#coretta bailey

[loveduringthewar]

And I have surgery.

[upontherisers]

Sorry you're not doing so hot! 31 and Coretta Bailey for the kiss prompts?

thanks, anon friend! this was a great prompt. it's under 1k but i'm read more-ing anyway. from these spots to kiss prompts.

"It was my fault, Captain Nixon," she says, taking care not to shut the drawer in front of her too hard lest the whole rickety cabinet fall apart. "I was sterilizing after the operating rooms closed last night and I — I was clumsy. I should’ve been more alert."

Nix leans against the cabinet, his hand mindlessly picking at the nail on his ring finger, tracking her as she crosses to the small table in the center of the room and spreads the files she just retrieved. “You would’ve been more alert if they weren’t working you to the bone.”

“I was covering for Nurse Bearman—”

“Because she collapsed,” Nix responds, pushing off and moving to her. “You can’t keep going like this.”

She whips around, eyes widening and breath stuttering in her chest once she realizes how little room she has, how close he is, but she doesn’t back down. Chin jutted toward him, shoulders squared, eyes searching his, demanding an answer. “And what do you suggest I do? They’re shipping us new girls as fast as they can train ‘em, and it’s not fast enough ‘cause they get here and they can’t suture or dress a wound or do anything but find a husband and ship themselves back.”

“Coretta…” This isn’t her, not really. This is the endless slog — up to her elbows in blood as soon as the operating theatre opens, nose full of iron and bowel and rot, no reinforcements worth a damn. He’s in town to deliver the last of the reports from Market Garden and be the 506th’s whipping boy in London, not allowed to blame the Brits even though they’re the ones to blame.

Her chest heaves and she swipes her bandaged hand over her hair by instinct, the cloth snagging on her capping and dragging it. “I mean, am I the only one who’s noticed that there’s a war on?”

Frustration has sent her dark locks spilling out of their pins, and he’s so struck by the sight of her undone, informal, that he forgets to answer, or at least, not in a satisfactory window of time.

“Oh, what the hell. There’s a war on, right? We all have to make sac—”

“—Sacrifices for the cause. This isn’t sacrifice.”

Huffing, she turns back to her files. “Then what is it?”

He shrugs, letting another question go unanswered as he’s caught by the sight of her curls pooling at her shoulder. It’s tempting to reach out and feel one between his fingers, tug — not too hard, of course — only enough to tip her head back on his shoulder and give her some relief. She was as gracious as ever when he arrived this morning — over-perfunctory, he’s now realizing, strung tight like a tripwire. And she won’t take a break until someone forces her to; she and Dick have that in common.

Speaking of. “He sends his love.”

She snorts, smacking a file atop another. “I’m sure.”

Her acerbity sparks flint-like against his exhaustion from being tossed in the Channel all night then thrown on the train this morning, but he turns his head to stretch the crick in his neck and lets it pass. This isn’t her.

He’ll see what strings he can pull in London.

“I mean it,” he says, scooping her wrapped hand into his.

She sighs something heavy and shakes her head with a bitter chuckle before facing him, lifting her face to the light. He tucks her hand over his heart and dares, because he has a feeling, to lift his other palm to her cheek. Her lips part as she presses into his touch, warm. For a moment, it’s quiet; not even the war can find them in here, his thumb brushing across her cheek, her breath even and relieved. 

Laughter bursts through the door and she steps back, returning to her work. Always returning to her work.

“You could come to London—”

“No.”

“Paris, then.”

That, she doesn’t deny.

“I have his hotel, I have his room number—”

“And I have surgery,” she says flatly, pressing against his side and taking her time to raise her gaze to his. Making it clear how she feels about him, how she feels about Dick. How she’s going to feel until they see this thing done.

Part of his stomach sours — he can’t stand a martyr. But they know not what they do.

He has to go. This stop is unsanctioned and will surely add another fifty lashes once he gets to Griffiss, but it was worth it, to see her, to see her hair come down and hold her hand. He’ll take it all with him back to France and he won’t tell Dick because if he wants to know, he’ll have to ask, and he’ll never ask.

Scooping up her hand again, he kisses the inside of her wrist and the bandage over her palm. “‘Til we meet again, m’lady.”

“Oh, so romantic,” she snarks.

He leaves her to her sorting and as he stops in the doorway to adjust his uniform, Coretta calls out from behind him. “Lew?”

“Yeah?”

Her face is open and bright and the most beautiful thing within twenty miles of this place. Her brows lift gently and she smiles, soft, terribly serious. “Stay safe, both of you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, lets a grin reflect on his own lips. “Always.”

And he departs, stepping into the bustle of the station hospital and praying his driver didn’t take off without him. 

[upontherisers]

100 paired prompts - ³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm, for Coretta!

thanks for this, merc! i had a blast writing it here's an epistolary look into an english winter.

December 27th, 1944

Dear Lil,

Happy New Year, though I’m sure the day’ll be long past by the time you get this. I received your Xmas letter right on time — an hour later and the truck wouldn’t have been able to make the trip across base from the runway to the mail hut let alone all the way up the road to our billet. The walk to and from the hospital seems uphill both ways as the wind blows bitterly and the mud blends with the slush, turning into a dreadful half-frozen muck that freezes my feet in my boots. I come home more blue and purple than brown.

I made the mistake of calling this storm a ‘blizzard’ in the general ward yesterday, and I immediately had nine soldiers insisting that this paltry, slightly snowy breeze is chump change compared to the head-high snow banks that pile up in Poughkeepsie and Duluth and Philly. (And they swore by it! “Taller than you, Coretta,” they said.) You East Coasters may think that this is entirely commonplace but you must understand that a California girl like me needs a certain amount of heat or else my blood starts slowing down in my veins.

Oh, hell. What am I complaining about? I have food and blankets and a fireplace, and the electricity is in and out but it’s an option nonetheless and I say all of this not to boast but to say that you are far too kind to me, Lillian. You engage with my frivolity as if your circumstance is similar when you ought to remind me just how good I got it. You and Dick, both.

You’d have a good laugh if you could see me now, hunched over my desk and scrawling away by candlelight. (Forgive my abysmal penmanship but I haven’t had the time to write and the post’s going out in the morning now that the roads are clear.) Rebecca told me I look like a ghost wandering the hall in my heavy housecoat and white nightgown, chamberstick held aloft. I gave her quite a fright as I left the washroom earlier, but we’re all jumping at shadows tonight. The wind is howling over the roof and rustling the shingles on the roof like a C-47 is overhead and I wish it was you all on your way home.

Please confirm that you and Dick received your scarves. The Calais mail office has developed a reputation for some light fingers and if they know what’s good for them, those scarves will be around your neck now or on their way to you lest some clerks find themselves needing to retake the Army PT course midwinter.

How is he? He’s filled with thoughts in his letters — what the Airborne is or isn’t doing, his theories on leadership — but I know he’s keeping me from the worst of it. I know because you tell me everything he won’t. His words are such a comfort to me; I only hope mine are the same to him. 

Stay safe and stay dry. That ear infection is because you insist on surrounding yourself with damp dirt all day. I know you have your thoughts about the C.O. from Dog Company but he’s right — time in the rear, even just a night or two, will be good for you, Lil. They’re not sending you home for a war bonds tour. A hot meal and some new blankets can do wonders. And don’t let Dick keep shaving; he’ll ‘grooming standards’ himself into a hospital.

My eyes are closing and my candle’s at its end so I’ll bid you adieu, my dear. I heard Crosby on the radio today and thought of you. My love to everyone.

Your pal,

Coretta

[upontherisers]

26) What flower do you associate your OC with? forrrr three OCs of your choosing? For a lil bouquet? 💐 — @shoshiwrites

i don't know anything about flowers so if any of them have any meaning other than "ooh pretty" that is not my intention. ahem hem here we go:

coretta bailey - baby's breath

small but abundant. the color i associate with her is white and i think this is considered such a simple flower but there's so much beauty in it.

2. florence kanaka'ole - (white and yellow) plumeria

it's so vintage hawai'i it hurts. the way it pops against the dark brown of her hair is everything. red hibicus is a close second but plumeria also have such a gorgeous smell that i have to go with that

3. josephine o'shaughnessy - chrysanthemums

her father keeps them and many other flowers as a proud hobby horticulturalist but his favorite is the orange chrysanthemum because it reminds him of his daughter's hair. and joey insists she doesn't have a favorite because how can she choose any part of her father's hard work over the other (but the orange mums win out over the rest because she knows she's lucky to have a father who loves her as much as hers does)

OC brainrot asks

[upontherisers]

Bound and break for the OC you never get to yell about

i'm gonna yell about coretta because it's been a while!

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

coretta has so fortunately never been captured but it is her worst nightmare, both for herself and for the paratroopers under her care that she's come to care for deeply. a pilot she grew up with was shot down and captured in germany, and in an attempt to set her daughter up, coretta's mother has been forwarding his letters to his mother that ask after her. she doesn't care much for the propositions, but his stories, the way he's been treated, the fact that he has to ask after basic food and bedding, turns her stomach. she couldn't imagine being any of the nurses who've been captured in the pacific or a mother who's child is now locked behind bars.

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

this is a good look into a crack in coretta's carefully constructed armor. you're not supposed to have favorites but easy company sits on her heart morning, noon, and night. she's normally cool, calm, and collected even when a soldier is bleeding out in her arms, but the first time she realizes that it could be someone from easy (that it could be dick), she knows she's in over her head. if any easy company soldier ever ended up in her ward, mangled, broken, barely hanging on, it would break her and she knows it. she holds her breath every time a medical flight unloads for the entire normandy campaign.

it is unprofessional and impractical to cry on the job, so if she ever has to let it out, she does it in the privacy of her own room. and even if she does cry, she forces herself to stop within a few minutes. she'd never let anyone see her. (except, except the moment dick finds her on the roof after the ceremony for the fallen at albourne. that doesn't count.) she needs to be put together and rock solid for her nurses and her patients.

not so nice oc asks

[upontherisers]

Hi Cari, could i please request #11 (memory) for Coretta? <3

She considers accepting the early re-reassignment to Aldbourne after Pvt. George Winters came into the hospital. England is worse than Italy, she decided, because the bodies don't stop coming. The days bleed into one another, indistinguishable from the previous and the next. Her usually stellar memory is fading; it's all moans of pain, missing limbs, and waking up with bile in her throat. When Pvt. Winters get carried off of the medical flight, mangled and bloody, the only thing she can see is his cropped red hair and she doesn't have time to check the dog tags until they're removed when he goes into surgery.

After she wipes away the dirt and blood obscuring the first name, she lets out a choked sob of relief, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. She digs her knuckles into her eyes to center herself, and doesn't realize she's shaking until she pulls her hands away.

[upontherisers]

Ooh, could I please request #7 (favorite outfit) for Anita and #13 (bedtime routine) for Coretta?

7. favorite outfit

her favorite outfit is her class A's! she's never owned something so nice before and they make her feel sharp

13. bedtime routine

she washes her face, ties her hair up in a scarf, writes a letter if she has one to write, then turns the light off and gets into bed, where she says a prayer for dick all the men of the allied expeditionary forces

OC ask game

[upontherisers]

Introduce your OC...solving a problem! Dealer's choice on OCs!

oh boy, this turned out much longer than i expected, so this is also going under a read more. i couldn't pick an OC, so i randomly generated a number and got #12! #12 is 1st lt. coretta bailey of the army nurse corps who oversees a fleet of nurses at the [need to look it up] field hospital in aldbourne.

i also introduce another OC of mine, private first class frances wilson, who is getting up to no good with her partner in crime, floyd talbert. this is a little bogo for ya!

#21. solving a problem

She normally didn’t do this. She let the kids have their fun, turned a blind eye to whatever shenanigans they got up to, gave a knowing wink, etc. But today, she shouldn’t afford that. The doctors were already on her case about two of her nurses being late for their shifts, she was understaffed anyway with the flu going around, and that lieutenant was making his way up here for a reason and she did not want to cause him any undue grief with that captain of his. 

She walked to the supply closet on the third floor hallway, dreading the sounds of shuffling inside, and yanked it open with her eyes to the floor, steeling herself against the gasps and what she was sure was the back half of a sensual moan. 

“Lieutenant Bailey, I—”

“Save it,” she said, and her shoes were looking particularly… plain today, weren’t they?

She gave the four of them a moment before looking up at them, sighing at the sight. They were all in various stages of undress, shirts, trousers, and skirts in disarray, and she was pretty sure she saw a hickey blooming on the side of Nurse Bedman’s neck. Already? They’d been in there less than five minutes.

“Get dressed, please,” she begged. “Lieutenant Winters is on his way up, no doubt looking for you two, and I will happily show him to this door.”

“Shit,” Sgt. Talbert swore, his eyes darting to Pfc. Wilson as he furiously buttoned up his shirt. The girl looked panicked, her usual, unflappably confident demeanor showing a little crack as she realized there were consequences for her actions. She looked back and forth between Talbert, the two nurses, and Coretta before starting to shove her shirt into her trousers, her dog tags jangling wildly.

The two soldiers looked at Coretta pleadingly as she watched them pull themselves together, Wilson pulling the garrison cap on to her head with a nervous sniffle. 

Coretta looked down the hallway, her arm still holding the door open, expecting their superior officer to arrive any minute. Talbert picked up on the glance.

“Listen, you gotta help us. Sobel’ll have our asses if we—”

“Yeah, Lieutenant, please,” Wilson said. “Just tell Winters you didn’t see us. We were never here. Please,” The girl stepped forward, looking her directly in the eyes. “We did extra push-ups this morning because Webster was late for formation. I can’t do ‘em again today, I can’t.”

Coretta huffed, releasing her grip on the door, and stood with her hands on her hips, staring back and forth between the two paratroopers and their puppy dog eyes. They were good kids, the two of them, if not prone to… carnal persuasions. They were always nice to her girls, never too disruptive, and good soldiers, too, as she heard from Lt. Winters. This wasn’t any different from their usual shenanigans, and any pressure she was feeling today wasn’t their fault. That Sobel was awful, making them panic like this. 

She could handle Winters for a few minutes, give them enough time to get out of the building and to wherever they needed to be. Unless he ran into someone, getting to the second floor, not seeing them, and coming to the third wouldn’t take long. These two sure had their ways of getting themselves into predicaments, but she had a way of getting them out of at least this one.

“Fine,” she said, ignoring the ‘yes’ and fist pump from Sgt. Talbert. “Go down the hall to your right, up the stairs, take the first right, then straight out the door at the end of the hallway. You’ll be on the roof. There’s a ladder on the northwest corner. Go, now.”

She stepped back as they sprinted past her, the heavy tread of their boots on the hardwood undoubtedly giving away their position. Her eyes followed them until they disappeared around the corner, then she turned to her nurses. 

Trainer was trying to help Bedman flip her collar over the dark bruise on the side of her neck while Bedman smoothed out both their dresses. The neat buns Coretta required of all her nurses were gone, waves of brown and blond spilling over their shoulders because Talbert got grabby when he kissed. They were in no shape to be out on the ward floor, and she heard footsteps on the eastern stairs.

Grabbing the inventory clipboard off the outside of the door, she tossed it at them, giving them a sympathetic grimace. “Get yourselves together, then let’s go. We have work to do.”

She shut the door as a familiar redhead rounded the corner of the stairs. 

“Lieutenant Winters,” she said, putting on her most gracious smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

The man stopped when she saw her, his furrowed eyebrows easing. “I was looking for two of my men.”

“Two of your men? Here?”

He tilted his head with a blink in his best expression of exasperation, and she laughed at her joke to diffuse the situation. “I haven’t seen any of your men since this morning,” she started, walking into the wider ward. Winters followed from a respectful distance, and she could feel his cool gaze as she stopped at a table. 

“Frank Perconte was here about his wrist at 0930,” she said, picking up the check-in sheet like it had anything of interest on it. “But no one from Easy’s been here since.”

From this position in the room, she could see clear out the front window to the wide lawn of the hospital. She was going to give Talbert and Wilson three minutes before she sent Winters after them. They were paratroopers, and fit ones, too. How long did it take for them to climb down a ladder?

“I believe these two are here quite often, not under an official visiting capacity.” He was so proper about it, she thought. His perfunctory Pennsylvania politeness was in place even when she imagined he was under plenty of duress.

She smiled knowingly. “Two of your men… ah, yes. Sgt. Talbert and Pfc. Wilson, is it?”

He nodded.

“They’ve made quite the impression on some of my nurses.” ‘All of my nurses’ is what she meant to say. They’d slept their way through three-quarters of them.

He quirked up the side of his mouth into a smile, revealing that oh-so-treasured dimple that she so rarely saw. 

And speaking of those two devils, Coretta heard gravel crunching underfoot from the open window. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two figures tearing across the hospital lawn, their green-brown ODs blurs of color against the sunburnt grass. Dick was too far back in the room to see them, and she washed her hands of whatever trouble they may find themselves in later.

With her part in this crisis averted, she turned to the lieutenant. He was standing at rest, his hands clasped behind his back. The pose showed off his shoulders, the line of his neck, his high cheekbones. He was strikingly handsome. All the nurses talked about him, the good-looking redheaded one from Easy Company, and Coretta found herself gazing admiringly at him on more than one occasion. She couldn’t afford herself that now, not with him looking directly at her.

“Is Captain Sobel workin’ you too hard, Lieutenant Winters?” she asked. “Your boys and girls are in here with bumps and bruises all the time. You got anything botherin’ you?”

She could at least try to get him to sit down and act like he wasn’t aching for a few minutes.

“If I get an injury, I’ll let you know.”

Of course, so perfectly diplomatic, this one was. How he got along with Lewis Nixon, she’d never know.

She raised her hands, not pushing the matter further, and watched over his shoulder as two respectably put together nurses emerged from the supply closet, hopefully with a completed inventory. “Well, thank you for your visit. Sorry I wasn’t much help.”

Winters dipped his head, putting his cap on. “You’re always helpful, Lieutenant Bailey.” He turned with a nod and headed out.

She watched him go, wishing she didn’t feel so wistful. 

Nurse Bedman approached her with a grin that could only be described as shit-eating. “You like hi—”

“Don’t you start with me,” Coretta snapped through gritted teeth, heart sputtering as she glanced to make sure Winters was already down the stairs. “You two are in enough trouble as it is.”