#lewis nixon angst

[rogue-durin-16]

PAST PROTOCOL

Request: hey beautiful you…could we maybe have more Nixon then? what about at the attack on Foy, reader gets hurt and Lewis has to be held back because he is panicking and furious about Dike letting this happen?

Summary: Things can get complicated when decade-long feelings meet restrictive protocols due to gaps in military ranks.

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, depictions of period-typical violence (it's literally ww2)

A/N: Didn't put much thought into this one but I think it turned out alright. Again, never thought writing for Nixon would be entertaining but here we are. Another George Luz request coming right away btw. They're keeping me busy while I find the strength to keep organizing the Liebgott multipart without spiraling. Enjoy <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The night was dark, quiet enough that the occasional murmur of voices seemed to carry through the entire company. I could feel the weight of what Lipton and I had come to say pressing down on me, but it was too late to turn back now.

My First Sergeant paced before me, an uncharacteristic cigarette hanging from his lips. He didn't like this one bit.

"Lip," Winters greeted exiting the improvised Battalion Headquarters, his voice measured as usual despite the shakingly low temperatures . "Y/n/n?"

Lipton and I shared a resigned look before I addressed the confused officer. "Sir."

"What in Pete's name are you doing here?"

"It's... Part of the reason why we're here, Sir." The West Virginian man replied before I could. 'Let me do the talking, alright?' Lip had requested on our way.

Winters gave us a steady yet somewhat weary nod and prompted us to follow him into the tent where he and Nixon were huddled over maps, the low lantern light casting long shadows on their faces.

Nixon had to do a double check when I trailed behind Lip. He raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of us with a hint of suspicion but not saying a word.

"So," Winters sat down, expectant, hands around a mug of steaming coffee. "what is it? How are the men?"

“Sir, the men are ready.” Lipton said, his tone steady, though his jaw was clenched. "I'll be leading Second Platoon tomorrow. It's the most affected out of the three and I figured it'd be best for me to take care of them." Winters gave him a nod as a form of agreement, and his eyes couldn't help but land on me for an instant. "I have full confidence in the men, Sir."

Here we go.

"On the other hand, I have no confidence in our CO, Sir." Winters’ expression shifted—just a flicker of surprise in his otherwise steady gaze. "He's an empty uniform. He's been taking... very questionable decisions." Lip's gaze flickered to me. "I think tomorrow he's gonna get a lot of Easy men killed, Sir."

He dropped it as heavy as it came, and one would think that would have everyone's attention on him, but Nixon was unabashedly focused on me.

I knew he wouldn't like me being there. It only meant trouble —trouble he could not solve, and that ate at him from the inside.

Nix and I had practically grown up together, our families being close since we were born. The older we got, the more we gravitated towards each other, an unspoken connection pulling us in. Sadly, war came and, to our mothers' dismay, we both enlisted.

Nixon, became an officer while I had to climb from down below —something I wasn't used to, but I had never backed down from a challenge. We wouldn't have imagined he would be assigned to my company. That made things way too complicated.

Which is why he drastically distanced himself from me; for both our sakes. It was difficult enough as it was, I couldn't have an officer favoring me and he couldn't engage in issues just because they involved me.

"I'm gonna address the elephant in the room. What’s she doing here?" Nixon asked, tilting his head with a scrutinizing look.

Lipton hesitated, choosing his words carefully, but I could sense that he was unsure of how much to say. "She'll be leading First Platoon tomorrow, Sir."

"She what?" Nixon jumped from his spot, brows almost meeting his hairline.

"You're not in this?" Winters' shocked whisper was directed exclusively to his friend.

"Do I look like I'm in this to you?" The brunet man spat more bitter than he should have. "Where is this coming from? Who's idea was it?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Sir?" I said, directing my question to Winters instead.

"Permission granted." He had become accustomed to it; Nixon and I using him as a bridge.

I drew a deep breath, and for a second, I questioned if this was a mistake. But the words had already lined up in my mind, and I knew I couldn’t hold back. "I’m a Staff Sergeant. I clearly shouldn't be leading a platoon," I said, keeping my voice even. "Just like Lieutenant Dike shouldn’t be leading Easy Company, Sir. He's as qualified to do so as I am."

Silence fell, thick and heavy in the small space. They both knew I had never spoken ill of any officer or fellow soldier, no matter what I had seen myself dragged into. That's how bad it had gotten.

Nixon’s mouth opened, but for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. "You’re saying Dike’s incapable."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice softer but no less certain. "Respectfully, Sir, he’s going to get people killed if he’s in charge out there. We’ve all seen it. And the men—" I glanced at Lipton, who gave a tight nod of encouragement. "They don’t trust him."

Winters exchanged a long look with Lipton, and I could see the gravity of the situation weighing on him. But as much as he might have wanted to do something, it wasn't their choice, and we were stuck with it.

We were about to be halfheartedly dismissed when Nixon exhaled a low, frustrated sigh. "So what do you want us to do about it? We’re as boxed in here as you are," he said, though the irritation in his tone was directed somewhere far beyond us.

'don't ask me for help' he wished to say instead. The four of us knew the moment I stepped into the CP, the problem in his eyes would be less about the company and more about me.

A part of me thought Lipton wanted this to happen; perhaps he hoped Nixon would put more pressure up on Regiment if I was dragged into it.

"We know, Sir." Lipton replied, carefully redirecting the officer's attention to him. "But as First Sergeant, I figured it was my duty to let you know what we think."

"The orders are clear." Winters finally spoke, his words steady but carrying a hint of resignation. "Dike is to lead."

Lipton’s shoulders sagged a little, and I felt the weight of what I’d feared all along settle heavily in my chest.

"Understood, Sir." Lip said, his voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, I almost regretted speaking up, but there was no turning back.

Lipton and I turned to leave, but Nixon’s voice stopped me as I stepped outside.

"Y/n."

I looked back, meeting his gaze. For a second, it seemed he wanted to say something else, something that wasn’t bound by ranks or regulations. He wouldn't do that, though.

"Stay safe tomorrow."

I limited myself to respond with the short sentence I had struggled so much to internalize when it came to Nixon. "Yes, Sir."

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

In the cold, gray light just before dawn, the trees cast long shadows over the gathered soldiers. A tense quiet filled the air, broken only by the low murmurs of the men making last checks on their gear and formations. Winters was crouched a few feet away with Dike, going over the plan, his voice steady and insistent, doing his best to guide him through every step. Our Lieutenant's gaze drifted across the field toward Foy, and I couldn't help but wonder if Winters was getting any word into him.

With Martin's help, I stood a little apart with the men of First Platoon, running through their positions, double-checking who would be where, and making sure each of them understood. They all knew I shouldn't be leading, but tried their best to help me out.

Lipton who did the same as me with Second Platoon not too far away from us, caught my eye with a quick nod, offering some small assurance. But before I could fully return the gesture, Nixon appeared, slipping through the trees toward me.

"Sergeant." he took a look around us and gestured me to step aside with him.

"Captain." My curt response was choked by the formalities I no longer felt like indulging.

"Who exactly decided you’d be leading First Platoon into Foy?"

Oh, he was mad.

"Lieutenant Dike, Sir." his jaw clenched at the mention of the commanding officer. I knew what Lew would have said to me. But Captain Nixon surely wasn't able to cuss out my superior.

"Why was that?"

I barely held back a huff. "He gave no explanation, Sir, just pointed at me and moved on."

He pressed his lips into a line, clearly unsatisfied. "So you didn't do anything to bring this to yourself?"

"No, Captain." My gloved fingers tightened around my rifle's strap. "I just happened to be nearby."

"That's pretty hard to believe." There was a tinge of poison in his words. 'I don't buy it', he meant.

"Sir, with all due respect," I took a step towards him, shortening the distance between us. "Believe whatever you want. It's none of my business."

He held my gaze, conveying that annoyingly protective instinct I seemed to trigger in him since we were teens. "You're not qualified to do this."

"Frankly, Captain, if you have a problem," without thinking twice, I raised my pointer finger at Dike, sat still in the same position Winters had left him in. "go have a word with Lieutenant Dike. I'm clearly not qualified for this either."

That was it, I thought to myself when I turned heel. That was the last conversation I would have with Lew.

Maybe he thought the same, because I had barely lifted my foot off the mud when his hand found my elbow and tugged on it.

His eyes were softer now, brows knitted with worry. "Did he even ask if you wanted the job?"

"No, Sir." With a sigh, he glanced away, and while he tried to find the words, I continued speaking. "I didn't wanna be put in this position, but I'm gonna do my best to make it right." It wasn't the reassurance he needed, but I couldn't offer anything else when I had that horrible feeling in the back of my mind.

He saw straight through me, as always.

Nixon’s voice lowered as he dangerously closed the distance between us. "What happens when he gets himself in over his head?" I couldn't even open my mouth before he hissed "First platoon is leading in, what happens when you have to shoulder the whole attack?"

"What's the point of this goddamn conversation, Lew?" It slipped. It was quiet but it slipped. "It's... It's an order. I'm just doing as I'm told."

Nixon swallowed the lump in his throat but it had triggered a tenderness out of him I didn't expect. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just— this is madness." I muttered a soft 'I know'. "Y/n, I tried. I tried to get him transferred. Dick and I-" He discontent grunt escaped him. "He's untouchable and it's gonna cost us dear. And you're getting dragged into it, I swear to God, this son of a—"

"Alright, stop." The back of my hand stealthily brushed his, killing the words at the tip of his tongue. "I’ll figure something out."

Before return the hold I previously had on my gear, Nixon's cold digits trapped mine for an instant, giving them a squeeze. "Look, just... watch out down there, okay?" Nixon ran a hand through his hair. He was past the point of being tired. "Don't make me write to your mother."

'don't get killed'.

"Yes, Sir."

I held his gaze for a moment, something tight and unspoken settling between us.

As if on cue to break the spell we shouldn't be under, Martin called my name. It was time. With an apologetic look, I stepped back in my Platoon's direction.

"Stay sharp, Sergeant." Another plea, just like the night before.

I managed a small, grim smile. "Always do."

Martin sidled up beside me, raising a brow as he watched Nixon walk away to reach Sink. "The hell was all that about?"

I shrugged, adjusting my helmet before spinning to face him. "Just… Nixon being Nixon." Martin gave me a weary up-and-down that I swiftly shook off. "Let's do this, yeah?"

He nodded, clapping my back and prompting me to join the platoon.

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

We didn't even make it to town before what everyone feared happened.

We had made it through D-Day, Carentan and Holland, but when Lip, Luz and I exchanged exasperated looks crouched behind hay bales, it was clear as day we all thought that was it for us.

After a lot of outraged yelling on our parts to try and get anything out of Dike, the Lieutenant did what no one expected. He gave an order.

"First Platoon will surround Foy!" Dike’s voice might have been a quiver, but it was a direct command nonetheless.

It hit like a punch to the gut.

"Are you f—" My voice caught in my throat as I looked back toward him, trying to read any sense in his face. "Sir, you want First Platoon alone to surround and attack the town?!"

"Sir, they're gonna be exposed!" I had never heard so much anger in Lipton's voice, but it there was a time, it was now.

"We will provide c-covering fire!" Dike's shellshock face snapped to me. "Move it, Y/l/n! N-now!"

I didn’t have a choice. I ran back to my platoon bullets ricocheting around me. I kept my head down while I signaled Martin to take the men forward. With every nerve on fire, we pushed out the best we could until we were spread too thin around the town.

It was chaos all around while I tried my best to lead a platoon I shouldn't have been assigned in the first place.

Then it happened.

A sharp, hot pain ripped through my side. My legs buckled, the ground rushing up to meet me as I went down hard.

NIXON'S P. O. V.

I watched through binoculars the disaster unfold, my heart hammering violently with every wrong move, every stop, every scream from Dick.

I saw Dike’s shaky gestures and heard the garbled command over the radio, muffled by George's frantic plead for his CO to take the phone.

The binoculars dropped over my chest when I snapped my head at the higher ups from Regiment overlooking the scene almost unbothered at the sight of their best Company getting massacred.

Dick was too busy trying to get Dike on the radio, so I took it upon myself to not so kindly go off at XO's a few steps away from me.

I wasn't too far when the radio crackled with Lipton’s voice. All we got was 'Y/n' and 'hit'.

"She’s down!" Luz’s voice cut in, strained and tense, making my blood run cold. "Y/n’s down! First platoon is stranded!"

My chest seized, panic clawing up my throat when my trembling hands lifted the binoculars back to my eyes. Fate seemed to play a cruel joke and made me direct my view straight at Y/n, lying on the ground with a crimson pool of blood under her middle, propagating on the pristine white snow.

I barely registered Winters' furious call for Speirs; I was too busy grabbing my rifle —the same rifle I had never shot. My mind was a blur as my feet attempted to carry me to the battlefield.

Winters yanked me back by my arm and I shoved him off, only for Colonel Sink to step forward and block my path. I believe he was shouting something about ranks, but all I could hear was Luz's message ringing in my head.

There were numerous times in this godforsaken war in which I had felt useless and overpowered, but never to this level.

Nothing compared to the helpless feeling of having to watch the girl I had grown up with —the one I had so badly tried to protect— shot down in the middle of a frontline; caught in the crossfire without anyone able to help her while she bled to death.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

The aid station was full of activity as medics moved between beds, their voices a murmur of steady instructions. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness since they had brought me in.

I wasn’t fully sure, but chances were Speirs had been the one who got me out of Foy. I could still hear the echo of his barked orders, steady and focused, right before someone's hands had snatched my body from the chaos and onto a stretcher.

The sting of antiseptic seared my side, snapping me back to the present. A nurse leaned over me, quietly murmuring something I didn’t quite catch as she tended to my bandages. I forced myself to stay still, swallowing back a hiss of pain, when suddenly, through the thin canvas walls of the tent, a familiar voice rang out.

It was Nixon, and from the sound of it, he was furious.

"—no, I don’t give a damn if that’s not procedure. This never should have happened!" I could almost see him out there, pacing back and forth. "Dike’s a goddamn disaster. How many times did we say he’d freeze under fire?" There was a pause, then the slam of a fist against something solid—a crate, maybe. "We got soldiers down in there because he panicked. Is this what you needed to take Easy off his hands?"

My chest tightened, and I tried to sit up, ignoring the ache in my side. The nurse gave me a sharp look, pressing a hand to my shoulder, but I strained to listen.

"Do NOT tell me I'm outta line again, Lieutenant." A scoff. "You all knew he wasn’t fit for this," Nixon’s tantrum continued. "We all did. And now she’s in there, and I'm out here, waiting to see if she makes it out while I listen to this dumbfuckery!" He forced himself to continue, voice rougher. "This isn't— you're not pushing another replacement officer into the company."

There was another pause, and I could hear someone else murmuring low responses, as if trying to calm him down. But Nixon wasn’t having any of it.

"I don't give a damn! He's not gonna command Easy." Another murmur, another humorless laugh. "Oh yeah? I’ll go straight to Sink myself if I have to." The tent flap shifted, and finally caught a glimpse of him. No helmet, no gear. Just his winter uniform and that disheveled look he sported. God, he was handsome. "You're dismissed."

His arm hit the canvas with a grunted curse, and his confident steps came to a halt when he spotted my sitting form.

Resolved, he made a beeline to my stretcher, dismissing the nurse on his way.

"Captain Nixon—"

"Fuck that." My eyes widened ever so slightly at his harsh pitch. "I told you to be safe."

"Sir—"

"Don't call me that, Y/n/n." Oh. "I'm not in the mood to play on this bullshit." His complaint barely made sense to me, but I figured it had something to do with the trail of stitches on my abdomen and the fact that he had to witness it. "I told you to be safe." He repeated, this time with more intent.

"Are you really gonna scold me after getting fucking shot, Lew?" The act was down among us, but I just hoped no one could get me court-martialled for it. "Keep treating me like a kid, see where that takes you."

"I know you're not a kid."

"Then why do you keep acting like this?" I did my best no to raise my voice at him; the situation was a bit too reminiscing of the argument we held after he found out I had enlisted.

He had that same look on his face and that same paternalistic tinge, as if it was up to him what I could and couldn't do. This time he looked less anxious and more exhausted, though.

"You're doing it again." I warned him, but it only seemed to bother him even more.

"I'm doing it again because you keep doing this!"

"What's 'this'?" I spat, attempting to sit up only for his palms to hold me back onto the makeshift bed. "You hate seeing me try and hold my ground on my own?"

"I hate seeing you get hurt!" He was past the point of caring; if it wasn't obvious by the feelings-fueled shouts, the way he kneeled by my side did the trick. "Y/n/n." He shut his eyes, exhaling to collect himself. "I promised your mother I would take care of you, alright? How do I explain this without her forbidding me to step a foot on you house ever again?"

"You shouldn't have promised her anything." I limited myself to respond, although my reply was way less hostile and more understanding. I knew my mother would have dragged him into something of the like, but that was a burden he shouldn't have been carrying. "This is war, Lew."

"I had to." In those saddened dark irises, I saw a reflection of the boy who, scared, used to stand up for me in every situation. The kid that didn't fight unless cornered; the one that would always do anything to keep my reckless self safe.

I denied with furrowed eyebrows. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. I've always done that." He was trying to convey something through his retort, but when he saw it didn't seem to reach me, he gave up. "You don't know how much you mean to me. And God knows I wish it wasn't like that because you can be so annoyingly stupid."

Lew got one thing right from the beginning of this ranks shitshow— I was his problem. I had always been. And he had learned the hard way he couldn't keep saving me.

"I had to see you bleed to death and no one let me do anything about it." There was the scolding tone again, only that this time desperation and guilt engulfed it, and I couldn't help but feel bad. "Do you understand how that felt?" It was nothing more than a whisper.

"Do you think I wanted this to happen?" I matched his tone with a pleading gaze. "I followed orders, Lew. Why would I wanna get shot?" He casted his eyes down. "And why would I wanna put you through that?"

His hands rested on the side of the stretcher and I wondered for a second if, aside from being past ranks and formalities, we were also past protocol.

Fuck the protocol, I thought to myself before placing my palm atop his.

"I hate this, Lew."

His hand turned to intertwin his fingers with mine. A quiet silence briefly reigned our little corner of the aid station while we gazed at each other like starcrossed lovers from our books would.

"You're a good soldier, Y/n/n." It was an odd compliment coming from him. Maybe it wasn't a compliment at all.

I feared it would be something else; a goodbye, perhaps.

He swallowed, eyes darting everywhere before finding mine again. "You're getting back to the States in the next ship." Before I could open my mouth, he added, "It's not my doing."

Nixon expected me to clap back.

Maybe three years ago I would have.

"You're staying." It wasn't a question, but he answered nevertheless.

"The job's not done."

Only then it occurred to me why he was there.

"You've come to say goodbye?"

"We're moving out in a couple of hours." His hand escaped my own. So did his eyes. "I hate this too, Y/n/n."

My palms came to cover my face with a shaky sigh, the back of the head sinking into the poor excuse of a pillow.

"If you get yourself killed, Lew, I swear to God." My voice broke slightly. Whether it was due to the exhaustion or the fear of losing him, I couldn't tell.

"You'll come back to kill me?" He finished, making me peek through my fingers at his form, half turned away from me.

"Yeah."

"Consider recovering first, alright?" He attempted to joke, although the situation was too somber to make it land.

"I'm serious." I warned, uncovering my face to look at him —properly look at him— one last time.

"I know."

He wanted to say more, I saw it in the gleam of his eyes and the way his lips parted ever so subtly.

He didn't. He couldn't, not even when we were past formalities. It was too... Improper? Heavy?

It was too much.

So instead he rose to his feet, his digits fumbling a little to find my own and give them a tight squeeze, his attention roaming the tent to check if someone was watching.

"I'll see you back home." His voice was low yet clear, holding intent. 'I'm gonna come back to you', he tried to get across.

"Don't take too long." I responded, hoping he could read the plea in my visage.

This time it was me who let go of his hand, a silent allowance on my part for him to walk away, which he halfheartedly did, sparing me one last glance from the aid station entrance before disappearing behind the tarp.

"Jesus Christ..." I muttered under my breath, shutting my eyes to stop the tears from spilling. "You better come back."

[mads-nixon]

hi everyone! welcome to my band of brothers & the pacific side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it. also, requests are now CLOSED for the pacific and bob!! you can find the request guidelines below!

request guidelines | gifsets/icons

xoxo,

mads :)

Band of Brothers

italics - wips

Eugene “Doc” Roe

- At Last

- Break the Distance

- C'est Toi (Soulmate!AU)

Joe Liebgott

- Of Course It’s You

- Liebling

Floyd Talbert

- “The Night of the Bayonet”

- I’m Here (oc)

George Luz

- Home

- Old Friends

Dick Winters

- Winter at the Winters'

- Meine Liebe

Ron Speirs

- Keeping You Safe

- For Me

- Knight in Dirty ODs

Lewis Nixon

- Here With You

- The Vow

- Timeless

- Epiphany Series Masterlist

Johnny Martin

- Follow You Anywhere

Headcannons

- Nix When He's Sick

- Dating Eugene Roe

- Post-War Harry Welsh

The Pacific

Robert Leckie

- Crazy

Bill "Hoosier" Smith

- You Before Me

Eugene Sledge

- See the Good

Headcanons

- Hoosier Dating an Extrovert

- Chuckler Dating an Artist

- Chuckler Dating a Medic

Masters of the Air:

You can find things from gifs to fics, and posts about the flyers and ground crews in Masters of the Air on my sideblog, @major-mads!!

comment or message me if you want to be tagged in anything!!

[mads-weasley]

Summary: After (y/n) signs up for the WAC's Athena Program, she joins the war with Easy Company, unaware of how much her life will change over the next few years.

Enchanted

Out of the Woods

Haunted

Evermore

Breathe

Daylight

Paris

You Are In Love

Lover

State of Grace

Labyrinth

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Forever Winter

Soon You'll Get Better

Right Where You Left Me

Castles Crumbling

Innocent - currently on break!!

epiphany playlist

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!!

[privatewebster]

i know i have to leave but it hurts so much

i stay awake and i wonder how i could tear away your blues

so tell me, is this love enough? tell me what is really worth.

pov: richard winters

is my love enough? by white lies

[darling-heffron]

Sorry all my wifi had been acting up and then I got busy doing other things, then poof, Saturday came and went! So sorry this is late but I hope the chapter makes up for it. Also I got my nails done and didn't think of the implications to my typing lmao! ✨

Taglist: @mellow-human , @malarkgirlypop , @next-autopsy

Chapter Seven: And then there were Two

Sam’s POV: 

Walking was the easy part of Sam’s journey, the hard part was avoiding everyone else. Especially the humans, she didn’t need to meet anymore people like the family she had only buried days ago. 

There could be no guilt clouding her thoughts during these times, she needed to be focussed not sentimental. The last thing she needed was a friend. 

Her army comrades often called Sam the lone wolf of the pack, often adjacent from the other troops who were bonding and making lasting friendships. Sam enjoyed her solitude and didn’t have the patience for stupid people, she had other activities that filled her boredom. 

Fighting mainly, as it was a good way to release her stress. She often found that after having a rough day, letting out her pent up emotions on the punching bag felt good. Sam never felt the need to vent to her “friends”, her fists did all the talking she needed.  

If she didn’t feel like fighting, books had the same effect as talking to people. Except she didn’t have to say anything back to them. She didn’t enjoy fictional novels about romance and friendship and adventure. The blonde preferred the cold hard facts of history, she would learn from everyone else's mistakes and not make them herself. 

Unfortunately sometimes Sam would have to deal with people during her job. On her tours in Afghanistan she was paired with the most annoying girl in the squad. 

A lucky dip that was not so lucky. 

Her partner drove her mad almost every single day, trying to befriend the tall woman. Sam was not having it, she didn’t need nor want a friend. The soldier was a petite brunette that was only a couple of years younger, but for some reason she was always so happy. Always a pep to her step and a song in her heart, the girl was joyful on crack. 

Even in her demise she still somehow had a smile on her face and was optimistic about her doomed fate. 

The girl, Abby, had died only days before they were set to depart back home. She had offered to do the final sweep of the night for Sam, which she had been scheduled to complete. On her route back she had misstepped, accidentally setting off an IED that in turn took her life not hours later. 

Lying on the street with her limbs scattered about, she bled out slowly and painfully. But still the young girl managed to smile and laugh, making a joke. Abby had laid in Sam’s lap as she lost her blood and quickly turned cold. The last thing she had said was, “I’m glad it was me and not you.” 

Abby had died later that night in hospital from her wounds. Her death still haunted the angry blonde. 

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted by boisterous noise. Sam looked up with disgust etched into her face. These were the stupid fuckers she was talking about. 

Even from a distance she could see their unkempt oily hair and dirty clothes. They smiled at each other while they joked, some misogynistic comment falling from the shorter ones mouth as the other two chortled together. 

“Ugh, gross.” She muttered out loud. Sam didn’t enjoy people, but men were her least favourite. It may have been her army upbringing but all the men she knew were cunts, especially her father who seemed to be the worst one of all. 

The only reason there were other people here was because she had made it to Albany. Walking all day for two days she had made good time from Pittsfield. But even though the city offered food and other resources, it attracted everything else along with it. Just like the group of men who stood only 50 feet away, laughing amongst themselves. 

Somehow luck didn’t seem to be in favour of the young woman; she accidentally kicked an empty can across the street as she tried to evade the group. 

“Fuck me.” Sam cursed under her breath. She watched the men swivel their heads around to investigate the noise. Sam ducked quickly trying to hide behind the abandoned car she was standing near but she knew she had been spotted. 

“Hey pretty lady!” One of the men cooed. Sam rolled her eyes so hard she was concerned they were going to get stuck in the back of her head. 

“We see you blondie, come out!” The other greasy man joined in. 

Sam silently screamed in her head, she was not in the mood for people. Drawing in a deep breath she stood. She cracked her neck as she walked out from behind the vehicle. 

The men started to walk briskly towards her. Her fingers flexed at her side, itching to latch around the weapon on her hip. But she stood still, a relaxed posture and bitchy face, well her normal face but still, she looked menacing. 

“Quite a scowl you got blondie.” The tallest man of the group smirked at her. 

Her face didn’t change even with the comment. Sam didn’t speak, she didn’t want to seem like she was trying to make excuses. Plus men dug themselves into deeper holes in silence than in conversation. She would bait them. 

“Not much of a talker.” The short thinning haired man stepped closer, even though he was still a good foot away she could smell him from here. 

“Yeah but she is a looker, hey Jeremy.” The snivelly looking man egged on the tall one, Jeremy, elbowing him in the side.  

“You sure are pretty.” Jeremy licked his lips. Sam’s disgust was audible at the action. 

The young woman flicked her eyes around the group. They didn’t seem to be all that well equipped, noting the baseball bat the short chubby man held, and the grimey machete on the rodent looking man’s belt. Jeremy seemed to be the only one with a gun, tucked into the front of his waistband. Sam scoffed that was only good for one thing, getting his dick shot off.   

“I think she’s scared of us.” Weasel man continued. He looked like the fucking jester of the group, though he didn’t seem all that funny. 

“You don’t have to be afraid, we’re really nice.” The chubby man had the audacity to reach out to try and touch Sam’s arm. 

Her reflexes were faster. Sam’s hand shot out from her side and gripped the man’s limb like a vice. 

That set the group on edge, the other two sprung back, hands clasping around their own weapons. 

“I’m not afraid of you horrible fuck-eyed wank cloths.” Sam growled, squeezing the man's hand even harder. He let out a whimper of pain and tried to wiggle free, but Sam’s hold didn’t budge. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, before I rip of every single one of your ballsacks off and feed it to the rabid motherfuckers while you watch.” The man guffawed at her statement, her words were clearly not enough for the men, she would have to show them. 

“Oh you need proof. Well baldly, how many fingers you want broken?” Sam sneered at the man, his face bright red with rage and pain. 

“Now you’re quiet?” Sam wrenched the thinned haired man’s finger backwards extending them towards his back. “That means I get to choose.” She whispered before completely twisting the chubby man’s hand completely backwards until there was a satisfying crunch. 

Baldy howled in pain as he clutched at his now broken wrist. It hung limply from the joint, the men who had watched the whole interaction, now began to rile up. 

“What the fuck is your problem blondie?” Jesterville Jones piped up, his buck teeth exposed as he hopped around like the rabbit he was.     

“I chose wrist.” Sam shrugged, seemed like he wasn’t paying attention, or was an idiot. Most likely an idiot. 

“We didn’t do anything to you.” Jeremy whined as if his mum had just taken away his PS5 privileges. 

“You approached me, that was your first mistake. Then you called me blondie, you half chewed pencil looking fuck. And this literal easy bake oven tried to touch me. So if I counted correctly, which he can’t.” Sam pointed to weasel face. “That would make three things you did to me.” 

“Now do you all want limp wrists, you slimy turd canoes?” Sam threatened the gaggle of fucking morons. “Or would you like to leave with the little dignity you have still intact?” 

As soon as she finished her sentence the men fled. Tails between their legs like the small chihuahuas they were.  

Mars POV: 

Getting to Albany was simple. Marleen packed up and left as the sun was rising, unwilling to be near that house any longer. She followed along the highway, using road signs as her guide. 

The houses began getting closer together until she found herself at the city's edge. The closer she got the more her nerves started to scramble. Mars spotted several small groups and lone rabids and did everything she could to avoid them, turning a three hour journey into five. 

Marleen had never been to Albany before, but she could imagine what it was like; the roads bustling with vehicles, people everywhere, everything teaming with life. 

And now, it was barren. Abandoned. 

If she had to guess she would say there were live humans in this vast city somewhere but nowhere that she could see. 

That could be a good thing though. At least that’s what Denver always said. And just like that she was tearing up once again- how many tears did she have left? Surely her eyes would run dry at some point? 

Shaking her head, Mars headed into the eerie ghost town. 

She didn’t get very far before noticing undead stumbling in her direction. Shit. There were too many for her to stay and fight, she had no choice but to flee. They hadn’t seen her yet, giving her the advantage of stealth. 

As quietly as she could, Mars turned and treaded down a side street, off the main road and out of the zombies' sight. 

This repeated a few times; Marleen would come across a number of rabids and sneak away unseen onto a new path, slowly making her way through the maze of a city. 

Her luck was seemingly up. Avoiding certain death had never been easier for the young blonde.  

Until it wasn’t.

Mars rounded a corner, making her way down a narrow road- a glorified alleyway. And she did so without checking to see if the way was clear, her first mistake. 

Her second mistake was immediately dropping her only weapon the instant she bumped into something. 

Marleen had walked straight into a solid body and squealed. It took her a moment to realise that whatever she had walked into could be a human; like her or an undead and she had yet to find out which.

Her yelp was mixed with a low voice, arms wrapped around her body and held her close, it felt all too familiar. Mars cried out and struggled against the unknown person until she heard a distinct voice- the undead can't speak.  

Her head flicked upwards, revealing her captor as a living. In fact, there were three living men standing in front of her. 

All caution was thrown to the wind, she hadn’t seen real people since she and Denver had been separated two nights prior, and she found she was missing the social interaction. Being able to talk to someone who was capable of talking back, who didn’t have blood covering every inch of them- that was priceless to Mars. 

“Hey, shhh, It's okay.” The man holding on to her spoke, his grasp on her had stabilised the both of them, keeping the pair upright. Now that they were in no danger of falling, he released his grip on her and held up his hands in mock surrender.

From where she stood, she had a second to give them a once over and take in their appearances. They looked like they’d been through hell. Dirty and greasy and covered in filth. 

Something that stuck out to her was the shortest one favoured his left hand, like it was hurt. She would bring that up at some point, make sure chubby hadn't been bitten by a rabid.

She had two voices telling her two very different things right now and wasn’t sure what to do. 

One said: Absolutely do not trust these guys, turn and leave right now, you don’t know these strangers.

While the other said: Maybe they could help you? It’s tough being out here all alone, having friends is never a bad thing. Talk to them, ask if they can help you get to Illinois. 

“Uh-Hello?” Was the greeting she settled on, this seemed to please them as all three grinned at her. It should have been a good sign, the smiles; but for some reason it unnerved her. 

“Hello beautiful.” The tallest man, her ‘saviour’ spoke out, “you out here all alone?” Mars nodded slowly, still not totally convinced she could trust these guys. 

“Well what would a pretty girl like you be doing out here all by herself?” One of the others spoke up, he had buck teeth that resembled a mouse or a rat. All three men still smiled at her waiting for her answer. 

“I-I’m trying to get to Illinois.”

“Illinois, eh?” The rat man echoed the words as he stepped closer to her, “We can help ya get to Illinois.” 

“You can?” Mars felt a smile creep onto her face. She held hope that these men would be kind and helpful, regardless of their appearance. Don't judge a book by its cover and all that.

“Sure.” The tallest, who seemed to be their leader, smirked. 

“Yeah, we can help you.” Rat-man laughed as he nudged his friend's arm with his elbow, like they were sharing a joke- one that Mars was not privy to. 

It was then that Mars noticed the machete in the rat's grip, that paired with her dropped knife gave her chills- goosebumps rippled over her body. 

“You just have to do a little something for us first….” His voice gave Mars the heebie jeebies and she began to rethink her openness to the trio- maybe she should have been more skeptical of the strangers. 

“Scratch our backs, we scratch yours, blondie.” Rat-man reached out his hand and stroked Marleen’s cheek, her body instinctively flinched back, trying to get out of his reach.

“Really?” A louder voice sounded from behind the group of men. The trio seemed to recognise the person who had spoken, stilling in their actions and slowly turning. 

Between the gap of the men, Mars could see a tall, lean woman with a menacing stance. Her glare made the men shiver and Marleen found that she too was intimidated by this lady. 

Sam’s POV: 

Sam had tried her best to avoid the group after they had retreated. She continued on her search for food and water, but unfortunately before rounding a corner she had heard the slimy idiots talking amongst themselves. 

However what piqued her interest was a soft feminine voice that spoke back. Sam had stepped into the alley just as weasel face had said, “Scratch our backs, we scratch yours, blondie.” 

That pissed off the tall woman. For one, they had gone from one woman to the next, and secondly they didn’t even have the creativity to think of any better lines. 

“Wow! I thought you guys were fucking stupid, but this just really proves my point!” Sam gave her best cheerful sarcastic tone. 

“You seriously can’t think of any better material than Blondie?” She peered over their shoulders, finding a young petite woman backed into a corner by the group. The woman’s face said it all, please help me.  

A sigh left Sam’s lips, she was not in the mood for playing hero, but also the young girl, not even woman, looked so helpless it felt like a crime to leave. 

She cast her glare towards michelin man, who cowered under her hateful stare. He didn’t give her a second glance before darting off and ditching his so-called friends. 

“Dylan what the fuck dude!” Jeremy called out after fatso. Damn she had never seen someone of that girth run so fast. 

“Roly-poly has the right idea. Why don’t the rest of you scram and leave Bambi alone.” Sam looked over to the young lady, aptly named for her big doe eyes and deer in the headlights stare. 

“We aren’t scared of you, blondie.” Jeremy snarled. 

“Which one are you talking to, cause remember we are both ‘Blondie’ according to you.” Sam pointed out that the one name that had given each of the girls now didn’t work in the situation. 

“I’m talking to you-” He paused for a moment, pointing in her direction. “Angry blondie.” 

“Look at you using adjectives. Kind of embarrassing it took you that long to think of one, and angry at that.” Sam grimaced at the fucking idiot sandwich stood before her. 

“Can we be done now, I’m so fucking bored of this conversation?” Sam glanced down at her watch, she literally had better things to be doing than standing here wasting her breath on these white-trash shart hounds. 

“Well- uh- you.” The weasel man stuttered over his words. 

“You-uh-uh-um.” Sam mocked them. “Spit it out, speech impediment.”

“Right, that's it!” Inflatable balloon man bellowed in the least intimidating voice he could manage. In a quick motion he whipped out his gun from the front of his pants. Sam shied away worried he was going to whip out something else at the same time. 

“I don’t need to see all that.” Sam gestured to the man’s crotch. The young woman during the chaos, had bent down and grabbed the knife that had laid on the floor just in front of her. Sam watched her stand again, clutching the weapon to her chest. 

Jeremy surged forward with his gun, he flailed it around, it seemed as if he was unsure if he wanted to shoot Sam or hit her with it. It didn’t matter, the tall woman had disarmed him in seconds. 

Now she had the man by his neck and his gun in her grasp. Jeremy was pinned to her chest as he stared out at his mate who looked shocked but was still fixed in his position, not helping his buddy. 

Sam pressed the barrel of the man’s gun to his temple. Everyone froze, collectively holding their breaths. Weasel man’s face had drained of blood and he looked sickly pale. Bambi continued to wear her brown doe eyed stare, her mouth hanging slightly agape, Sam was unsure if this was due to shock or awe. 

“Alright lady!” Rodent man held out his hands showing his surrender. “We’ll leave you alone, just let us go!” The man pleaded. 

“Yeah just let us leave.” Jeremy sobbed like a young child who had lost their mummy in the supermarket. 

Sam brought the butt of the gun down hard into the side of Jeremy’s head, the man yelped out in pain as she pushed him away from her and he stumbled to the floor. Rodent man collected his friend from the floor, and urged him to leave. 

“My gun.” Jeremy held out his hand for his weapon. 

“It’s mine now. Fuck off.” Sam dismissed the command. She watched in amusement as the pair fled together, moving so fast they were falling over each other in panic. 

Turning on her heel she walked the way she had come from back out onto the street. 

Mars POV:

“Wait!” Marleen called out to her retreating saviour, “where are you going?” Her feet began following the mysterious woman- who completely ignored her. Her pace quickened, only slowing when she came side by side with the fiery lady. 

“Hey! I asked where you’re going.” Her statement came out whiny and she reached for the other woman's forearm. The moment her fingertips touched their target, the stranger sprung into action. She halted her steps and raised a closed fist so quickly that Mars barely had time to register what was happening.

“Woah-wait wait wait- it’s me! It’s me!” The shorter woman released her grip and raised her hands to cover her face, dropping her knife yet again. 

It clattered to the floor as both women watched.

“Who?”

“Me, it’s me?” Mars peered up at the taller blonde, her voice squeaked out from her defensive position, “From just now… you know, with those guys- Bambi! I’m Bambi…remember?” 

Recognition crosses over her face, “Oh. Right.” The woman lowered her fist, “You dropped your knife.” Her parting words as she turned swiftly and continued in the same direction. 

Mars huffed, bending over to pick up the weapon and then straightening to run after the other blonde. 

“You didn't answer my question.” Her words were spoken in between breaths, “Where are we going?” 

That seemed to gain the attention of her ruthless heroine, making her freeze in place once more. 

“We?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “WE aren’t going anywhere.” She gestured between the two of them with her finger. 

“But,” Marleen’s face scrunched in confusion, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, “You just saved me?” 

“And?” 

Mars had no reply. It seemed logical to her that they buddy up, everyone needs friends and Mars could surely use someone as capable as her. 

The lean girl, hearing no reply from the smaller party continued on her journey. Once again, leaving ‘Bambi’ behind. 

And just like before, Mars chased after her, this time calling out “Can’t I come with you? I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m there!” 

“No, I don’t pick up stragglers.” The woman’s husky voice sounded as she kept walking away from the young girl. 

“So why did you save me? Why not just let me die?” Marleen argued, genuinely curious. 

“I-”

“So you clearly have a conscience, or else you would’ve watched me be attacked by those men.” She spoke her thoughts aloud as they popped into her head, no filter and not even waiting to hear her responses. 

“Look-”

“Or you just didn’t want to watch it, so now you’re just leaving me to die when you don’t have to see.” 

“Jesus-”

“Cause leaving me now is like second hand murder. You know I’m not going to get very far by myself, but you’re still leaving.”

“Alright, alright! Fine! Christ, you made your point, I got it!” The lady finally got her words in before the young girl interrupted her once again. The taller of the two swung around to gesture for the persistent girl to cease her incessant yapping, “I will walk you to the next town over and then as soon, and I mean as soon as I find another group or person to take you, you are not my problem anymore. Understand?”

Mars let a cheesy smile break onto her face as she literally jumped for joy. “Deal!” Extending her pinky finger out to seal the promise the taller woman had just made. 

“I’m not making a pinky promise.” The lady shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Still Mars held out her hand, smiling widely, tipping her head to encourage the standoffish girl to accept her outstretched pinky. 

“No! I’m not.” The girl doubled down. But Mars ever so vigorously stood her ground, until the other blonde sighed and finally did as Marleen had asked. She reached out her hand quickly interlinking her pinky finger with the younger girl. The tall blonde snatched her hand away after sealing their deal. 

“Oh my God, are you normally this fucking infuriating?” 

“It depends who you ask.” Said with a shrug of her shoulders and a smirk on her face. “I’m Marleen, by the way.” 

“I didn’t ask.”

“You can call me Mars though.” Her cheery voice continued, “Sooo- what’s your name?” She was met with silence. “Okay, fine. Stay mysterious. I’ll just call yooou- Jessica?”

“No.” Her saviour deadpanned. 

“Okay, not Jessica…. Georgia?” Hope seeped into her words as she gently elbowed her taller companion in an attempt to gain her favour. 

“Please stop.” 

“You could just tell me your name? I’d stop if I knew what to call you- maybe Lauren?” 

Realising she wouldn’t shut her mouth until she got what she wanted, the calmer of the pair offered a solution, “If I tell you my name, will you be quiet?” 

“Yes.” Her reply was instantaneous and full of excitement. 

“It’s Sam.” She sighed out exasperatedly. 

“Sam!” Mars grinned, barely one second of silence passed before she was speaking once again, “Sam Sam Sam… is that short for Samantha?” 

“Shut. Up!” 

AHHHHHHHHHH our girls finally met oml oml, so excited for this duo you have no idea! But ah, Sam doesn't seem all the keen on it ahaha sorry girl you got lumped with a whole ball of sunshine. Let me know if you also love these girlies together as much as I do.

Esra ✨

[baura-bear]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Band of Brothers (TV 2001) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters Characters: Lewis Nixon, Richard Winters Additional Tags: Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Post-War, Canon Era, Domestic Fluff Summary:

Dick stopped next to him, watching curiously. “What are you doing?” He inquired.

Lew side eyed him, tongue still hanging out. “Eating snow.” Without another word he let gravity do the work as he flopped backwards onto the ground. It wasn’t enough to really cushion his landing, but he had a proper landing technique. It was nothing compared to throwing yourself from a plane. “Oof,” he huffed out as he hit the ground, splaying his arms out in an angel shape. Instead of flapping his limbs like one would to create a snow angel, he stared up at Dick who was still standing. “Well, come on.”

Dick carefully lowered himself to the ground an angel's length away from Lew and started making his imprint. Lew, apparently satisfied, started doing the same. Neither of them made an attempt to get up, even after they’d both stopped moving. Their arms were still splayed out, hand barely a finger's length away from each other as they watched snow fall from the sky.

[midnightdraftqueen]

A Steady Hand (FINAL PART)

PART THREE

Chapter Ten: Is This the End?

September 1945, Austria

The news didn’t come immediately. Weeks passed after Germany surrendered, filled with rumors and speculation, the men stuck in limbo as the world outside continued to shift. The Pacific war loomed over them like a storm cloud, a lingering threat none of them could shake. And then, one evening, it came. Japan had surrendered.

She was standing near the edge of the field when she heard the commotion—laughter, shouts, the kind of unrestrained joy that had been absent for so long. She turned to see Winters making the announcement to a crowd of men near the baseball diamond. The cheers that followed were deafening.Relief swept over her like a wave. No one had to go to the Pacific. Not Winters. Not any of them. The war was truly over.

She watched the celebration unfold, the weight of it settling over her. The men clapped each other on the back, shouting about going home, about seeing family, about finally living beyond the battlefield. She smiled, feeling their joy, but deep down, an unease settled in her chest. What happened now? What happened to whatever had been growing between her and Winters? They had shared something profound, something that had meant everything in the moment. But the war was what had brought them together. With it over, she feared it would slip away, becoming just another piece of history, another thing left behind in Europe.

Later that evening, she found him sitting on the steps behind the barracks, staring out at the fading light. She approached, keeping her voice light, testing the waters.

“So,” she mused, crossing her arms as she stood beside him. “Now that the war is over, are you going to go rejoin your cows and Quaker brethren in Pennsylvania?”

Winters huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Still not a Quaker."

She smirked. "I know. But you never did a good job of convincing the others of that."

He exhaled, looking down at his hands. “Actually, Lew offered me a job. His family business. New Jersey.”

Her brow lifted. “New Jersey? So you’re sticking with Nixon and his antics even in civilian life?”

Winters gave her a sideways glance. “He grows on you.”

She snorted. “Like a stubborn rash.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips before she continued, her tone light. "You know, you’re going to have to find a woman who can tolerate all that—your unwavering loyalty to Lewis Nixon and his near-constant presence."

Winters didn’t miss a beat. "The woman I have in mind already has some experience dealing with Nix."

Her teasing expression faltered as realization dawned. She turned fully to face him. "Is that so?"

For the first time in a long time, Winters smiled—a real, full smile, the kind that reached his eyes.

She held his gaze, searching for any hesitation, any doubt. But there was none. He wanted her to come with him.

She grinned. "Jersey, huh? Well… I guess it can’t be any worse than Bastogne."

Winters chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it really can’t.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she sat beside him, their shoulders brushing, the quiet promise of a future together settling between them.

Chapter Eleven: Epilogue

April 1948, New Jersey

Winters paced the hospital waiting room, his hands clasped behind his back, tension wound tight in his shoulders. Nixon sat nearby, watching him with an amused smirk, feet propped up on an empty chair.

"You know, wearing a path in the tiles isn't going to make the kid get here any faster," Nixon drawled, swirling what was probably coffee—but knowing him, possibly something stronger. "You’re making me nervous just looking at you."

Winters shot him a look, but Nixon was undeterred. "Christ, Dick, you survived D-Day, Market Garden, held us all together in Bastogne. You’d think you’d be a little less rattled by a baby."

Winters exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is different."

Nixon grinned, leaning forward. "Yeah? How so?"

Winters gave him a flat look. "Because they’re mine. They’re a little person that I helped create.”

Nixon’s smirk softened slightly, something almost fond flickering behind his teasing expression. "Yeah, I guess that would change things."

Before Winters could respond, the nurse appeared in the doorway. “Major Winters?”

He was already moving before she finished speaking. When he stepped into the room, his breath caught. She was propped up in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The baby was tiny, pink-cheeked, wrapped snugly in a white blanket.

She looked up at him, smiling softly. "Dick, come meet our daughter." For a moment, he couldn't move. He had faced battle and carried the weight of men’s lives on his shoulders. But nothing had prepared him for this.

Carefully, as if she were the most fragile thing he had ever held, he reached out and took her into his arms. The baby squirmed slightly, her tiny fingers curling against his chest. Winters let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed. "She’s… perfect."

Nixon leaned against the doorway, grinning. "So, do I get the honor of being the godfather, or are you planning on giving that job to someone more responsible?"

Winters chuckled and cast him a quick glance before looking back down at the baby in his arms. "You’ll do."

Nixon crossed his arms. "Damn right, I will. Hope you know this child is going to be incredibly spoiled."

She laughed softly, watching the two men banter, and Winters looked back at her, gratitude filling every part of him. He had made a promise on D-Day, in the dark fields of Normandy.

God, if you get me through this—through the Day of Days and the ones to follow—I’ll find peace. When it’s all over, I’ll live quietly, away from all this.

And now, in this little hospital room, holding his wife while his best friend, his brother, cooed at his new daughter, Dick realized—God had kept His end of the deal. Now it was his turn to keep his.

PART THREE

[danopdf]

hold me, please || winnix angst

warnings: blood, death, mentions of guns and bullets, usual Band of Brothers stuff

a/m: cross-posted to my ao3 <3

============

Lewis runs toward him, shouldering his gun, breathing heavy.

Dick watches from his place in the trees, crouched in the foliedge.

Shots whizz by Lewis as he runs faster, faster, faster. His arms pumping, ducking his head as single shots speed past him.

Dick watches him flinch, his shoulders jumping to his ears. His pace getting faster with each near miss. Lewis weaves left and right, but his main path stays the same- toward him.

The way the bullets are hitting the ground around Lewis, Dick knows it’s not bad aim; the group of Germans they unknowingly wandered into the path of are putting Lewis right where they want him, running for Dick and his place of cover right inside the tree line.

“come one, come on come on come on!” Dick repeats to himself like a mantra.

Lewis is no more than a few paces from him, the bullets flying by Nix’ head with a fizzing sound, each impact creating a puff of dust in the trees just centimetres from Dicks head, but he doesn’t flinch the way Lewis does, not when he’s so close- close enough Dick can hear his gasping breath and the heavy thumping of his boots on the damp grass, close enough that Dick can hear the strangled choking sound Lewis makes when the bullet finds its home in his chest and sends him stumbling into the safety of Dick’s arms that instinctively wrap around Nix.

If Dick was able to focus on something other than the scared gasping breaths Lewis is taking in his arms, he would hear the group of Germans on the ridge cheering like they shot a prize stag.

“Lew!” Dick let’s himself fall, cradling Lewis’ head in the crook of his elbow as they unceremoniously crumble to the cedar needle covered ground- unable to stop Lewis’ legs from giving out under his own weight.

Nix can’t feel anything other than the rapid ride and fall of Dick’ chest against his, and the way the redheads hands fumble with the strap of his M1- that’s surely digging into one, or both of them, not that he can tell through the white hot searing pain that’s stemming from his stomach.

“where- where are you hurt? where did they get you?” Dick is plucking at the plethora of straps and buckles on Nix’ pack, taking off each piece and throwing it behind him, just as he had done with both of their M1s.

Lewis doesn’t respond, he simply eyes the ever growing patch of red under his palms, the blood starting to pool over the edges of his fingers.

“oh my god-“ Lew starts to shift and squirm in Dick’ hold, pushing himself back- as though he could get away from the blood and pain if he moved back far enough, “Dick they- I’ve been- fuck!”

Dick’ follows Nixon’ gaze and the sight of his blood spreading through his jacket, turning it a sickly reddish-copper colour that makes both of their stomachs drop, and the colour drains from Dicks face faster than the colour from Lewis’ does.

Winters’ hands are moving before his brain can catch up to the situation. He makes quick work of untucking Nix’s many shirts- an action Dick would normally take great time and pleasure in doing- and placing his own, larger hands over the bullet hole, pressing his body weight onto Lew’s torso.

“you’re okay- I got you, don’t worry Lew-!” Dick can feel his throat getting tight as he watches Lewis writhe and whine from the pain and fear, Dicks words of comfort falling on deaf ears.

“just- just press here, I’m gonna get you fixed right up…” Winters grabs the brunets fumbling hands and presses them to his shuddering stomach.

Dick rips the sulfa pack open with his teeth and pushes Nix’ hands away to shake the powder onto the pool of blood. The sulfa greedily drinks the blood and mixes together, creating a curdled batter texture that immediately turns pink, then a deep red before being over taken and turned into more of a thick liquid than a paste.

“Dick, it-t’s not stopping-!”

He opens a second sulfa pack, spreading it over the bubbling mass of the first pack with a small wince, “I know, I know Lew, don’t worry it’s gonna stop…”

Winters digs his sticky hand into his pack, pulling out a string of gauze and shoving it into the bullet hole with his long fingers. His other hand goes to pin Lewis down my the hip when he starts to buck, trying to get the sting of the sulfa off him like a bucking bronco.

“Jesus- Dick stop! Stop it, it hurts- it hurts!” Lewis chokes through thick, choking sobs.

If Dick wasn’t so focused on the feeling of his partners blood seeping through the cracks in his fingers, he would have asked Lew if he cried and whined like this when he had broken his arm as a child when he fell off of a horse- instead Lewis asked him, “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“Do not say that, you’re going to be fine- you are fine Lew.”

Lewis chuckles wetly, “Lying never was a good look on you Dick…” his words are slurring and his vision is starting to waver at the edges, making the cloudy light waver around Dick like a halo.

Dick knows he’s too far gone, and Lewis has known it since he stepped foot in Taccoa.

Lea’s voice startled Dick and he rips his gaze away from the steady river of blood that pulses and send out a new wave with each breath- the blood seeping into the ground and creating a sickly copper mud that dirties Dicks knees, and surely seeps through his pants- I’ll have to bathe later, he thinks to himself.

“You know…I-i always thought about dying…” Lew smiles up at him, his teeth a shade of pink that has Dicks stomach turning, “but now-…now that it’s happening I’m not ready.”

Dick runs his fingers through his soft black hair, matting the few out of place pieces with Lewis’ blood.

“you’re not going to die Lew, don’t sa-“

“yes I am Dick, so jus-…” Lew takes a breath that rattles his chest, “so just hold me…please…”

And Dick does.

[kindsummer]

i'm driving past ghosts - kindsummer

If love could have saved you, you would have lived. Lewis remembered how irrationally angry he had been when his father chose that specific epitaph for Blanche’s headstone. His sister had killed herself, and Stanhope had decided that irony was worth the esteem from his wealthy social circle. Despite Blanche having an incredibly small social circle, the funeral had been as widely attended as their mother’s a few years before. The flashbulbs of paparazzi’s cameras had blinded Lewis when he’d given the eulogy, but he’d powered through, his teeth gritted and his jaw clenched so tightly it was sore afterward.

[rogue-durin-16]

MISHAPS AND SILVER LININGS

Request: maybeee dialogue prompt 53 with Nixon x female reader?? But maybe kinda angsty also??? (anything u write is great so 🤷‍♀️)

Summary: after all the tragedy endured during the war, nobody would have guessed one last mishap would help the stars align for Lewis Nixon and Y/n Y/l/n.

Prompt:

53. "I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?"

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst/fluff

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: alcoholism, swearing (that's it omfg)

A/N: writing for Nixon was surprisingly easy? I high-key had fun with this one. Thanks for the request love. Remember that requests are open rn so feel free to send yours in. Meanwhile, enjoy this little fic <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

A dull light crept through the curtains of the flat Regiment had billeted me in when Nixon finally stirred.

He shifted on my bed, a slight groan escaping his lips the moment his barely open eyes hit the few rays of sun striking the mattress. He had one hell of a hungover.

During the last year of our lives, Lewis Nixon and I had worked side by side across Europe practically at all times— which meant I wasn't exactly a stranger to his drinking problem. Since we came back from that jump over Germany though, it had escalated to a different level.

'He's been demoted' I had disclosed to Dick as soon as we linked back up with Battalion HQ.

'Demoted?' Although his friend had questioned it, no explanation was needed. He already knew. 'Okay, I'll talk to him'.

I don't think anyone could blame him. It all had become too much to handle, specially if one had lost conviction in the reasons we were still fighting this war.

I knew he had lost it. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he had blurted it out one of those nights we stayed awake for one reason or another. That exact night everyone had stayed awake, I believe.

That damned patrol back in Hagenau. We had fought Sink not to push forward that mission, but there was no use.

"This is stupid." I mumbled, arms crossed and my eyes fixed to the other side of the river.

The full moon's light reflected on the snow. In any other setting, I would have found it beautiful, but with fifteen Easy Company members being sent on a suicide, the landscape was far from that.

"Glueing yourself to the window won't help them."

I shot Nix a tired glare and pushed myself off the window in order to walk towards him. "They shouldn't be out there."

"None of us should be out here."

"What do you mean?"

"Why the hell are we here at this point, Y/n/n?"

I didn't have a response.

"Don't you wanna come back home already? To that lovely husband of yours." He teased with a bitter half laugh.

"You're funny." He didn't know about the mail. How could he know? "Don't think he'll be there when I come back."

"What?"

"He sent a letter back when we were in the Bois Jaques." I explained, snatching the glass of whiskey Nix had by the typewriter. "Said if I wasn't home by New Year, he'd file for divorce."

"You're kidding." Nix sat straight in his chair when I didn't laugh. "Who in their right mind would leave you?"

"The man I married, apparently." The officer struggled to meet my eyes. He knew by now I didn't want pity. "Guess he doesn't know why we're still out here either."

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

He sat up slowly, squinting against the light, one hand coming up to clutch his head. It didn’t take long for him to notice me slouched on the bedroom's armchair. His gaze darkened, panic flashing across his features.

“What the hell…” he muttered, groaning softly. He rubbed his face and looked around, as if hoping he could piece together the memory.

I watched his eyes darting around like he was still scrambling to make sense of everything. The awkward silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

“I… I remember kissing you.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost angry with himself. “Why do I remember kissing you?”

The Night Before

The knock at the door was unsteady, clumsy, like he could barely remember how to make a fist. I pulled on a sweater and padded across the cold floor, half-expecting to find someone delivering bad news. Instead, there was Nixon, eyes glazed, swaying slightly as he tried to focus on me.

“Jesus, Nix…” I murmured, instinctively stepping aside as he staggered into the room. The sharp, sour scent of whiskey clung to him, familiar but stronger than usual, almost suffocating. I shut the door behind him, hands already moving to steady him as he slumped into the nearest chair, his gaze unfocused.

“What on God's name are you doing here?”

He looked up at me, his face a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and something else—something deeper. “She’s leaving me, y'know,” he slurred. “Kat's divorcing me."

"Jesus, Lew." I poured him a glass of water and kneeled down. "Now?"

"Took… took the damn dog, too."

"She took your dog?!"

He snorted with glassy irises. "Everything. I think... I knew it would happen, but… didn’t think it’d feel like… like this.”

I swallowed, feeling the heaviness of his words settle in my chest. “I’m sorry, Nix,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say, until I remembered the words he said to me back in Hagenau. “I don't know who in their right mind would leave you.”

It was soft, just like the featherlight touch of my thumb brushing away a rogue tear before it could reach his jawline. It sounded dangerously similar to 'I wouldn't leave you'. Maybe that's what he had meant back then.

He let out a bitter laugh, his head falling back against the chair. “Yeah, well… doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He closed his eyes, breathing out, then looked at me with a strange intensity, like he’d finally worked up the nerve to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Something I both craved and dreaded to hear.

“Do you know…” He trailed off, blinking as if the words kept slipping away from him. “Do you know how hard it’s been? Pretending I don’t… pretending I don’t want to kiss you every damn time I see you?”

The confession knocked the air from my lungs, and I stood there, stunned, heart pounding too loudly in the silence that followed.

“Nix…” I began, voice barely a whisper, but he just shook his head, his eyes shifting, unfocused and pained.

“I wanted to kiss you from the very first second I heard your voice.” he said, voice rough and broken. "I remember how beautiful you looked the first day we worked together, how smart you were and how I just wanted to... But Kat- I couldn't... Do that to her and your- you..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I tried and... for what? For this?"

My lips were sealed with panic but the glint in my gaze and the liquor in his veins spurred him.

"Tell me it's just me... Tell me..." He did his best to lean forward without lolling too much. "Everytime it almost happened... Just say..." His look dropped to my lips, too intoxicated to care how obvious he was. "The 'what if's haunt me when I stare for too long..."

I couldn't say I didn't feel exactly like that. The cautious dance we were in was long overdue —the brush of a hand, a whisper closer than necessary, that drink we shared in Mourmelon that almost made us cross the line—, but it had been a silent mutual agreement not to act on it.

Before I could process everything, before I could find the right words to stop it without pretending I didn't feel the same, he leaned forward, his hands gripping my arms for support as he pressed his lips to mine.

It was lousy, desperate, filled with something raw and aching, and I didn’t know if it was my own hesitation or his unsteady hands that made it linger just a second too long.

He staggered back, eyes half-closed, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the whole thing. His hands dropped, and he swayed, his breath slowing as the exhaustion finally took over. His head slumped onto my shoulder, and he exhaled, a quiet surrender.

“Nix?” I whispered, looking down to see his eyes shut, breaths now slow and even.

The confession hung between us, unanswered. And I sat there, his weight against me, tangled in everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

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

The panicked question floated in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Y/n." I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "Why do I remember kissing you?"

I cleared my throat and did my best to sound somewhat nonchalant about it. “Well, maybe because you kissed me, Lew.”

"For Christ's sake..." He groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. "Just what I needed, great. This is great."

"You drank too much." I tried to excuse him. Emphasis on 'tried'.

"I always drink too much and this never—" Another frustrated groan, this time louder, escaped him.

"I've never seen you... That drunk." The statement was tainted with worry; a worry I had felt the night before and didn't have time to voice. "You looked... awful. I had to drag you to the bed." I stole a peek at him while I explained, catching a mortified expression on his part as he sat up, legs hanging from the side of the bed as he was now facing me. "I get it. I really do. It's hard enough out here. Hey—" I kneeled down to meet his casted down face, much like the night before, but with very different circumstances. "You saw me in Noville. I wasn't... I wasn't myself. And it wasn't even-"

I pondered how to put my thoughts into words without making it worse. The best way to explain he wasn't all that bad without making a fool of myself.

"I didn't... Love him, y'know? Charles, I mean." At the name of my soon to be ex-husband, Nix seemed to regain the will to meet my eyes, which now recoiled from his. "Not anymore, at least. But it felt... The letter felt like a gut punch— I felt like... my life slipped through my fingers. And when stuff like that happens, we do stupid things. Because we feel lost."

"Is that what I said?"

"Huh?"

"That I felt lost."

I shook my head no, the realization that he didn't quite remember his drunken speech dawning on me.

"What exactly did I tell you?"

"You... Don't remember what you said?"

"No- I... What did I say?"

Suddenly eager to put distance between us, I bolted to my feet and walked out of the room. "I don't know- things anyone would say when they're drunk as a skunk."

"Like- like what things?" He questioned, his steps trailing behind me in the kitchen's direction.

"Nix, you were drunk and going through shit." Deep down, I didn't think I would be able to reason my way out of that one, but I had to try. "Don't put much thought into it." I insisted, reaching for the percolator to brew a very much needed coffee.

"What did I say? Y/n-" just as I was about to turn on the stove, he interlaced his calloused fingers around my wrist and gently tugged on it to stand face-to-face. "Just tell me how much I screwed it."

"You didn't screw anything."

"Then why can't you look at me?"

"Maybe because we've been trying not to end up here for a literal year and now this happened?"

Lew scrutinized me with fear in his dark eyes. I had seen that expression too many times, he was drawing his conclusions based on what he knew.

"Did I tell you I'm in love with you?"

Silence. Charged silence. One look was enough for him to realize he did not say that. His hand let go of me to cover his mouth while he took a step back.

Once more, I was at loss of words, which was something Nix had rarely accomplished in the time we had known each other.

"I... I don't know what I was thinking— Jesus Christ—" he exhaled the last part, an apology plastered all over him. "I'm just gonna... I shouldn't have come in the first place."

He was about to turn heel and leave. We both had done that before, more times than we could count. The difference was, there was no need for me to let him slip away; not anymore.

In a spurt of bravery, I grasped at his forearm and tugged him back, daring to stare straight into his soul while I spoke.

"You said Kat was divorcing you. Said you didn't think you'd feel like this." I began, voice clear as day. "You said you were done pretending you didn't wanna kiss me everytime you see me." He dropped his gaze, a flicker of regret in his eyes, jaw clenched tight. "You said the 'what if's haunt you if you stare for too long. You asked me if it was just you who felt like that."

"... Am I?" He recalculated the situation, shame dissipating to let me discern something similar to hope.

"Y'know what's the first thing I thought after reading Charles' letter?" He barely had time to deny with his head before I continued. "I thought 'fuck him, the man I love sleeps in my goddamn foxhole'." His breath hitched at the word but he didn't shy away from me; on the contrary, he watched my every move while my grip eased from his arm and traveled to the back of his neck. "Now tell me, are you fucking sober yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good 'cause I'm done pretending too."

My statement was hasty and quick. The previous night had left me too eager to return the kiss I had so desperately wanted to give him.

Months of stealing longing glances at each other fueled our need to make sure there was no space between us anymore. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my upper body flush against his while the kiss deepened in a way we could only have fantasized about— had it not been for those damn letters.

Who would have thought our silver lining of war would be our failed marriages?

[mads-nixon]

Epiphany Pt. 12: You're On Your Own, Kid

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Title inspo - you're on your own, kid: taylor swift

A/N: this is my first post on my hbo war side-blog! yay! this chapter is the calm before the storm, y'all. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Ill-equipped and poorly supplied, (y/n) and the rest of Easy do their best to survive in the frozen Ardennes Forest of Bastogne.

Warnings: description of injury, very soft lew

December 20, 1944: Ardennes Forest, Belgium

The forest lay under a heavy blanket of snow, the silence only broken by the occasional gust of icy wind, quiet conversations, and the all-to-familiar whistling of incoming shells. (Y/n) sat on the edge of her foxhole, her breath visible in the cold air as she gazed out at the German line. Through the veil of swirling snow, she couldn’t make out their silhouettes, but she knew they were there. It was a landscape of paradoxes: serene yet charged, beautiful yet deadly. 

With her gaze still fixed in the white haze, she felt a surge of frustration and anger rise in her. It was fueled by the knowledge that the Krauts had the supplies that they desperately needed. It was a cruel twist of fate that Easy was hungry, cold, and struggling, while the enemy, albeit just across the way, had the sustenance and warmth they lacked. They had a few missed supply drops to thank for that.

The air was frigid, cutting through layers of clothing and seeping into her very bones. (Y/n) hugged herself, arms wrapping tightly around her body in a futile attempt to capture a semblance of warmth. Her gloved fingers, numbed by the cold, clutched at the fabric of her uniform, seeking refuge in the familiar touch.

“(Y/n), remind me to never complain about the heat again,” Skip jested through chattering teeth, a weak smile attempting to mask his discomfort. 

“Yeah, this makes those Georgia summers seem downright pleasant,” Don added with a forced chuckle, the words barely leaving his blue-tinted lips.

Skip waved a hand in front of (y/n)’s distant gaze, breaking her trance and pulling her back to reality. “Earth to (y/n). You with us?”

Shaking from her thoughts, she turned towards the group, forcing a chapped smile. “Yeah,” she muttered, pushing herself up from where she sat in the foxhole, trying to get blood circulating in her numbed limbs. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t get lost out there,” Malarkey called out, his voice tinged with concern as she swung her rifle onto her shoulder. 

“A walk in a winter wonderland,” Skip chimed in, his grin mischievous as he wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that code for, ‘going to see your favorite captain’ by any chance?”

A playful scoff escaped her lips in a huff. “Shut up, Muck. I can’t feel my toes, so I’m going for a walk to fix that.”

Malarkey shrugged, feigning innocence. “Yeah, sure. Have fun on your walk.”

The woman shook her head fondly at her friends as she slowly walked away from the foxhole. Her limbs didn’t want to work correctly, so she found herself doing a pitiful half-limp around the forest as she attempted to get some blood flowing to her feet. 

Despite her and Nix’s efforts to be discreet, the Toccoa men who had watched them from the beginning couldn’t be fooled. While nothing was openly acknowledged, there was a shared understanding that something was going on between the couple. Only Harry and Dick knew for certain, and only because they grilled Lew when he returned from Paris.

Maybe she would pay her favorite Captain a visit.

“Hey, Cripple!” someone called out. Groaning, (y/n) turned to face the voice, ready to retort when the very ground beneath her seemed to tremble and shudder violently. An explosion erupted from behind her, a deafening roar as the shockwave threw her off balance, sending her to the ground in a heap. 

She curled into a protective ball, her hands instinctively shielding her head as the world was swallowed by chaos. The relentless barrage of mortars painted the sky, their descent announced by menacing whistles. The once serene forest became a frenzied battleground, trees splintering and snow erupting into wild flurries. 

Amidst the disarray, a call pierced through the mayhem. “(Y/l/n)! Over here!”

Scrambling to her feet, her heart raced with adrenaline and drowned out the pounding explosions. She didn’t spare a moment to see who called, her focus solely on getting to cover. (Y/n) snatched up her rifle from the snow-covered ground and sprinted towards the direction of the voice, her heavy breaths misting in the frigid air.

As she ran, her foot caught a fallen tree branch and she was sent tumbling into the freezing embrace of the forest floor, awkwardly landing on her arm. Pain flared in her wrist as she fought to get to her feet, panicking at being exposed without cover. Then, like a savior, a hand extended towards her and hauled her into a nearby foxhole. 

Joe Liebgott’s face appeared in front of her, and his eyes reflected the same fear and helplessness that she felt. She let go of her rifle, allowing it to rest in the snow as she clamped her hands over her ears, desperate to drown out the deafening noise that assaulted her senses. (Y/n) clenched her eyes closed, seeing refuge in the darkness as Joe pulled her tightly into his body, shielding her from the relentless barrage. The concussive blasts continued, each one sending shockwaves through the ground and dirt, snow, and ice raining down on them. She held on, feeling the frantic rise and fall of Joe’s chest against her, praying that it would all stop soon.

Seconds, minutes, hours, (y/n) didn’t know how much time had passed when the earth-shattering blasts ceased. A few gentle pats on her helmet were the only indication it was over. Slowly, she released her grip on her ears, the painful ringing subsiding to the backdrop of her ragged breaths as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You alright?” Joe asked, his concerned gaze scanning her for injuries.

(Y/n) nodded, wincing as she flexed her wrist, attempting to brush off the debris clinging to her skin. “I’m okay.”

His eyes narrowed, shifting from her face to her arm and then back again. “You sure?”

“I just landed on it weird,” she replied, clenching her teeth against the searing pain that radiated up her arm with every movement.

“Let me get Doc, (y/n),” he offered, about to get up, but her good arm shot up and pulled him back down.

Sitting up, she carefully retrieved her rifle and climbed out of the foxhole, cradling her aching wrist to her chest. “I’m fine, Joe. Thank you, but I need to check on my foxhole.”

“Alright, be careful,” he called after her as she made her way back toward her foxhole, her chest tight with anxiety. As the shock and adrenaline from the bombardment began to fade, the reality of (y/n)’s situation settled in: her wrist was not just a minor discomfort. What had initially felt like a sharp jab upon impact turned into a persistent, gnawing pain radiating from her wrist and traveling up her arm like tendrils of fire.

Each movement she made, whether to clutch her rifle or steady herself against the uneven ground, sent surges of pain shooting through her hand and forearm. With each passing second, the pain seemed to intensify, becoming an unrelenting companion in the desolate frozen landscape. Her fingers, once nimble and deft in handling her rifle, now felt like lead, unresponsive and clumsy. The smallest tasks, like brushing off the clinging snow or gripping her canteen, became monumental efforts, each movement a harsh reminder of the shelling. A simple flex of her wrist, something that she took for granted in the past, was now an act that set off sharp jolts of pain. (Y/n) found herself trying to ignore the pain, focusing on the task at hand, but the throbbing in her arm seemed to pulse in sync with her heartbeat, making it impossible to overlook. She knew she should probably see Roe about it, but she heard he didn’t have much to work with. So, she made the choice not to burden their already diminished supplies on what was likely just a sprain.

After a while, she found herself approaching the spot she’d left Malarkey and Skip, scanning the area for signs of life. The once-snow-draped ground was now a maze of impact craters and debris. As she reached the foxhole, her heart swelled with relief seeing Skip and Don huddled inside, still in one piece. 

“Hey,” she called out, her voice cutting through the eerie calm. Relief washed over her as they looked up, their faces lighting up at the sight of her.

“(Y/n/n)!” Don exclaimed, a hand clutching his chest dramatically. “We were worried!”

Muck tossed his helmet towards her, a hint of concern on his face. The helmet collided with her wrist, causing her to stifle a cry. “Take a look at this crap, (y/n). They peppered my helmet!”

Gently cradling her wrist, she examined the shot-up helmet in her lap, a half smile playing on her lips. “Good thing you weren’t wearing it, Skip. Was everyone okay over here? I ended up in Lieb’s foxhole.”

“Wasted my dagum coffee,” Smokey lamented from the foxhole ahead of theirs. “It was a whole helmet-full, too.”

A chuckle bubbled from her lips as she watched him setting his contraption back up. “I’m sorry, Smoke. Next time, you should tell the krauts to wait until you’ve had your coffee to shell the crap out of us.”

“You know, I might just do that,” Smokey mused, staring out at the German line with a faraway look. “We need a break.”

“Oh, (y/n),” Don interjected, fishing for something in his pockets. “Do you have any morphine in your aid kit from Holland? Doc’s looking for some.”

“Mine got used up when I got hit,” she replied, her mind drifting back to that night outside Arnhem. “That feels like so long ago now.”

Skip, ever the calculating one, counted on his fingers thoughtfully. “It’s only been what, three months?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, staring into the forest as she contemplated the whirlwind of events since that time. Between getting shot, going to the hospital, then Paris with Lew, and now Bastogne, a lot happened in those three months.

Their conversation carried on, but (y/n) was lost in her thoughts. Her life had changed drastically in this span of time, the most significant development being her newfound relationship with Lewis. A mere week and a half had passed since Paris, yet it felt like a lifetime. Memories of the quaint cafes and charming streets danced in her mind, a reminder of what they were fighting for…a return to a life untouched by the horrors of war.

A crunch of snow behind her snapped her back to the present. She grabbed her rifle, swiftly turning, a surge of pain shooting up her arm. A grimace contorted her face as she eased the strain, her aim dropping as she recognized Lip.

“(Y/n), Winters wants to see you,” he relayed, crouching beside her.

“We’ll catch up later, alright?” Don patted her shoulder gently, a worried look in his gaze as he looked down at her wrist.

“Duty calls, boys. See ya later.”

She pushed herself off the snow with her good hand and started following Lip toward Captain Winter’s tent. As they walked, she saw the destruction the various shellings had left in their wake. Trees were downed everywhere, feet-long splinters littered the snow, and there was the occasional red stain of blood on the white ground.

“Can you believe it’s just a few days till Christmas?” Lip’s voice broke the silence, filled with nostalgia and yearning.

She nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I remember my last Christmas home so vividly…and now, here we are two years later.”

He glanced at her, a fond smile on his face, despite the flicker of sorrow in his eyes. “My wife, JoAnne, makes the best gingerbread cookies on the planet, and I can just see her in the kitchen, working her tail off to make them for our family Christmas party.”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “What I wouldn’t give for some gingerbread cookies,” she sighed. “It’s just…well, being away from family at this time, it’s tough. But at least we have each other, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding ahead of him. “Here we are.”

“Thanks for walking with me, Lip,” (y/n) grinned, approaching the foxhole.

“You’re welcome,” Carwood grinned. “And (y/n), get that wrist checked out.”

Her mouth slightly agape, she looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m not as clueless as the others. Get it looked at.” His eyes held a genuine concern.

Nodding at him, she walked up to the hole where Dick was crouched, writing a letter. “Captain Winters, sir?”

He looked up from his letter, and an uncharacteristic smirk formed on his face when he recognized her. “(Y/n). Nix wanted to speak with you.”

A flush colored her cheeks as she stood there. “Oh, alright. Where is he?”

Winters nodded to the hole ahead of him. “I’m right here, so please don't try any-”

A blanket was thrown off the adjacent foxhole and Nixon popped out, his dark hair a mess atop his head. “Gosh, Dick, we’re not gonna do anything,” he hissed, rolling his eyes.

Embarrassment coursed through (y/n) at the implication, and she brought a hand to her face, wishing she could disappear. “Yes sir,” she stammered, her voice slightly uneasy as she walked over to Lewis. 

“Are you crazy?” she asked, casting anxious glances around the forest.

Nix shrugged and pointed to Winters. “We’re fine. Dick’s gonna keep a lookout…right Dick?”

“I’m going to be writing my letter,” Winters replied, not looking up. “And I’m not seeing this.”

“Thanks, pal,” Lew called, extending a hand to help (y/n) into the hole.

“Alright,” she muttered, unable to keep a nervous smile from playing on her lips a the thought of some time with him. She started to take his hand with her hurt one, but quickly switched hands, letting the other painfully dangle at her side. He gave her a questioning look as she took his hand, but (y/n) just shook her head, dismissing his concern. To her surprise, he seemed to let it go. 

Nix’s foxhole was a decent size, and (y/n) carefully tried to settle against his side without showing her injury. He pulled the blanket over the top of the hole, insulating the space and giving them a sliver of privacy. Looking around, she spotted an empty pack of Lucky Strikes and his silver flask in the dirt beside her.

“I really like what you did with the place,” she grinned, kicking the empty box with her foot.

Lew chuckled, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close, placing a soft kiss in her hair. “Yeah. Interior decorating was always Blanche’s thing.”

His warmth seeped through her frozen uniform, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on her shoulder as she closed her eyes. The throbbing pain in her hand seemed to slightly fade in his comforting presence. 

“How are things on the line? We still get artillery back here, but it’s not as bad as up there,” he asked quietly, leaning his head atop hers.

“It’s not good, Lew,” she mumbled into his neck. “We’re running low on everything, and the krauts seem to have an endless stream of artillery. It’s like they’re not even affected by the cold or anything. We’re just holding our ground and doing what we can.”

He tightened his grip around her, attempting to offer some comfort. “But you’re holding up okay?”

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips, tinged with sadness. “We’re surviving, but it’s getting harder every day. The men are tired, Lew. We’re all tired. We’re all hungry. We’re all cold.”

“I know, doll,” he sighed. “Sink and General McAuliffe stopped by earlier, and they didn’t have any good news. Last night, I took a walk on the line at about 0300 and I couldn’t find the 501st on our right flank. I had to pull in 2nd platoon to fill the gap, but the General seemed like he couldn't care less.”

(Y/n) groaned. “His relentless optimism kills me. At least Sink is realistic.”

“‘Hold the line and close the gaps’, was all he said. And that 1st battalion just pulled out of Foy with krauts on their tail…so there’s a bunch of crap coming our way.”

“Of course there is,” she grumbled, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Lew’s thoughts became consumed by worry for (y/n) and what was going to be thrown her way. He gently traced circles on her back, trying to find the right words. “I can’t help but be worried about you, (y/n/n). Knowing you’re out there every time I hear a shelling, it’s…it’s tough.”

She sat up and turned to face him, her eyes reflecting the same fear. “I know, Lew. I’m scared, too. But I’m doing what I can to take care of myself and the guys. We watch out for each other.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s just hard being here, not able to do much, not even being able to be with you when you’re out there facing the worst of it.”

“You’re doing more than you think,” she said, gently touching his arm. “This helps me so much.”

Lew brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his cold fingers gentle on her warm cheek. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t take any extra risks…please.”

(Y/n) looked into his eyes, finding a sea of emotion. “I promise,” she replied, her voice equally soft.

Nix leaned in, slowly closing the distance between them, his eyes flickering to her lips before meeting her gaze once more. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss as Lew cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow down as they kissed, a sense of calm washing over them. As they pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the chilly air. 

“Have you been able to keep warm at all?” Lew asked softly, his fingers tracing over her gloved hand gently. 

(Y/n) nodded, trying to keep her discomfort at bay. “As warm as one can be out here.”

Lew noticed her wincing slightly and, concerned, his hand unintentionally brushed against her injured wrist. She gasped, tears brimming her eyes as pain shot through her arm.

His eyes widened, fear coursing through him as he quickly retracted his hand “(Y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

(Y/n) leaned her head back against the hard wall of dirt behind her with a thud. “I tripped during the shelling earlier and landed on it wrong,” she whispered, voice trembling as she cradled her wrist.

“(Y/n),” Lew sighed, his heart aching at her pain. “Have you seen Doc?”

She shook her head, tears welling up. “No, not yet.”

He reached for her hand slowly. “Let me see it, sweetheart. I’ll be careful.”

She hesitantly extended her gloved hand to him, a single tear leaking down her rosy cheek. “You’re okay,” he cooed, holding her forearm with one hand while the other carefully slid the glove off. 

“Shit,” Lew muttered, his brows furrowing at the sight of her wrist. “This is bad, (y/n).”

His concern deepened as he saw the extent of the injury. He had expected it to be sore, maybe a minor sprain, but what he saw made his heart clench with worry and anger. Her once delicate wrist was now swollen to nearly twice its usual size, the skin on her palm and wrist discolored in ominous hues of deep purple and angry black. 

“(Y/n/n),” he said gently, his voice soothing to her distress. “We need to get you to Doc. This could be broken.”

The tears finally fell from her eyes in a mixture of pain and frustration. “I know,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “But the medics are already low on supplies, and they need that for others that are worse off.”

Lew cupped her cheek tenderly, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Just because someone may be worse, doesn’t mean you can’t be looked after, too. Let me take care of you, please.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened, touched by his sincerity. “Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

He held her wrist gently, a tenderness in his eyes that melted her worries, even if just for a moment. He brushed a feather-light kiss on her injured wrist, a silent promise that he’d take care of her. Nix helped her slide the glove back on, ensuring it offered some support for her wrist. He then threw off the blanket and helped her to her feet, his arm securely around her for support. She wasn’t going to let her injury hold her back, but she knew she needed to get it checked before it got any worse.

Winter’s eyes widened at the pair’s dramatic exit from the foxhole. “You alright, (y/l/n)?” he asked, eyes furrowed in confusion.

“She hurt her wrist,” Lew replied, glancing at Dick who nodded in response. “We’re finding Roe.”

They found Gene in his foxhole, staring off into the forest, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Hey Gene,” Nix called, catching the man off guard. He jumped slightly, turning around like a deer in headlights.

He sighed seeing who it was. “Captain Nixon, what can I do for ya, sir?”

“(Y/n) here took a tumble during the shelling. Her wrist is pretty banged up.”

Roe nodded, motioning for her to sit down on the edge of the foxhole. “Let’s have a look, chérie.

She did as told, taking a deep breath to brace herself for any pain. The cajun carefully peeled off the glove from her injured hand, revealing the purple and black bruises. The medic furrowed his brows at the sight, his experienced eyes evaluating the damage. He lightly prodded along the wrist, feeling for any unusual shifts in the bones beneath. 

“I’m worried there might be a hairline fracture here,” he explained, his voice carrying a tinge of concern. “But I can’t confirm it without a proper x-ray, and we don’t have any equipment like that back in Bastogne.”

(Y/n) nodded, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. “So, what can we do?”

Roe began to secure her wrist carefully with a makeshift splint, wrapping it snugly to provide some stability and reduce the risk of further damage. “Right now, we’ll immobilize it as best as we can. I’ll wrap it up, and you need to keep it still as much as possible. Ice will help with the swelling.”

Smirking at the situation, (y/n) couldn’t resist a touch of humor. “Well, at least we’ve got an abundance of ice around,” she quipped, waving her good hand at the frozen forest surrounding them. “Nature’s icebox, right?”

Lew chuckled at her attempt to lighten the mood. “The best ice supply in Bastogne,” he replied, playing along. 

As Gene finished the wrapping, she flexed her fingers slightly, testing the newfound stability. The pain had dulled a bit, and it was a relief, albeit a temporary one. They thanked Roe and went on their way.

“I’ve got to go back to the boys,” she said, peering up at him as they walked. 

Lew nodded. “Take it easy, alright? Your arm can’t heal if you keep using it.”

“Yes, sir, Doctor Nixon,” she grinned, fake saluting him with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

They made their way to her foxhole, and Lew resisted the urge to give her a kiss, aware of the many eyes watching. Instead, he gently patted her helmet, a gesture that he’d decided was his new favorite because it sent the front of it down past her eyes.

“Malarkey,” Nix called out, waving his over. “Don’t let this one overdo it. Roe said she needs to take it easy.”

Though he was confused, Don nodded. “Yes, sir.”

With a subtle wink, Lew turned and left for his own foxhole. 

“What happened to you?” Skip asked, eyeing her wrapped wrist as he appeared next to Don. “Did the Captain take care of you?”

(Y/n) laughed under her breath, watching Lew’s figure disappear into the white haze of the forest. “I’m alright.”

Malarkey’s eyes widened as he turned to Muck. “She’s not denying it, Skip!”

“I knew it!” Skip exclaimed triumphantly, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin. She began to walk away when Don gasped suddenly. 

“We have to tell you about Hinkle!”

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic @starlordsatellite @blvestxr @iceman-kazansky @bucky32557038ww2

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[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 1: Enchanted

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: heyyy guys! i've decided to start a lewis nixon series!! and yes, the chapter titles are all taylor swift songs. i'm super excited to post this first chapter! please enjoy and let me know what you think! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Arriving at Camp Toccoa to join Easy Company, (y/n) (y/l/n), a participant in a new WAC program, has her first encounter with the men of Easy.

It was a hot and unbearable day under the Georgia sun when (y/n) (y/l/n) arrived at Camp Toccoa. She tried to ignore the looks she got from the men as she rumbled by in a jeep, but what she couldn’t ignore was the rambling of her driver.

“Hi,” he introduced, glancing over at her. “The name’s Lorraine. Well, it’s Gerald, but everyone calls me Lorraine.” 

She shot him a kind smile. “Nice to meet you, Gerald. (Y/n) (y/l/n). I’m part of the Athena program.

“I haven’t heard of that.”

“Well,” (y/h/c) began. “it’s a new part of the WAC that’s sending a few women into the Army as a sort of trial run for the future.”

A look of disbelief passed over his face before he reigned it in quickly. “What made you want to join up, then?”

“Well, who wouldn’t after Pearl Harbor?” She asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Lorraine simply nodded and kept his eyes on the road, almost as if he was contemplating a woman’s place in war. To (y/n)’s relief, he chose to keep his conclusion to himself. Vest turned down another long dirt road that seemed to lead directly to the base of a mountain she assumed was the famous Curahee. With a deep breath, (y/n) silently prayed she had the strength to prove to him and everyone else that women belonged in the army; that she belonged.

The morning after Sobel’s canteen tirade, Winters and Nixon were in line for breakfast in the mess hall, trying to figure out what to do about their CO.

“So, what did you do?” Lew asked, walking toward an empty table. There were times when he was thankful he was in intelligence instead of with the rest of the men, and most were because of the hell Sobel put them through.

Dick trailed him with a sigh. “Picked six men and gave them latrine duty.” 

“The lucky six?”

“McDonald, Toye, Perconte, Lipton, Muck, and Guarnere,” he stated, sitting across from Lew. 

“Why them?”

“It was their turn.”

Nix chuckled, looking down at his messy food in thought. It was his job to know things, and he happened to hear about a controversial topic flowing down the ranks. “Hey, have you heard about the new WAC program integrating women into the Army?”

“I’m glad you mentioned it. Our own Athena participant should be arriving at 16:00.”

Lew’s head shot up. “In Easy?”

“Yep.”

Lew didn’t have anything against women in the military but also didn’t know how the men would handle it. “What do you think about it?”

“Well,” Dick began, putting down his utensils softly. “I’m trying to have an open mind, but I’m worried about some of the men.”

Nix nodded and took a sip of coffee with a smirk. “We’ll just have to wait and see, then.”

Little did he know that later that day, his life would change forever.

Lorraine and (y/n) arrived at Colonel Sink’s office a few minutes after 16:00, and the woman was almost sick to her stomach with anxiety. While Lorraine was inside informing Sink of their arrival, she tried to calm herself down. All she wanted was to make an excellent first impression on the Colonel and her superiors.

Lorraine returned and ushered her into the small building serving as Sink’s quarters. (Y/n) followed him down a hallway to a single office room. He nodded and closed the door behind her once she entered. The woman turned and raised her hand to salute him.

“Ah, Miss (y/l/n),” Sink called, words dripping with his North Carolina drawl as he held his hand out. “At ease. Welcome to Camp Toccoa.”

She shook it firmly, praying he overlooked their clamminess. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

Sink gestured for her to sit as he took a seat at his desk, which was neatly arranged in piles of folders and other stationery. “When I first heard about the Athena Project, I didn’t know what to think. My wife was the one who showed me that women have the same right to serve their country as us men. She’s a modern Abigail Adams if you understand my meaning.”

“Yes sir,” (y/n) replied.

He interlocked his fingers above the desk. “If I may ask, what made you volunteer for the program?”

“Well, sir,” she spoke softly, willing her voice to stay strong. “My brother was stationed on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. He was 20. I couldn’t let the opportunity to follow his footsteps pass by.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for your family’s sacrifice.”

(Y/n) wanted to respond, but her throat seemed to close up on her. Unable to answer, she nodded stiffly, willing the tears from her waterline.

He noticed her distress and cleared his throat suddenly. “Let’s get to it, shall we? You’ll be in Easy Company of the 101st Airborne. You won’t get any special treatment, but we’ll try to accommodate you as much as possible.”

The door scraped open behind (y/n), and she resisted looking back at the newcomer. The footsteps sounded like a single person, and she hoped they wouldn’t catch on to her moment of emotion. Luckily, Sink addressed them, giving her time to gain control of herself.

“ Winters, where’s Lieutenant Sobel?” He asked with furrowed brows. “He’s supposed to be here.”

 Dick spoke up. “I don’t know, sir. I last saw him in the mess hall around noon.”

With a huff, Sink rose and introduced her. “Lieutenant, this is (y/n) (y/l/n), our Athena participant.”

The redhead smiled politely. “Dick Winters. Nice to have you with us, (y/l/n).”

“Hi,” she nodded, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Call me (y/n).”

Sink led them out of the office and into the main room of the building. “Lieutenant Winters here is going to show you around camp before supper.”

From there, the pair walked around the camp, and Dick informed her of their daily training routine, as well as the expectations of Easy company. Toward the end of their tour, he asked about her family back home and was surprised that she dodged the subject before having to answer. Sensing her discomfort, he made a mental note to not bring it up anymore. 

Before they knew it, it was 18:00, and supper was being served at the mess hall. Dick led her to the large building and ushered them inside. When (y/n) walked into the room, the stench of sweat and body odor mixed with food hit her like a bus. Bile rose in her throat, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up. 

‘Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,’ her mind repeated, eyes sinking to the floor.

Dick chuckled beside her. “You get used to the smell,” he quipped. “Let me introduce you to some of the men.”

Before he could take her to them, a shorter brunette man with a boyish look walked up to them, a sly grin on his face. “Lieutenant Winters, sir,” he saluted. “George Luz, ma’am. We’re all glad to have you.”

Two faces popped out from behind his shoulder with smiles of their own. Without missing a beat, George rolled his eyes and pointed at them. “These two idiots are Skip Muck and Alex Penkala.”

Skip smacked him on the back of the head with an aggravated look on his face. “You’re the one that had to be the first to meet her, George, so really, we’re not the idiots here.”

She squinted her eyes as giggles burst from her lips when Luz’s face turned beet red at the comment. She knew immediately that she liked the trio.

“Nice to meet you, too, boys. You can call me (y/n).”

Penkala’s eyes widened and glanced at the two in faux horror. “She called us boys.”

“We are boys.”

“We’re boys,” George mocked. “No, Skip, were men.” 

“How old are you three anyways?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Alex was 18, Skip was 20, and George was 21. After hearing about their ages, she realized that they were just boys. They still had most of their lives to live, much like millions of other soldiers in their position. Much like her.

Dick left (y/n) with the trio and went to attend to his other duties. Once they took a seat, the boys started rambling on about everything from their terrible CO to the best types of slop they were given at mealtimes. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered around the room for a moment before another pair caught hers. When their eyes met across the crowded mess hall, everything around them seemed to vanish as time slowed to a standstill.

The soft, warm gaze in his eyes felt like a long-lost memory, a memory that had been tucked away in the depths of her heart, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface. (Y/n)’s heart fluttered as she felt an undeniable pull toward him, and she couldn’t help but be captivated by the genuine curiosity and surprise that emanated from his gaze. The man was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and her heart skipped a beat at the realization.

His eyes seemed to whisper, “Have we met?” And (y/n) found herself asking the same question.

She held the stranger’s gaze for a few seconds before he slowly got up and started making his way to her. As he approached her, she noticed him anxiously tousling his well-groomed dark chestnut hair with his hand. (Y/n) was suddenly self-conscious and did the same, taming her hair ruined by the southern humidity. Her heart was racing in her chest, almost anticipating the life-changing moment that was about to happen. 

Making it to her table, Lewis grinned and sat beside her, his smile making her blush slightly. “It seems George likes you almost as much as he likes Rita Hayworth,” he said.

The soldier scoffed, ”No offense, (y/n), but Rita is the love of my life. She may not know who I am, but I plan to change that someday. It’s going to happen. Just wait and see, right Penk?”

Alex raised his eyebrows and nodded reluctantly, “Absolutely, buddy. You’ll show her what she’s been missing.”

(Y/n) pressed her lips tightly together, stifling the sound of her impending laughter. She scrunched her nose slightly as if trying to hold back a giggle. Her efforts, though valiant, were ultimately futile as a few muted snickers managed to slip through her defenses.

She soon gave up, and her laughter filled the air. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight before him. (Y/n)'s face lit up with joy, and her eyes sparkled with delight. The sound of her laughter was infectious, and he found himself chuckling along, almost entranced by how she expressed her happiness so freely.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, (y/l/n),” George said, getting up from the table. “See you all at breakfast.”

Skip and Alex bid their goodbyes as well, following him out of the mess hall. Realizing it was just her and the handsome soldier beside her, (y/n) turned to him with a smile.

Nix stuck out his hand. “Lewis Nixon. As an intelligence officer, it’s my job to know things, so I can’t believe I don’t know your name.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but notice a subtle nervousness in his eyes matched with a hint of mischief. “Pleasure to meet you, Lewis. I’m (y/n) (y/l/n), Easy’s Athena.”

“Call me Lew,” he charmed, still shaking her hand softly. “We’re happy to have you, (y/n).”

When the realization dawned upon them that they were still holding hands, shy smiles spread across their faces. Lewis cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Have you met Captain Sobel yet?" He asked, grimacing.

"I don't think so. Is he over Easy Company?"

"Yeah. He's also the biggest jacka-"

"There's no way he's that bad," she interrupted, eyes widening.

Lewis chuckled under his breath. "Trust me. Every Friday night, he makes Easy march twelve miles in full gear, just out of spite."

"Do any other companies march?"

“Nope. Just Easy. And after marching last night, he made Dick make up six infractions and punish the men for it. He ended up giving latrine duty to the men who were on this week’s rotation.”

(Y/n) rubbed a hand down her face, groaning. “Lieutenant Winters didn’t say anything about Sobel when he was showing me around.”

“Well, Dick is pretty straight-laced,” Lewis said shrugging with a smirk. “Not everyone can be a cool, calm, and collected intelligence officer.”

"Someone's ego is a little over-inflated," she laughed, raising her eyebrows at him.

“So, how’re you liki-,” he started to ask but was interrupted by someone calling his name. Following the voice, he looked behind him to see Dick near the doors, motioning him over.

“Well,” Nix sighed, looking back at (y/n) with a sheepish smile. “Duty calls.”

As he got up, she called after him. “See you later, Nix.”

She didn’t miss the lack of a ring on his hand, and for the rest of the night, she replayed the enchanting encounter in her mind. How could a stranger seem so familiar? 

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart

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[luminouslywriting]

Angsty stressful BOB headcanon - you accidentally get pregnant during the war and try to hide it but they catch on that’s something wrong w you

Sweetheart, I LIVE for and LOVE angsty requests, so I’m here for this! For the sake of historical accuracy and simplicity, reader is a medic/nurse that travels with Easy Company! More below the cut, cut for length, angst mentioned, pregnancy things and miscarriages mentioned:

Dick Winters:

-The thought that you might be pregnant is NOT one that crosses his mind initially. You’re distancing yourself and he doesn’t understand why. -He does his best to try and reach out and try to show you that he’s still committed—he’s honestly wondering what he did wrong. -The minute he sees the small little baby bump though?? He knows and he feels IMMENSE guilt over the entire thing. He should’ve been more careful and you definitely deserve better than being an unwed pregnant woman. -He’s now double stressed about the war and how he’s going to fix things with you and reconcile the problem. So his solution is to have a quiet elopement with you. -At least now you have some money to be taken care of. And he begs you to go and stay with his family back in the states so that you have someone taking care of you since he can’t be there. -He’s happy to have you and to be a father but it’s a very angsty and emotional time that won’t be reconciled until the war is over.

Lewis Nixon:

-Well this is a messy situation….if only because he’s well aware he’s getting a divorce but he was also having an affair with you and now you’re pregnant. -Panicked stressed upset—all of the emotions and goes through the five stages of grief tbh…and drinks to cope. -He’s got a lot of mixed emotions about the complexity of the situation. This is a second chance for happiness and also the nail in the coffin to his previous family. He also feels the weight of responsibility pretty heavily. -Also wants to marry you ASAP and cleans up his act so that he can have a chance with you and the kid. -Views it as a messy second chance so he’s very grateful despite the poor timing of everything. Dick helps him see the good in the situation. -He plans on making a very happy life with you as soon as he can.

Ronald Speirs:

-Clocks onto you being more sick than normal and more often….and just puts two and two together. He’s not an idiot, he knows he should’ve been more careful, and he feels bad. -This is a war and it’s not exactly great timing. He doesn’t want to make you commit to anything if you’re not absolutely certain of being with him. -Conversations are had about whether or not you’ll keep the kid and what you’ll do if you decide to keep it. Co-parenting seems to be the safest bet for now. -Don’t get me wrong, he wants a life with you. He just doesn’t want you to feel like he’s trapped you in said life with him. -He’s probably the most logical about things in the sense that he’s making sure you get a transfer back to London and away from the front lines for safety and health purposes. -Also dutifully writes you until the war is over and he can meet the kid and marry you.

Buck Compton:

-Despite the seriousness of the situation, it just depends on if it was before or after Bastogne. Either way, I think he’s a very big nervous wreck about things. -He wants to be a dad, wants to be a husband and have a life with you….but not like this. -Whatever his plan is that he’s figuring out, it gets thrown off by Bastogne and everything that happens there. -I truthfully think that the best thing might be for you to follow him home since you’re pregnant and try to help in his recovery. You can be a big help emotionally to him. -Buck feels a lot of guilt for feeling broken and not able to support or help you as a parent or lover, but the minute that kid is born, he’s getting everything back on track. -After a while, he’ll ask you to marry him and share a life with him.

Carwood Lipton:

-This responsible mother hen?? Feels like the W O R S T person ever. Not his intention to put you in this situation and wants to send you home with a ring on your finger post-haste. -So that’s exactly what he does, he finds the nearest chaplain and gets hitched and then writes his mother

-He has so much guilt over not being there for the birth of the baby and not being there for you

-But it’s the hope of seeing you and the baby that keeps him going and keeps him hopeful, even during times like Bastogne. -Probably quietly talks about the situation with a few pals of his, including Speirs. And he definitely misses you a lot. -And consistently apologizes the rest of your marriage over the entire thing.

Joseph Liebgott:

-Doesn’t know whether or not to hope for the best or the worst because the timing of it all is just super poor and inconvenient?? -Feels guilty over that and while he’s happy that this means he gets to have you in his life, he’s also acutely aware of how complicated he’s made things for you. -It’s an anchor point for him to remember what he’s fighting for and that humanity is a thing though, so there’s that sobering point he gets to. -Probably wants to get married but there’s not a chaplain around so his next bet is to go to Winters and try to get you transferred somewhere else. -Promises he’s going to make it back to you and get married after the war. He thinks of little else during Bastogne and the hard times. -When he goes to Austria, you show up with the baby and he finally gets to meet baby Liebgott and get hitched haha.

Donald Malarkey:

-Excited and sad at the same time?? Doesn’t really know how to feel and is now worried about leaving you on your own with a baby. -Is also really worried he’ll never get to meet the baby and so he tries to make the most of the short times that you do have together. -Insists on getting married so that if he dies, you have some fallback money and something that will take care of you and the baby. -Probably cries about it when he’s alone because it was NOT the plan and he doesn’t think that you should have to put up with any of this stuff anyway. -Tries to find baby stuff in different towns that he can give to you when he gets back to you. -Wrote home to his mother immediately that she was going to be a grandmother lol.

Eugene Roe: (Big sad, I’m sorry):

-Was not intending on getting you pregnant but now that you are, he’s super excited and happy about it….and also terrified because pregnancy has so many complications anyway. -Prays avidly for your safety and for the baby’s safety as you two are figuring things out. Truth be told, it’s probably right around Bastogne that you both figure out that you ARE pregnant. -The guilt is real and he’s coming into the city as much as possible to try and see you and check on you. It’s cold, rations are low, and you’re working a lot anyway. -Now here’s where you’re all going to demand I pay for therapy (get in line kids). You survive the church collapsing but you lose the baby a few weeks later after some severe cramping and being sick. -And the thing is?? He’s horribly awfully and guiltily relieved because it’s probably safer for you this way and there was no way that either of you could have been parents right now. -But he does promise to marry you and that you’ll have more children one day.

Bill Guarnere:

-Finds out about it by accident when you’re telling another nurse and freaking out bc you don’t know what to do. And this man?? Baffled and shocked and trying to figure out what to say. -So he comes to you and quietly lets you know that he knows and is willing to do whatever you need/want for things. -You two get married right before D-Day and then he ships out. You two write letters back and forth faithfully for months. -Everyone knows you’re having a baby and that is the baby of Easy Company lol. -His accident in Bastogne happens and he gets shipped back to London and then back to the states and you go with him. -He’s in recovery when the baby is born and he’s happy about it because it’s really a new life for everyone tbh.

Joe Toye:

-You try to break up with him and the argument gets pretty nasty bc there’s no real reason for the breakup until you drop the bomb that you’re pregnant and he just??? Short circuits?? -He gets really soft and sweet about the entire thing and promises that he’s going to stay by your side through it. -So he writes his family ASAP and marries you in a church in his uniform. Then you’re getting sent back to your family and his and it’s a bit messy. -But he’s writing you and really excited to meet the kid….who is faithfully and dutifully born a few weeks before his accident in Bastogne. -He doesn’t even know the kid had been born until he gets back and there’s a lot of guilt and grief and feelings of inadequacy about the situation. -But he’s a great dad and a great husband so it all works out.

George Luz:

-is honestly trying to come up with every possibly outcome and solution so that he’s prepared for whatever decision you make. -You told him about it shortly after they returned from D-Day and he’s a little shocked (more than a little) and having a hard time keeping a lid on things. -He wanted a whole wedding that everyone could celebrate and be happy with, but going down to a courthouse with you and a few of the guys will do. -Gives the men of Easy Company updates on the pregnancy via letters from you all of the time. And you get the weirdest most random questions from them, I’m sure. -Narrowly survived Bastogne and was really struggling until your letters started coming through again. -Is really excited to meet the baby and see you again once things are over with the war.

[bloodstainedsaint]

loose lips sink ships (lewis nixon x medic! reader)

summary: lewis nixon's alcoholism has been getting worse. you, a medic of easy company, are responsible for the well-being of the men, so you're sent to babysit look after an inebriated lew.

word count: 2100+

warnings: pathetic attempts (multiple) at comedy, drinking, alcoholism, drunken love confessions, lil pining, lil angst, nixon being a lil shit and a cheater??? but his wife divorces him so idk

notes: sorry if this is sloppy 😭 writing dialogue is hard

Your first time speaking to Captain (actually, you weren't sure of his rank anymore— you'd heard he'd gotten demoted to Battalion S3 by Colonel Sink recently) Lewis Nixon was after Operation Market Garden, where he got lightly burned by a stray shot to his helmet. You recalled it going something like this:

“You’re lucky to be alive, sir,” you said at the aid station where the then Lieutenant Winters had sent Nixon to get his graze checked, though there was really no use for it.

“I sure feel lucky,” he responded with a weird, almost dazed stare at you, as if you were some kind of angel sent from heaven to save him from his minor injury.

You met his eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow and assumed that he was just coming to terms with his brush with death. “You'll be fine, sir. Just try not to be in the trajectory of any other stray bullets, and you'll stay that way.”

He nodded and procured a flask from his pocket. “You drink?”

You narrowed your eyes at the container. “I try not to on the job.”

“Well, cheers to being alive, then,” he said, taking a swig.

“...Cheers.”

Following that encounter, you found yourself worrying about the officer more than you thought was normal— if a medic being especially troubled over one soldier was normal at all. Your eyes would search for him in a sea of people to see how tired or hungover he appeared. Whenever you got a chance to talk to him, you would brew him coffee or tea to help with his hangovers, seeing as medicine was always scarce and never spare enough to freely hand out.

You weren't sure where your worry for his well-being came from, but whatever it was, it wasn't quelled by the way he would ask you to stay and chat while he finished his cup— if you weren't busy, of course. The wry grin he would occasionally flash at you was burned into your mind, and his sardonic wit along with his competence as an officer, regardless of his love for alcohol, was impressed upon you. In these fleeting moments of peace, you learned of his rather privileged upbringing, his military background, and that he had a family waiting for him back home. Despite not even knowing what your own intentions were getting close to him, when he told you that last fact, your heart sank a little in your chest.

Your concern for him grew with the recent news that his alcoholism had reared its head again while the company was sent to idly occupy Germany. Someone had broken into a drugstore earlier that week; you'd suspected it was Lew scrounging around for booze. Though the war was coming to an end, he’d been looking more exhausted and ill-tempered as of late. You had yet to really talk to him about how he was holding up; in the meantime, you had been eyeing him from afar, trying to gauge where he was physically and mentally, your heart breaking at how you rarely saw him smile or laugh anymore. Everyone in the company had changed after Bastogne, but you suspected it was his disastrous third combat jump that prompted him to hit the bottle this time.

Now in Landsberg, you were in the middle of playing cards with some of the men in your billet’s living room when Major Winters knocked on the doorway.

“(Y/N),” he called. “Could I speak with you?”

You placed your cards on the table face up, presenting your good hand to the men who groaned in unison at the sight. “Coming, sir.”

As Winters brought you down the hall, you pondered what could be so important that the Major would come personally to speak to you, of all people.

He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to you, seeming to have read your mind. “It's about Nixon.”

Your eyebrows creased slightly in concern. “Oh. Nixon.”

“Yeah, you know him?” Winters offered a dry smile that you returned.

“What happened?”

“I'm worried about him. Ever since his jump with the 17th Airborne, he’s been drinking more than usual.”

You sighed and cast your eyes downward. “I've heard.”

“I’d like you to look after him for a while. For tonight, at least. Make sure he doesn't drink himself into a coma.”

“Me?” You looked back up at him. “Why not Doc Roe?”

“You’ve been taking care of him for a while, (Y/N). I've noticed.” He didn't sound accusing in the slightest, yet you felt your cheeks warm from embarrassment. Winters continued in a slightly more conspiratorial voice, “And Nix asked for you specifically.”

You fought the blush creeping up to your ears. “Is that right…I'll, uh, have to lord that over Eugene.”

The corner of Winters’ lips quirked up knowingly. “Of course.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck, Doc. He's in his room. You know how to get there.”

Winters turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. It was true that you knew which house he was quartered in; you made it a point to know ever since you began treating his hangovers. However, the thought of being alone with Lew was always nerve-wracking and had been from the start, for reasons you didn't have the courage to explore.

-

With a glass of water and a book in hand, anticipating him to be knocked out from all the liquor in his system, you knocked on the door to his room. As you expected, there was no response save for the soft snoring coming from within. You opened the door a sliver and found the floral-wallpapered room lit up with a bedside lamp and the moonlight pouring in from the open window as the day spanned into night. You spotted a messy-haired head poking out from under the strewn blankets and smelled whiskey in the air. Upon fully opening the door and entering the room, the snoring abruptly stopped. He slurred, half-muffled by the pillow his face was buried in, “Who's there?”

“It’s (Y/N),” you replied, turning on some more lamps around the space.

“Oh. Hey, (Y/N).” Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. It wasn’t the first time you'd seen him in just a tanktop and shorts, his dog tags dangling around his neck, but he had always been half-conscious from a hangover when you saw him like this. Not awake and actively drunk like he was now. “How're you?”

“You're on your way to liver failure, Lewis,” you said sternly as you pulled up a chair next to his bed. “As for me, I'm doing better than you right now.”

He pouted petulantly. “You only call me Lewis when you're mad at me.”

You shot him a look. “And why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno, you tell me.” Nixon gave you a lazy smile.

You sighed, directing your glare to the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, which you observed was not even his favorite brand of Vat 69. You handed him the glass of water. “Here, drink up.”

Squinting, he sniffed it. “It's not more liquor, is it?”

“No, it's motor fuel, now drink.”

“Oh no, not more ethanol,” he joked, raising the glass in a cheers motion before downing it and clumsily setting the empty glass on the nightstand. He kept his gaze on you as you sat down, opened up your book, and attempted to read, avoiding his stare.

Crossing his arms behind his neck at your efforts to ignore him, he leaned on the headboard. “What is that? Twain? Poe? Ah, Shakespeare? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”

You spared a glance at him. “Sometimes I forget you're a scholar, Lew.”

“Ohoho. Try to play some Beethoven and tell me it's Mozart. I’ll figure it out”—he snaps—“like that.”

“Not in this state you will,” you glowered. Nix retained his expectant countenance, so you answered, “It's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Some of the guys got done reading it, so now it's my turn.”

He hummed. “What’s it about then, Miss (Y/N)? Enlighten me.”

“If you’d let me read it, then I could tell you,” you said, continuing in a lower voice, "How are you an intelligence officer if you're this mouthy when drunk...and you're drunk most of the time."

“You say somethin’?”

“Nothing, Lew.” You tried to take in the words on the page, but the way he was looking at you made your skin feel hot. Exhaling and setting down your book, you turned your focus to him.

“You still hiding Vat 69 in Winters’ footlocker?” you asked, silently cursing the satisfied expression that spread over his face at your attention.

“Wha, hey, how'd you know about that?”

“You told me. While half-asleep and hungover.”

His lips stretched into a smile as he seemed to recall. “That I did. See, the real shame is that there’s not a single drop of the thing in the whole damn country. So no, there’s no booze in Dick’s footlocker.”

You glanced again at the unfamiliar bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. “And that’s why you've been drinking alternatives?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” He shrugged with a sluggish wave of the hand. “I'm half-convinced you and Dick are hiding some from me!”

You chuckled. “That's not a half-bad idea. It wouldn't stop you from getting drunk off other kinds of hooch, though. Speaking of… why'd you start drinking this time?”

“Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely. “I got divorced. She sent me a letter in the mail. Real sweet of her.”

Your face fell, the mood suddenly not so lighthearted. “...I’m sorry to hear that, Nix.”

“It’s alright. Didn’t like her much anyway. She took the dog.” A beat of silence passed, and he gave you an unreadable look. “Was kinda waitin' for it anyhow.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Waiting for it? But before you could question it, you noticed his eyelids drooping as he uncrossed his arms from behind his neck to cover a yawn with his hands. You figured it was better to let him rest before pressing him on it.

“You settling down now?” you asked, getting up to brush his unkempt hair from his face and check his temperature with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He settled into his bed before tiredly swatting your hand away, complaining, “I’m not hungover yet!”

A slight smile graced your face. “Not gonna piss into a cup this time, are you?”

“Maybe next time,” he said with a smirk before blearily staring at you for a while, like the same way he did all those months ago in Holland. Your heart felt strangled in your chest.

Clearing your throat, you turned and grabbed your book and the glass. “Goodnight, Lew.”

He blinked up at you. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got people who need me,” you said, a small laugh bubbling up from your throat.

“What if I need you?”

“Beside a hangover, you'll be fine,” you smiled, believing he was joking until you looked at him and found his face dead serious, almost pleading. Your eyes had to be deceiving you, right? Or maybe your mind was spinning things the wrong way.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Before you leave," he started, breaking his gaze for a second before meeting yours. "You're really beautiful, you know that?”

You were stunned into silence with widened eyes, floundering for words. “Lew, I…”

“And don't say, ‘You’re drunk, Lewis, you don't know what you're talking about.’ I’ve liked you for months now, (Y/N). Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting this war for you, so we could be together after.” Somehow his voice was the steadiest it’s been the entire night, and that scared you.

You suddenly felt bashful, afraid he could hear your heart pounding loud in your chest. “I…like you, too, Lew.”

A soft beam adorned his flushed face. “And if I forget in the morning, I’ll just tell you again. I’ll tell you over and over until it's the only thing I can remember piss-drunk.”

“I’ll be making sure you're never piss-drunk again, but… I’ll remind you. Keep your word.” You leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“That you will,” he said impishly, grabbing you from around the waist and pulling you next to him in the sheets, his arms encircling your body.

“Hey!” you giggled, struggling against his bear-like grasp. “Can I at least get my boots off?”

He snickered into your hair and held you close.

“Nope.”

-

Bonus:

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Doc (Y/N). Figuring she was still with Nix, Dick decided to check in on them.

Knocking on the door and receiving no response, he let himself in, saying while surveying the room, “Doc, you still there— Oh.”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley

[newcathedrals]

a love (that has traveled very far)

my @hbowardaily secret santa gift for @catbusloki

rating: M

word count: 9.9k

pairing: Lewis Nixon/Dick Winters

summary:

In the twilight of the war and on the side of a mountain in Austria, Lewis Nixon knew that Dick Winters was about to slip right through his fingers and start a new life. He can't imagine a civilian life without Dick by his side, but he can't bring himself to ask Dick to live with him after the war.

After drinking past his own limit, he woke up in the bedroom of a man named "Rich" Winters, eighty years in the future.

read on ao3 here

happy holidays @catbusloki ! I hope you like it, and I hope it has enough angst for your taste. I am not the best at angst (my heart is too soft) but I did my best <3

[inglourious-imagines]

practically begging for some george luz w/ enemies to lovers. everyone always writes amazing friends to lovers but there’s sm potential w e2l !!! love ur writing btw xx

Jokes on You (George Luz x Fem!Reader)

Requested by: anon

Summary: George Luz is a funny guy, there is absolutely no denying that. He likes making jokes, and he likes it even more when people laugh at them. So what happens when there comes a person who makes just as good jokes as George? Or maybe even better? Some enemies to lovers for y’all.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday @order-of-river-phoenix @whoahersheybars @nixoninc

Warnings: like two swear words, angst in the form of Bastogne

A/N: I so suck at endings.

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.

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Cracking jokes and making people laugh is George’s thing and his only, that’s how it’s always been. He is the funny guy in the group, that’s how he likes to define himself, the funny one. But to define is to limit and George has made the mistake of limiting himself to clinging to one particular personality trait, humour.

And then Y/N came along; about four months into the boot camp Y/N got reassigned from Dog Company to Easy Company for reasons no one knew, except for Lewis Nixon perhaps. George did not start hating her per say right from the moment he met her, but ever since she beat him to the joke when watching his favourite movie he’s strongly despised her. From then on, the feelings only got stronger; she’s always making the whole Company laugh, some of the jokes even on his account which George does not like one bit, hell she even managed to make Blithe chuckle that one day after D-Day.

Y/N had no idea what she triggered by her naturally jokester nature until she had to face a very pissed off George after she blabbed some joke about some actress and then a very pissed off George is the only kind of George she has had the privilege of meeting. The woman has pondered greatly about what she could have possibly done to anger the man so, but nothing came to mind and she soon gave up. George continued and stubbornly continues to be rude to her so she should only repay his “kindness”.

After Carentan, the word of Operation Market Garden is in the air and the Allies are particularly optimistic. Easy is in the pub, celebrating its successes in the war, while some reinforcements are trying to mingle. Y/N is watching it all from behind, the old breed not wanting to socialize with the newbies at all and sometimes the situations can get truly hilarious.

Somehow, in a few minutes, she finds herself behind a table with Luz, Malarkey, Muck and other three reinforcements who are just drinking up George’s story about his valour in Normandy. Her lips itch upwards from now and then, George’s drunkenness making it all the more amusing. Y/N can tell the new guys are impressed and somewhat terrified as well and one of them puts a pin on it when he asks Luz, “And what rank are you?”

The table sits in silence for a moment, for absolutely no one expected such question, not even the other reinforcements, then Malarkey and Muck burst out laughing, almost tipping over their beers.

Y/N chuckles, reaches over, and pats the guy’s arm. “Oh c’mon, it is Private!”

That absolutely finishes off Don and Skip, Skip eventually falls off his chair, the reinforcements are now laughing too; the mood slightly more friendly and at ease than before. Not for everyone though.

George is red to his ears, as he frowns. “The joke wasn’t that good. And it’s not even true.”

Donald is hiccupping now but manages to answer, “A- a bit c- corny, yes, but f-fucking b-brilliant.”

***

At this point the Company is divided into two parts only, one part bets on the two of them killing each other and the other parts bets on them fucking; which it will be is truly in the stars for George and Y/N are face to face again, both of them red in the cheeks from all the anger, both of them shouting some incoherent insults, and as Penkala has put it, “See? Honestly I can really see both happening. They will either kill each other or fuck, there is absolutely nothing in between.”

But then Market Garden happens, an underestimated operation, that leaves behind too many dead than it should and when all of Easy is boarded on trucks, retreating, the company is two people short.

Bull Randleman and Y/N Y/L/N.

The officers discuss what can be done, and despite all of the men wanting to go and save the two of the best soldiers in the company, they know they can’t. And exactly that is making George Luz lose his mind. He can’t really understand why he is so restless, anxious, and downright terrified throughout the whole night; he tosses and turns, he is not able to bring himself to close his eyes.

But then in the morning he sees Y/N on the jeep next to Bull and suddenly he feels like he could fly and go to Berlin and kill Hitler, just so he could see the carefree smile on her face.

It clicks in him just then, and Malarkey pats his shoulder. “So, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

George turns to him, confused. “What?”

Malarkey laughs, shaking his head, and says, “Don’t play dumb with me, you idiot, I saw it just now.”

As much as George would like to answer his friend, he truly has no idea what he is talking about, and when that dawns on Donald, he offers George a sympathetic smile.

“Okay, let me put your thoughts to words, ‘cause you’re such an oblivious idiot that you probably wouldn’t figure it out by the time this motherfucking war is over,” Malarkey continues, “you don’t hate her, do you, not really.”

It is not even a question, more of a statement, and George really wants to protest, more than anything, because it is ridiculous, right?

***

The plan to be home by Christmas isn’t really working out for the Allies but the soldiers of Easy Company have already forgotten about those false hopes, they aren’t the ones to be bothered with when you freeze your ass off in a foxhole in the middle of a forest where the trees blow up every now and then and the place becomes a tornado.

Y/N shares a foxhole with Muck and Penkala, the trio trying to lighten up their gloomy moods with laughter. But even Y/N is running out of jokes now, so when doc Roe runs up to them, asking for scissors, she’s more than happy to go look for them with him too, the need to stretch her stiff and frozen body overpowering her whole self.

She’s just a couple of meters away from her foxhole when another German artillery attack comes and the whole forest becomes a hurricane of explosions, splinters, and blood. The soldier throws herself to the ground, crawling her way, slowly, back to her foxhole, Muck and Penkala shouting something at her she can’t hear, encouraging her to hurry up.

Dirt is everywhere, she barely can see, she covers her ears and head with her hands as another hit comes; she continues right after the explosion, crawling, crawling, crawling.

Muck and Penkala are still shouting at her, she is getting closer; Y/N can hear another artillery attack coming but this time she doesn’t stop proceeding, she knows she has to get into the foxhole soon, so she keeps on pushing.

The explosion comes. Everything goes white for a moment. The pressure wave makes her stop moving, and she is forced to close her eyes and cover her head with her hands.

She opens her eyes. There is nothing.

Seconds ago, there were two people, now there is nothing, nothing left, not a single trace that there have ever human beings stood.

Y/N can’t bring herself to move, she stares blankly into the space before her, her limbs are stiff. But then some arms grab her body, she can hear someone shouting at her.

3 seconds. That’s all it takes her to get back. She holds on to George’s arms as they run together to another foxhole, jumping right in. He immediately brings her into his body, she wraps her arms around his torso instinctively, holding onto him so tight, her head resting on his chest. George shields her body from everything outside and when the bombing finally stops, they don’t let go of each other for another few moments.

It isn’t until a few years after the war and they are married to each other, when they finally talk about what happened that day in the forest of Bois Jacques, not a day sooner. Ever since then, their relationship has been changed, both very much aware of it, neither of them brave enough to bring it up just yet.

It is in Haguenau, where they finally share a conversation. George finds her on her own, behind some building, hiding behind some sacks, looking at the river. He throws a Hershey bar into her lap and when she looks up in confusion, he offers her a warm tired smile.

“What did I do to deserve the affection of the one and only George Luz?” she tries to crack up a joke and chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. George knows Y/N is exhausted beyond words.

He sits down next to her, as he opens his mouth to say something, but he rethinks it in the last second and nothing comes out. They sit out there for a few minutes, sharing the silence and strangely enough, it feels nice. George finally does not feel the need to talk all the time, the need to prove himself funny or worthy of other people’s attention.

“Have you ever been to Rhode Island?” he suddenly blurts out, surprising himself and her at the choice of the question.

Y/N smiles, doesn’t ask why or what. “No, never.”

“Then come with me.”

This time she asks what.

“After the war I mean, come home after the war with me.”

“But- but, you-“ she stutters, her cheeks slightly red, “but you hate me.”

George chuckles at that and looks at her. She has bags under her eyes that are a bit bloodshot (she hasn’t slept much in the last few days), her hair is dirty from dirt and sweat, her face has several scratches and marks, his eyes finds the most visible one just below her left cheekbone (he recalls that day in Carentan when a piece of shrapnel hit her and the wound looked way worse then it actually was for she had blood all over her left side of face, freaking out silently has never been so hard – he hadn’t known at that time what will come). He has never seen anything to maddeningly and purely beautiful as her.

“I thought I did, a very long time ago,” he says, “but actually I never did. I don’t hate you. How could I?”

Y/N looks at him and through all the pain, horror, and grief, she feels peace. It surprises her.

And so she responds, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I will come home with you. How could I not?”