucien's arm more tightly around his shoulder. "Do you not realize what a wonderful opportunity this is for me? Not only is there still so much that I wish to learn from you, but with us training so closely to hone my skill in stealth, I will be able to notice even your most hidden flaws, your most secret of weaknesses, and use them to my advantage for all future attempts against you!"

Lucien's confusion leaves his eyes, and a faint smile takes its place. "Because even after what transpired here, your stubborn, unending pride still persists in having you believe that you will, one day, finally succeed in taking me by surprise?"

"Yes, precisely!" Korbin shouts as his words mix with a yelp of surprise when he feels Lucien suddenly rising; the action causing him to fall backward into the dirt when his short-lived prop rises back to his full height.

With a shake of his head, Korbin stares up at Lucien while grinning – upside down, just as he had from within the tree branch – before he extends his hand to him.

"However, it isn't just some sort of foolish belief, or pleasant fantasy of mine!" He informs him. "It is so much more than that! For I do not stubbornly believe that I will one day manage to triumph over you... I stubbornly know that I will!"

"Hm, is that so, my Silencer?"

"It most certainly is!" Korbin exclaims with a wider, more boyish smirk as Lucien helps him to his feet, before wrapping his arm around his brother's shoulder in a half embrace. "In fact, you should know that I am already contemplating various ideas in my mind’s eye even as we speak! And do believe me when I say that it shall be glorious! A duel of Assassin pit against Assassin! Brother daring to face off against brother! Once my utterly genius plan is brought to life, you shall be the one who is left speechless by the sheer amount of my skill!"

Lucien turns his gaze; looking towards the ground as the two of them round the winding path away from the grassy hilltops, and back towards the city's main gate as Korbin continues to ramble with a sparkling glint in his eye.

As he listens somewhat absentmindedly, Lucien shuts his own eyes for a moment, and smiles fondly to himself.

"Ah, my dear Korbin," He thinks aloud as his brother squeezes him close to his side as he speaks of his plans in childish joy. "May there never come a day in our lives where you dare to change even slightly. For I would hardly know what to do if you did."

"–And when you collapse upon the ground, overwhelmed by the outstanding, remarkable show of skill that I have managed to achieve in just a few scarce lessons, then that will be the moment in which you finally realize, once and for all, that I am in fact..." Korbin's words slowly trail off as he becomes quite aware of Lucien's sudden silence, and he shakes his shoulder to pull his attention back onto the moment at hand – the moment in which he describes his fated victory with as many details as he can muster to hopefully leave his brother in awe.

"Lucien?" He calls to him; his voice soft at first, gradually turning louder as he does so a second, and then third time. "Uh, hello, Lucien? Brother of mine? I know the ground below our feet might just be the most exciting thing you have seen in quite some time... but I would very much like to know whether or not you heard a single word that I just said to you; especially considering how important it was for future events."

"Rest assured that I heard nearly everything that you have said, my Silencer," Lucien tells him as he smiles with the same fondness as before. "From the honored duel taking place between brothers, and Assassins alike, to where you will slay me with the skill you have mastered far more quickly than I could have dared to believe humanly possible."

He places a hand over his chest to emphasize his sincerity. "It seems to me as though you have every known detail planned out to the very letter, and I would do well to sharpen my dagger in preparation for such a grand, historical moment soon coming to pass"

"As you so rightfully should!" And once more Korbin's gruff features bloom with an almost childlike spark of innocence. He breaks from their shared contact, and mimics Lucien's prior mockery of himself with a hand dramatically placed against his forehead.

"For what you do not yet realize is that, in that pivotal moment upon the battlefield, I shall not be your brother taking you by surprise!"–He lowers his hand, and then wags his finger–"No, no, no! You see, with my newfound knowledge and skill, I will be as nothing more than another target! One of your numerous enemies come to claim your life – or, in this case, your dignity – and when you are left hopelessly confused by the sudden change, ready to bury your blade deep within me, it will be more than enough to seal your fate!"

Coming to stand in front of the eastern gate of Cheydinhal, Lucien lets out a faint laugh. "So, it would seem..." He mutters as he begins to push open the metal doorways; but when he notices that Korbin remains in his shadow – rather than at his side as he had been – he stops to look over his shoulder.

"Is something the matter, Korbin?"

Korbin shakes his head. "Well, no; not really, I was just thinking for a moment..."

"About what other plans you could utilize to help bring about my downfall, I presume?"

"...About what it is I will tell Vicente when we return home, actually." Korbin clarifies as he runs a nervous hand over the back of his neck.

Lucien raises an eyebrow as confusion takes hold once more.

"Oh, uh, right – right, I never really had the chance to explain before now," Korbin begins with a shrug. "You see, I kind of owe a lot to Vicente for this entire setup, as he was the one who wrote your schedule down for me, and wished me the best of luck on my task"–He then quickly waves his hands in front of him as a sudden, deeply red blush flush over his cheeks–"But, but, but! Ev...Everything else – the time I chose, the location in the tree, my method of attack and so much more – that... that was all from me! S-So, so don't just... don't just assume that I had help the entire time, and still managed to lose somehow!"

Lucien places his hands against his hips and lowers his chin to his chest with a scoff. "Well, if that is surely the case," He murmurs in an almost tickled tone of voice. "Then I suppose that we could always tell Valtieri that you effectively managed to get halfway this time."

"Halfway?" Korbin repeats in curiosity.

"Indeed, as you came remarkable close to catching me unaware this one time than any that had come before," Lucien says he turns on his heel, and proceeds through the gate; gesturing to Korbin to follow with fingers plucking the air. "And, just as we had agreed upon, with more training there may undoubtedly come a day where you do finally succeed."

He turns his head and smiles up at Korbin. "How does that sound to you, my Silencer?"

"Why, I think that it sounds absolutely perfect," Korbin replies; matching Lucien's smile with one of his own.

And as the pair of Assassins trail the cobblestone path that would lead them to the comforts of a familiar, downtrodden house causally placed amid rows of far more elegant homes, they steadily become aware the warmth of torchlight guiding their way to Sanctuary grounds.

As well as the excited, overjoyed waving coming from their youthful Bosmer guardsman when he sees them appearing in the far distance, and they share a good-humored laugh among themselves over the events of the evening shared as they ruffle the boy's blond hair in passing, and head back inside the Abandoned House.

The pleasant sound of their joy echoing over the walls of the city and fading into the welcoming shadows of a twilight kissed night.

#hero of kvatch #lucien lachance #dark brotherhood #tes oblivion #the elder scrolls oblivion #The Knight The Emperor And The Assassin~#Korbin and Lucien Related Things~#My Fan Fiction~

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rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw · 4 years ago

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Sunday Afternoon Session

Oh Say What is Truth

Softly and Tenderly

Henry B. Eyring

“Of course it’s hard! It’s supposed to be! Life is a test!”

We are being proved to see if we will do what God has commanded

They love you..Your success is Their success

God has the power to make our way easier

He knows that we must grow in spiritual cleanliness and stature to be able to return to Him

In all things the Saviors example will be our guide

When you remember how much pain you can endure well, Remember Him. He suffered what you suffered so that He would know how to lift you up.

1 way will be to invite you always to Remember Him and Come unto Him

Feast upon His words

Faith unto repentance

Baptized and then keep covenants with God

D&C 58:4

When we lift another’s burden even a little our burdens are lightened

We must notice the suffering of others and try to help

Jeremy R. Jaggi – seventy

The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking, the clouds of nights darkness are fleeing away

Count it all joy (James 1:2-4)

Let your trials work for your good

Of all the zealous social, religious, and political endeavors of our day, let ‘disciple of Jesus Christ’ be our most pronounced and affirming affiliation.

When we exercise patience our faith increases. When our faith increases, we have joy.

Where we make sacred covenants, the temple, is closed. Where we keep sacred covenants, our homes, are open.

“Be of good cheer” is the commandment from the Lord, not be of good fear

Hear, hearken, and heed the voice of the Prophet

Gary E. Stevenson

is something the Lord gives us to help us grow

God wants us to know that He will never abandon us, he will always be with us

We can help each other know that we can be blessed during adversity

Temple ordinances we have missed seem sweeter than previously imagined

Go forward and not backward and on, on to the victory

Acknowledge the afflictions in the course of our days, while also acknowledging that we are God’s children

I believe that one day, each of you will look back at the canceled events, the sadness, disappointments and loneliness attendant to the challenging times we are passing through to see it overshadowed by choice blessings and increased faith and testimonies.

He is my Savior, my redeemer, my hope, and consolation

Milton da Rocha Camargo – Sunday School 1st counselor

His impressions are really

He who seeks will find

We seek because we trust the Lord’s promises

Communication with our Father in Heaven enables us to sort through what is true and what is false, what is relevant to the Lord’s plan for us and what is not

To knock is to act in faith. When we actively follow Him, the Lord takes notice

I am here. I love you. Go on, do your best. I’ll support you.

He may not answer all of our questions or solve all of our problems right away; rather, He encourages us to keep trying. If we align our plan with His, He will guide us

Guide Us O Thou Great Jehovah

Dale G. Renlund

Salvation is not earned

We can never do enough or be enough by ourselves. The good news though, is that because of Jesus Christ and His atonement we can become enough

We can be redeemed and stand pure and clean before God

Do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God (Micah 6:8)

Do justly is a practical application of the two greatest commandments

Broken heart and contrite spirit entice us to joyfully repent

God delights in mercy and does not begrudge its use

Leviticus 19:18

Always dealing well with others is part of loving mercy

When you become a physician you work to heal people, if you do otherwise you do not deserve to be here

Loving mercy means that we do not just love the mercy God extends to us, but also the mercy He extends to others

You shall not esteem one flesh above another Mosiah 23:7

Treat everyone with love and understanding regardless of characteristics such as race, sexual orientation, religious affiliation etc (I missed the rest ahh)

When ye do these things, you are on the covenant path

Kelly R. Johnson – seventy

What power and knowledge are you endowed with and will yet be endowed with?

Power of God is the power to do more than we can do by ourselves

Burning microwave ahahahahaha

Those who have faith and the word of God deep in their hearts will be able to absorb and overcome the fiery darts which the adversary will surely send to destroy us. Otherwise, our faith, hope and conviction may not endure, and like [an] empty microwave oven, we could become a casualty.

His power diminishes in our lives only if we fail to keep our sacred covenants

et a clear unchanging course in your life

There is no expiration date associated with the power God bestows upon those who make and keep temple covenants, or a restriction from accessing that power during a pandemic

Jeffrey R. Holland

Why the delay of help to come?

while we work and wait together for the answers to some of our prayers I offer you my Apostolic promise that they are heard and they are answered though perhaps not at the time or in the way that we want it but they are always answered at the time and in the way an eternally compassionate parent should answer them

he who never sleeps nor slumbers cares for the happiness of his children above all else that a divine being has to do

He is pure love gloriously personified and Merciful Father is His name

yes God can provide miracles instantaneously but sooner or later we learn that the times and seasons of our mortal journey are his alone to direct

for every infirm man healed instantly as he waits to enter the pool of Bethesda someone else will spend 40 years in the desert waiting to enter the promised land; for every nephi and Lehi divinely protected by an encircling flame of fire for their faith we have an abinadi burned at the stake of flaming fire for his; and we remember that the same Elijah though in an instant called down fire from heaven to bear witness against the priests of baal is the same Elijah who went through a season when there was no rain for years and who for a time was found only by the skimpy sustenance that could be carried in a raven's claw - by my estimation that can't have been anything we would call a happy meal

he point is that faith means trusting God in good times and bad even if that includes some suffering until we see his arm revealed in our behalf

one’s life cannot be both faith filled and stress free it simply will not work

Christianity is comforting but it is often not comfortable. the path to holiness and happiness here and hereafter is a long and sometimes rocky one it takes time and tenacity to walk it but of course the reward for doing so is monumental (taught in Alma 32)

a call for diligence and patience in nurturing the word of God in our hearts, waiting as He says with longsuffering, for the tree to bring forth fruit unto you

when will these burdens be lifted? well the answer is by and by and whether that be a short period or a long one – it is not always hours

by the grace of God the blessings will come to those who hold fast to the gospel of Jesus Christ

those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength and shall Mount up with wings of Eagles they shall run and not be weary they shall walk and not faint

Russelll M. Nelson

the Lord wants you to feel we live in a glorious age foreseen by prophets for centuries. this is the dispensation when no spiritual blessing will be

the Lord would have us look forward to the future with joyful anticipation

let us not spin our wheels in the memories of yesterday the gathering of Israel moves forward

The Lord Jesus Christ directs the affairs of His church and it will achieve its divine objectives.

the challenge is to make certain that each of us will achieve his or her divine potential

turn your heart mind and soul increasingly to our Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ, let that be your new normal

daily seek to be increasingly pure in thought, word, and deed; minister to others; keep an eternal perspective; magnify your callings

whatever your challenges live each day so that you are more prepared to meet your maker

Tarawa, Kiribati; Port Vila Vanatu; Lindon, Utah; Greater Guatemala City, Guatemala; Sao Paulo East, Brazil; Santa Cruz Bolivia

as we build and maintain these temples we pray that each of you will build and maintain yourself so you can be worthy to enter the holy temple

I bless you to be filled with the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ. His peace is beyond all mortal understanding. I bless you with an increased desire and ability to obey the laws of God. I promise that as you do you will be showered with blessings including greater courage, increased personal revelation, sweet harmony in your homes

God Be With You till We Meet Again

#ldsconf #generalconference #general conference #genconf #tumblrstake #church of jesus christ of latter-day saints

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Seventy-One: Bewildering Experience ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

There’s certain social rules when it comes to high school. Navigating as many of them as you can means getting through those four years a little less scathed. While it’s tedious at best for most, there can still be moments that stand out positively for students. The typical dredgery of classes, homework, tests and exams have the occasional break in the monotony.

For Hinata, this is her final year. A senior at last, whittling at her schedule until graduation next Summer. A rather model student, her college is all picked out, major decided, and all that’s left is to get through this last batch of school days until...well, more schooling. But surely college won’t be nearly the task high school has been, right?

Well...so she hopes.

Hinata has always been a bit of a stereotype. The quiet, nerdy, shy girl...with a crush on the star of the basketball team. Fairly academic, she also branches into some of the more artsy institutions of her high school: choir, theater club, and the occasional art class. She even participates in volleyball and tennis. Her grades are top notch due to her diligence, and...lack of a social life, really. Her quietude means mostly being ignored by her classmates. A few like Sakura, maybe Ino, occasionally drag her along for something. But for the most part, she’s left to her own devices.

The only real talking she does is digitally. She texts, she IMs on Discord, lurks on social media...but she devotes most of her time and energy to her classes, clubs, and sports.

Most of the year passes fairly normally. The typical teenage drama, class difficulties, club activities...and then they enter the last quarter of the year. Hinata’s still in her clubs, and after Winter quarter off from sports, enters her last high school tennis season.

And that’s when things start to get...weird.

For the longest time, Hinata’s crushed on one Naruto Uzumaki: aforementioned basketball player, but also baseball. Alongside him is his best friend, Sasuke Uchiha. Naruto, however, has long crushed on Sakura: a rather jock-like girl who plays sports all year round, ending with softball. The pair seem to be teetering on the edge of finally going out, and...quite obviously, that left Hinata in a bit of a funk.

...but then the unexpected happened.

Sasuke offered to come watch her play. Which, Hinata supposed, wasn’t that unthinkable. They’d been talking about it, Naruto excusing himself due to watching Sakura’s upcoming softball match after Hinata had admitted to planning to watch the boys’ baseball game. She had been rather disappointed until Sasuke spoke up.

...and then he went and confronted her about her dead-end crush once the others had gone.

Hinata was...a bit flabbergasted. But he had a point...Naruto was never going to see her the way she saw him. But it was the subtle hint beneath it that left her a bit bewildered.

...was he…?

A challenging quip resulting in his blush and stutter all but confirmed it: he, in turn, was crushing on her.

...it was completely unexpected. He was one of the most popular guys in their year…! And he...he liked...her…? Why? She’s quiet, uninteresting, unnoticed...not anyone someone like him would care about!

And yet...he did.

Disaster nearly struck when - on her way to the game - she’d gotten a flat tire on her bike. But lo and behold, none other than Sasuke’s mother - also headed to the field - offered to give her a ride. Sitting next to both Mikoto and Kushina, Hinata had watched as they achieved victory, needing only one more win to make it to state.

He’d been surprised to see her there. Made a bit of flustered small talk. And then they’d parted ways rather...awkwardly.

And it only got worse the next time she really got to see him. Nailed by a flyaway baseball bat, he’d been left with a sizeable split in his brow. Hinata, excused from a cancelled practice, offered to take him to the nurse.

Cue more careful dancing around each other, Mikoto even teasing him when he drove home (Hinata accompanying to make sure he was okay to drive).

By then, it wasn’t quite so shocking anymore. Sasuke, quite obviously, despite the breaks in social hierarchy, was very smitten with the class wallflower.

...and after all her considering it, Hinata has decided...maybe she could like him back. He’s a lot sweeter than his typical aloof persona shows. Maybe not quite the brash charm Naruto has that she originally fell for, but...it’s nice. She feels rather at ease talking to him.

So, Hinata decides to break some social rules of her own.

Waiting outside the locker rooms after an afternoon of practice, she ignores the curious looks the other boys give her, clearly suspecting she’s up to something. But Hinata just waits until the proper one emerges.

“Hi!”

Startling, Sasuke looks to her with wide eyes...and then promptly goes pink.

...she’s really starting to like when he does that. It’s just so funny compared to his typical composure. To think, she has that sort of power.

“...uh, hi?”

“I got out a little early, so I thought I’d see how your practice went,” Hinata then offers, still smiling at him.

...it’s his turn to look suspicious. “It was...fine? Why?”

“Just make sure you didn’t take any more b-bats to the face.”

His flustered expression gets all the worse, going from pink to bright red. “No! I’m fine, that was just...a freak accident. Besides, you’d probably find a way to hear about it if I did,” Sasuke then mutters, shoving hands into his pockets.

Hinata’s expression warms. “Sorry, I don’t m-mean to tease you. I really do hope you’re okay. How’s your forehead…?”

“It’s pretty much healed up. Really wasn’t that bad.”

“Good.”

After a moment of just...standing awkwardly, Sasuke tentatively starts walking, seeing her follow. “...so, did you...need anything else?”

“No. Not really.”

“...uh, okay. How, uh...how was your practice?”

“Fine! It was a bit of a light day since we have a game in two days, so...coach doesn’t want us too burnt out. That’s why I was able to catch you!”

“Oh...what team are you playing?”

“Iwa. They’re sort of our rivals in tennis. I’m r-really hoping we beat them. We’re already too low in the rankings to go to state, so...this is really our big push for the end of the year.”

Genuine concern bleeds through Sasuke’s expression. “Oh...sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I’m h-hoping it means I can make it to some of your state games!”

“Oh, well…” Sasuke itches his neck, looking a little sheepish. “We still have one more game against Suna...we’re not there yet.”

“But I bet you will be,” Hinata counters, smiling. “You guys have done r-really well! And it would be so neat if you made it there your last year…”

“Yeah...I hope so. My brother’s soccer team went all four years, and won his junior year. I’d like to at least brush up against that, honestly.”

Hinata glances over at the wistfulness in Sasuke’s tone. “...I see. Will he...will he be able to come watch?”

“Maybe...he’s just out of college and working pretty heavily, so he might not have time. But I think the games are live streamed, so...maybe he can catch it that way.”

“That’s true. But...I hope I can go. I think a group of seniors are planning to skip out and go if you make it to the finals!”

“Really?”

“Mhm! I’d go with them, even if my dad might get mad...I’ve never skipped school before.”

Sasuke considers her for a long moment. “...why do you want to go so bad?”

“Well, it’s been a while since any of our school’s teams made it to state! I want to support them.” Looking up, there’s a small sparkle in her eyes. “...and that means you, too.”

A hint of pink creeps back into his face. “...well, uh...thanks.”

“Sasuke…?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“I know you’re awfully busy with baseball and stuff, but um…” She looks to the ground, tucking hair behind her ear as she walks. “But...I was wondering if you’d like to...g-go out with me sometime?”

Sasuke actually freezes in his tracks.

Ending up a few paces forward, Hinata turns back toward him, seeing his wide eyes. “Would...would that be okay?”

“You...you’d wanna…?”

Dropping her coy teasing, Hinata softens, smiling warmly at him. “...I know we started off a bit, um...a bit awkwardly. With the whole...Naruto thing. But...it’s been nice getting to know you a little. You’re a very sweet person, Sasuke. I guess...I never got to see that until recently. I was too busy looking at Naruto, and...well, you seem to like to keep that sort of thing h-hidden.”

Slowly, Sasuke’s posture loses its tense edge.

Hinata glances aside, expression a bit unreadable. “...I’m sorry if you...if you had to keep this to yourself for very long. I know how that feels, and...I’m sorry for never noticing.”

“...well, I wasn’t exactly open about it. I just thought...y’know...you couldn’t really be interested with Naruto around.”

“...well, you were right. He’s never going to see me that way, and...maybe I need to try looking elsewhere.” Shyly, she glances up to him. “...maybe at...someone who already sees me.”

Nerves showing through his expression again, Sasuke dusts pink across the bridge of his nose. “...I’d...I’d like to try that. I know the year’s almost over, and...maybe we’ll end up apart once college starts. But...I really do like you, Hinata,” Sasuke offers in a rare moment of openness. “So...yeah. I’ll let you know when I’ve got some time where we can...do something. Hopefully a day will line up, right?”

She nods, smile back in place. “Okay. Here, I’ll...give you my number. And we can...text about it later? When you’ve got a moment?”

“Yeah, sure.” With digits exchanged, the pair stand in silence for a moment. “...y’know, I...wasn’t expecting you to do that. You really caught me off-guard,” Sasuke admits with a huff of a laugh.

“I f-figured I would,” she agrees with a laugh of her own. “But...well, one of us had to say something, right?”

“Yeah...glad you did.”

“...me too. Anyway, I...better get home. Homework and all that,” Hinata sighs.

“Yeah, same. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay!” Giving a beaming wave, she takes off toward the bike rack as Sasuke makes his way to the parking lot. There’s a happy little flutter in her chest. It was a bit of a bewildering experience on both sides, but...for once, she’s glad she took a leap.

Now to see where it will take her…!

.oOo.

(This is a sequel to days 149, 168, and 183!) More sportsverse! And I'm slowly making up my behind days xD With this I'm just one behind now, though I'm not sure when I'll have time to be 100% caught up. October is gonna be busy both irl and in regards to writing, so...we'll see! Anyway, we have Hinata leading the charge for once! Nervous, blushy Sasuke is best Sasuke. And I like Hinata having her bold moments...especially when it's something like this! We officially have a relationship going, woohoo! Maybe another prompt will let me write a date xD We'll have to see! But yes, for now I've got some irl stuff to get done, but! Thanks, as always, for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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calucadu · 5 years ago

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The Mask

This is the piece I made for the @blackguardfanzine, a Villains!AU Fanzine! You can download the zine for free here!

I had a lot of fun writing this so consider checking the zine out! 🖤

(I know I’m super late at uploading this, I’m very sorry)

The Mask, a Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia One Shot.

Summary: Neito Monoma was an aspiring hero, well-known by his classmates and other students in the same year as him. With a bright future in front of him, he was ready to graduate high school and begin his career as a pro-hero.

Unfortunately, one day, on a school outing, a bunch of villains attacked the young students of UA. Their objective had seemed to be another, but brave Monoma stepped in front of his peers to protect them, which resulted in him losing his life at the hands of those horrible people. His classmates saw him die, watched as his body went limp and stared in horror as they took his corpse and disposed of it.

Characters: Monoma Neito, Shinsou Hitoshi, Bakugou Katsuki.

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

Or read below the cut

Neito Monoma was an aspiring hero, well-known by his classmates and other students in the same year as him. With a bright future in front of him, he was ready to graduate high school and begin his career as a pro-hero.

Except he didn’t die.

I didn’t die.

As a teenager, I’d been witness to the horrifying injustice in the hero world. Even at the beginning of our first year of high school we had been separated into different classes and treated differently depending on how “good” we were. It made my blood boil to think that there were power-hungry, money-making fools out there that didn’t care about saving lives as long as they were getting rich of off making a show out of us. Being a hero became meaningless to me. And it didn’t help that the actual heroes doing their job probably did it just to get a higher ranking instead of aiming to actually save lives as they should be.

I started a one-man quest against heroes and their stupid hierarchy and named myself their number one enemy, and the villains offered me a position in their ranks when I presented my case to them. They agreed to help me fake my death and took me in. Years later, I’m still here, and while I don’t agree with all of their ideals and I normally go solo, I’d say I do fit in rather well.

All my former schoolmates are now pro-heroes, battling each other for a better position on the horrible hero rankings. I don’t pity or envy them. But I do want to help them if I can.

Inside the villain world, I’m The Mask, the self-proclaimed villain in charge of bringing justice to this rotten hero obsessed world.

I hang all the newspaper clippings I gather from the heroes I've framed. They're all over the walls of my crummy apartment, so I'm constantly reminded of my own personal victory. It feels great to see my sweet success pinned as decor.

Nothing fills me with more pride than drinking my early morning coffee as I reread over the headlines I have already memorised and reminisce about when I locked up a hero because they deserve to be in jail.

I've singlehandedly managed to be behind the incarceration of both old and new heroes. But, honestly, I'm most proud of the downfall of someone I hadn't even tried to frame, yet somehow did with how the events rolled out. Someone I got to know very well at UA.

Shinsou.

His picture stares at me over the frame of my bed. He still has those horrible bags and unruly hairstyle. The picture isn't flattering by any means since it was obviously taken at an unfortunate moment for the hero, when he was either unaware or distracted as he was taken into custody for interrogation. He's looking away, his eyes dull, his expression slightly irritated. Probably. I always found him hard to read. But I couldn't have a better photo over my bed since this one proves to me what I now believe in.

Shinsou was investigated due to his infamous mind-controlling quirk and he is now the prime suspect in the case of the framed heroes. Of course, even the police aren't as stupid as to not realise that something is going on. It's all in the article that I’ve toasted to so many times already. It’s my greatest achievement, and it wasn’t even a part of my plan. I make sure to congratulate myself regularly for my genius.

Too bad they eventually let him go. I know they’re still watching him, and there are tons and tons of theories on the internet about who’s behind these strange villain-turned heroes. Some people think there is an actual villain behind all this, and other’s think he’s made up, that it’s just a theory the police have to make sure the civilians stay calm.

As to why I decided to call myself The Mask, it’s because of the pretty little white mask I created not that long ago. It’s simple, with hollow eyes for me to look through and a mouth frowning downwards.

I’ve been waiting for a moment to get my villain persona to make an appearance, and this is probably the best moment possible. I want to announce myself in the best way possible, and what better way than in the middle of a hero’s speech?

Yes, Ground Zero is doing the honours of being my opening act, and he doesn’t even know it yet. His scowling face has been plastered all over the internet for weeks, announcing his first public act in over a year. It’s probably a promotion, a thing he’s being forced to do by his manager so that he gains followers and attracts more attention. He’s always been the hostile type, so it’s probably nothing more than a publicity stunt, but that’s good enough for me!

And today’s the day! It’s a great opportunity for me to show what The Mask can do! I can already imagine the headlines! “Strange masked villain humiliates Ground Zero”.

I wear purple colour contacts and a dust mask to hide my features. I also wear a hood so my blond hair can't be seen - although in this day and age with all the quirks and mutations around I'm not that scared of a little pale hair showing - and I'm ready. I’m pretty confident I’m hiding my face well. Although I’m pretty sure not even my old schoolmates will remember me. The success has gone to their heads, they’ve let the slight fame they have to get to them. They think they’re so much better than the random citizens they claim to be saving on the daily. Another reason I hate them so.

My long coat seals the deal. It's pretty similar to the one I wore back in high school, my hero suit. I modified a little, though. I changed the clocks for pockets. There are pockets everywhere, inside and out. In them are the samples of hair I've collected from heroes and villains with useful quirks over the years. I have their exact locations memorised for whenever I’m in a tight spot and I might need them. With my villain mask tucked neatly against my body, I head out the door and over to where Ground Zero’s about to give his speech.

I blend in with the crowd as well as I can, positioning myself so I have a good enough view of him, security and as many people attending as I can.

He’s a little over five minutes late, but he’s as unceremonious as ever as he starts his little speech. The blond hero snarls viciously about how heroes will prevail despite everything and other nonsensical bullshit. I'm trying my hardest to stop myself from laughing, but it's impossible. It’s just too funny.

Ground Zero is pathetic. In my opinion, he always has been. All he's really got going for himself is how boisterous he is. It's annoying. Most of the people here aren't even his fans, probably. They're just intimidated by his rudeness. It's sad. I know that hothead, bad-mouthed pro-hero thinks he's intimidating. He's got that air to him - and it's obviously the thing he's going for - but it doesn't work on me. He didn't intimidate me at the sports festival, and he doesn't intimidate me now.

But I do want to get back at him. I want to make him eat his words of all those years ago at the sports festival. I want him to regret having ever thought he was somehow superior to everyone else. I've wanted him to fall for so long now I can hardly wait.

And I know just how. His own cockiness will be his downfall, and nothing could be sweeter.

At some point during his boring talk, I sneak past people, repositioning myself. I discard my dust mask and replace it with my full-faced white one.

He's finally finished with his speech and is about to leave when I stuff my hand into the pocket with the hairs I'd carefully decided would be best for this situation. Activating my quirk I feel a surge of power travel up my hands and arms until my whole body is tingling with the sensation.

The thrill of the moment helps and I surge forward, pushing people out of my way until Ground Zero notices the commotion and turns his attention to me.

I see explosions form in his palms as he launches himself and lands on top of me. He's heavy, probably because his kit seems quite bulky and excessive. He laughs maniacally because he thinks he has me pinned to the floor and unable to move, but that's when I click my fingers in front of his face and his snickers quickly quieten. His expression turns from cocky to terrified in a matter of seconds, and I calmly pin him down.

He's struggling to breathe, clawing at his throat furiously, panic in his eyes as he glares at me with a look of intense hate. I laugh once but push myself off him, running away and snapping my fingers again at anyone who tries to stop me.

I deactivate the quirk before I turn the corner and I immediately hear explosions behind me. I watch as he propels his way forward and lands right in front of me, grinning slyly. Ground Zero’s close-up face is exactly how I remember it: Snide, smug and full of vile. His eyes look disturbed, and he's licking his lips like a madman. Life has given him many more scars that make his expressions far scarier than they should be. It would fill me with fear, but I'm too high on adrenaline to even care at this point.

“I'm not scared of your little breath-play trick.” He snarls.

My smile spreads on my face, behind my mask. I tilt my head as I select the next quirk I’m going to use. It’s an alchemy one I borrowed from a villain friend of mine. I put my hands on his grenades and melt the bloody artefacts before he can launch his explosions. It surprises him so much that he takes a step back and the immediate threat of being blown to pieces disappears as his explosions dissipate.

"What the-!" But I cut him off by pushing him back, turning his body and pressing him against a wall.

I can’t risk it by using too many quirks or he'd understand what my ability is, so I use the first quirk on him again, cutting off his respiration.

I love watching him suffer. My heart beats erratically fast as I feel the hate emanating off of him. Yes, I live off that.

I pull his hair and force him to his knees as he's still struggling to get oxygen into his lungs. I jerk him around a bit, just to make sure I get at least one of his hairs, which I discreetly put into one of my empty pockets.

Satisfied with his torment, I pull back and walk away, only to turn a few seconds later and find him trying to crawl his way to me. Endearing. I wave at him before running down the street.

Despite the commotion and how important today is, loads of people are still walking around, unaware of what has just happened. I make my way through them, hoping they notice my mask but don't think too much into it.

As I expected, the bang of a loud explosion can be heard behind me. Ground Zero's drive and motivation to catch the enemy are as strong as ever. I'm not that happy that he's so persistent and still chasing me. I've got other heroes to antagonise! But the smell of smoke makes me turn my head to see just what this berserk man is doing nonetheless.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" I hear him scream before another huge explosion goes off. Turning to my left I notice the smoke coming from a building. Has he resorted to blowing up public property to gain my attention? Charming. Maybe I like Ground Zero more than I thought. I do love his taste for destruction, though, I’ll give him that at least.

Running into a small alley to catch my breath, I put my hand inside a new pocket. An icky sensation sprouts from my fingertips as I activate this quirk and when I look at them, I find them covered in pink suckers. I can probably develop them on my feet too, but I'm not risking taking my shoes off, so I'll have to do with just my hands.

Climbing the wall with this quirk is easier than I imagined. It makes an annoying sucking sound as they activate and deactivate, but I get on the roof faster than I would’ve with any of my other quirks. I know Ground Zero can sort of fly, but at least I have a bit of an advantage for the time being.

I wish I could use his power since wow, it's super useful and dynamic, but I don't want to risk it. I know the blond hero isn't stupid. I mean, he isn't the smartest person I've ever met – blowing up buildings seems either a sign of his reckless stupidity or how desperate he is – but if I learnt something from our time together at UA, he can sometimes be quick and sharp, if he doesn’t let his rash feelings get in the way. And right now, I'd rather not mess with that. Anyway, he’s just a decoy for the real thing, or we could say he’s the opening act. The show’s about to start!

He must have spotted me because he whizzes his way towards the rooftop where I’m waiting for him, fire and loud bangs erupting from his hands and what’s left of his melted grenades. There’s a siren wailing in the background that I think was set off by his little temper tantrum. Good. He’s done his part.

As much as I enjoyed fighting this admirable opponent, I’ve got better things to do, so I’m determined to finish this fast.

Bakugou’s learnt his lesson, at least. He stays away from me, and he’s wary this time, his brows furrowed. He’s panting heavily, but I can see the light emanating from his palms, the tell-tale sign that he’s about to make an explosion come to life.

I wish I was a little bit quicker or more agile since the tail of my coat gets singed by his explosive blast when I dodged it, but at least it didn’t hit me and I’m not harmed. I select a new quirk that I know acts fast and it doesn’t take long before he’s asleep on the concrete floor, snoring softly. I give a kick to his inert body before walking off, laughing to myself.

I look back at the fire slowly creeping out of the litany of demolished buildings Ground Zero left in his wake as he chased after me. It's probably safe to assume someone else will follow the devastation and eventually reach me, unless I deceive them first, so I decide to jump from building top to building top. It's exhilarating in a way, as I stumble my way forwards, scared of falling. Heights were never my strong suit. But it feels good to defy even my fears as I walk across one roof to another, smiling to myself as I get further away from the smoky chaos I'm leaving behind.

I notice a figure with their back to the wall and the smirk reappears on my face. The person has purple hair, and a look I could recognise anywhere. Today’s my lucky day it seems, as I activate the sucker quirk again and make my way down. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I'm met face to face with a very familiar one.

I’ve been waiting for this day for some time now, and now that it’s finally here… I actually can’t believe it. He doesn't recognize me under the mask, but his expression shifts, his eyes lighting up in interest.

"You're probably the one that caused all this commotion, right?" He says, his tone dull, as if he were bored, but there's a certain something in his voice that's new. He's sure of himself.

Well, it'll make all this a lot more fun.

I don't answer him of course, because this is Hitoshi Shinsou we’re talking about, bearer of a very powerful mind control quirk. Answering him would mean dooming not only myself but all the villains I know and every one of my ideals.

I decide to toy around with him, play a game that has been on my mind for ages now. I walk towards him, tilting my masked face to the left just slightly. It's to intimidate him, although he'll probably not fall for that. I've always thought he was a tough nut to crack, and that's part of the beauty of this.

We dance around each other as he tries to mimic my motions until I throw a punch. He dodges it and aims his knee towards my stomach, but boy am I glad my reflexes are still good. With one hand on his face and pushing him back – mainly to distract and annoy him – the other fumbles inside one of my pockets, to acquire the quirk I want. Before Shinsou manages to pull away from my grasp, I feel power surge through my veins and explosions light up in my palms.

I don’t aim for his face because I’ve always kind of thought he was beautiful, in a weird non-crush sort of way. Maybe I was jealous, maybe I wasn’t, it’s not the time to ponder about high school drama. Plus, I need to make sure he’s recognisable later on. I blast the loud explosion with calculated carefulness. His shoulder should’ve received the brunt of the blow, but I underestimated how quick he is too. He dodges the explosion, but it leaves a big crater in the wall behind him, debris raining over us and smoke clouding our vision. As I sneak in a quick peek, I notice I destroyed the back of the lovely café that I went to the other day. It’s a shame, I did really like that place.

He tackles me to the ground and we wrestle. I'm not really a fan of hand to hand combat so my objective is to get him off me as soon as possible, but only when I have what I need. My hands run over his hair and I acquire his power, feeling it well up intensely inside of me.

He struggles to take my mask off, but I don't let him. A swift kick in his tender spot makes him recoil and I can finally pull myself from under him. I get up and watch as he struggles to do the same, moving agonizingly slowly.

I walk back a few steps and take my time removing my mask, savouring the moment. My smirk is ever-present as I watch his expression shift. He’s still in pain from my kick but he’s still trying to fight me. Admirable. I should give these persistent heroes that.

Shinsou's mouth opens wide as he realises who stands in front of him. His arms fall limp to his side as he stammers a hushed “But… you died”.

He stumbles back as realisation kicks in and panic appears on his features. “You were the one that caused all that! You're behind everything. Your quirk-!”

But it's too late for him because I activate my quirk, and then his. I watch as his eyes change to look like the ones he’s so used to seeing himself. Having him under my command ignites a warm feeling inside of me, something akin to triumphant pride as I smile smugly at him.

“Hitoshi Shinsou.” I whisper in a sickly-sweet tone. I take my time with each syllable, savouring the moment. I’ve got complete control over him and It’s empowering. “Now that’s a name I haven’t said in a long time. But as much as I like reunions, I like things going my way more. So, listen closely. You are going to turn yourself in. You'll tell the police you are behind every one of those heroes that were arrested.”

For a second Shinsou doesn't move. It's as if he's trying to control his own quirk. But we both know he's not strong enough to do that.

"Now," I growl, my lip curling.

His whole body twitches before he turns around and starts walking away. Just at the perfect time, too, since Ground Zero must have woken up: his screams and violent explosions can be heard in the distance.

I laugh hoarsely, imagining the warm welcome the other hero has planned for Shinsou.

I turn in the opposite direction myself, walking towards the other end of the small street, my mask still in my hand. It feels heavy there, and I suddenly realise that it's because I don't need it anymore. With a quick movement of my left wrist, I throw it away.

I laugh as I walk into a busier street, a light skip in my step, only to stop in front of a toddler. The kid looks at me with big brown curious eyes, and I stare back at him before leaning down and taking his lollipop. The young boy just watches me dumbfounded as I put the sweet into my mouth, enjoying the soft "plop" it makes around my puckered lips.

It seems like a scene in a movie as I walk away from the small child, who’s stunned into silence as he watches me run off with his lollipop.

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