#i don't usually post my works on tumblr unless they're a prompt or sth so i'm not used to actually tagging that many people on them lol

[smuggsy]

IN PLAIN SIGHT / Chapter 3 A Band of Brothers Story (1) (2) + read it on AO3. Taglist: @gottapenny​

The nervousness of the arrival, the prostpect of being turned away by Lieutenant Nixon despite previous arrangements and the impromptu marathon she’s been made to run uphill make her scrunch up her nose at the smell of the dining place. She isn’t the slightest bit hungry.

She does down that glass of water within a couple of seconds though.

Luz (George, as he’s untroduced himself) watches her do it with an amused smile from the opposite side of the table. Alex Penkala still has that arm of his thrown over her shoulder.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he inquires, picking up another nearby glass of water - this one half full - and handing it over to her.

She shrugs as she swallows it all down in one go. Christenson is standing nearby, she doesn’t catch the sympathetic look he throws at her when she places the second glass back on the table noisily.

“I jus’ learnt” she provides, choosing to omit the fact that what they’ve just witnessed outside has been nothing but sheer luck. She’d just aimed to where she thought the glass was standing - which doesn’t mean she isn’t an actual avid shooter, but there is a limit to all human ability and getting a target off range in pitch dark with an M1 is the limit to her human ability. “My old man - he’s a good shot.”

“You from New York?” Skip leans over the table with a cigarrette between his lips and a friendly face, he squints at her. 

A slight and desinterested nod from her has him celebrating his right guess.

“Whereabouts?” Penkala asks, cocking his head casually, stealing the cigarette right from his friend’s mouth and getting a smack on the head for it.

“Brooklyn. Are there any apples?” She stands up with the intention of finding that out, getting a piece of fruit or anything that isn’t too oily or savoury - no proper dinner for her weak stomach tonight. No sooner has she got on her feet than Alex Penkala is pushing her down again, his never-leaving arm over her shoulders the culprit.

“Hey Perconte!” he whistles right on her ear, and she shrugs him off with annoyance. “An apple for the Big Apple boy!”

She turns around to see a short black-haired guy rolling his eyes and rumagging behind him on the other side of the kitchen counter.

“I ain’t your butler Penkala, why don’t you come’n get it yourself?!” he barks back.

“Hey! It’s for Oli here, c’mon!”

“Well he got legs, don’t he?”

Olivia fights down a sigh and stands up, then a hand coming from her right throws a green apple upwards in front of her for her to catch - which she does, albeit rather sloppily.

“Thanks.”

“So you had like, camouflage training n’ all that?” the apple-giver asks, he isn’t the tallest man around by any chance, his hair is slightly ruffled, his eyes are rather blue-ish. He takes a seat to her right, blocking the only way out of affectionate Alex Penkala’s embrace.

“Yes, concealment, observation… A lot of standing still and sitting still and lying still” she almost laughs at their scowls and groans of feigned boredom. “Weather conditions, map reading-”

“We do map reading!” Muck chimes in.

“Weather?” apple man frowns to her left. “Really?”

She turns to him and takes a bite off the fruit.

“Wind and temperature can cause a bullet to miss its target, you gotta take it into account before you pull the trigger” she explains.

“Sound to me like an excuse for being a shitty shot” Private Guarnere interrumpts from the corner. Olivia isn’t one to judge people on first encounters, but he surely is a grumpy one: he’d snatched his bag back from her hands with as much an unfriendly manner as Sobel had done. “What if it’s too hot? Won’t your ammo melt right down?”

His teasing prompts another wave of laughter among the men on the table, Olivia stops herself from rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know you needed to study metheorology to get in the army” Muck joins in.

“Well, it’s just a couple of lessons…”

“Should’ve been running, boy” Guarnere smiles once again, mockingly. “You need a couple o’ lessons on that!”

Another round of laughter has her taking a rather hasty bite from her apple and she stops trying to explain anything else to them - most of the group disbands soon after, heading outside for a smoke or a game of cards. Private Martin - the apple private - takes a look at her filthy looking hair and sweaty collar and tells her to go get a shower before he leaves, as if she hasn’t been considering it already. As if she’d just go to sleep with that grim all over her neck and face.

On her table only a redhead remains - minus one Popeye, who had been asleep through all the commotion and still now hadn’t batted an eye opened once.

“How come you the only company in tonight?” she gestures towards Don, pretty sure that’s what Skip had called him earlier before he stole his pack of Lucky Strikes and sprinted off with Penkala on his tail.

Don snaps his head up from his letter a few seconds later and gives her a tired look.

“Sobel’s favourite hobby, revoking our weekend passes” is what he says before he turns back to his paper. He’s clearly not in a talkative mood and she needs to hit the showers and carefully plan her whole approach - so she leaves him and sleepy Popeye to make each other company.

“See you, then…”

“Malarkey” he offers with a monotonous voice, not looking up. “Donald.”

“Right. Night.”

Once outside, she stands there like an idiot, turning left and right unsure of where to go. Last time she saw her muffle bag it was on Sobel’s office steps, being left there as she ran after him to beg for a chance to prove her worth. She isn’t particularly keen on the idea of returning there to retrieve her belongings - doesn’t want to have to face him again, lest he change his mind and send her walking to the nearest bus station. I suggest you go back to whatever shithole you came out of and repeat whatever shitty training you got.

Fortunately, her inner worries dissipate soon as she catches sight of Lieutenant Winters, approaching with steady pace and both her bag and rifle thrown over his shoulder.

The fact that he’s smiling before he reaches her already makes Olivia take a liking to him.

“Private Brown” he acknowledges, and she stands straight. “At ease.”

“Sir” the takes her things off his hands with a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

“You got a bed yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Let’s find you one” he sends a distrustful look to the cloudy sky and starts walking. “That was quite an impressive showdown back there.”

“Thanks…”

I was lucky to hit that glass at all.

“You definitely lifted the mood, make a couple of friends already, I assume?“

"Yeah, I think we bonded alright…" Penkala’s a bit clingy, though. But Christenson’s pretty decent.

"I’m sure you did” he nods.

Olivia stares at his expression for a little too long before she understands it. Jesus, do the the C.O’s hate Sobel as well?

She can definitely tell Winters isn’t a fan by a long strech. It’s the smile that he’s unsuccessfully trying to fight down what gives him away.

“Here we are, there ought to be a couple of spare beds in here.”

She follows him inside, where two idle soldiers stand to attention soon as they catch sight of their superior, a couple of cards helplessly flying to the ground in their haste to get off the bed.

“At ease,” Winters immediately says, and Olivia drops her things by the second bed to her right. Someone’s definitely been sent home. “This is private Brown” Winters waves a hand in her direction as her two fellow troopers resume their game.

“Yeah, we know” one of them - looks a tad bit older than the rest, she thinks - sends a friendly smile her way.

Winters doesn’t try to supress his smile this time, he turns to her and gives another short nod.

“All in order?”

The sheets smell like dust and the cot looks as uncomfortable as she knows them to be. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Sleep well then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She salutes him before he’s got a chance to turn around and leave without waiting for it. She can see he’s not that kind of officer. Not the Sobel kind of officer. More on the Campbell side, she considers, but she doesn’t let her thoughts wander in that direction yet. She  saw him a couple of hours ago, surely she can’t be getting all nostalgic already?

“Heard ya gave Sobel a hard time over a glass” one of the soldiers on the bed comments, looking at her as the other one watches his own cards in deep thought. 

“I guess so” she shrugs, not quite sure where she stands with these two. She can’t go making assumptions this early, she’s already managed to get on her Captain’s bad book so nothing good will come out of her celebrating the incident. Can’t quite join in on the joke, not yet.

There’s a laugh.

“Ya guess?" 

She stops unpacking her belongings - a book and a small notebook all she’s brought along from home - and turns around. 

The one who smiled at her earlier stands up and approaches. She meets him halfway, ready to shake his already outstretched hand.

"Sargeant Lipton” he says, and boy isn’t she glad she didn’t let herself get too excited about mocking Sobel now. “Welcome.”

“Thanks. Oliver, which you already know…" 

"Everyone’s gonna know it by tomorrow boy” blondie adds with his thick southern accent.

“That’s Bull” the sargeant points behind him. “He’s friendlier than he looks” he adds under his breath before smiling kindly again and returning to the bed. “Ain’t that right, Bull?”

“What’s that?”

Olivia returns to her task - mostly turns around to hide the smile that creeps onto her face as she gathers up a change of clothes.

“What did you say? That ya gonna lose this round again? Damn right you are.”

Maybe she’ll get lucky. Maybe her platoon’s not that bad. Maybe. Maybe it’ll all be nice and well.

Except for the going to war bit, that is. 

※ ※ ※

The first good thing that happens to her in Camp Toccoa is finding the showers empty. She doesn’t wait around to see that change - in fact, she probably breaks a record, quickly handling the soap with one hand and keeping a towel in the air with the other, blocking any incomers’ view from her cubicle.

She’s in the farthest corner but that does nothing to put her mind at ease. She’s done before two whole mintutes have gone by and returns to the barracks with her hair still damp.

She knows she got lucky today, with most of the camp empty; still, she pushes that thought away in favour of getting some very much awaited rest.

And she’s out before anyone else, probably. 

Which - if she weren’t so exhausted - would also make her a bit uneasy: first day, bunch of guys in close proximity, hot as hell that she can’t cover herself with anything lest she draw more attention than she’s already getting for being the new one. 

Not that there’s much to cover up anyway - but then again, her lack of volume up there is nothing but helpful in a situation like this. Bandages can only do so much. Again: she’s too tired tonight to pay any of it any mind.

Just before she drifts off she seems to hear Mike somewhere near, saying something along the lines of… dirt and sleeping, and penises.

“Jesus Penkala, grow up -”

“Shhh, you grow up” Skip answers in his friend’s behalf, standing close behind.

“How would you like it if I put a rat on your face while you slept?”

“I’d kick ye in the balls - we’re not putting it in his face now shut up” Skip continues to whisper, as his blue-eyed friend squats down and places the tiny animal next to Oliver’s right foot.

“Where did you get a rat, anyway?” Don takes a bite of his Hershey bar as he stands at the foot of the bed, stance quite relaxed and looking not the least bit remorseful. 

“I did!” Comes the unnecessary loud answer from the third bed opposite. 

Alex stops frozen in his half-risen position at the sight of the new sniper mumbling in his sleep.

“Damn it, Perconte!" 

"Shhhhh!”

“It was in that dirty-old kitchen” Frank adds, voice unlowered.

“Should’ve saved it for the stew” Joe mumbles, before he turns over on the bed to face Liebgott, who’s been chewing that gum for at least an hour now and is watching the macabre plan unamused. “Right, Joe?”

Liebgott doesn’t have time to answer, but he does roll his eyes as a high-pitched scream echoes through the room, followed by an outburst of laughter and one John Martin rising up from his slumber with a curse.

“Here we go” Joe mumbles, resuming his writing, uninterested.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t we have one quiet night?!”

“Aw, come on, Johnny…”

Olivia can feel her hair sticking out in various directions and she’s blinking into focus when Martin comes over to take the rat off the cot, looking like he’s about to fish out his bayonette and stick it in someone’s throat.

“Wait!” She snaps.

Meanwhile, that trio of devils is barely holding it together at the sight of her sleepy and terrified face - undoubtedly the pranksters. 

She stumbles over to Martin and cups her hands next to his.

“I’ll take it” she says, shaking her head, as if that’s going to make her slurry words less slurry. 

Private Martin lets the tiny animal fall on her hands with an unhappy grunt - it stops squeaking in pain and quickly scurries over her arm. She grabs it again.

“Everybody go to fucking sleep!" 

"Hey, it’s still early!” Frank protests, just now getting comfortable with a book on his lap. 

Olivia sends a killer glare to both Skip and Penkala when she walks past them to set the rat free outside. They’re still enjoying themselves when she comes back in.

“Real mature guys, nice” she makes a face and rolls her eyes. “You pull something like that again and my finger may just slip next we target-practise” she warns, still half-asleep, word filter not really on.

Luckily, they know she means nothing by it. 

“If I hear one more word-” Martin starts again.

“Alright, grandpa!”

“Yeah, Johnny, we’re in bed, we’re in bed, see?” Alex insists, as he jumps on his (very far away, Olivia notices with joy) cot.

She doesn’t drift off for another thirty minutes after that. Whoever’s on her left seems to be quite dead - which leads her to believe it’s Popeye, if the golden hair is anything to go by. On her right, a dark-haired soldier she hasn’t met turns over and meets her eyes and points a finger gun at her a couple of seconds before someone turns the lights off.