Hiya! Gonna be rereading that Joe Toye fic you wrote last Valentine’s 🩷 I was the Anon who requested it. Thank you again for writing it!! It made last Valentine’s a happy one for me, as I was very unwell at the time. Wishes to you for a lovely Valentine’s this year, from an Anon fan in Scotland 🏴
SCOTLAND!? AHHH I DREAM ABOUT SCOTLAND SO MUCH TT^TT
ahem. I mean. Cool.
Haha, for reals. I did see this as soon as you sent it but life is just nonstop right now. I am so, so very glad you liked it. I was so worried about the fic. Still am, tbh.
I always think of Johnny Martin when I listen to this song. I don’t know whether it’s because he’s married or not but I feel like you fall in love with him during the war and afterwards everything goes back to normal and he goes back to his wife and you’re just left with the memories (and yes this also happens to be the plot of one of my many wips)
Band of Brothers Appreciation Week, Day 1— Training
Requested by: no body, Appreciation week post
Pairings: Carwood Lipton x f!reader
Warnings: Swearing, Series-typical violence
A/n: Well. This wasn't quite what the trope given to us by The very lovely @hbowardaily gave, but it inspired me! So this is my little spin on it!! It's my first time ever taking part in one or these appreciation weeks so bare with me :)
The roar of planes in the sky was unlike anything you’d ever heard before. The Douglass C-47’s large engines filled the air with their deafening whines while men sat in silent wait. She could feel her gut, churning in fear and anticipation, anxiety chilling her spine. Yet, she was confused, for she had practiced this type of thing before. She hadn’t spent two years at camp Toccoa, running up the 3 mile hill every day, completing night marches and training to be a paratrooper all for nothing. This is what she’d trained for. She trained for war. So why was there such a fear, evident in her gaze and the way her leg bobbed nervously.
The only difference between the two was this was in a large formation, with hundreds of thousands of other men, trained for the exact same thing, jumping with them in the invasion. Leaping out of the hardened steel doors with no certainty their parachutes would deploy and they wouldn’t hit the ground. Which, even if they did reach the German-occupied ground of Normandy, not knowing if a kraut was going to shoot them before they could get untangled was far scarier. At least hitting the ground you wouldn’t feel anything. So aside from that, nothing was too different, right?
You knew that this kind of thinking would only throw his mind into a frenzy so instead, you take a deep breath and look out the opened door next to you, where cold wind blasts you in the face. In the black of the night, you can just barely make out the shadowy silhouettes of planes, flying in large formations.
Somewhere near the neck of the formation, a large boom stands out over the roaring engines, a small orange flash erupting in the sky. Then, like flies to a carcass, the sky is filled with hundreds of orange explosions, smacking into the underside of the planes as they fly.
The German Flak hits close to the plane Easy Company is in, prompting the beast to lurch and sway in the clouded night sky. More flak bursts around the frightened paratroopers, constant ‘Boom! Boom! Boom!’s filling the noise with their thunderous cacophony.
The light in the belly of the plane shifts to red and your commanding officer, Richard Winters yells, "Get Ready!" And lifts his hands up, creating a hook with his finger and yelling "Hook up!".
You stand to your full height at his command, clicking your static line to the thin wire that runs from the door to the tail. The same is happening all around you, everyone follows his directives fluidly as they hook their cables to the thick metal wire that hangs in the plane, their movements fueled by their countless hours of grueling training spent in Toccoa. “Equipment Check!” lieutenant Winters yells.
One by one the Easy company men begin calling out their position in the plane, pulling on the straps of the paratrooper ahead, until finally reaching you.
You are thankful for one of the more manner-some Easy boys who doesn't get too handsy when tugging your equipment, like the many who had tried before. He finishes quickly with a loud, “Eight, okay!”
Now it is your turn to tug on the paratrooper ahead of you, your fingers pulling on their intricate setup of ropes and the yellow Mae vest strapped to their chest thoroughly before yelling, "Seven, okay!"
Like a chain the line continues;
"Six, okay!"
"Five, Okay!"
“Four, okay!”
“Three, okay!”
The light is a blaring red, pouring out of the bulb and pooling in the shadowy confines of the Douglass plane. The ominous light is stationary for what seems like eternity, the Flak banging its fiery fists into the planes around you, punching holes in their skin with ease.
The plane is hit once more this time in the side, sending pieces of shrapnel shooting into one soldier's legs. The man screams in pain, which you can only imagine to be unbearable. In an instant Doc Roe is unclipping himself and moving to treat the wounded man, your commander not wasting any time doing the same.
The light turns green and the rest of you paratroopers still in the plane jump into the icy blast while another shot of Flak rocks the plane.
You jump into the sky without a taste of fear, your canopy deploying a few frightful seconds later of free fall. You are pushed through the sky like a feather in the wind, the white of your canopy sticking out like a sore thumb in the ebony of the night.
Moments of quiet, gentle freefall pass, the breeze tickling your cheek and dragging its fingers over your parachute while you descend. The planes grow quieter as they continue flying overhead, the only noise left is the repetitive 'rat-tat-tat' of Anti-Aircraft Artillery as it fires into the sky in small bursts of yellow and orange.
You hit the ground, your canopy dragging a few feet when you roll to a kneeling position, pulling out your bayonet and slicing the chute from your body. Once you free yourself, you move to your leg bag, the place you'd stored your rifle for when you dropped, only to find it missing.
You curse audibly, voice stark against the silence of night, seemingly echoing in the darkness. In the very close distance, an AAA you hadn't before seen fires shots into the sky at planes that are long gone, prompting you to dive to the ground in hopes of concealing yourself.
The Germans manning the gun thankfully don't notice, the noise of the Flak successfully covering your noise.
You had to be more careful.
In hopes of finding more cover, you move into the trees, circumnavigating the AAA. The only sound left is the crunch under foot as you trek through the trees. Everything looks the same, You think to yourself, trees. So many trees.
And it does; the only thing around you is a thickly wooded forest; every way you looked had similar features to the latter. It was making you feel hopelessly lost in this unfamiliar woodland.
You are squinting your eyes in the dark, trying to make out shapes, when the rustling of a bush causes you to stop in your tracks. It's quiet for a few moments, silence passing between you and the man in the bush, unsure whether the other is a friend or foe.
Fuck it, If I die, I die, you think, calling out, "Flash!"
The person immediately steps out, breaking the tension with a reply of “Thunder.”
“Carwood!” The name leaves your lips in a whisper, a breath you didn't know you were holding going with it.
Within seconds, you've crossed the short distance and are in front of Carwood, relief flooding your veins, feeding your emotions. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his middle section, collapsing into his firm hold. He is shocked. Body rigid for a few moments before he returns the hug.
It's a moment of peace when you hug, both of you lost in the warm silence the embrace provides, your souls intertwine like twin flames, dancing in harmony to a melody only you and him know. The hug was like a cascade of emotions, a torrential downpour in a desert of bottled-up feelings. Both holding on to the other tightly, as if trying to etch the feeling into your very bones, unsure of when you would have this chance again. It was a fleeting, stolen moment of tenderness, carried on the wings of unspoken love.
"I'm so glad to see you," you murmur, pulling away to look into his chocolate eyes, they hold an emotion you can name very well, even though it is unspoken. The warm honey holds a warmth of an everlasting hearth. It's beautiful, his eyes twinkling with love. And it's love created for only one person. You.
The tension isn't awkward, no, rather a gift of silence, offered by perhaps God himself as he watches these two love-stricken fools pin over each other in a time of war.
Carwood is looking at you, eyes heavy with emotion, no doubt seeing you as if you hung the stars, the sun, and the moon. And he can barely contain himself. He reaches up with his free hand to cup your cheek, rough calloused fingers tracing your cheekbones in the moonlight.
For all one knows, it might be the relief of the reunion between you two, but Carwood finds himself leaning in. You following suit shortly after. Your lips meet, and it seems as if fireworks go off inside you, bursts of joy pumping itself through your wary veins. The kiss is long awaited, and your lips move together in beautiful, unknown passion, contained for 2 years too long. You hope it never ends, the fiery dance you both are drawn into by love, for it gives you a new heightened sense of security and protection, despite the irony of your actual location. But maybe, just maybe, the world would stop for the two lovers.
MY HEART. MY HEART CAN'T HANDLE THIS!
I WISH I SAW THE NOTIFICATION SOONER!
Holy hecc. I'm.... I'm in awe.
I'm speechless...I'm in love..in awe...Words cannot tell you how much I adore this and the effort of FOUR days you managed to do this!
To think you spent your free time doing this for me...? MY HEART!!!
It's just made all those bad days worth it.
Oh gods, I'm going to break the replay button.
Oh @aerokriegs I can't thank you enough and tell you how much I adore it. I need to save it. I need to keep it. Cherish it.
he always wears his helmet fairly low, so it'd cover his eyes and this goes very well with his character. also, his eyes are hidden therefore we couldn't see his expression or what he really feels at the moment.
Sitting across the table from you, Sergeant Martin had been watching you rapidly zone out from the conversation of theo ther soldiers around you. “Hey Peanut… You okay?” the endearing little nickname falling from Sergeant Martin’s softened voice pulled you back from your thoughts.
Your eyes shift over to his features, which were studying yours intensely. You simply nodded and gave him a small smile. One he did not return, but merely raised his brows slightly. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about to cry.”
You try to maintain your smile but you can feel your lips twitching as they fight to drop the smile, tears welling up in your eyes before you even had a chance to blink them back.
“I’m fine.” you stupidly try to convince him, knowing your teared-up features were evident that you were lying. The wobble in your voice only adding to your lie.
Instead of just sitting there and arguing with you, Sergeant Martin gave a small tilt of his head, a gesture of ‘come on’ indicating for you to follow as he stood up.
You slowly rose too, not wanting to bring unwanted attention to yourself for breaking down. Keeping your gaze down, you followed Sergeant Martin outside as he lead you around the side of the building that offered a little privacy. Soldiers were still walking around but none were within eavesdropping distance. Few might be able to catch glimpses over ruins of the stone fence but that was something that couldn’t be helped with the foot traffic of soldiers on guard, on patrol, carrying out whatever duties were required of them.
Sergeant Martin took his typical position when he wasn’t impressed; arms crossed at his chest, intense gaze, shoulder leaning against the brick wall of the building. However, it wasn’t because he wasn’t impressed by the situation, rather…it was fucking freezing. But this was as private as could offer right now. You’ve all gone through worst. Bastogne, notably.
Blue eyes on you, he patiently waited for you to say something but you kept your eyes down on the ground, as though you suddenly found his muddy boots incredibly interesting…
The texture, the colour, the small cracks of the mud still embedded on the leather boot…the contrast of the brown mud against the grey stones of debris that-
“Peanut….?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your eyes quickly flickered to his, as intense as his gaze was, there was a softness showing through his blue orbs.
You swallowed down the whimper that arose in your throat, giving a small laugh instead; a nervous tic of yours, before your eyes finally lifted to the grey skies which mirrored everything you felt. You pursed your lips together and ran your tongue along your lips before slowly letting go, only for your teeth to catch your bottom lip and pressing hard, not enough to draw blood… but enough to try to ground you in that moment.
Brows that were generally either downturned when your bad, or resting when you’re happy (your only two moods), were now upturned in a worried manner. Letting go of your bottom lip, you let out a small gasp before finally finding the words to explain…Eyes resting on a focal point on the stone wall. Anything but directly at your Sergeant. He didn’t seem to mind.
“I…um…I got a letter….” you started but then stopped. In your mind, it explained everything. But to Sergeant Martin, it explained nothing except that you must’ve received some bad news. So he gently prompted, “A dear John letter…?”
“No.” you laughed softly, the idea so absurd that someone might actually like you in that sense…
The laughter quickly died down as a painful emotion washed over your features “A…It’s um…My…Dad. He died.”
“…I’m so sorry….” came the hushed apology as Sergeant Martin’s heart dropped. It was all he could say. Despite his usually tougher exterior, he was still extremely sympathetic in situations like these. It’s never easy losing your parents.
You shook your head. You didn’t want sympathies. They don’t bring back the dead and you’re not the type to fall weak to it.
“How’s your Mom?”
“I don’t know…ask my Dad? They should be reunited now but I’m…stuck here without them. All alone.” Sergeant Martin watched as your smile at small attempt at humour quickly faded into sobs. Everything you had at home was gone. It was just you, your mum and your dad. And then just you and your Dad.
Your Dad couldn’t sign up for the war due to his declining health. But you could. And you did. To make him proud.
But when you signed up for the war to become a medic, you thought you’d be assisting in medical tents near the front lines… not actually be on the front lines. You took it all in stride but you never anticipated the pain of working tirelessly only for the wounded to die on you, you never anticipated watching your friends die before your eyes or underneath your working hands…
And now this.
The one thing the War couldn’t touch… and still managed to rip your only other loved one away from you.
Sergeant Martin knew how strong you were. Many of the men doubted you, shamefully including him, but they were all proven wrong by your strength and resilience. You had become their boulder; a safe and stable place to lean on. In the end, he was glad you were part of his platoon.
The division was split up into platoons. There were two medics; you and Doc Roe. You got paired with, what you thought, were the meanest assholes of the group. You were slowly proven wrong. Probably because when they bite, you bit back harder. Thus earning their respect because you could hold your own. Sergeant Martin had been the trickiest to earn his respect. But in time you did.
You certainly didn’t think a day would come where you would be the one needing a shoulder to cry on.
A hand flew to your mouth to stifle the sobs that finally rose from where they had been squashed down for days, your other hand resting on your knee to steady yourself as you hunched over.
“Oh, peanut…” you heard him softly mutter that endearing nickname before you felt yourself being pulled against him as he hands wrapped around your arms and guided you upright into his chest. His arms immediately wrapping tightly around you. His lips pressing against the side of your head as his arms were strategically placed so it wasn’t inappropriate. One arm around the upper middle of your back, the other arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you firmly to him.
Any strength you had that you were holding onto, immediately melted beneath the warmth of his embrace and your heartbroken cries soon turned to muffled cries as you turned your head into his chest and trembled violently with each sob that racked your body.
As muffled as they were, they still caught the attention of nearby soldiers who would either look around for the source of the sound, or they’d see it but the death stare from Sergeant Martin over the top of your head was enough to keep them moving. He had to wonder whether anyone else in the building could hear you.
Sergeant Martin felt a tight tug at his jacket and then two little points of pressure at his sides, coming to realise that you had moved your hands to grip him for support. “Breathe, Peanut…” he reminded you when your sobs threatened to turn into hyperventilation. His hand soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to ground you and calm you down. But he never hushed you. Just simply being a friend to lean on and letting you get it out. You’re no good to them if your mind is preoccupied elsewhere while on assisting on missions as their standby medic. And they can’t rely on Doc Roe when he’s currently needed elsewhere.
Lieutenant Speirs walked past and his eyes zero’d in on the source of the sound. An unreadable expression on his face…. Disapproval? He looked questioning at Sergeant Martin but the Sergeant merely pressed his lips together and give an ever so slight shake of his head, indicating bad news from home and that you weren’t alright.
“Best get yourselves inside, Sergeant. No point standing out in the cold. Thought you had enough of that in Bastogne.”
“Will do, Sir.”
“Get yourselves a cup of tea, too.”
No, it wasn’t disapproval. It was a situation where Speirs wanted to help but didn’t know how. Little did the Lieutenant know that by simply offering the suggestion of a tea, was plenty help in itself.
This wasn’t a situation like Blythe. He saw Sergeant Martin offering comfort to the one person everyone thought would break at the very beginning but proved them all wrong… obviously it was something more than a feeble case ‘I’m scared’.
Lieutenant Speirs knew.
Blue eyes watched as Speirs walked away without a second glance to you both.
Your sobs had quietened down and Sergeant Martin loosened his arms around your back and rubbed your arms. “Lieutenant Speirs has a point. It’s fucking freezing. You right to go inside?”
“Yeah. Let me just take a moment.”
Sergeant Martin stepped back a little bit but he stayed a moment longer, not leaving that personal space where there’s barely a gap between you. Just in case you needed an extra hug. Which, deep down you did but he’s already done so much.
You smiled a wobbly smile up at him as you took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “You go in. I need a moment.” you reassured him.
He looked like he didn’t believe you, and probably didn’t, but nevertheless he gave you that warning look that you all knew not to fuck things up, and left to turn the building and walk back inside.
You wiped at your face and leaned back against the brick wall. Sighing harshly and closing your eyes to the heavens. God, you didn’t think it’d hurt so much to lose your Dad but it did. It hurt knowing that you haven’t even turned 30 yet, and you lost both your parents already. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another 20 or so years! You took in deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down and place a reality check on yourself. You’re alive. It’s more than you can say for many that died in vain…
Sergeant Martin walked back inside the abandoned building and began barking orders. “Webster! Brew some tea. Everyone else…” his voice dropped to a more serious tone as he walked over to where the majority of his boys were. They were a little team, situated in an abandoned building while awaiting new orders. The whole squadron on standby.
“A certain little peanut out there isn’t doing too good and needs our support.”
“What happened?”
“Bad news from home.”
“We all get bad news from home, Sarge. Dear Johns…Dear Janes…”
“No. Not when the only family you have left is gone.”
The intense stare that Sergeant Martin has, made sure to dead-stare everyone individually until these thick imbeciles of his finally got the message.
“The Old Man?” Malarkey quietly asked.
Sergeant Martin simply nodded.
Malarkey swore quietly under his breath.
It’s no lie to say that Malarkey is well-liked by everyone, and he gets along with everyone. So it’s no surprise that he knows more than Sergeant Martin would. You having told Malarkey many stories, and him swapping his own. So, he fills the rest of the team in as to why this was more serious than some random family member dying. “(y/n) lost their Mom years ago to TB or Pneumonia or somethin’… Parents had a child before (y/n) but it died. Ended up bein’ just them and their old man. No siblings. No Aunts or Uncles.”
Again, Sergeant Martin let that small piece of news sink in before he spoke again. “Which is why I want you to all sit up at the table and give them the support they need. Do I make myself clear?”
A low, hushed chorus of ‘Yes Sarge’ was given before Sergeant Martin walked away and the boys went back to doing what they were doing. Some were playing cards, some were reading books or letters, some were writing letters, some were making conversations.
Sergeant Martin’s gotta hand it to them though…. Because as soon as you walked down the stairs, neither of the boys looked up or treated you with special treatment. They carried on as if nothing happened. Malarkey glanced up from smoking his cigarette quietly but said nothing. He watched you walk outside with Sergeant Martin so it’s no surprise he’s a little curious.
Sergeant Martin walked over with two cups of tea and passed you one. “Thank you” you politely said as you wrapped your cold fingers around the warmth of the mug. It’s not as warm as Sergeant Martin’s hugs but it’ll do. Another tilt of his head towards the table was given and you followed quietly as you both sat down with your tea. The teabags were stale but it was better than nothing and a somewhat nice break from the terrible coffee.
Malarkey had swapped smoke for tea as he poured himself a cup and walked over to join you at the table. You glanced over at your friend and smiled softly, he smiled back but said nothing. Malarkey barely smiles these days but when he does… it’s rather sweet. However, he had since watched his two bestfriends die and that did a number on him. Just like the letter you received had done to you.
Liebgott made his way over with his own cup of tea and sat down with a huff, rolling his head back and slouching in an uncomfortable position that’s probably comfortable to his long limbs.
Slowly… one by one… including Webster, who received a small nod rather than a death-stare from Sergeant Martin, made their way over and sat down at the table.
Everyone was silently sipping away at their tea until Sergeant Martin broke the silence. “Since we’re all here, I want to make a toast.”
“Hear, hear!”
“To peanut… we couldn’t get through most of our days without you ordering us around like a mother hen. Both your parents would be proud.”
“To Peanut!” Liebgott said as he raised his cup of tea a little, followed by everyone else who chorused a ‘To peanut!’ making you laugh.
Why do you get the feeling the nickname is going to stick?
You raised your mug politely with a soft laugh.
Malarkey leaned over, his shoulder bumping against yours as he quietly reminded you, “You’re never alone, (y/n). You have us. We’re not much, but you have us.”
You bumped your shoulder against his, laughing softly “Thank you, Malark.”
You sat there, quietly listening to everyone. Cold fingers wrapped around the warm mug of tea, nursing the warm liquid. You glanced up and saw Sergeant Martin watching you.
You smiled softly, mouthing a ‘Thank you’ and he simply smiled back and gave a wink.
Can I make a request for a one shot fix unrelated to valentines? 😊
Oh! Absolutely! If you trust me enough to write something, go right ahead! It'd be my stressful pleasure! XD
Let me know what you have in mind :D
Oh look it's us ^
Me: -internally stressed but it's okay because it's the norm-
You: -innocently comes over with a fic idea-
^^^ I joke! But the gif was too good not to use XD
Gasp!! That was the best thing to wake up to on Valentine’s (from anon who requested the Toye fic)!! That was amazing. You got his personality down exactly… And reader is relatable :) The way you wrote him as having more experience sexually than romantically, and him having to refrain from saying “broad”, stuff like that.. It’s so amazing. Thank you - I’m sending you a big, big hug 💛 This is one of my new favourite fics - Thank you, thank you xx
Gasp!! This was the perfect thing to end my Valentines evening on 🥺
You have no idea how much your words mean to me! And I’m just really, really glad you liked it 🥺
Thank you for being so sweet 🥹
I hope you have a lovely Valentines Day today. And if it’s just kinda meh for you… I hope you enjoy getting scolded by Joe Toye 🤭
For the valentine’s prompts, only if you don’t have too many already and only if you have the time/want to - and no worries if you don’t :)
21. “I’ve been trying to get ready for like an hour and a half, because I know you’re going to look so good and I need to try and match up.” With Joe Toye x Reader. Maybe where they’ve been real close friends for a long time - heavy mutual pining and one of them just can’t hold it in anymore.. Thank you 💛
𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏: 𝐽𝑜𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑦𝑒 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐/𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓
𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: Valentines Day | Valentines Platonic
Joe was a long way from frayed and stained army greens and browns as he was waiting in the living room, dressed in formal black pants, plain button up and suit jacket to match. Hair slicked back into a neat style since he had grown it out a bit, getting a feel for his own style since being stateside.
Flicking his wrists to readjust he cuffs more comfortable, he sighed as his eye caught the time on is watch. His head turned towards the stairs that lead to the upstairs rooms, “Come on Y/N!”
Joe had met you a few months before he went to war. You moved in next door and the rest was history. However, your first interaction, outside a friendly wave, had been when you were stubbornly trying to carry all the shopping bags in one go…and of course one bag broke and the rest fell out of your arms like dominos. Joe, being who he was, came running over - while laughing - but still offered to help.
He helped carry your groceries inside, maneouvering between packed boxes that are waiting to be sorted into their designated rooms. To which, he also offered to help move them upstairs for you. From there… the friendship just…clicked. You two were never short of a conversation, always making the other laugh… everything just felt… natural.
And then the war broke out… Joe showed up at yours in his uniform to state that he’s leaving soon. Your heart dropped and it visibly showed on your features. That’s when you both promised to write.
And that’s exactly what you did. Both of you slowing falling for the other through years of correspondence. Both of you open and vulnerable in your letters because noone else was reading them and there was just that comfortableness in friendship that you could express your inner thoughts and feelings without judgement. Him too.
There was a period where you weren’t getting letters and then you finally received one from a hospital. It was shorter than normal but Joe didn’t have the strength to write lengthy letters while recuperating from having lost his leg. Your heart broke but was also relieved that he was just alive. That’s all you ever prayed for…
You heard Joe’s voice call out and huffed in annoyance; either at him or yourself, you weren’t sure, as you stared at yourself in the full-length mirror. You weren’t happy with your outfit. Three other dresses lay haphazardly on the bed and the chair as you had tried those on and deemed them not suitable enough. Joe technically wasn’t yours to worry about looking decent beside him, but he was your everything. Which was what made today, of all days..harder to choose with the outfit. It was Valentines. A day for couples. You two aren’t a couple. You’re just going along for the joy ride because you both don’t have official plans anyway.
Your makeup made your features look softer than what your expression is letting on, your hair done up but, just like the dress, you weren’t satisfied with the result. “I’ve been trying to get ready for, like, an house and a half! Because I know you’re going to look good and I need to try and match up!” you called back down.
Joe’s now frowning up at the stairs, not having heard anything more ridiculous in his life. “Will you just come down? We’re going to be late. Whatever you wear is gonna be fine.”
You rolled your eyes as Joe’s annoyed voice filtered through. Men just didn’t understand.
To you, Joe was one of the most handsome people you ever met… His brown eyes twinkled when he laughed, they darkened when he was angry (and you won’t admit this, but you find it hot), he had the most gorgeous smile, his eyebrows were expressive and made his features soft when they knitted together in concern when you would talk to him about certain things.
So, of course whatever he wears will just accentuate his handsome features and you’ll end up looking like ‘plain jane’ next to him. He was deserving more of that. Especially with you two going out on, what’s supposed to be a couples-only celebration.
You scoffed at your appearance before finally doing as requested and making your way down the stairs to see Joe fiddling with the cufflinks, his crutches resting under his arms against his side.
Brown eyes finally looked up as he heard one particular stair creak beneath your step and his face went blank. You didn’t realise you held your breath as you all but floated down the stairs (he thought you floated like an angel, you thought you clunked down like a not-so-graceful rhino).
Using his crutches, he made his way over to you just as you reached the last step and stood in front of him. His features gave nothing away. His lips were parted, his brown eyes just staring at the ghastly get up that you’re in.
“I’ll never look nice compared to you.” the heartbreak was evident in the disappointment in your voice. You turned on your heel and was about to make your way back upstairs when a tight grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks.
Joe still didn’t know his own strength at times, whilst he wasn’t hurting you, it still surprised you what this man might be capable of with just his bare hands.
“Are you shitting me? You look….you look….”
“Atrocious? Silly? Like a woman menstruated?”
“Will you shut up….?” His voice, not at all harsh, but soft and exasperated. You just weren’t getting it. He was at a loss of words. His facial expressions… well… He’s Joe. He’s not the best with the ladies unless he’s wooing them for sex. Which is something he wouldn’t dream about doing with you. He respects you too much.
His voice softened and a hushed, “You look beautiful, Y/N.” filtered past his lips, as though he were afraid it was inappropriate to say and some unforgiving Godly figure might smite him a second time causing him to loose the only other leg he has.
His eyes gazed over you, up and down, drinking your entire being in. “Anything you wear, you look radiant in. I don’t understand -”
“Because it’s you, Joe. You’re the handsome one. The funny one. The charismatic one. And I’m just… me.”
I’ll never be good enough for you
Went unspoken on your red-painted lips.
But it felt heavy in the air that it made Joe snap. He had enough of dancing around this, he had enough of waiting, and he was too impatient to tell you over dinner how he was feeling about you.
Hobbling forward a step or two. He hooked a finger beneath your chin and lifted your head up. “You…are one of the most beautiful broa-ladies, I’ve ever met. No matter what you wear, you’ll look drop dead gorgeous. I think you look gorgeous… I always have…”
Without asking permission, Joe dropped his head and his lips pressed against yours. He felt the small gasp part from your lips before pressing his lips more firmly against yours. One hand one the end of the stair rail to steady himself, the other hand lighty resting against your cheek…which now dropped to wrapping around the middle of your back and pressing you firmly against him.
Your own arms snaked around his neck, as your lips melted against him.
He had already mentioned you two were pushing for time… but now… neither of you could care less.
You were happy that he was finally yours. Officially.
Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.
“Genie, how long do I have to stay like this?” Alix groaned as she stared up at the sky with her knee bent while the meticulous medic inspected her ankle yet again.
“My leg’s starting to cramp.”
"Jus’ hang in there, cher,” he soothed as he cautiously applied a bit of light pressure to the area once again, causing her to hiss in pain as he examined her range of motion.
“You don’ want me rushing this.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Alix caught a glimpse of Joe nearby, pacing back and forth like an anxious guard-dog, his forehead creased with worry lines as he took a hasty drag of his cigarette.
"Whaddya need, Doc?" he asked as Roe assessed her ankle one final time. “What can I do?”
“Well ‘scuse me for being fuckin' worried about you,” Joe shot back.
The heartbroken spy was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his false “worry” when Eugene's slightly modulated voice cut her off, giving Joe an instruction seemingly from the depths of Alix’s own heart.
"Hold her hand."
Alix practically choked on air.
"What?!"
The spy began struggling to get up but the medic stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder and lowered his voice so only she could hear.
"I ain't exactly jazzed about it either, cher," he said softly and with the mournful look in his beautiful blue eyes, she didn't doubt it.
"But puttin' personal feelings aside, you gonna need somebody to grab onto so you don' pass out."
Alix scoffed inwardly.
"Putting personal feelings aside," he'd said.
As if there had ever been a time when Gene put his feelings anything but dead last.
"I'd rather be unconscious than touch him," she muttered bitterly and perhaps it was his guilty conscience or perhaps it was genuine concern for her well-being, but either way, Gene wouldn't hear any more of her protestations.
“Jus' till the reduction's done,” he pleaded as he helped Alix out of her jump jacket, which she would need to bite on for the pain.
“Mais, if I could find Spina, I'd hold your hand myself an' let him do it, but he ain't close."
Alix chewed on her bottom lip, glancing around the clearing as she weighed her options.
Don had gone in search of a German Luger for his nephew and Skip had gone with him to ensure he wouldn’t die.
The pair had offered to carry her but she didn’t want to encumber them.
The woods were dangerous enough as it was without adding another load to their packs.
So, they had gone, leaving Alix with Gene, Joe, and her own thoughts, surrounded by a group of relative strangers.
As much as she hated to admit it, Joe was looking like the only option so reluctantly, she relented.
“Fine, whatever, let’s get it over with.”
With a satisfied nod, Roe began assembling the necessary components of the splint set and Joe knelt beside her.
Shivering slightly in her camisole, she tried to pretend he wasn't there, staring straight ahead into the tangle of branches and shadows that comprised the surrounding forest.
“Hey, you okay, Ziskeit?" Joe inquired, the familiar gravel of his voice softening around the foreign word.
Zees.
Zee-skite.
There was something comforting about the way it seemed to roll so easily off his tongue like a reflex, like a prayer.
Alix shook her head to clear it.
Remember who he is, she told herself, noting the ink-stains that seemed to mar his fingertips.
Ink stains from the letter he had been writing earlier, no doubt a reply to the one that haunted her memory.
Remember all the lies.
She wondered vaguely if he called Millicent that word back in California.
Zeeskite.
Probably just another recycled line.
But even still, when he slowly reached for her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away and as he laced their fingers together, a flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach.
Their fingers interlocked perfectly, like they were made for each other.
"You can squeeze too, y'know," Joe added, giving her shoulder an affectionate brush with his own. "If ya need to, that is."
Alix fought to keep her face neutral and inwardly cursed the stubborn heat creeping up her neck and cheeks anyway.
"I don't wanna hurt you though," she squeaked but Joe just chuckled.
"Break my fuckin' hand for all I care, Zees," he joked with an easy shrug and his laugh felt almost… familiar, as if she’d heard it a million times before.
But he sobered quickly, using his thumb to lightly caress the back of her hand.
The blinding sunlight light up each ray of honey-gold in his hypnotic brown eyes, creating a dazzling shimmer almost like the flicker of a flame.
"Seriously though, this ain't about me." His forehead was etched with worry lines.
"You're the one who's gonna be in pain so you fuckin' squeeze as tight as you need to, okay? Don't worry 'bout me; I can take it."
He was being so considerate that it actually hurt and she found herself wishing he would've just been an asshole. It was easier to remember to hate him that way.
"Don't," Alix mumbled, the frigid ache in her chest returning as she noticed the ink-stains on his skin for a second time and she very nearly pulled her hand away.
"Don't do that."
Joe's brows scrunched in confusion.
"Do what?"
There was no malice in his voice anymore when he spoke, the sharp edge from earlier seemed to have evaporated with the morning mist.
It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer.
Could she give him that?
Alix dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye as she answered, studying each blade of grass they were seated on instead like a coward.
Her voice sounded hollow, the words burning in her throat like sawdust as she spoke:
"Don't pretend to care about me."
She would've rather endured a hundred interrogations than take comfort in his lies, especially now.
There was a heavy silence for a moment as Joe registered her comment, followed by a small sigh as his chest seemed to deflate.
"Christ, Zees, you think I'm pretending?"
He wasn't angry, although she wished he would be.
If he just shouted at her then she could return fire and the dislike wouldn't feel so goddamn one-sided.
But he didn't treat her like he did the men of the company. He might bristle at her accusations, might even snap as he rose to her bait, but she had never once heard him truly yell in anger, not at her.
For a man with such a reputed temper that prisoners would slouch to avoid his gaze, it was almost unfathomable.
An unexpectedly soft hand on her arm roused her from her thoughts.
It was Eugene, who gave her a wan smile.
“You ready, cher?”
"You're gonna be okay, Zees," Joe murmured with one last encouraging squeeze of her hand and Alix took a shaky breath before confirming her assent.
"I'm ready."
"Une…"
The medic tensed as he positioned one hand on her hind foot and the other on the lower part of her shin. Alix bit down on the sleeve of her jump jacket.
"Deux…"
There came a slight pressure to her ankle like a warning and she braced herself, leaning subconsciously against Joe's shoulder for comfort.
"Trois!”
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
Nothing could have prepared her for the pain.
Feeling the pop of bones slamming back into place was like a thousand kitchen knives stabbing her nerves, like a roaring fire engulfing her ankle, needle-sharp sensation so intense that it was momentarily blinding.
Alix gripped Joe's hand so tightly that she lost feeling in her own as a strangled cry was ripped from her throat, fortunately muffled by the thick material of her jacket.
“Jesus Christ, Doc!” Joe snapped and Alix could feel the instinctive coil of his muscles, like a wildcat set to pounce as he rounded on Gene.
“Give her a second, will ya, you’re fuckin’ hurting her!"
The medic ignored him for a moment, focusing his energy instead on the first internal rotation of her ankle, causing Alix to groan in misery and squeeze Joe’s hand still tighter.
"Don' got no choice," the medic grunted apologetically, not even looking up from his work.
"Can’t stop now. Shoulda stayed at the aid station where they got anesthetic. But she almost done; Jus' got one more part of the reduc an' one more rotation."
"One more, Zees," Joe mumbled, releasing her hand and wrapping his arms around her like a protective blanket.
"Just one more. You’re doing real good."
“Une…"
Through the red fog of her misery, Alix could vaguely feel Gene readjusting his grip on her heel as he counted down and she sank back into Joe as she fought to remain conscious.
"Deux…"
The medic was beginning to apply pressure and feeling her tense in preparation, Joe pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to gently smooth her hair in an attempt to offer comfort.
"Trois!”
"Dio Santo!" Alix swore, bolting upright as the final bone slid back into place with a pop, causing involuntary tears to slide down her blanched cheeks like rain.
"C’est tout," the medic announced a moment later, sitting back on his heels.
"The hard part's done. Now we jus' gotta keep it all in place."
As the medic positioned the wire splint against her foot, Alix managed to summon enough strength to slide herself out from under Joe’s arms.
She wanted nothing more than to lean back into him again, to let him hold her close, but she couldn’t…Not when she knew he would only be thinking of Millicent.
“It went good, cher,” Eugene praised as he began to wrap her ankle in protective bandages, oblivious to her conflicted thoughts.
"But don’ let me catch you walkin’ on this thing till it’s good an’ set, you got that? You need somethin’, you better be askin’ somebody to go get it.”
Great, Alix thought, watching forlornly as Eugene finished and began packing his remaining supplies into his bag.
She’d be stuck for at least an hour and she doubted Joe would miraculously decide to leave her alone.
“I gotta go make my rounds, cher, but I’ll be back, alright? Soon as I can.”
“Can I at least sit back on the log then, Genie?” she bargained and the medic nodded grudgingly as he stood up, thin lips twitching into a smile.
"Mais ya, as long as you're careful."
Scooping her up like he had before, Gene plopped her comfortably onto the fallen oak before giving her a lightning-quick peck on the cheek.
Alix had always imagined that the first kiss between two people would be magical like the ones in the novels she read.
When Heathcliff burst into Catherine’s room in Wuthering Heights and swept her up into his strong arms, planting a whirlwind of passionate kisses upon her, their love was like a force of nature.
But when Gene had kissed her cheek… No lightning strike, no giddy sparks like fireworks going off in her head.
Nothing at all except for a tiny twinge of guilt serving to only make her more confused.
This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it, what all her curiosity about the medic had led to?
Then why wasn’t she satisfied?
Why was she always searching for something she couldn’t find, something she wasn’t even sure existed?
But clearly Gene had been satisfied because when he stepped back, the tips of his ears were scarlet again and his half-mumbled "I'll see you around, cher” came out almost dazed.
He had just turned to leave when Joe jumped to his feet, stopping the medic by his elbow as he passed, and Alix held her breath as she awaited the seemingly inevitable conflict.
The medic froze in his tracks, the two men standing face to face.
Eugene was taller by a good 5 inches but even so, Alix had no doubt that Joe would gain the upper hand in a heartbeat.
But to her surprise, no conflict ensued.
"I- uh– just wanted to say thanks, Doc,” Joe said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y'know, for takin' good care of my-- of Alix."
Even so, Eugene eyed him warily.
"Lieb," he began, his tone cautious. "Jus' so you know, I'm not tryna-"
"Doesn't matter."
The medic raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What?"
Joe exhaled slowly and he tried to muster up a smile but there was a flicker of pain just behind it.
When he spoke, there was a catch in his gravelly voice and the words were so quiet that Alix had to strain to hear them.
"If she's happy, I'm happy."
The spy distinctly saw Eugene's shoulders relax at his fellow trooper’s words and the Southerner gave him a polite nod before walking off, leaving Alix alone with the one person she had been trying to avoid.
