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indigo-graves · 3 months

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This Dance pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott

Summary: Part two, in which everyone is fighting to hold back exactly what they want to say.

Word count: 3,857

Warnings: SMUT

There was a conversation that needed to happen that Joe Liebgott was not quite bring himself to start. As they stood in the crowded room, the roaring of the speakers around them felt overwhelming. After settling into the quietness of their lives’ new pace, watching the footage from the Pacific seemed a stark and unwelcomed contrast. Liebgott wondered if he would have felt this way if he had not spent the entire fight in Europe wondering what it would be like to start a life with Evelyn Mosey when this was all over. If there was one thought that got him through the blasts, the cold and wet, seemingly endless nights, it was her. And the idea that he would never be without her again.

He tried to steal subtle glances over to her as she watched the footage screen. Her jaw was set. Her full lips pressed into a firm line. Her dark eyes were focused intently, never once bothering to look over at him. He watched a wave of tension ripple in her neck. She tilted her head side to side, rolling her shoulders up to meet her ears. A simple gesture that would have gone unnoticed to anyone but him.

When they shuffled out, he made sure to keep sight of her. The masses that filed out trickled out taking different paths, he made a bee-line for her. Years spent in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to glance, to touch, to speak, he knew how to keep himself at a distance, while still in her warm orbit.

“I don’t want to talk about it now, Lieb,” she told him adamantly, looking down the hallway both ways to ensure that no one else was interested in their exchange.

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. Never had he been with a woman who was so consistently unfeeling when it did not benefit her. “Can I just--”

She watched someone walk past them, behind Liebgott. They exchanged a nod of recognition. Her face fell from its friendly openness to one of frustration when she met his gaze again.

“Just come in,” she opened the door wider and encouraged him to move quickly. “I don’t want to do this out here.”

Liebgott had seen her room since their time began at Zell Am See. The time he spent there was less than he would have liked. If he had imagined a true celebration of the victory in Europe, it would not have been so distant from her.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” She was firm in her words, but her hand was gentle as it touched the buttons on his shirt. He nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. He knew there weren’t going to be any words he could say to demand her to comply. He could not claim her strong will was his favorite thing about her and then admonish her for it when it did not benefit him. “Please?”

The way she looked up at him with those large doe eyes made him feel a warmth spread in his chest and abdomen. He touched her face gently and nodded, tracing her jawline with his thumb. He had spent half the fucking war holding back a proposal of marriage, children, a life together. He bit back vows of eternity and forever. He withheld the words “I love you.” Surely one more fucking day made no difference.

She smiled and took him by the hand, slowly backing him towards the bathroom.

There was an electric current that radiated through every vein in his body when she reached to turn the shower on. He was convinced there would never be a time where he was not breathless in anticipation to see her undress. He felt the twitch of need in his groin just thinking of the moment where he would watch the water touch her naked flesh. So when she started to work on the buttons of her shirt, he sat back on the corner of the clawfoot tub with a playful smirk.

Evelyn rolled her eyes as she watched him perch himself on the tub. If there was one thing she was going to miss about Joseph Liebgott, it was going to be his boyish charm. The way his eyes danced over her appraisingly caused her skin to catch light with blue flame, so hot it felt cool and caused her to erupt in goosebumps. She stepped out of her boots skillfully as she worked on the buttons of her shirt. When she pulled it over her shoulders and left it in a pile on the ground, she heard a small whistle from her observer.

Liebgott felt a pang in his stomach while he watched her start to work on her pants. Ignoring all thoughts and feelings (how did she do it?) about what was to come, he focused on the way her deft fingers worked on her buttons, letting them fall to her feet. Though he had ensured that every part of her had been explored by eager hands, lips, and tongue, it was taking everything in him not to get to his knees and help her escort those pants the rest of the way to her ankles.

She stepped out of the last of her clothes with a smile. He bit his lip as he glanced over her body. Evelyn had resigned herself that there would never be another man who made her so hungry to be stared at in this way again. His eyes carried just enough devotion to balance the intense desire that made her feel like the only woman on the planet. He once had told her he would watch her read the phone book just to stare at her lips.

Liebgott licked his lips softly, shifting to adjust the fullness in his pants. No coaxing, no teasing, simply the pure sight of her undressing herself, all for him, caused such a stir in him. It was exactly that gesture that Evelyn watched hungrily, her eyes darkening as she pinned her lower lip between her teeth. That was all the indication Joe needed to close the gap between them.

He braced the back of her head, her dark curls tangling perfectly around his large fingers when he pulled her close. He wanted to taste the spot of her mouth where she had bit down. A needy whimper betrayed Evelyn as it eased up from her throat. It was so very like Joe Liebgott to pull all kinds of unprompted sounds from her eager throat. The way his mouth moved with hers was a dance the two of them had skillfully mastered. Lieb couldn’t help but smirk as he thought about the other kinds of dances she had shared with other men. Nothing could compare to this. Ever.

His hands worked at the buttons of his own shirt. He made a quick and sloppy job of getting it off and tossing it to the floor, his undershirt quick behind it. There was a simple and intense maneuver Evelyn had mastered in getting his belt undone with nimble fingers. It always left him growling against her lips. He gripped her scantily clad behind and squeezed, pulling her hips into his with a force that caused them both to let out a groan.

“Joey,” she breathed, her lips swollen, his pridefully wearing the ghost of her red lipstick. He smirked, feeling himself twitch at the sound of her need. He busied himself with kissing her neck, his thumbs teasing the cups of her bra. She worked to unbutton his pants, chest heaving, eyes heavily lidded.

“Yeah?” He grinned against her skin. She moaned again, biting her swollen lower lip and shuddering as he kissed down over her sternum. “What is it?” he asked teasingly. “Tell me.” The demand was placed just before he nipped at the skin of her right breast. He tugged at his waistband and let his pants fall with a gasp.

“Take me,” she murmured, feeling his desperate length through his boxers with her hand.

“You know how this works, doll.” He smiled, making eye contact with her. He could taste her desperate shudders as he pressed their foreheads together. Their eyes were locked so intensely that she felt him twitch under her hand. “You don’t get any of me until I’ve had my fill of you first.”

She leaned up and kissed him with a groan, reaching around and taking it upon herself to get her bra off. Lieb took the hint and cast his boxers to the floor, slowly stroking himself as she watched her expose every inch of her perfect body to him. The strain his erection had felt boyish, desperate, and fucking incredible. Never in his life did he think he would find himself a puddle of need at the simple sight of a woman.

She knew it, of course. Evelyn teased him with a smirk as she kicked her underwear to the side with a delicate gesture, her toes pointed. She turned and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her delicate muscles of her back, the perfect curve of her hips, her ass, her strong thighs. He continued to touch himself, the way she always reminded him to, when he watched her turn on the water. He knew she longed to be needed in the way he needed her. Joe tried not to think about who would prove to her just how incredible she was when he was no longer around. Biting back every question that bubbled over in his throat, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

When his chest pressed against her back, Evelyn hummed contently. His length settled against the curve of her rear, his lips near her ear as he leaned down. She watched as his hand traced the length of her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps with the gentlest touch.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. He pressed his lips to her shoulder as he slowly moved his hand toward her exposed breasts. When his large hand fully enveloped her, she felt the gentle brush of his palm over her nipple that encouraged a moan. He chuckled in her ear as his other hand trailed the curve of her hip toward her desperate center. “Fuck,” he growled, feeling her wetness with the gentle touch of the pad of his finger. Gently pulling her hair up into his fist, he held it away from her neck as he planted hungry kisses on her skin. Sucking, scraping his teeth, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin where her neck and shoulder met while he drew slow circles around her most sensitive spot. Gasping, pressing back against him, melting into his ministrations, Evelyn felt like she was unable to promise her legs’ ability to hold her up much longer.

“Please, Joe,” she begged breathlessly. “Please.”

Joe chuckled from deep in his chest. She felt it rumble against her back. He took his hand away, missing the warmth of her on his fingers immediately. She turned to him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust, searching his desperately. He smiled at her, took the finger that had worked on her so deftly, and placed it to his lips, flicking his tongue over the pad, his eyes locked with hers.

“Mmm…” He groaned, stepping towards her, backing her into the shower. “God damn…” he growled, watching as her body was hit by the hot water.

Joe watched her, watching the beads of water create paths down over the curves of her body. With her taste on his desperate tongue, his eyes on her perfect body, his heart beating in his chest, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out much longer. Whether it was the vulnerability of the space they occupied, the time left together that felt too short, or the intoxicating effect he had on him, he couldn’t distinguish. All he knew is that he had to have her.

There was a beat that passed between them where they were sizing each other up. Evelyn felt the desperation of the moment hit her with a depth she had not recognized. God, if he would just be a little less delicate and loving in those touches, she could excuse away the lump growing in her throat as she watched the way he looked at her. She had always been enough for him. He had always reminded her of that.

In a quick attempt to avoid him seeing the tears welling up in her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him. The way their lips crashed into one another had an urgency he had not felt from her before. Her hunger was bone deep. He traced her jaw, tenderly caressing her neck, flicking her hair over her shoulder. His length stood at attention between them, gently nudging the flesh of her belly. He rocked forward to feel the friction as he ghosted a gentle trail down her arms to her warm, capable hands.

When he laced their fingers together, she felt him back her into the wall of the shower. The cool tile was an intense contrast to the warm water that hit her front. He laced their fingers together, pressing it gently against the wall beside her head, pinning it there. She watched a coy smirk cross his lips as he pulled away from her. She giggled, tracing the curve of his lower lip, cleaning up the lipstick he had stolen from her mouth. He leaned down and took that thumb between his teeth, flicked his thumb over the pad, and chuckled. She laughed, a playful swat at his cheek against his cheek, pulled her thumb back and replaced it with her lips.

Joe held her against the wall with the weight of his body. Slowly, he started to trail those kisses down over her body, his hand still tightly clasped in hers. He loved the feeling of her grip on his hand tightening as he placed kisses to the more intimate parts of her body. The spot between her breasts, her left nipple, just above her belly button (God, would he miss that fucking giggle), the curve of her hip, the top of her thigh. He directed her hand to the back of his head and left it there, needing both of his hands to tenderly separate her thighs, pulling one up over his shoulder as he got to his knees.

“Joe…” she breathlessly tangled her hands in his hair and gripped as he pressed his mouth to the place where she needed him most. There was a wave of gasps that followed that caused him to smirk against her, following the work of his tongue with the addition of a skilled finger.

Mindful of shared walls, used to keeping herself quiet by biting pillows and shoulders, Evelyn was left to trap the back of her hand in her teeth as he worked. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her as she touched her, teased her, tongued her with the skill of a much more experienced man. But, she recognized, he was an experienced man. He was a man who knew her so fully that he was able to coax the most unladylike noises from her throat with ease. He knew her inside and out in every way possible. The intimate attention he paid to the details of her body felt like the worship of a deity; the way he enacted that devotion felt sinful.

Overwhelmed by every sensation between her legs, she found herself grasping at the back of his head and shoulders, her hips moving up to meet his attentive mouth and fingers. He moaned against her repeatedly, desperate to draw every curse she knew from her delicate mouth. Grinning with desire, with power, with pleasure, he worked attentively on her body, his only goal to push her to her limits. He stopped the hand that was working at his own length and snaked it up over her body, tracing her edges to take her heaving breast in his hands. They moaned in unison, his sending vibrations to the core of her being. In that moment, she came undone around his fingers, against his tongue, spilling out desperate whimpers and cries of his name. Joe could have spent an eternity in the sound of her sweet need.

Evelyn, on the other hand, was unable to let too long pass without any part of him inside of her. His vacancy was felt immediately when she pulled him to his feet, gently guided by the fistful of his dark hair. She kissed him as if it would be their last, unsure if it would be, and teased a hand over his eager length, guiding him towards her.

Joe, pleased to know she was as needy as he felt, pulled away from her lips and tongue. He gripped her hips and turned her away from him, her ass pulled against his hard length in the most satisfying way. She moaned at the contact, he held his own back. He tucked her hair behind her ear as to not obscure her vision as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. He kissed her temple, her ear, her jaw, neck, and shoulder. His hand encouraged her thighs apart, lifting a leg to the edge of the tub where her foot found purchase.

Swiftly, skillfully, and perfectly, he entered her, pulling a satisfied, guttural moan from deep within them both.

“Fuck,” he gasped against her neck. The way he gripped her hips was bruising as they both accommodate his eager entrance. He felt her skin erupt in goosebumps against his chest. He pressed forward, making sure he reached her depths with all he had. She reached back, stiffening against him, her fingers lacing with his against her hip.

Slowly, consistently, deeply, he started a pace with his hips. The water that fell between them from above made their skin glisten and it pooled where their bodies met. The gentle slap of their skin meeting with gentle force made her giggle. He kissed her cheek, unable to hold back the groans of pleasure that spilled from his lips. She gasped, pushing back against him as she angled herself to take him deeper.

That was all Joe needed to encourage him to pick up his pace. The swiftness in which their bodies collided called new noises from her mouth. He kissed her upper back and shoulders while he steadied himself, pulling her back onto him.

“Oh, god…” she reached toward the wall to find something to grip. The slick tiles gave her no purchase. That was when she reached behind her, wrapping a hand around his neck, gripping the hairs at the base of his scalp. Liebgott groaned loudly, gripping her hips tighter. His other hand trailed up toward her breast, gripping it gently in his hands, memorizing its shape, weight, the hardness of her nipple against his palm.

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He grunted into her ear, only further pulling strings of incoherence from her mouth. She bit her lip hard, feeling an overwhelm of emotion take over her body like a wave. The lump grew double in size in her throat as she met his every thrust, stars behind her eyes. Unable to respond, he continued. “You’re so perfect. Fuck, Evie.” Her name felt like chocolate on his lips. She turned over her shoulder to taste it on them. Her eyes screwed shut as the tears burned behind them, he continued to bring her body to new heights. When he reached down between her legs, she became overwhelmed. The threat of tears was hard to fight off.

“Joe--” she breathed, the sound of his name clipped by the failure to stop a sob from leaving her lips. The phrase he pulled from her next caused her to bite her tongue between her teeth.

“I--” Joe started. She heard the start of her own words start to come from his mouth. The feeling, the desperation of her overwhelming emotions was contagious. He couldn’t tell where his heartbreak, his pleasure, his love, began and where hers ended. The only way to stop himself from telling her just how he felt about her was to sink his teeth in her shoulder, as she had done to him so many times. Familiar with the sensation, Evelyn felt the pressure, the sting, and every unsaid word behind the contact on her shoulder. She turned away, fearful he would stop if he saw the tears cascading down her cheeks, he would stop. She screwed her eyes shut as she felt a heat building inside of her.

Desperate to feel her come undone around him, under him, with him, he teased her more intentionally with his fingers, his hips working in time with his skillful touch. If he couldn’t tell her, he could show her.

“Please,” she begged. He had come to know it as the last phrase, the last push, before he was gifted with her orgasm. “Joe--”

As he felt her start to push back against him, taking every inch of him, all of him, so intentionally. The feel of her as she let go, her body working desperately to pull him over the edge with her, he followed. The two of them tumbled over together, a tangled mess of limbs, pants, sobs, and everything they swore they’d never fucking say.

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 5 months

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 28

(Ch. 27) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: “If we could light up the room with pain, we’d be such a glorious fire.” - Ada Limon

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, the usual.

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me fucking FOREVER to get this out, y'all! A LOT has been going on in these past months (the demise of a longterm relationship, renovations on my house, new jobs etc) but I hope this is worth the wait! 💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu @emmylindersson @flowers-and-fichte

Contemporary: Midnight, December 3rd, 1944. Liart Station, France.

When the door to her private train compartment was opened, Alix made a silent promise to herself: As soon as the war was over, she was turning in her goddamn resignation letter to the OSS and going home. She couldn’t handle any more surprises on the job, not like this one.

“Sorry, I’m late, gorgeous," a lowered voice had remarked wryly as soon as the compartment door slid shut once more.

"You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

The whisper came from a young man in a heavy coat who casually dropped into the seat next to her as though he belonged there. The dark brim of his fedora was pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in shadow, but she didn’t need to see its entirety to know who it was; she would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded out of the corner of her mouth, making sure to keep her expression neutral as she flipped through her newspaper and fought the urge to smack the newcomer with it.

“Thought Nix woulda told ya,” Liebgott looked almost amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

He too spoke out of the corner of his mouth; someone had taught him well.

“Donovan needed an interrogator with an Austrian dialect. Said this one’s gonna be a real doozy. Called me in as a temp.”

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed, causing her blue contacts to sting.

“You’re the floater? You’re–”

“Lieutenant Fritz Eberhardt,” he finished with a nod, casually taking his right hand out of his pocket to reveal the worn, silver skull ring of the Werwolf Kommandos, engraved with the tell-tale motto of the SS:

‘Meine Ehre Heisst Treue’.

My Honor Means Loyalty.

How ironic.

The paratrooper and translator shot her a roguish wink, leaning back with an arm stretched out lazily along the back of his seat like nothing was wrong.

“I've been assigned to accompany you to your Paris engagement, Fraulein."

The spy stiffened.

This was the first time that she could recall ever seeing Joe out of uniform and it would be a shame to get blood all over his nice coat but sweet Jesus, Alix was about ready to make that sacrifice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the auburn-haired girl muttered under her breath. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

“You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Joe chuckles. “Trust me-”

"Right, because that's gone so well for me before," the spy snapped sharper than intended.

Joe's eyebrows shot to the compartment ceiling, his cocky demeanor gone in a flash, replaced by a sudden scowl.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

Before Alix could find the words to reply, the shrill whistle of the train screamed out, indicating their departure from Liart Station and the spy took a shaky breath, hearing the rumbling of the wheels on the track underneath them.

She was stuck with him now.

Trying to ignore the ache in her chest at Joe's unexpected presence, Alix tried to force her unfocused eyes to stare at the newspaper in her hands but the words only blurred before her.

"Didja do a bug sweep already?" Joe inquired with a casual yawn as he glanced across her to the window, while Alix flipped the page of her newspaper so hard that she nearly tore it.

"Of course I did," the spy answered indignantly, unable to contain her irritation.

"That's why you were supposed to come early: to help me look. Listening devices could've been anywhere in here."

“Don’t gimme that shit,” Joe scoffed in an almost dismissive tone as he tapped the filter of his Reemtsma cigarette.

“Since the liberation, the Krauts have lost a lot of resources and stick to their secret little underground social clubs or whatever. I got the whole rundown from HQ.”

Alix huffed.

Joe was right, damn him.

While on the surface, France had cleaned up its act, the rotten undergrowth of Nazis and their collaborators remained, festering beneath the surface.

The chances of them taking the time to bug train compartments were miniscule at best.

“Still,” she responded with a petulant roll of her eyes. “You should’ve been here on time. You never know.”

"Yeah, well you ain't the only one with shit to take care of, okay? I got held up."

Alix's dark eyes flickered up from her newspaper.

"Define 'held up'," she said coolly, an undeniably bitter edge to her tone. “What, pray tell, was so pressing?”

Joe crossed his arms and took a long drag off his cigarette before replying snippily,

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tatiana.”

"It's Tanya, Alix snapped before flipping another page on her newspaper as though she were reading it instead of boring holes into Joe’s face.

“And I would like to know, actually. Because I'd like to think you wouldn't be late to your first assignment without a good reason but maybe I don't know you as well as I thought."

“Fine.”

Joe's warm brown eyes were suddenly as hard as the wood paneling in the compartment they shared but he shifted the side of his coat up nonetheless, just enough to show a huge cherry-red stain that had blossomed across one side of his ribs.

"There, that a good enough reason for ya?"

“Madonna mia!” Alix exclaimed, all pretense of anger gone in a flash. “What the hell happened?! Are you alright?”

Joe shrugged nonchalantly.

“Somebody did a shit job friskin' the prisoners so ol' Jerry got to bring a fuckin' boot knife with him to interrogation,” he muttered as he readjusted his coat. "'S not as bad as it looks.”

"Did you have Gene take a look at it?" Alix asked, eyeing his red-soaked shirt with concern. "That's a lot of blood…"

"No, I didn't have 'Gene' look at it," Joe shot back, a mocking edge to his voice as he spat the medic's name, biting down on his cigarette.

"’S fine. Barely a scratch."

The auburn-haired girl snorted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her tone.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

The translator took a long drag, his expression unreadable.

“Well, I ain’t your problem anymore,Your Majesty,” he remarked sardonically as he let the smoke curl into the air.

"So you can lay off."

“You’ll always be my problem,” Alix grumbled under her breath and the pair lapsed into a chilly silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of the newspaper under her fingertips and the rumbling of the train on the tracks.

Still keeping her head angled downward to avoid that familiar ache that seemed to rise in her chest whenever she looked him in the face, Alix let herself study the compartment instead.

In truth, their private compartment was borderline ostentatious – plush maroon upholstery upon the seating, rich mahogany paneling upon the walls, thick velvet curtains adorning the windows to keep the outside world at bay– but the spy could barely concentrate on the luxurious decor either.

Instead, she found herself studying Joe's hands. She still had only fleeting memories of him from before her fall but his hands were one of the few things she remembered the most.

They had been paler back in England, not yet marred by the blood and grime of the battlefield, the blue veins still snaking up the back all the way to his wrist. She remembered tangled sheets and breathless laughter as they each struggled to catch their breath. She remembered her own scarlet-polished nails tracing each vein in the hand resting beside her, feeling the way his pulse would quicken when she smiled at him.

His fingers were still as calloused and long as she remembered, almost graceful in their strength, and she could still feel the ghost of them interlocking with her own like missing puzzle pieces finally finding their way together.

There weren’t any more ink stains on his fingertips, Alix realized, and she was suddenly half-tempted to make a snide remark about chasing two girls and getting neither, but she kept her silence.

No need to make an already awkward situation worse, she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Like it or not, they had a mission to complete.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

The French countryside seemed to pass by in blurs of green, gold, and blue, like the vibrant swirls of a priceless Van Gogh but Alix hardly noticed.

The spy had been fiddling with the worn handle of a discarded leather briefcase that had been left behind in the luggage rack under her seat. Beside her, Joe was violently twisting the Werwolf skull ring around and around upon his finger, wrenching it with such ferocity that it looked as though he might tear his finger off in the process.

"I hate this," he muttered bitterly, seemingly more to himself than to Alix as he glared down at his calloused hands.

"I fuckin' hate this."

"Hate what?" the spy inquired softly, cocking her head and allowing some of her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.

Joe glanced up at the sound of her voice, clearly not expecting her to speak to him, but he recovered fast as ever.

"This," he replied simply, gesturing to the Werwolf skull ring.

"Wearing this. Gevalt, it makes me wanna claw my fuckin' skin off.”

Alix felt a pang of sympathy. She couldn’t even fathom the excruciating cognitive dissonance Joe must be experiencing right now, playing a role he despised…but why bother playing it in the first place?

Why put himself through the unnecessary pain? He was only a floater– a consultant– for this one mission. He had the power to back out at any time. It didn’t make sense but then, nothing about Joe seemed to make much sense lately.

Alix watched as he lit up another cigarette, his third in an hour, glaring across her, out the window at something unseen.

He was chainsmoking again, like he always did when he was agitated, and all she could do was let the silence sit and watch him wrench the skull ring harder and harder around his finger.

It was unsettling when Joe was quiet: his rage she could combat; his brooding she couldn’t.

The auburn-haired spy found herself sneaking quick glances over at him out of the corner of her eye, the tension hanging thick in the air around them like the early morning fog.

Surprisingly, Joe was the first to break.

“Look, you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“What is there to say?” Alix retorted, her grip on the briefcase’s handle tightening considerably.

“I’m perfectly capable of traveling on my own. I don't need a floater and I certainly don't need you.”

Joe crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the seat.

“Well tell that to Donovan then, ziskeit,” he yawns.

"'Cause I got orders to watch your six till the job's done."

Alix opened her mouth to complain but she was interrupted by a light knocking on the compartment door and Joe immediately shoved his right hand deep into his pocket to hide the infamous skull ring.

A disgruntled train attendant appeared, regarding both Joe and Alix with the same beady, bloodshot stare as he stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Papers,” the Frenchman demanded with an outstretched hand.

Alix nodded with a casual “Certainement” and set aside the discarded briefcase, retrieving her false identification from her handbag and passing it to the man with what she hoped was a convincingly haughty eyeroll.

The attendant--whose yellowed nametag identified him as Guillaume-- wore a peevish expression almost identical to their old CO, Captain Sobel, which brought a smirk to Alix's face.

The thought of the sadistic superior officer who had made their lives hell for so long being reduced to a glorified bellhop punching tickets and checking IDs was enough to bring them both a smidgen of joy.

Her gaze flickered over to Joe, who returned the smirk with one of his own, the inside joke seeming to almost bridge the gap between them.

The attendant skimmed over Alix's paperwork, handing it back to her without issue, and then it was Joe's turn.

“You, identification.”

Compliantly, Joe dug into his jacket pocket for his passport with his left hand but as he passed the small booklet to the attendant, it slipped from his fingers toward the carpet.

Automatically, the translator’s dominant hand shot out of his right pocket to intercept them but it was too late: the skull ring on his right hand was in full view.

The attendant swore as he snatched up Joe’s fake Austrian passport, staring down at it and back to the tell-tale ring as his face reddened with rage.

“Y-You-” he snarled, his lip curled in disgust and a gloved finger shaking as he pointed at Joe. “You are-”

“Wha- No, no!” Joe protested, immediately reaching out for his passport back in a desperate bid to quiet him.

“I’m not-”

But the Frenchman shoved him off roughly and spat an anti-German epithet at him as Joe’s back hit the seat.

“Boche!”

Joe’s eyes narrowed instantly at the slur and he came back strong, lunging forward to seize the attendant by the collar but Alix stood up, trying to shove her way between them to keep the scuffle from getting out of hand.

The auburn-haired spy could smell the heavy stench of cheap wine on the older man's breath as she separated the pair and she knew there was no reasoning with him.

The drunken attendant spun on his heel, immediately heading for the compartment door, his final words slurred as his rage boiled over.

“Filthy swine! Nazi pig! You-”

Alix felt a block of ice drop into her stomach as the man’s large, gloved hand reached the door handle.

It was no secret that since the liberation, people of German extraction weren't exactly welcome in most of French polite society.

The épuration sauvage was in full-swing, thousands of suspected collaborators being beaten, tortured, and executed by incensed crowds of French people.

If this man went and ran his mouth off about a Werwolf Kommando on the train, Joe could be mobbed as soon as he set foot outside their compartment.

This chilling revelation seemed to flip a switch in Alix’s brain: If the man left their compartment, Joe’s life could be in danger.

She couldn’t take that risk.

Slipping behind the drunken attendant with the silent ease of a tigress, the world seemed to slow around her as her training kicked in. Hopping onto the seat for a better vantage point, Alix reached out and yanked the attendant backwards into the compartment by the collar.

The man staggered a couple steps back, thrown off-balance in his surprise, just close enough for Alix to deftly slice the small blade of her lipstick knife across his throat.

The weapon reached the targeted arteries with surgical precision, right below the larynx. Now unable to scream, the man could only gasp and gargle as his legs gave out and he sank downwards toward the carpet in a heap. Following him down to the ground, Alix gathered the excess fabric of her dress's skirt and slapped the material over the wound to stifle the bright arcs of blood that were spurting out like a gruesome fountain.

The pale lace was already growing heavy, turning from an icy blue to a deep, blood-soaked maroon, the arterial spray oozing through the delicate material slower and slower as the man’s heart gradually stopped beating.

Then the attendant went limp, his jaw falling slack as a sickening gurgle emanated from his cut throat, and the auburn-haired spy knew he was gone.

No loose ends, she told herself inwardly, repeating the instructions of her superiors over and over like a mantra in her head.

He could have gotten Joe killed. You did the right thing.

But did she?

She didn’t even remember pulling the knife, not really.

Not that it mattered: a civilian was still dead.

Alix’s hands were shaking as she stared down at the attendant’s lifeless form, too scared to see the shock and revulsion written all over Joe’s handsome face.

He’d never seen her kill, after all.

If he didn’t hate her before, he most certainly would now.

But when she finally looked up, there was nothing like that.

No disgust, no outrage, no fear.

Instead, there was the same old glint to his gaze and an unspoken warmth in his whiskey-brown eyes that filled her with a strange calm.

“Well ya didn’t hafta do all that, Zees,” Joe remarked finally as a small, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“But I ‘preciate it. Nice to know you care.”

“I don’t,” the auburn-haired girl muttered as she knelt, quickly rifling through the corpse’s bloodied uniform for anything useful.

A billfold full of francs and an identification card from the train company.

Alix handed the wallet over to Joe, averting her gaze to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the brush of their fingertips.

“He was putting the mission in jeopardy,” she added lamely and straightened up, shifting the thick curtains to the side so she could undo the window’s latch.

“Yeah?” Joe snorted as he dragged the lifeless body by its outstretched arms to the open window and turned back to shoot her a sly wink over his shoulder.

His usual crooked grin quirked up one corner of his lips wryly, almost flirtatiously, and the knowing expression in his whiskey-colored eyes caused a small flurry of butterflies to appear once more in her stomach.

It was like he could see right through her.

“Well Ziskeit, ‘the mission’ thanks you.”

With a grunt, the scrappy paratrooper managed to haul the corpse half onto the window’s ledge before turning back to his partner.

“Now let's get this mamzer dealt with, huh?”

Alix hoisted the corpse's legs up, giving it a final, unceremonious shove out the window, sending it rolling down into the snowy French countryside somewhere.

That was one problem taken care of...But unfortunately, there were more where that came from.

"Madonna mia," Alix swore as she frowned down at the blood-spattered blue material of her dress.

“I gotta dump this somewhere.”

Joe took his seat again and shrugged, watching Alix's nimble fingers close the window once more and re-draw the curtains.

“So change then."

The auburn-haired girl balked, nearly losing her footing in her surprise.

“Right now?"

“Nah, next Tuesday,” the paratrooper deadpanned with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. “Christ, Zees, you're actin' like I ain't ever seen ya undress before. Hey, remember that one night at your billet when-”

“Don’t remind me,” Alix muttered, the infuriatingly obvious blush of her cheeks making her grit her teeth as the night he is referring to comes back in vivid colors.

She shook her head to banish the memories, her straightened auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders.

"Besides, it was a long time ago anyway. It doesn't matter now."

The lie tasted bitter as cyanide.

"Yeah?" Joe took another slow drag off his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling before he spoke again, his raspy tenor flat with thinly-veiled hurt.

"Guess that's the difference between you an' me. 'Cause to me, it matters a fuckin' lot."

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mccall-muffin · 2 years

Text

Account for allrounder fandoms @its-all-or-nothing94

Joe Liebgott Love vs. Hate - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 , Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23 , Part 24 (Ongoing) Better late than never - Part 1, Part 2 (Completed) Will you? (Secret Santa gift)

Don Malarkey The other Side (OneShot) Blind (OneShot)

Dick Winters I can't come to the pacific with you (OneShot)

Ron Speirs You are loved (OneShot) Panic (OneShot) Hard desicions (One Shot)

Babe Heffron Little Kitty - Part 1, Part 2, Christmas Special (Completed)

Carwood Lipton What lasts long finally becomes good (OneShot, Request) The things you don't know - Prologue, Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 (Ongoing)

Joe Toye The price I pay (OneShot, Request)

Eugene Roe You oughta know (OneShot, Request)

John "Bucky" Egan The Lady and the Major - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (Complete)

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softspeirs · 1 year

Note

I would love a Headcanon with domestic fluff with my man liebgott 🥺

Author's note: FIRST OF ALL wow you requested this so long ago. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever. Burnout is no fun! Second, this prompt got me in my feelings. I hope you like it.

When he opens his eyes in the morning, he almost doesn't remember where he is.

The sunlight is bright through the drapes, the window open and the gauzy material flowing in the breeze. It feels like a dream.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he assesses the situation.

A slow, lazy smile crosses his face when he sees her dress pooled on the floor near the door, a pair of heels lying where they were kicked off.

The remnants of his shirt and tie are there too, and a warm feeling bubbles up inside his gut. As if on cue, the door creaks open.

She's in a robe, her hair braided away from her face. She's got two steaming mugs in her hands, and a blinding smile on her face when she sees that he's awake.

"Morning." She greets, her voice raspy from lack of use. "Thought you could use this." She sets one of the mugs on the bedside table.

With the other in hand, she crosses the end of the bed and comes to the other side, perching on the edge on her knees, coffee balanced between her palms.

For some insane reason, the picture of her navigating his kitchen, his home... it makes him even more crazy for her than he already is.

He reaches for his own coffee, taking a sip, eyes closing in contentment. He has half a mind to suggest that she get back under the covers, that they just forget about the outside world.

It's been a year since he came home, since he stepped off a ship and had to face a world he didn't recognize anymore. It's been a year since he said goodbye to her in a crowded shipyard, trying to pretend he wasn't ripping his heart in half when he walked away from her.

He wasn't planning to go to the Easy reunion. He really wasn't. As much as he missed his friends, the idea of seeing them for a day and then leaving them again felt worse, so he planned on skipping it. But the idea that she might be there and he might miss her... he couldn't stand the thought. He really didn't have a good excuse either, because they were doing it close to home this year.

So he went, and she was there, real, right in front of him, and it was like no time had passed at all.

She had been sparkling eyes, sweet perfume, the brightest smile, and he was goner. He had been, years earlier, when he first laid eyes on her, but this... he was helpless to do anything but to take her hand, lead her around the dancefloor, and hold her so close he couldn't tell where he ended and she began.

One thing led to another, and then they were at his house, and it was all a blur of heated looks, soft touches, and complete bliss.

"Stop looking at me like that," he says finally, his own voice gravelly. Her eyes are a little hooded, but still sparkling, and he wants to stay here with her forever.

"Like what?" She tilts her head to one side, teasing.

"You're trouble."

"You knew that, though." She says, setting her own coffee down so she can slide into bed a little further, tucking herself against his side like she was made to fit there.

"Stay." He says. There's no hesitation, no second guessing, no brief panic that he's said or done the wrong thing. This is the one part of his future that he's sure of.

Her brow furrows, just for a minute. "Yeah?"

He nods. His hand finds hers. Intentionally, his thumb brushes over her ring finger. She inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else. For a moment, every little interaction they've ever had plays on a loop in his mind.

He has been hers, right from the very start.

"I'll stay." She says softly, a minute later when they're both close to dozing. "All you had to do was ask."

#i hope you like it!!! so sorry it took forever #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott x oc #band of brothers fanfiction #prompt fic #softspeirs band of brothers fanfiction

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

Text

19. Loose Ends

Bernadette Noel

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @chaosklutz @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

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

"Captain?"

"Mmph."

"Berni?"

"Mmmm."

"Berni, wake up."

The voice sounded like her mother, but that didn't make any sense for a myriad of reasons. Berni was in Georgia, for one. And Mummy had been dead going on twenty years. Papa too, for that matter. Berni could remember their faces a little, but not their voices. So, who was trying to rouse her from her blessed sleep? What hurt had she sustained to her head to make it ache this much? And why did it feel like she was sleeping on split cushions and not a warm bed?

"I'm on the couch, aren't I?"

The responding voice, pushing through the fog, sounded confused, and Berni forced herself to repeat the muffled question.

"Ah, yes."

"Hrnn-"

With a great effort, Berni rolled away from the scratchy pillows pressing against her left arm, and the brief freefall and sudden impact woke her up fully. A pair of knees came into view as someone dropped down onto the floor beside her, then hands and a worried face, and it was Addie, dragging Berni back into the waking world.

"Why would you do that?!"

"Impressive," came a snorted chuckle from somewhere near the roof of Berni's spotty sight. "I don't envy your hangover, Captain."

"You shouldn't," Berni groaned, pushing herself up onto her elbows, then promptly letting herself fall back onto the floorboards. "Eugh."

"You want a tissue?"

"Hnng."

"I'll take that as a no."

"Get her a glass of water, Earl. From the tap will do."

Earl (who had faded out of faintly recognizable shadow into full being) went off to fulfill her new duty. Addie petted Berni's hair as if that might soothe the drums splitting the inside of her head in two.

"I'll go down to the medbay and see if I can't find some aspirin. Stay here."

"As if I could move anywhere without—huh—without throwing up."

"Don't do it on the couch," Erma said on her way out. "I'll be the one to clean it up if you do."

"Where are you going?"

“Post. Ought to send my mother a letter if Ellis is coming most of the way home—and I know Ellis won't think to, so..."

Berni waved her along, too out of it to notice or return Erma's parting salute. She studied the side of the couch for a moment, then reluctantly pushed herself up to sit and turned her attention to the task of hauling herself back up onto the couch. It was a graceless, slow operation, but she managed it in the end. She sat with her legs hanging off, her feet so firmly planted on the floor she felt as though she might sink right through it. Her posture was abysmal but she couldn't care less, slouching like she was modeling a fetal circle for one of those abstract expressionists whose paintings kept popping up in city offices these days. Sink had one in his office, though it didn't seem like his style, a contrast to his whiskey glasses and manicured desks.

Joe.

His name popped into her head at the same moment Berni sat up. She fell back into her hands, groaning, tears cropping up in half an instant. By the time Earl came back into the room, the captain's trembling had devolved into shaking and her trickling into sobbing. The youngest, least worldly pilot in Berni's crew froze halfway into the room, staring at the enigma on the couch.

"Oh."

After a moment, she came over and sat beside Berni, whose attempt to hide her tears in her sleeve cuffs proved a resounding failure. Earl extended a vague hunk of bread and a squat glass of water, patiently waiting as Berni blinked miserably at the gifts.

"I've never had a hangover before, is it really that bad?"

"No- no, it isn't that..."

Berni went to take a sip of the water and promptly spilled half of it down her shirt.

"Bloody hell."

She handed the glass back to Earl and ducked her throbbing head into her hands. Earl set the water aside and tried to give her captain the bread-thing. Berni's brow furrowed.

"Is that supposed to be a biscuit?"

Earl examined the circular slice, then broke it in half.

"It would seem so."

"That is not a biscuit, that is the bland fucking American equivalent-"

Earl cracked a small smile.

"Well, at least you're well enough to be using the word 'equivalent' in casual conversation. I think you'll be just fine, Cap."

"I know I will." A grimace. "Other than... well, fuck."

"Other than what?"

Berni rose too quickly—

"Noth- ugh."

—and in between the spots and darkness, Earl's worried face flashed. At her guiding touch, Berni sank back onto the couch and sighed so strongly it made the tufts of the carpet at her feet wiggle.

"Berni?" Earl sounded small. "What happened?"

"We had a fight."

Had those tears never come, Earl never would have suspected anything ran deeper under the admission. She likely would have chuckled it off and never questioned the other half of 'we', assuming it to be a wrongdoer who'd pestered one of the pilots and regretfully crossed the captain in doing so. But Berni had cried—was still crying, if she was honest with herself—and so the answer could not be so simple.

"Who?"

"I hate to say it."

"Oh, come off it, Cap, I've never seen you this upset at yourself."

Berni bit back something unkind. She took a moment to check herself and nodded, acknowledging Earl's fine-tuned intuition.

"I shouldn't have had so much to drink."

"I could have told you that."

A dirty look made Earl wince.

"Right. Sorry. So who was it? And what happened?"

"... It was-"

The screen door whined and Addie appeared a beat later, a small, unlabeled glass bottle in hand. Though Berni wrinkled up her nose, she accepted it with a pointed nod of thanks.

"What is this, the seventeenth century? Who doesn't label medicine bottles these days?"

"The United States Airborne, it would seem," Addie sighed. "Go on, take two, maybe three. It'll help."

Berni complied, taking special care not to spill the water this time. She got a bit down her chin, but her sleeve took care of it, and as she leaned back on the couch, she closed her eyes. She'd hoped her girls might leave her alone if she ignored them enough, but her luck was not to be; when she peeked, she saw them exchanging a mouthed exchange. Earl, guilty of countenance, was no doubt passing on what tiptoed confession Berni had let slip.

"It was Liebgott," she said, at last, keeping one eye fully open and the other halfway. "I was hammered to bits, some git tried to feel me up, and before I could take a swing, he—Joe—went and tackled the bastard. I left, he came after me, and he was saying something about walking me home, and-"

She broke off, watching the night flooding back to her in excruciatingly blurry detail. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

"Oh, I'm going to throw up."

Earl grabbed the flowers out of a pot in the nick of time and held them while Berni upchucked last night's supper. As soon as she found a moment to catch her breath, the hungover captain stumbled into the bathroom and only came out fifteen minutes later. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her bottom lip was bleeding in the corner as if it had been repeatedly worried by an uncaring tooth.

"He told me he thought I couldn't take care of myself," she declared as she came into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe, not particularly caring who might overhear at this point. Addie turned from the sink, pressing the flowers in their new vase to her bosom. Earl, standing by the calendar as if she'd been flipping through it solely for something to do, sucked her breath in through her teeth. There was no need to clarify who Berni was talking about; there was no one else it could be.

"Not that I give a damn," Berni lied, waving her hand, stubborn as ever. "He's a prickly sod, anyway. It would have never worked out."

As Addie set the vase down on the counter, she and Earl shared a look that Berni forced herself to ignore. She went to the sink and poured herself two more glasses of water, downing them in quick succession as if she didn't know that would make her nauseous again. After another trip to the toilet, she sipped begrudgingly slowly at the water, trying to ease the stinging of her throat.

"What about-"

"What? About what?"

Earl shrank. Addie laid a hand on her shoulder, and the younger pilot eased, turning aside as if she knew she'd been ousted from the conversation.

"It looked like—well, how I saw it, at least-"

"How you saw what?"

"You and Joe, like you call him," Addie retorted firmly, flexing her scarred hand at her side like she only did when agitated. "You were becoming something more."

"Bullshit!" Berni snorted. "Never. What kind of example would that set?"

Addie squinted like she wanted to say something long-simmering about her captain's leadership techniques, and Berni's chest constricted with the bile of shame.

"I'm- I'm going out."

"Why? For what?"

"Coffee! And a smoke!"

"Coffee? But-"

"I want coffee, and I'll have coffee, all of it, and you, and him, be damned!"

Berni stormed out of the kitchen (as stormily as she could while clutching the side of her head and using every piece of furniture at hip height to prop herself up) and spurned Earl's sympathetic mutterings of I think she might be heartbroken.

Heartbroken! As if!

Berni felt like spluttering at the sky, she was so loath to believe it.

There would have to be love to lose it—which there isn't!

"And so there!" she exclaimed, only to fall back down on the couch, groaning, draping one arm over her eyes. She stayed there so long that she fell back to sleep, but she did not doze long, Erma's timely return waking her after only a few minutes.

"Good, you're resting," Erma chirped, swaying her way toward the upstairs. "I've got my letter in, now I've just got to tell Ellis... Well..."

"You've got time," Addie said, poking her head out of the kitchen. "We're not going for another two hours."

"But I've still got to pack some things for her-"

"Then get to it!"

Earl leaned around Addie, tilting her head at Berni.

"I thought you'd gone for coffee."

"I'm going, I'm going," Berni grumbled, sheer ego shoving her off the couch and out the door. She tried ferociously not to show it, but she felt absolutely miserable. Finding it hard to release the doorknob after she'd stepped outside, she accidentally slammed the door. Muttering curses under her breath, she wobbled away from it, a lit cigarette landing on her lips as her hands moved on autopilot. She knew she'd said a good deal of stupid things last night—she'd never admit it, but she was worse than even Joe in her hotheadedness—but she couldn't remember quite what, and it was driving her already-spinning head wild. Her hangover was proof of just how deep in the drink she'd gone, and to add to the misery, she couldn't pick out why she felt so poorly towards Joe. He'd insulted her honor—but what her memory told her he'd said didn't seem analogous to the bitter sting poisoning her opinion of him. This past week had been heavy on her heart, but waking up like this, knowing that something with Joe had splintered into a nothing, felt like a too-small jacket had been forced to zip shut over her scalloped lungs. She couldn't draw a substantial breath without getting dizzy—but here to interrupt her woe came Hennessy, two steaming mugs in hand, not ten feet from the porch Berni had just left.

"Agh, Hen-"

Falling into step with her friend, Berni greedily accepted the coffee and circled back toward the porch.

"-has anyone ever told you you're a saint?"

"Many times. Now listen: Private Liebgott looks like shit this morning, and I think you got somethin' to do with it."

Berni prickled. "I don't care what that smarmy git looks like any time of the day."

"Mmm. Sure. But honey-" Hennessy set her coffee on the banister, stepped up to Berni, and brushed her thumbs under her friend's eyes until the last of her tears were gone. "-he ain't worth cryin' over."

"I'm not crying," Berni replied, tearing up.

"Hey, hey- listen, c'mon, listen to me." Hennessy grabbed Berni's hands. "He ain't worth cryin' over. If he don't see the luck he's got, havin' somebody like you even lookin' his way, then fuck him."

Berni gave a harsh laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck him."

"That's it! Fuck him!"

"Fuck him!"

They started to laugh, and Berni nearly spilled hot coffee down her shirt. Distracted, she stepped back, holding the mug out over the porch banister, and who should jog past just then but four of the Easy men. Joe wasn't there, thank heavens, but two of his buddies were, and as they went on their way, they shared a look that made Berni's heart sink.

"Fuck him," Hennessy said, "remember? He ain't worth it. You're leavin' today, so you ain't gotta see him no more."

That made Berni feel even worse, but she pretended it roused her spirits.

"Right. We're leaving." A beat. "Speaking of people being gone—where the bloody hell have you been?!"

Hennessy winced, and Berni bit the cut on her lip to reprimand herself for the unjust accusation. She could feel the thin trickle of blood down her chin. She made no move to wipe it away, and her friend didn't seem to notice.

"I had to go back home. My Grandpops passed on and we had this big funeral with all these long ceremonies... Lotsa cryin'... I couldn't miss it."

"Aw, fuck." Berni ran her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, Hen."

Hennessy shrugged, forgiving.

"You couldn't'a known. I did just up and go without tellin' anybody—eh, 'cept Sink."

"No matter. You're back now."

"And staying," Hennessy reminded grimly. "Y'know, this place ain't gonna be the same without you."

"All of us, you mean. Who are going."

"Well, yeah, but mostly you."

Berni's surprise must have shown on her face. Hennessy chuckled breathily and without much humor.

"You've sure made your mark here, Teacup. I know plenty o' the guys who'll be sad to see you go. And who knows if you're ever gonna come back to us-"

"Don't say that," Berni interrupted, her voice strained. "Don't make me feel worse about it all."

Hennessy hesitated, then reached over and squeezed her friend's arm.

"Maybe someday."

"Mmm..."

Berni had finished her coffee. As she eyed the last drops in the bottom of her mug, she felt Hennessy bump her elbow with the offering of her own beverage. After a beat, Berni accepted, blowing a puff of smoke before stamping out the last of her cigarette.

"To someday."

Hennessy took the empty mug and raised it to mirror Berni's; her smile was not quite as happy as either of them would have liked.

"To someday."

The train platform was dismally empty as Tare Squadron prepared to say their goodbyes. Ellis and Erma spent a long time huddled together, hugging and touching each other's arms and cheeks and hair. Every time they wrapped up their tearful murmurs, something else came to mind and renewed them immediately; still, Berni could hardly blame them for holding up the departure. They were not the only ones bending heads together as if it might dissuade time from marching on. Délia and Earl were arguing over who should keep the souvenir snow globe they'd piled their money to buy on their Christmas trip to Atlantic City. Each wanted the other to have it. Fiona circled around their conversation, adding commentary here and there, but most often, her gaze flicked toward the steps at the far end of the platform. Each time she did not see what she was looking for, her shoulders slumped a little further; before long, she was ducking her way into Beatrice and Venus' conversation as a way to hide from whatever—or, more likely, whoever—she was missing.

Thelma and Addie were already on the train. Thelma wasn't much good with goodbyes, and where Thelma went, Addie couldn't help but follow. They'd made their farewells brief, sure to insist on the temporary nature of their parting, and boarded before Berni had even arrived. Polly, who hated this goodbye as much as everyone else but knew how to deal with it the best, wound her way through the group, offering hugs and kind words wherever she stepped. By the time Berni looked up from Polly's motherly reassurances, Fiona had gravitated toward Rosie, and together, they stood under the station sign, fidgeting with their hands and pockets, not bothering to hide how they stared down those far, lonely steps. Everything felt so off-kilter that Berni had to lean against Polly for a moment to stop the world from slanting so.

The conductor caught the captain's eye. He held up his wrist, and though she could not read the time past the sun reflecting off his watch, she understood the summons.

"Ladies," she said, "it's time."

No one heard her, so she tried a second time, and on the third, her voice broke mid-shout. Her crew's straggling conversations petered off and they turned to her one by one, unanimously dreading this moment.

"Get your things wherever you've put them down," Berni said, the words falling forth blandly as if she'd been rehearsing them all morning (she had) to make sure she didn't, for once, fall prey to emotion. "It's time to go."

It was only by the fortune of her station that her crew obeyed. What authority she'd never before failed to command was nowhere to be found today. For a beat, she wished Hennessy was here, just for one last hug, but she knew such a thing was unattainable. Hennessy had already taken too much time off for her grandfather's funeral (or so her higher-ups had said), and though it seemed a little cruel to keep her on base while half of the crew she oversaw made their official departure, she and Berni both knew there was nothing to be done about it.

"Wait!"

At first, Berni thought she'd imagined the shout. Then it came again, just as breathless but closer, and when she chanced a look over her shoulders, she was bloody glad she did. Here came Frank Perconte and George Luz and Donald Hoobler, tripping up the far stairs, waving their caps and hollering for Tare to hold up. Several friends followed close behind—Bull Randleman, Joe Toye, Shifty Powers, Popeye Wynn, and Floyd Talbert, to name a few. Those leading the charge came barreling across the platform to tackle their respective friends and partners in hugs and kisses alike. Frank went to Fiona first, then took her with him to find Berni. He made to shake her hand, but she used his grip to yank him into a tight hug instead. He patted her back, she touched his shoulder, and when they parted, she politely pretended not to see the mist in his eyes. Frank turned back to Fiona and Berni moved to greet the rest of the men.

"Fuckin' Sobel made us run the route twice just so we'd miss seeing you girls off," Hoobler gasped, grinning as a tearful Délia ruffled his hair with breathtaking affection. "Proved him wrong, didn't we?"

"You sure did," Berni laughed wetly, shaking his hand. "You're brilliant, all of you! Absolutely brilliant!"

"I can't believe you ran all the way," gasped Rosie, letting Popeye wrap her in a surprisingly firm hug. "I just- I can't believe it."

"'Course we did," Shifty said, squeezing her hand. "We had to come."

Berni glanced over and caught his eye, and when he glanced pointedly at Popeye, she understood. She ducked her head, hoping if she averted her gaze, it wouldn't be too late, after all. For them, not her—she knew full well her time had run stale with...

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"We've still got to catch the train."

The train's final, blaring warning interrupted Ellis midway through the reminder, and the shrillness of the whistle startled all the merriment out of the group. It did not go unnoticed by Berni that Earl McClung was not among the well-wishers, and as a result, Ellis was bouncing her leg where she stood, agitated but trying to hold it in. But no matter her personal angst, she was right—they had to wrap up this send-off, and quick. The last bittersweet goodbyes came and went, and before she was ready to believe it, the train huffed and started to take Berni away. She ducked around haphazardly, trying to track down Thelma and Addie while also keeping track of the other three pilots organizing themselves and their luggage. She was standing in the hallway, directing Délia to just hand Fiona that suitcase before it fell onto someone's head, when a latecomer, equally hungover after having returned to the bar post-quarrel, rushed up to the party on the platform. With her back to the window, Berni missed him entirely. Hoobler waved a white handkerchief, Toye led a chorus of "I'll Be Seeing You", and Frank called sweet everythings after Fiona (who persisted in leaning out the window after him even after the station was out of sight), but Joe Liebgott ignored it all and kept running until he hit the edge of the platform, where he stumbled to a stop, his lungs burning from more labors than sole exertion.

"Fuck," he snapped, running his hand through his hair, catching his fingers on several aggravating tangles. "Shit. Shit."

What did he do now? He'd thrown his pride out the window to come here, and for what? To say goodbye? He couldn't do even that now. Could he write? It seemed like a bad idea. There she went, steaming off into the distance, off to the port and then the other side of the Atlantic. She probably hated him. Probably thought he hated her, too. They'd been tangled up in each other for so long only to watch it all come undone in one night. And now with an ocean between them—oh, how loose ends could fray.

"Fuck."

Hoobler came up and pursed his lips sympathetically. Joe was about to turn and tell him to shut up and leave him alone, but Hoobler tut-tutted before he could untwist his tongue.

"Tough luck, buddy."

He meant well. Joe almost punched him.

Don't. It won't bring her back.

Forcing a great deal of willpower, Joe flexed his clenching fingers and pivoted on a sharp heel.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Geez. Okay." Hoobler held up his hands defensively. "Sorry you couldn't get your happily ever after."

"Hoob, I swear to fucking God-"

"Okay!" Wisely, he let Joe leave without following. "Sheesh. Sorry."

'Happily ever after'.

What fucking bullshit.

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

Quick note: This update breaks 50k words on There Goes My Flight. Thank you so much to all my wonderful readers. I love you all so much. 💕

#bernadette noel #tare squadron #band of brothers #joe liebgott #bernadette noel 19: loose ends #band of brothers oc #band of brothers ficlet #band of brothers oc ficlet #hbo war show #hbo war show oc #hbo war show ficlet #hbo war show oc ficlet #joseph liebgott #oc ficlet #oc fanfiction #joe liebgott x oc

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donovanlizzie · 2 months

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Hidden affections - Joe Liebgott

Masterlist

Band of brothers masterlist

The tension between Joe Liebgott and Y/N during basic training was palpable, their constant bickering earning them a reputation as the pair who couldn't stand each other. Yet, hidden beneath the surface, there was a strange connection that bound them together.

One evening at the bar, the air was thick with the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversations.

She found herself watching Him from across the room, despite the tension that existed between them. His animated conversations with friends drew her attention, inadvertently coaxing a smile from her.

As she observed, George Luz snuck up behind her, curiosity etched on his face. "Who are you smiling at?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice.

However, his smile quickly faded and his expression shifted from playful to concerned as he followed her gaze to Joe Liebgott.

"Really? " George scoffed, looking at her like a disappointed parent "Liebgott?, after the way he acts around you?"

"It's complicated Luz" she replied, taking another sip of her beer.

Luz raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Complicated? That's one way to describe it. I mean, he acts like he can't stand you half the time."

She sighed, her gaze lingering on Joe as he laughed at something Talbert had said. "Yeah, well, maybe it's his way of dealing with things. Doesn't mean there's not something else there."

George smirked, leaning against the bar. "You're telling me there's something more to Liebgott than meets the eye? Colour me intrigued."

Chuckling she shook her head. "You wouldn't understand, Luz. It's like we're constantly at odds, but when it comes down to it, he's got my back. And I've got his."

George gave her a skeptical look. "Got his back? More like got each other's throats."

"Trust me, Luz, i know there's a lot more to Joe Liebgott than what he shows. " she replied cryptically, swirling her beer in her glass.

George sighed, "Well, just be careful. Liebgott's a complicated guy, and complicated usually means trouble."

She nodded in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I can handle a little trouble."

--------------------------------------------------------

Liebgott sat at a nearby table, the conversation he was engrossed in had become irrelevant as his ear pricked up at the mention of Y/N's name from the table behind him , overhearing Roy Cobb, a fellow paratrooper, running his mouth about her to a group of new replacements.

"Y/n? Oh, you mean Easy Company's little sweetheart," Cobb remarked with a mocking tone, eliciting a few chuckles from the newcomers. "she's just a liability. She should've never shown her face in easy company! My bet is she's been playing the commander, putting on a show of competence that's going to get someone killed. Sobel should've gotten rid of her a long time ago."

Anger flared in Joe's eyes as he clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as Cobb continued to tarnish her name.

"And have you seen her? No wonder she hasn't found a man yet. Who would want to be with someone like her? It's not surprising she's still single; she's probably too busy ruining missions to care about settling down."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Joe jumped up from his table and approached Cobb's group with a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck did you just say about her?" Joe sneered at Cobb, who tried to laugh it off and reason with him. "Come on, Joe, you know what she's like – my bet is she's had half the company now-"

Before Cobb could finish his sentence, Joe's fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor. The commotion drew the attention of the entire bar, and the rest of Easy Company rushed to stop the impending fight.

She and Luz watched, exchanging puzzled glances. "What was that about?" She asked, concern furrowing her brow.

George shook his head. "I don't know, but Liebgott looks pissed."

As the men of Easy Company pulled Joe away from the scene, Cobb nursed his bleeding nose and shot a glare in her direction. She met his gaze with a cold intensity, her eyes daring him to say another word.

Joe, still seething, was restrained by his comrades. "You talk about her again, and I'll do more than just break your nose," he spat at Cobb, the words laced with a dangerous edge.

The bar returned to its uneasy quiet, the rumours quashed by the unexpected confrontation. Joe may have acted on impulse, but his protective instinct for her had been laid bare for everyone to see.

She watched as Joe stormed out of the bar in a huff, cursing under his breath. She placed her empty pint glass on the table in front of her and felt a sense of urgency to follow him. "Hey, where are you going?" George called out, walking back to the bar - no doubt to get another drink.

"Don't worry about it," she mumbled back, not wanting to explain as she made a beeline for the door Joe had just stormed out of. Once outside, the cold air hit her like a thousand tiny needles, causing her to shiver. Walking a few steps away from the door, she scanned the darkening area, the sun just starting to set, painting the sky with an orangey-red hue.

Her eyes fell upon Joe, leaning against one of the nearer barracks, smoking a cigarette. She took a deep breath and began walking towards him, the stones crunching under her shoes catching Joe's attention almost immediately , his jaw tightening in response.

"What are you doing out here?" Joe asked, stubbing out his cigarette. Ignoring Joe's question, She confronted him,

"What the hell was that back there?"

"Never you mind," Joe replied dismissively.

"Joseph Liebgott, I will mind. You punched a fellow paratrooper in the face!" Her tone carried a mix of disbelief and frustration, feeling as if she was scolding a schoolboy.

"Cobb said some shit that wasn't true, and I hit him – no big deal," Joe responded, trying to downplay the situation.

"What did he say, Joe?" She pressed, her voice rising a little.

"Damn it, Y/n, what is this, 21 questions?"

"Liebgott, tell me what he said!" She insisted, her frustration evident.

Joe sighed pushing off the barracks wall and walked over to her, the distance between them closing until they were almost nose to nose , his breath fanning her face, the smell of the recent cigarette lingering in the air.

Joe's gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Look, I might not always show it, but I don't like hearing lies about people I... care about," he admitted gruffly, avoiding direct eye contact.

Her expression softened in return. "Care about? Liebgott, you're not known for being the sentimental type. Why would you care about what Cobb says about me?"

Joe hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching. "I hate to admit it, but... I don't like the idea of anyone talking crap about you. Especially when it's a load of bullshit."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his admission. "Joe Liebgott, did you just say something vaguely nice about me?"

He scoffed, trying to deflect. "Don't get used to it. I just... I don't know, I just don't like people thinking less of you because of some idiot's lies."

A small smile played on her lips. "Well, I appreciate that, Joe. It's strange, you know? Despite all the bickering, I never thought you'd... care."

Joe mumbled something incoherent, avoiding her gaze. The tension between them lingered, the unspoken words hanging in the cold air. , Feeling a mix of emotions, She took a step closer to Joe.

"I don't hate you, Y/n. I might not show it, but I..." Joe's gruff words trailed off, and before he could finish, She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing her lips against his. It was a moment of unexpected intimacy, fuelled by the unspoken emotions they both struggled to express.

Breaking the kiss, Joe sighed, his forehead resting against hers. "I hate to admit it, but I... I like you, a lot."

She looked at him, a mix of surprise and a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, that's something," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Joe rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it."

As they stood there, the realisation of the unexpected turn of events settled in. The tension that once hung between them had transformed into something different – something neither of them had anticipated.

#hbo war #band of brothers imagines #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers oc #band of brothers

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1waveshortofashipwreck · 4 months

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Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 1: The Fall

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's finest soldiers fall through a foxhole and into another time?

Words: 1,314

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Author's Note: HERE WE GO LADS!! The first chapter of my self-serving BoB time travel fic!! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know !!

Luz was the last one to arrive on the ground, immediately crashing into Malarkey with a resounding thud… Well, resounding for someone as small as Luz. He was the last to drop onto the pile of Easy Company men - a giant pile of limbs, helmets, and olive drab was groaning in pain, bewildered eyes darting in every direction. One minute they were dropping into a foxhole in Bastogne. The next?

Winters was the first to jump to his feet, helping his men find their footing. Up came Nixon, Liebgott, Roe, Guarnere, and Bull Randleman. Speirs and Toye had gotten themselves up and situated, looking to make sure they had all their gear. Luz was still on the ground, trying to get his bearings, while poor Malarkey was doubled over underneath him. “FUCK, LUZ!” Cried Malarkey, his hands shooting to his ribs as his body folded in pain. “I think you broke something!” Malarkey’s feet rammed themselves into Luz’s back, flinging the soldier off of Malarkey and onto his stomach with an “oof!”

“You say that like I did it on purpose!” Luz cried, wincing from the boots in his back. By the time George finally got his feet beneath him, Roe was already looking at Malarkey’s side, inspecting his injury.

The Cajun grimaced and shook his head. “It might be broke, Malark. We should get you to the aid station,” Roe spoke thoughtfully. "Which way sho-" Before the medic could finish his thought, all the boys realized something. They had no idea where they were.

The boys all looked around and took in their surroundings. “Where the fuck are we?” each soldier thought to himself, attempting to find a single scrap of familiarity in the landscape around them. The higher they looked, the taller the walls on either side of the group grew - not tall enough to be skyscrapers, but tall enough to tell the ten men that they were not in Bastogne anymore. What was once a frigid warzone, one step away from death, now became… warm? Sunny? Well, it seemed sunny at the ends of the alleyway.

“...are we in an alley?” Bull mused to no one in particular. He absentmindedly chewed on his Emotional Support Cigar, using this to contain his anxious thoughts and energy.

"It appears so Bull…" Winters replied. He had intended for the sentence to be more assuring, but the men's leader was just as confused as the rest of them. The captain exchanged a glance with Nixon beside him, the only man he was comfortable sharing his worry with. The two looked at each other, their eyes conveying confusion mixed with anxiety - how could this happen? What exactly happened?

"Captain Nixon, you're an intelligence officer right? Do you know where we are sir?" Guarnere asked as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, still taking in the alley around them. The brick buildings on either side of the men provided shade from the sun shining down on the pavement. The alley appeared to be barren, save for a Hershey bar wrapper beside Luz's feet. Bending down to get a closer look, the radioman saw a piece of text on the wrapper that morphed his confusion into panic - "expires January 2023." Before Nixon could answer Guarnere, Luz's shaky voice spoke up.

"Um, Captain Winters? You might wanna see this sir," Luz said as he handed the wrapper to his CO, his mind going a mile a minute. Dick took the wrapper from George and saw the text, scrunching his face as he read the expiration date.

"Nix, how long does it take chocolate to expire?" Winters asked, looking up at his captain.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know that?" Nixon replied, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Only after Lewis posed his question did he see the infamous date on the wrapper. Nixon paused for a second before he spoke up, "well surely it would expire way before 2023…"

Upon hearing the year, every man's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Excuse me, sir? I think I heard you wrong, sounded like you said 2023," Liebgott questioned, a nervous chuckle following his words. He couldn't have heard Nixon right…right? Winters simply handed the wrapper over to Liebgott, the poor man's stomach dropping down below his feet.

"That's not possible, this isn't possible…" Toye muttered under his breath, trying to shake the idea from his head. While all the men were trying to process what Nixon said, Speirs had already made his way to the end of the alley.

"Captain Winters!" He called out, twisting his body to call out behind where he was standing. Winters nodded to Nixon, a silent request to keep an eye on his men, before making his way down to Speirs. The warm sun at the end of the alley was a welcomed surprise to Dick - it felt like forever since he felt mild, comfortable weather. Bastogne was the literal manifestation of hell frozen over, and the sun kissing Dick's skin was its absolute anathema. "Sir, I don't think this is Bastogne," Speirs' comment shook Winters from his mind, reminding the captain of the problem at hand. The two took in the scene around them. Winters thought he was seeing cars - they had four wheels, and they were driving on the street, but they were far beyond any car anyone in the company has ever seen before. The soldiers seem to have landed in a city of some kind. All the street signs were in English, giving Winters a small amount of relief - wherever they were, they spoke the language. Something different stood out to Speirs, though… the noise. It was not bombs exploding and trees breaking like in Bastogne. It was just as loud, but more…lively? The sounds, whatever they were, seemed to celebrate life rather than take it - honking horns, vehicles driving by, music Speirs had never heard before blaring from their windows - he would never admit to it, but Speirs felt a pang of relief knowing he was not in a war zone.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Ron," Dick replied before hearing their medic call out.

"Sir! We need to get Malarkey to the ai- uh… I guess a hospital," Eugene called out as he made his way towards Winters and Speirs, supporting Easy's other redhead on his shoulder. Malarkey's face twisted in pain as he held his side with the arm that was not slung over Roe's shoulders. Dick nodded in understanding at his medic and stepped a foot out of the alley, getting a better look at the buildings around him. To his right, Winters spotted the red cross universally associated with medicine displayed prominently on a tall, light-colored building riddled with mirrored windows. Beneath the cross were the words "Emergency Room."

"You think they can help Malarkey?" Speirs asked, hopeful but confused at the words. Seeing Roe holding up Malarkey, the officer quickly made his way to Malarkey's other side, taking his arm over his shoulder to help the soldier.

"It's worth a shot, wait here," Winters replied, heading back to the rest of the men to tell them the plan. "Alright men, there's a place that looks like a hospital a short walk from here. Keep your guard up. Just because it doesn't look like Bastogne, doesn't mean we're in friendly territory," he instructed the six men before him, "Keep Speirs, Malarkey, and Roe in the center, I'll lead the way to the hospital." A chorus of "yes sirs" was heard from Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, and Bull, while Nixon nodded in understanding and walked up beside Winters.

"Are you sure about this?" Nixon asked under his breath, ensuring only Winters heard his question.

"Got any better ideas?" Dick replied, cautiously emerging onto the sidewalk. The men left the safe haven of their alley and began the trek to save their friend.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think and be on the lookout for Chapter 2: the Hospital!!

Taglist: @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @executethyself35 , @stolen94 , @dontirrigateme

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skiesofrosie · 23 days

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all is fair, but matters of the heart

joe liebgott x ofc (amy calloway)

summary: joe doesn't quite know why he's even fighting the war anymore, until she starts to give him reason.

word count: 6.7k+ words

a/n: this is a long one, so i don't know if anyone would want to read it, but if you do, then do enjoy. all characters based only from the show. oh, and ps. these photos do not belong to me. :)

1942

Joe Liebgott is a reckless man disguised in a fight for honor.

perhaps, it's the notion that he has nothing to lose. if fate decides he should take a bullet through the heart, than his mother had six others still beating.

it’s not that he believes his life to be disposable, it just seems he was meant for more than to sit behind a wheel and drive a yellow cab. though, the smiles that would linger on his customers’ faces when they shut the door as they leave, always drew a smirk of satisfaction to his lips. Joe was an expert at bringing laughter to the table.

but there was something untamed in the depth of Liebgott’s soul, and he figured the war would be the key to unchain it from its cage. it was the mask he was looking for, a place where he could ravage against an enemy because the lines of good and bad were nowhere to be found.

many will say that Amy Calloway is soft-spoken, elegant, and revoltingly kind — everything that the war is not. there were no more men in Easy Company to question her placement. nobody would say it, but the thought would linger in the back of all of their minds: that a woman, a small and reserved one at that, is assigned to be their medic and last more than ten minutes on the battlefield.

but she will not let them prod at her flames with gasoline on their fingers.

everyone thought it, but only Joe would say it.

“and the woman has barely said anything since she got here,” he rants over lunch, mouth full of spaghetti that's spitting out to Webster, who flinches in distaste. it didn’t help, Web thinks, that Joe has the tendency to speak like there's a microphone in his lungs. “if she goes, that’s another loss for E company, and another medic down. fuckin’ hell–”

there’s a reason she keeps her composure intact. the Calloways spanned generations through the military. her own father had fought as a pilot in the first war, and her mother was a nurse, drafted at the same base where he was stationed. she told Amy the stories of quieter days, where daylight would be a welcome deception to the true face of volatile combat. of course, it is days like those her parents would sneak away, and in the doings of a weekend pass, they married and conceived Amy right in the middle of war.

but she also told her of the days when there wasn’t an inch one could go where blood did not stain the sterile floors, the white curtains and every leaf in a potted plant. it is in this chaos, she would say, that it is most important to remain patient with mankind.

“as a medic, you’d be gambling with their lives otherwise,” she remarked. “become too riled up to do your job right.”

of course, this excludes the fact if they are shooting at you.

that day in the cafeteria however, Amy is not yet weighed down by the tribulations of saving lives. they are not in the crossroads, so she can afford a little gamble.

Amy is seated just two tables down from Liebgott, letting the comfort of a silence in her fellow medic, Eugene Roe, speak louder than his obnoxious tongue. it's one thing to insult her capabilities as a medic, but it's another to base judgment on whether she would survive to her being a woman. she did not train for nine months to be berated by a man with an ego. when the words left his mouth, implications that she was a liability to the airborne infantry, the budding flame began to release its fumes in her blue eyes.

“Roe,” she calls, Eugene’s attention snapping to her. “i’m gonna get a second round.” he nods and pronounces he could use another plate too. oh, if only he had known he would get caught in a—albeit tame—crossfire.

and Liebgott dares to lock eyes with Amy, winking as her figure approaches his table. “ah, and here she is, Easy’s very own princess.”

“i appreciate the honor, really,” she replies, nonchalant. Liebgott scoffs, and he is about to blurt another unremarkable comment when she snatches the mic from his chest, “perhaps, i don’t say much, especially to you, because i don’t waste my breath on people who aren’t worth it.”

“the fuck did you just say to me,” he spat, nearly kicking his seat back. before he can even stand, Floyd grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him back down. the room is deafeningly silent, save for the clang of pots and pans in the distance. “jesus, Lieb,” Talbert says, exasperated, “you gonna square up with the woman?”

“looks like you’re ready to take it.” it is quite amusing what the choice of rebuttal could do to a man. his shoulders are tense, and his lips are pulled into a sneer. a smirk betrays her attempts at schooling how smug she felt. she pays no mind to the way his eyes fall to her lips while he licks his own clean. “you got anything else you wanna fucking say?”

“that you have to trust me,” she states, and his fingers that were about to lift a cigarette to his mouth pauses mid-air. “i wouldn’t be here, chosen for Easy if they weren’t damn sure i could keep your legs and your arms attached to your body.”

Joe is surprised to find no snark in her tone. it was no testimony to prove her case, just a statement of her belief. and despite himself, he is impressed at which she holds it with pride, cementing her position in black, permanent ink.

when Amy turns around, she closes her eyes for a split second longer than usual, and breathes out a sigh of relief. funnily enough, she was never one for confrontation. she laughs at the sight of Eugene, who is trailing close behind her, but darting his eyes to every corner of the room in pure discomfort.

it was misplaced to Joe, the scent of lilies and jasmines she left in her wake (but, of course, he barely noticed). he huffs in annoyance, but as the clock ticks by, the rowdy chatter starts to intrude into his head like noise pollution. he wonders if somebody had punched a hole in the roof, because an irrepressible feeling of guilt began to pour in and drown his cocky charade. and he knows Webster has caught on. his bunkmate took one look at Joe, shoving the spaghetti around silently in his plate, and began chortling to himself.

a whistle blowing stabs at his eardrums, and he groans when Sobel walks in. “Easy Company is running up Currahee!”

1944

there is a shift in Joe Liebgott, and not in the way he would expect.

he joined the infantry as a complete rascal, aimless with his gun so as long as it points to the enemy. whether in bar fights or with machine guns, and especially in the aftermath of D-Day, Joe is a walking grenade.

but there are a few instances, in the throes of his rage, when fiery strikes would perish into complete duds. and in each occasion, she was there.

ever since that day in Camp Toccoa, he had attempted to keep his distance. keyword: attempted, and failed. it is quite a feat to achieve, especially when he feels her presence like the sun, even as she shies away into the corner of a room. and joe may be a reckless man, but he’s hardly stupid. he knows there is something in the way she brings him serenity. in a place where the soil comes infused with blood, agony and finality, she was the lone flower that found the strength to bloom within it all. and in her roots are humility and grit — all things that holds the stem of her beauty.

truth be told, it is not like him to restrain from matters of the heart. people believe Joe to be a man who doesn’t think, only does. that he does not feel, simply acts. but the reality is quite the opposite. he drives himself into carelessness, oftentimes crashing into a dead end, because he feels too much. his rationality is uncaring when the question of fairness is at hand. and Joe—watching his friends, watching her, on the verge of death—feels that this entire war is the definition of unfair.

he keeps his distance from Amy Calloway, because if there is one thing he is careful of, it's to not make her fall for someone like him. and he knows she feels it too.

if not love, they both walk a tightrope—one end tells them both to just let it go, and the other begs them to take a chance.

they balanced a step forward when he felt the soft skin on her hands slip over his fist, back when they were on their way to England. in his defense, everyone was on edge on that ship, awaiting the hellfire; even more so than now, when sacrifice was something they just had to expect. and his outburst, because of course Joe had to throw a punch somewhere, was egged on by Guarnere running his mouth.

“Joe,” she whispered. “Joe,” she muttered, even quieter, but her lips felt closer to his ears. her presence overwhelmed him with the way she stood so close to his right, grabbing onto his biceps to force him down. despite the scowl on Bill’s face, and the three, maybe four other soldiers straining to keep him still, it was when he felt her fingers clasp over his own that he tampered the fire in his breath. “don’t let him get to you, he’s just being a fucking idiot.”

it was most difficult to not meet her eyes, what with the way he felt her breath on his neck.

they took another tip toe forward, when he spotted her clear as day, shrouded in a darkness thick with trees that strayed into an abyss, from about 100 meters away in Normandy. he’d like to say it was because of her glassy blue eyes, or her porcelain skin, but really, it's because he’d recognize that short stack figure of hers anywhere.

“flash!” Joe whisper-yelled, throwing his hands up when she whips her head around and points her rifle, laser sharp, at him. “Joe?”

Amy lowered her gun, her chest visibly rising and falling in a rush of panic. Joe managed to crack a light, teasing grin then, in hopes it would put her at ease, “i should report you for breaking the regime, Private Calloway.”

and it did, for a few seconds. taking a few steps in crunching leaves, she was about to retort—until gunfire cut her straight off.

hastily, they dropped to the ground, dragging their bodies against the soil with their elbows and fists, and found themselves hidden behind a tree. as they were clinging as close to each other as possible, the sides of their arms and legs trying to fight for cover behind the trunk, a single thought crossed Joe’s mind: this is the first time he has ever shown fear. and of course, he thinks, as the bullets stop flying, it’s in front of her.

in the name of fury, he was about to channel his fear into an air massacre with his gun. that is, until he heard the shaky exhale of her breath, stark in the eery quiet. and in knowing she was there, alive, by his side, he could already feel his rage slow down by a fraction.

“hey,” he stammered, leaving her side to crouch at her front, “are you hit anywhere?” he asked, because of course she’s not okay. she nodded a no, and closed her eyes to regain composure. before he could deliberate his actions, he reached a hand to cup her cheek, eyes scanning her face intently. “we have to keep moving, find the others.”

and there went the savage in his heart, tamed simply with her presence.

after Carentan

there is something about Joe, and the way his warmth seeps through her in waves.

Eugene would always say he was a wild one, and to be frank, his point has been proven one too many times. it was easy to let loose at camp, because everyone believed they were invincible—especially if you bulldozed through Sobel’s dictatorship. and she liked that he was never one to back down from a challenge. with each taunt he threw into her lane as they hiked up Currahee (“keep up princess,” “can see through your shirt, Ames,” “big steps short stack”), it sparked a flame in her body that made her legs pick up their pace.

but here they are, having scraped by Carentan with 65 casualties. they are most certainly not invincible anymore, and with her and Eugene being medics, they know that better than anyone else.

the war is changing everyone, but especially Joe Liebgott.

“you’ve seen better days,” she says, lightly teasing as she cracks his door open. at the sound of her entrance, he kicks his legs to sit up on his bed, setting the newspaper on his pillow. he huffs a single, mirthless laugh, and nods in what seems like annoyance, but Amy knows it’s not at her. “here, i got you some…well, i guess you can call it soup. god forbid he kills me for calling this shit.”

he chuckles, albeit soft, but genuinely at that. he turns to sit on the side of his bed, facing her as she takes the one right opposite. they are back in England now, taking residence in a hostel, somewhere in the countryside (they never really knew where they were). the rest of Easy Company were drowning their sorrows at the bar downstairs, but Joe, he had enough.

“not interested in watching the wolf pack rip apart a dartboard?” he questions, and she shakes her head. “probably for the same reason as you. i just need a break. Gene and I, we…went to go visit the wounded men.”

a thick silence hangs in the air when that sentence leaves her breath. it is usually comfortable with Joe, the quiet. the both of them need not say any words to feel safe when they’re next to each other. but this time, she knows there is a question stuck in his throat, one he isn't quite sure he wants the answer to.

“he’s okay,” she mutters, afraid to probe, but even Joe Liebgott is too tired to light up. “Tipper. he looks—“

“like piss?” he added, and she chuckles. it floats into his ear like the twitter of a nightingale, prompting his heart to start beating again, slow and steady. “like absolute shit. a little more than roughed up, but, he’ll make it through.”

he nods and his shoulders sag ever so slightly, feeling relieved at the news. he doubts Tipper would’ve made it if not for Amy, who sprung into action not even ten seconds after he yelled out for a medic. she was always there, and especially for him. and Amy knew, that if he ever called, she would run. there’s a clear tiredness in his eyes when she looks at Joe, and the spark in them clearly struggling, but she thinks them to be as beautiful as they were two years ago.

“you know,” he mumbles, all of a sudden, “you’re my fucking miracle.”

she was about to laugh, but it dies on her tongue when she sees him, looking nothing less than serious. in fact, with the quiver in his voice, he almost seems vulnerable.

Joe is still the same aggressive bloke who surprises her with his softer traits. the day she walked into the nurse wing back at Toccoa, paying visit when he broke his foot on a run, she nearly squealed with delight to find him flipping the pages to Frankenstein by Mary Shelley—one of her favorites. he had pretended to shove his book under the pillow then, as if to upkeep his feisty image. but that was the first time they laughed together, and they shivered in unison when they spoke of the monster.

the only books either of them can read in Europe are dusty, torn up papers they’d find beneath building rubbles. the same Joe who walked around with a permanent smirk now had a scowl almost always worn on his lips. his snarky words now stemmed from hatred instead of humor, and he was quick to anger, like poking a lion with a stick.

but, Amy knows she has a way of calming him down. in fact, everyone knows. if another time, she would have spent her nights overthinking the way she could always feel his brown-eyed stare from across the room, completely unwarranted. but Amy didn’t see it fitting to place gravity on what that all meant, at least not right now. it is better to just stay close to him, and be a shoulder he can lean on because the world has turned so, so vile. whatever she felt, it just wasn't important anymore.

her lips fall apart slightly at the intensity in his gaze. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he says, rising to his feet slowly, “i don’t think i would be sitting here without you.”

“joe, you knows that’s not true,” she replies, a little unsure. craning her neck upwards as he closes the gap, slowly, from his bed to hers, she continues, “you’re a strong fighter. one of the best in easy, and that’s why you’re here.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, opts to kneel down on one knee instead. she is his lone flower, still heavenly beautiful even if a few of her petals have fallen. an unguarded smile breaks out on his face at the sprinkle of red dusting her cheeks. he reaches for her hands, the skin now much more coarse, unable to control the way his eyes keep darting to her lips.

“that’s not what i meant,” he murmurs, inching his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath clouding over. Amy is barely breathing at all. but as she finds herself pulling closer towards him, their lips barely grazing each other, a creak of the wooden floors ‘causes her to flinch back.

and it's a sound that would go unnoticed by Joe.

the door to his room slams open to reveal a floundering George Luz. “oh,” he jolts, a deer in headlights as he realizes to have interrupted a moment. “children,” he coughs, flustered by the way Joe is glaring at him. “we’re moving out.”

dread swarms the nerves she was feeling before, but as she looked back at Joe, quiet and deflated (and utterly heartbroken), she didn’t quite know which was worse.

the tightrope, now thinning and flimsy, had yanked them both backwards.

Bagstone

it’s rare that Joe, a man who seeks thrill, ever backs down. and for some reason, whenever he so chooses it winds up being the most unfortunate timing. the one time he’d hesitate to call on his opponent in a game of bluff, he would lose all his pennies. that one day after school, when he chose to bike home through the civilian route instead of his usual, dangerous back alley, and was met with an accident that’s left a scar on his right knee.

there's one mantra he keeps pinned to his forehead, one his mother ingrained in his mind: if you’re going to take a risk, then trust yourself to couch the fall. and Joe is hardly scared of a few broken bones.

he just wasn’t prepared for the insurmountable pain of a broken heart.

the scene rewinds in his mind like a broken tape, the way her body flinched at the touch of their lips. he wonders if it was in panic, or in pure regret. either way, he’d rather not know. and it reminds Joe that his soul is not made for love anyways, so he exerts his desolation by doing the most reckless thing of all—he avoids her. and this time, it doesn’t stop at trying.

it’s better this way, he decides. they were sitting ducks in the center of the war, and to be distracted, is practically asking to be hit.

of course, his resolve cracks just a little when disappointment storms in her eyes as he denies yet another shitty bowl of soup she’s saved for him. he knows he’s being a fowl idiot, when he pretends to be distracted with a book, or writings letters in his room, when she seeks a moment of his solitude. the day she found him, playing dice with Luz and Talbert, not even fifteen minutes after proclaiming to be busy for the nth time, she had stopped asking.

(she wonders if he sought her as an outlet in a moment of weakness. Joe wouldn’t do that, she tells herself.)

but the worst, to Joe, is when she stops reacting altogether. Easy has been shoved to the front lines of Bagstone, forced to make defense in the piercing, icy snow with no ammo and no winter gear. when he’d pass by Amy waiting in line for some chow, her lips chapped and skin faded, she would morph her discontent into a strained smile, and leave their conversation at hello. and what makes it even worse, is that he doesn’t have a right to be annoyed.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. cut the tightrope lose now, save them from any grief.

but it is in his attempts to cut his losses, that the most painful loss cuts through him. it never occurred to him, in the equation of his decisions, that she would get hit.

nothing would slice through Joe more then the screech of Amy’s voice, ripping through eruptive shells of 88s. his body immediately freezes, the sound of the artillery strike somehow muffling as he searches the distance. he runs, when hears another wretched scream tear through his ears, every fiber of his being set ablaze in total dread. he runs, even as a small piece of flak shoots through his shoulder. and when he sees her, laying, pulsing, with blood streaming out her neck—well, he never wishes to feel that anguish stab at his veins ever again.

“medic!” he yelled, from whatever is left in the back of his throat. “Roe!” he collapses by her figure, murmurs words of i’ve got you, sweetheart, i’m here. he grabs a piece of cloth, tucked in her red-stained jacket, then presses it at her neck as a poor attempt to slow the bleeding. screaming, falling trees, wailing orders, frantic footsteps, and Luz who runs towards them, they all swirl into a blur, because in that moment, the only thing existing is the sight of her inching closer and closer to a demise. “hey, hey,” he gulped, whispering, while his free hand strokes her hair as her eyes begin to flutter, “keep your eyes open for me.”

even in despair, her blue eyes are the most beautiful thing. to him they are as rare as a pearl that washes ashore into the sand. and even if from afar, he’d do anything to keep them blinking.

her hands are trembling, far too much in pain to fully move, but he knows how hard she's trying. he barely notices the way Doc Roe shoves him off, and when he does, he is too far in shock, his back glued to the snow. the flecks of white are barely traceable in scatters of ash and soil. it feels like the sky is falling, the darkness hovering over his nose with the glow of a meteor shower. he thinks he would be okay if it just swallowed him whole.

“Liebgott,” Eugene calls, grabbing at his uninjured shoulder. “Lieb, snap out of it,” he exclaims, and reality surfaces back into his mind. “we’re bringing Ames to the aid station, and we need to get your shoulder patched up. come on.”

before Luz can slip his arms under her body, Joe pushes him off to carry her himself, with Eugene on the other side. “we got you, Ames,” Eugene coaxes. “you’re holding up just fine, sweet girl.”

yes - his lone, beautiful flower that found the strength to bloom amidst an entire war.

Joe hops into the back of the jeep first, and the trio then lays her body across, with her head resting on his lap. her eyes are starting to flicker, darting at every corner, and her hands lightly flail, but they are just too weak and tired. he holds her chin with his thumb and index finger, and brings his head down close to her, occasionally jumping as the jeep roars through broken roads. “hey, beautiful,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “aren’t you a pretty thing,” feeling the ghost of a bitter smile on his lips.

she renders him speechless when her fingers, slowly raising and quivering, begin to trace softly at the shape of his lips. he feels a choke in his throat and is unable to restrain his emotions, letting a single tear fall from his eyes and down her skin.

he questions the world and its fairness, because Amy of all people, did not deserve this.

“she’ll be okay, Liebgott,” Doc Roe tells him, completely worn out. “she’s a strong woman, you don’t even have to worry.”

for a while, he wasn't permitted to abandon the front lines—the numbers were dropping, and Joe was one of their best. but everyone was worried about him. he was the resident firecracker of Easy Company; confident on the battlefield, and spared no hesitation in combat. he was unafraid to cast his spitfire, even if it was against an officer. but like every other man, Liebgott had his limits. the spark in his eyes began to dissipate long ago, from the first sight of a fallen soldier. but he, compared to most men, held on the strongest.

Amy going down had just about forced him over the edge. the fire in Joe Liebgott had died the second he heard her scream. he felt only anguish, and it began to consume him.

he barely slept, he barely ate, he barely moved, and only did so when called to fight. some days after he’d stopped counting, having ignored the mush that Talbert left at his feet, Sergeant Lipton came creeping by his foxhole. and clearly, word has travelled on the state of Joe, who was on the brink of delirium in the middle of a harsh winter. Lipton informed him that Captain Winters had requested him as a battalion runner. months ago, he would’ve refused in favor of the action. but this time, he perked up, knowing that could’ve been a few days to spend by her side.

“take about an hour and get yourself a hot meal,” Captain Winters ordered as he briefed him on his duties, back at headquarters. Winters was distracted by a map, as much as Joe was distracted with the field hospital. “do what you need to do.”

to hell with a hot meal, he thinks, making his way straight to the aid station.

the dead weight dissolves from his shoulders the second he sees her, back facing him, awake, and chatting with Doc Roe and another wounded Easy soldier, Skinny. the hospital is plenty gray and dull, and Joe had to keep from pulling a face at the lack of an eye in one of the men. but even so, the sight of her, alive, is enough to invigorate a few pulses in him. his feet are planted to the ground, arms bent against his waist. he lets his head fall downwards, closes his eyes and heaves a sigh.

“hey Doc,” Skinny says, groaning as he accidentally twists his broken leg, “Doc...think you can get us outta here before they move? i don’t wanna be stuck here when Easy’s rollin’ out.”

“you do that, and you’re gonna need to cut off your leg,” Eugene replies, lighting up a cigarette as Amy chuckles. a very luckily, small piece of shrapnel had busted a couple of bones in Skinny’s leg, before Amy got hit—they were sticking out as she drove him into town. “keep doing nothin’ for once Skinny, this is basically the Ritz Carlton.”

“so where’s my fuckin’ champagne?” he gestures mockingly. she snorts at that, “i’m sure Malarkey can pull something out of his ass.”

“hopefully not a fucking bullet,” Eugene mutters. “isn’t that the golden shot?” Skinny adds, “you’re practically Easy royalty.”

she takes a good look at Eugene. the bags under his eyes have turned purple, the skin on his fingers are tearing and bruised, and though he was always quiet, now he seems more distant. now that Amy is down, he's the only medic keeping those boys intact. but there is no use in pointing it all out, not unless he wants to speak first. there is nothing that can be done either way.

“what,” Eugene asks, speaking under his breath, “i think i can make front cover on news looking this god damn handsome, don’t you?” she would’ve shoved him if not for the bandage that was wrapped tightly around her neck, and weaved through her arms. sometimes it was hard to breathe in them, but perhaps, it was the better than having the flesh in her neck spill out. it is a miracle that it's not that.

Skinny scoffs, shaking his head as he stares at his broken leg. “nah doc, i’m the prett— Liebgott.”

scrutinized, is what Joe feels when all three of them whip their heads to face him clearly. with the way she furrows her eyebrows, looking concerned all over, it was clear he— “look like shit. damn, 88 got yer face or something,” Skinny jokes, and Amy rolls her eyes. she would’ve shoved him too for that.

Eugene nods at them then, standing up to take his leave. “alright,” he says, “rest up both of you. and don’t try to get outta here before you can.” as Eugene turns around and makes small talk with Joe, she cannot help the way her eyes fall taking in the sight of him. if she thinks Gene looks exhausted; well, Joe looks deathly pale.

“you’re not taking care of yourself,” is the first thing Amy says when he takes the chair Eugene was seated in. he chuckles at the observation, but it's empty, lacking in amusement. “Joe, when’s the last time you’ve properly eaten? and your shoulder, how’s it feeling?”

he scoffs, feeling something between annoyed, and a spill of warmth. “shit Amy, you’re wrapped up like a fuckin’ mummy and you still gotta fuss over me. how bout ya let me worry about you this time? i'm at your service, princess.”

“hey look at me,” she gestures to herself, as much as she could in those bandages anyway. “i’m sitting up, i’m talking, i’m not fuckin’ sliced up like Toye and Guarnere. jesus. i’m basically as good as new, Joe. do you know what’s the first thing Guarnere said when he got here? ‘hey Amy darling, i always knew i’d end up in bed right next to ya!’ blown off leg be damned.”

despite the mental kick he sends Bill up his ass, Joe can’t help but laugh at how comical she's acting—it was always the other way around, him scouring every excuse to make her laugh. at the crack of his snickers, Amy smiles at him too. she's always loved the sound of his laugh, but it has become so rare, that each time he does, she tries to memorize every single note to replay it again and again.

“they keeping you both in check in here?” he asks, tipping his head at Skinny, who's just been floating in the background of them two. Skinny nods, “Doc’s right, this is basically Ritz Carlton. i got nurses at my beck and call, they bring food to my bed, what else could a man ask for?”

Joe breathes a laugh, but as he looks to Amy, he fails to catch his breath. she is looking at him with such tenderness, and her smile grows wider as he stares back, at a loss of what to say. he doesn't know if it's appropriate, considering the way he’s ignored her for weeks. he thinks that Amy shouldn’t even be bothered with him. but no, she’s looking at him like he’s the first taste of rainfall to her drought.

“why did you stop talking to me Joe?” she questions lightly. there is no bitterness in her tone, just a plea to say the truth. a truth that they both know, but have allowed to go unspoken. and now that she is really asking, he finds it hard to make an answer—bare his imperfect heart, and hand it to her, even though he knows that is where it will be safest.

his head hangs low, feeling ashamed at his choice to be a coward. but she moves her fingers to tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. as she begins to stroke his cheek, he finds himself leaning into her touch without even thinking, raising his hand to meet hers and hold it in its shape.

(“you have to trust me,” she once said.)

finally, he speaks his mind. “i thought i was doing us both a favor. you’re just everything good, and you deserve someone who’s not…who’s not me. i don’t know how to do any of this, i don’t know how to give you the best and even then i think you deserve so much fucking better than that. so i, i chose to surrender. keep a distance between you and me, as if i could live without you. and i think i’ve always known this, and i've never admitted it to myself, but i’ll admit it now—i really, really can’t live without you.”

there was something untamed in Joe Liebgott, back when he signed his name in 1942. he joined the war, ready to release that vigor and channeled his rage into the way a single bullet would zip through the air and pierce through the enemy. he was a seeker of thrill like moth to a flame, but the longer they spent in Europe, the more his resolve crumbled into the remnants of the friends he had lost. now, over two years later, he has become a fragment of his old self, finding it hard to reason why he still bothered shooting the rifle. he was tired of it, tired of all the noise, all the pain, and found the only thing that gave him adrenaline was the sound of her laugh, and the feel of her touch.

and it is her touch, in that moment, that holds his left hand tenderly, bringing it to her lips to kiss the back of it. “Joe, you are so much more capable of love than you allow yourself to think.”

Joe is trying to survive, because he knows his mother is waiting at her front porch for his return. he is trying to survive, because fuck, he actually enjoys the ease of driving people around. he loves making them laugh and seeing the city pass him by. he is trying to survive, because he wants to find out who Joe Liebgott is without the war, placed deep into his mind.

but he needs to survive, because when he gets back to the States, he is going to buy Amy that lily and jasmine perfume she always used to wear back at Toccoa, spritz it all over his home until she's ready to move in with him herself. but right now, that’s reaching too far.

he is no longer fighting the war just to fight, he thinks, while inching forward to press a soft, warm kiss to her lips. this time, the chaos of the aid station did not make her flinch, 'cause there was only him.

no, he is fighting to survive, for her.

1945, Austria

“is there a reason you call me a little flower, Joe?” Amy asks.

“because come sunshine or rain, you manage to keep being so fuckin’ beautiful,” Joe answers, shrugging.

she blushes at that. Joe, whose face is half covered by a new comic his sister has just mailed in, smirks in satisfaction. there is no doubt who has the upper hand of turning the other into mush—it was Amy, and it annoys him that she never even has to try. whenever he gets a chance to make her even a little flustered, he takes it, and he rubs it in her face.

his attention flickers back to the comic for a second, before he looks at Amy again. Amy, though busy with her coffee and crossword puzzle, darts her eyes to him and back playfully, throwing in a wink—and he laughs at that. setting his comic book down, he walks the close distance to her wicker chair. their hotel balcony they're sat on faces the mountainous, green view and it's so glorious that it seems more like a painting. there are birds flying through the skies, a few of the Easy boys yelling rambunctiously through some baseball, and hot water in the showers.

“Joe, what—” her thoughts are cut off when she’s engulfed by both of his arms, muscles in his tank flexing as he carries her whole, and plops himself down in her chair, before cuddling her on top. “what?” he says, smirking as she chuckles, before settling back into his arms. it feels surreal, to Joe and Amy both, being able to bask in the quiet of each other, in the comfort of their own room (well, sneaking into each other’s rooms). they didn't have to wake up breathless in the face of an artillery strike, and they didn’t have to steal kisses in the cover of the night. everyone knew about Amy and Joe (especially Skinny, god bless him having to watch them kiss), but they were in the middle of a war, and about to be promoted on the basis of their discipline.

in fact, it felt wrong sometimes, taking advantage of the luxury in this place. but they’ve also just dragged their minds through Haguenau, Thalem, and Landsberg, where they found that the scale of brutality committed was much, much bigger than they figured humanely possible. perhaps Colonel Sink thought they deserved a reminder of what the world was like when it was still good. it all felt wrong, but everyone preferred to be imposters in the sunshine, than burn alive underneath it.

“you told me,” Joe asks, caressing her waist and her thighs lightly, “that you wanted to open a little bookstore when this is all over.”

fiddling with the necklace around Joe’s neck, she nods. “what about it?”

“where?” he asks again. Amy notices the way his tone is not only questioning, but nervous. “where would the dream Calloway bookstore be?”

she sits up slowly, placing a hand on Joe’s chest which he cradles with his own, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her skin. “i don’t think i’ve really thought much about what i’m gonna do beyond this place Joe…i, i don’t know. anywhere back home’s gonna be better than here. i just need to get away.”

“home?” Joe asks, “you’ll go back home?”

(my home, Joe thinks, is wherever you are.)

the sound of the scenery washes over their reverie. the afternoon laze is settling in, the men that were playing baseball now dispersing, remaining a distant sound from where Amy and Joe's room was. none of that matters to Amy though, because she's focused solely on Joe, slowly grabbing his hand and raising to kiss the back of it. it reminds him of their time, withering away in the freezing cold of Bagstone, but he shoves that thought in the back of their mind. they are in Austria now. and though they were awaiting on orders for the Pacific, for now, they were safe.

“home is the where the heart is,” she marvels, her smile growing. “so yes Joe,” she continues, reaching into his heart, “i’ll be going wherever home takes me.”

thank you for reading.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott x ofc #band of brothers x oc

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bandagesandloveletters · 21 days

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Band of Brothers Masterlist

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎!

Tag list: If you like my work, feel free to comment, and I can add you to a tag list for any future works either in general or for a certain character.

Lewis Nixon

Cold as Ice -A little something where Nixon learns to ice skate but it’s all part of a deeper plan. Pairing: Lewis Nixon x OFC.

Richard "Dick" Winters

Hidden Love - A request written around the reader and Dick having a hidden love for each other. Pairing: Richard Winters x Reader

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon - Chuck gets a visitor to cheer him up. Pairing: Chuck Grant x OFC

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses - In the cold depths of Bastogne, a little warmth is always welcome. Pairing: Floyd Talbert x OFC (Rosie Moretti)

George Luz

Sentimental Journey - A dance brings two kindred souls together. Pairing: George Luz x OFC (Ellis White)

Joe Liebgott

A Sergeant's Sorrow - A conversation between two friends after Brécourt. Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Platonic!OFC (Lizzie Welsh)

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trashbag-baby666 · 5 months

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Guys I have covid so hit me with more request prompts from this list!! Ive got a few boring days ahead of me!!!

Taking requests for:

Band of Brothers:

Joe Liebgott

Webgott

Luztoye

Baberoe

Winnix

Speirton

The Hunger Games:

Finnick Odair

Top Gun: Maverick:

Rooster Bradshaw

Hangman Seresin

OC’s:

Daisybilly

Baberoe/Graham

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roadtogracelandx45 · 10 months

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Band of Brothers Day 6: OC:

this is the first of 3 parts: Betsy Michael and Marla Stewart will be the other two and be posted later today. pictures were found on Google and pinterest, credited to the original owners

Captian Olivia Stewart-LIebgott - she is appearing in Courage Under Fire.

Olivia and her twin brother Robert had just turned 18 the same day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and their whole world was turned upside down. Robert joins the Army while Olivia is recruited to join the Army Nursing Corps where she quickly rises to the rank of Lieutenant and is sent with a squad of girls to the second ballation of the 506 and Easy Company. Where her twin, childhood sweetheart Bill Guarnere, family friend Lewis Nixon and future husband Joe Liebgott are.

Along with trying to keep her girls and the boys alive, Olivia finds herself falling in love with a cabbie from San Francisco and struggling with the fact that her ex boyfriend and former best friend are there too.

"We were never supposed to go to the front lines like that but in those direct moments when you have spilt second to react, you do. And I ended up putting myself between flying bullets and shelling to try and protect those boys. And if I had a choice I would do it again. No questions asked."

#bobweek2023 #day 6: oc #oc: olivia stewart #oc: olivia stewart liebgott #series: courage under fire #joe x liv #liebliv #ash writes

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indigo-graves · 3 months

Text

My Links ao3 wattpad ff.net

Soft | Roy Kent -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

After | Roy Kent (One Shot) 18+ -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

Softer | Roy Kent coming soon

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

This Dance Pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott 18+

Falling | Carwood Lipton 18+

Rusty | Lewis Nixon

Rusty pt. 2 | Lewis Nixon 18+

Curahee | Joe Toye

Warmth | Eugene Roe

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

Text

Wonderstruck Pt. 2

(Pt. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: In following her out into the night after her hasty exit, Joseph Liebgott has flipped Alix's entire world on its head. But maybe, just maybe, she doesn't mind. A/N: THERE'S A PLOT, I PROMISE, THERE'S A PLOT!!!! Dedication: To my dear friend @brassknucklespeirs who encourages my bad behavior. Consider this your payback for hurting my heart & calling me out with "No Shame"🤭💖 WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), Hurt/Comfort, Unsafe sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, Y'ALL, OR I'M COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS 🤬🤬🤬), Trust issues, Implied abuse (nothing graphic), everybody cusses like a sailor but y'all knew that Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @holdingforgeneralhugs

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

It wasn’t until Alix made it outside of the lobby and into the icy chill of the English winter that she realized she’d forgotten her coat.

The wind was harsh, stinging her bare skin, and she rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to ward off its bite as she began the long walk home.

“Kinda hard to 'go for a smoke' without your cigs, ain’t it?” a familiar voice called into the night as the door squeaked shut behind him, forcing Alix to stop in her tracks.

Goddamn it.

The agent huffed, gathering her courage before turning to face Joe, the small cloud of her breath still hanging in the frosty air behind her.

She'd intended to speak but no sound came out.

After all, what was there to say?

“I lied and ran off because I’m scared to get involved with you, in case you’re already involved with someone else?"

Yeah, that would go over like a ton of bricks.

A Martinelli doesn’t show weakness, Alix remembered her father scolding her when she’d dissolved into tears after Clay’s numerous, public infidelities. Not now, not ever.

So she said nothing, arms crossed, her ruby-red lips pressed into a tense line as she studied the paratrooper who'd come out after her.

Joe was standing just outside the building's overhang, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he leaned against the building's outer wall, Alix's navy-blue coat draped over one shoulder.

His deep brown puppy eyes traced over her features so softly, as though there was something worth seeing in them…in her…

Alix crossed her arms even tighter around herself, dropping her gaze to the cobblestones. Anything to avoid those sweet, puppy-dog eyes.

She hated the way he looked at her, like she was the sun: something brilliant, worthy of kindness and reverence, and a million other sweet sentiments she didn't feel she deserved.

How could anyone look at her like that after the things she'd done?

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

4 Years Earlier: August 18th, 1940. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

With a shout of obscenities in Italian, her father Emilio, had burst into their parlor, slamming a stack of men’s magazines and pinup calendars down onto the mahogany coffee table in front of her with such force that the whole table shook.

“What in God’s name is this?” he demanded, stabbing an accusatory finger at a Beauty Parade drawing of her in a slinky evening gown cut practically down to her navel, her cleavage nearly spilling out as she leaned on a piano.

“And this!” A page torn from the Esquire calendar depicting a provocatively-posed Alix as Miss July, lounging on a beach towel in an impossibly tiny two-piece.

“And this!” A Titter centerfold featuring a blushing Alix with the skirt of her sundress snagged in a door, revealing her garters and a tantalizing flash of white lace panties.

“Is this what you've been doing while you're away?” her father bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “We send you to Richmond for finishing school and you become a prostitute?!"

"No, Pa, I-"

"Basta! Non dire cazzate, you got that? Don't fucking bullshit me!"

"They're just pin-up drawings! It's not like I'm naked-"

"You think that makes it better?!"

Her father grabbed one of the calendars off the table and waved it in front of her face.

"Do you see this shit? This is the shit roughnecks carry with them out to the oil fields every day! Is that who you want to be, Alix, some workmen’s tart for them to gawk at, like a piece of meat?! You want your name– OUR name– associated with the likes of them?!"

"I didn't even use my real name for those!” Alix shot back, her temper flaring.

Her parents were strict but even still: she’d had a taste of freedom and she’d be damned if she’d be caged ever again.

“Pa, I’m careful, I swear! I give false names every time! Hell, I’ve even worn wigs!"

"And what, you think that's going to keep people from recognizing you?! Ci fai o ci sei?!"

"No, I'm not stupid, Pa! Look, I-"

"Zitta! We did not name you after royalty so that you could parade around like a whore and humiliate this family! We’ve got a reputation to uphold and I am not about to have it ruined because of you! Capisce?"

Without waiting for an answer, he threw the calendar down onto the ground and began to pace across the floor, muttering and massaging his temple with his hand.

“Santa Maria,” he all but spat, shaking his head at his prodigal daughter with disgust.

“We can only pray the Hearsts don’t hear of this. Because who in God’s name would want to marry you now, knowing the…the filth you’ve involved yourself in?!”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

Joe broke the tension first, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and Alix jumped at the sound.

Tentatively, he draped her coat around her shoulders, as though she were a bomb set to detonate any second.

Just like everybody else in the company.

Alix drew the dark material tightly around her for protection from the elements.

“How’d you know?” she asked softly, glancing up to him nervously before her eyes darted away again.

How did you know that was my coat?

How did you know where I’d be?

How do you know me so well without ever having known me?

Joe rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I ain’t a spy or anythin’ but I ain't fuckin’ blind either,” he remarked, attempting a smile but it came off more as a grimace of self-loathing.

“I noticed you when I came in. I remembered the coat you wore. It…”

He huffed for a second, his breath clouding the frosty air, before finishing simply, “It looked good on you.”

“Thanks,” Alix murmured before retrieving her cigarettes and glancing back up to Joe, extending an olive branch.

"You want one?"

He cocked an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment, before asking, "What kind?"

"Chesterfields," Alix replied with a half-smile, passing the white and gold carton over to him. "I'm under contract."

Was it just the dim lighting of the street lamps or did she see the ghost of a smile cross his face?

"Ya got good taste," he remarked simply before plucking a cigarette from the carton and retrieving a lighter from his pocket.

He leaned over to give hers a light first, the both of them painfully aware of how close their faces were once again.

The unacknowledged memory of the almost-kiss from earlier lingered between them like the rolling fog over the crop fields and Alix wondered if he could hear the thump-thump-thumping of her heart at the thought, even now.

“You coulda just told me, y’know," he mumbled after the first drag, sounding so unusually quiet and hesitant, so unlike the brash, cocky front he tried to keep up, that for a second, his words didn't even register.

"Told you what, Joey?"

The agent flinched at the way her voice sounded. Brittle, like broken glass.

But she couldn't help it. Her resolve was waning.

As she took a drag to steady herself, Joe's head jerked up in surprise at her words, brown eyes wide.

"Joey, huh?" he repeated, ignoring her question as the corner of his mouth starting to quirk up in his trademark goofy grin. "Nobody's ever called me that before."

Alix started to apologize automatically but Joe shook his head.

"Don't," he chided gently. "I like it. But-"

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'd like anything that comes outta that pretty mouth of yours."

"Awful quick with the lines tonight, aren't we?" Alix tried to sound nonchalant but there was a notable edge to her voice that caused Joe's brows to knit with concern.

"That a problem?"

"Of course not," Alix replied coolly, the smoke from her last drag curling into the air between them like a momentary barrier.

"I just know your type is all."

Joe gritted his teeth at her insinuation.

"Yeah?” he asked tersely. “And what type's that?"

“The type that gives their girl back home the runaround while they're off chasing tail and chasing glory."

A vein popped in his jaw at the insinuation.

"You think you got me all figured out, huh?” he snapped tersely. "Well you don't. I've never gone steady with anybody, okay? I don't have the fuckin' time!"

He shook his head in frustration.

"I been workin' two jobs, helpin' out my folks and lookin' out for my siblings since I was a fuckin' teenager. Yeah I slept around a little bit here and there, I'm not gonna bullshit you, but I never gave anybody the fuckin' runaround, okay? I'm not Skinny and I sure as fuck ain't Tab."

Alix blinked in shock at his outburst as she absorbed his words, but Joe wasn't done.

"And y'wanna know why I joined the Airborne?" he demanded.

He took a quick drag, the exhale coming just as fast.

"Wasn't for shits and giggles, lemme tell ya. It was so I could save enough money to put a fuckin' down payment on a house for my folks. That's why. Not glory, not girls, okay? My fuckin' family.

He took another puff of his cigarette, golden-brown eyes now studying the darkened landscape behind her before discarding it under his heel.

Alix tensed. Taking a slow drag off her own cig, she hoped quietly that the slightly bitter, hazy taste would clear her racing thoughts. But it didn't.

Boy, did she feel stupid.

"Look, Joe, I-I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring at the ground and tossing her cigarette away, her muscles taut as she braced for some sort of fight.

Conflict was a regular feature of her life growing up. Her father was a wild and wealthy womanizer and her melancholic mother socially prominent and heavily religious. When they clashed, which was often, the walls of their estate shook with the bellowing, doors slamming, and glass breaking.

A marriage of convenience, yes, but a match made in hell.

Her first real boyfriend…her former fiancé…had been much the same. Alix had learned very quickly that Clayton Hearst did not tolerate mouthiness.

That was probably why her father had chosen him for a match— to keep his wayward daughter in line. It hadn't stopped Alix from fighting back but it made for some very rough arguments.

Fortunately, Clay had left for the Marines while she was still in school, allowing Alix a small reprieve from their near-constant fighting.

The Dear Jane letter she'd gotten in the mail a month later had only proven to her what she'd already known deep-down:

Clay had never loved her. Hell, he'd never even liked her. The still-healing bruises from their parting arguments were proof enough of that. And just like her father, he'd rather spend his leave time cavorting with other women instead of remaining faithful to the one he was supposed to love.

The soft percussion of boots on pavement shook Alix out of her reverie and she jumped. But to her surprise, Joe's approach wasn't angry. Not at all.

Instead, she felt calloused fingers gently tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes and she flinched. But instead of the fury she'd come to expect, she saw only concern reflected back at her.

“I don’t know what asshole taught you that that’s how men are,” he said softly. “But I can fuckin’ promise you, that ain't how I am. You'll see."

Alix knew she shouldn't but the sincerity in Joe’s tone tugged at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t expected and even with all her reservations, she couldn't help but believe him.

She was suddenly, painfully aware of his proximity, his face so tantalizingly near that she could smell the dizzying sweetness of the alcohol on his breath mingling with the faint smoke of his last cigarette.

Alix's eyes raked across his features: the intensity of his warm caramel gaze, his finely-drawn cheekbones, his strong aquiline nose, and she couldn't help but linger on the smile tugging at his lips, each thud of her heartbeat chanting the same thing like a mantra:

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" Joe teased softly, as if he could read her mind.

The slight gravel of his voice sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine and Alix knew then, as surely as she knew her own name, that kissing Joe Liebgott would be sealing her own fate, allowing herself to need him in a way she hadn’t wanted to need anyone ever again.

But in that moment, a decision was made:

It would be worth it.

So in response, Alix gave in to her impulses and pressed her lips earnestly to his with all of the sweet desperation that had been building up inside her since their eyes had first met days earlier.

Before she’d even known his name, a part of her had wanted to do this and the fact that it was actually happening had her head spinning in the best way.

Joe’s lips were soft, far softer than she’d expected them to be and they moved instinctively against hers in perfect synchronicity, anticipating her needs as naturally as he had on the dancefloor.

Alix reached up and ran her fingers through his thick copper hair, the intoxicating musk of his cologne and the feel of his arms sliding around her waist sending warmth blossoming through her like a blazing hearth in the winter chill.

Deepening the kiss, her tongue tentatively prodded his half-parted lips and he tangled a hand in her hair, intensifying their embrace.

Kissing Joe was like a drug, the syrupy-sweetness of the alcohol on his tongue and the searing heat of his mouth on hers stirred something in her she'd never before experienced.

The warmth between them was slowly building, spreading like a wildfire, and even the sudden, frigid downpouring of sleet couldn't sour the elation they felt in each other's arms.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Joe chuckled in between kisses, deftly flipping the collar up on his jacket with his free hand.

“What’s wrong, flyboy?” Alix quipped, her hair now coated in the frozen slush. “Afraid of a little winter weather?”

“Nah," he scoffed with a teasing nip at her bottom lip. "But if I catch a fuckin' cold ‘cause of it, I’m makin’ you take care of me.”

"Yeah?" the agent joked, returning the nip playfully. "Why me?"

"'Cause I ain't foolin' around with Roe."

Alix couldn't even respond, reluctantly having to tear herself away due to her uncontrollable shivering.

"I should p-probably get g-going," Alix managed from between chattering teeth.

Both her coat and dress had already been soaked through with the freezing water and the harsh wind was biting at her through the trees.

"B-Before it g-gets worse."

"Not like this we're fuckin' not," Joe declared, gently guiding Alix under the overhang. "We'll catch our deaths."

"You-You don't have to come," Alix replied, wrapping her arms around herself in a vague attempt to conserve whatever body heat hadn't already fled.

"Like hell I don't," Joe responded stubbornly, crossing his arms to keep himself warm as well.

"If you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone in the middle of the night, and in this weather on top of it, you're outta your fuckin' mind."

He was shivering too but he still took off his half-soaked coat and wrapped it around Alix's already-soaked coat anyway.

"What...What do you recommend then?"

Instead of answering, Joe opened the door to the White Rose again.

"Lemme take care of it, dollface." he called over his shoulder as he slipped inside. "Don't miss me too much."

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

About five minutes later, Joe reappeared, dangling a room key with a triumphant grin on his face.

"C'mon Ziskeit," he urged, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her inside where it was warmer. "I told ya I'd take care of it!"

"How did you manage that?" Alix asked incredulously, once she'd stopped shivering so violently. "They don't rent to unmarried couples, do they? It'd be improper!"

As if to answer her question, when they passed the concierge desk, the clerk gave them an enthusiastic parting wave.

"Enjoy your Honeymoon, Corporal and Mrs. Liebgott!"

Alix turned to Joe, wide-eyed.

"Joey, you didn't-!"

But Joe shot her a wink.

"What can I say? I got creative."

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Their room at the White Rose was a bit on the smaller side, right next to the first floor stairwell, and most importantly, it was warm but Alix wouldn't have noticed the difference if it had been a suite at the Waldorf.

Joe's lips pressed urgently against hers and together, they stumbled as one through the doorway in a frenzy of desire, each kissing the other as though their lives depended on it.

"You been drivin' me crazy all night, y'know that?" Joe mumbled haltingly against her lips as he fumbled blindly for the door knob.

"Have I?" Alix asked innocently, lightly nipping at his bottom lip before peeling off her coat and tossing it to the ground.

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, Zees," he cautioned, pressing her back up against the closed door, which rattled its complaint.

"But why, Joey?" Alix purred seductively, reeling him in by his tie just to brush her lips tantalizingly against his and slip away before he could kiss her.

"It's so much fun to tease you."

"Yeah?" She could hear the smirk in his rough voice but what she hadn’t expected was to feel him behind her.

Catching her hand as he spoke, Joe deftly tugged her back to him and she yielded, allowing him to pin her against the opposite wall instead with a dull thump, caging her between his arms.

"’Cause I bet it's gonna be a whole lot more fun to tease you.”

He started with her jawline, his kisses torturously gradual as he made his way down her arching neck, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps prickling down her limbs.

Locating her sweet spots with relative ease, he latched on, sucking a small trail of love bites into the delicate skin, pulling a breathy moan from Alix’s throat before she could stop it.

He was smirking against the blossoming bruises, she could feel it, and she eagerly nipped a row of matching marks into his neck in return, around the chain of his dog tags, the resulting guttural groan from him making her a little weak in the knees.

His kisses traveled further down at a maddening crawl, making Alix squirm with impatience.

He was keeping her caged against the wall on purpose, forcing her to allow him to take the lead and for an agent so used to being the pursuer, the honeytrap, in-command at all times, she could’ve screamed in frustration.

Sensing her impatience, he captured her mouth in another desperate, heated kiss and she pressed her whole body flush against him with an almost-feline grace.

Slow as pouring honey, she dragged herself agonizingly against him, making sure he felt every inch of her from her breasts to her hips and ass up against him.

She could feel the curve of his hard cock straining through his trousers as it lightly prodded her thigh–– and the sensation inflamed her like a cat in heat.

Tugging him nearer by his tie a second time, Alix leaned just close enough for her warm breath to ghost along the shell of his ear.

“Fuck, I need you, Joey,” she moaned breathily, running a teasing hand over the bulge in his pants and making him shudder from the contact. “I need you so bad.”

“Okay now that,” Joe groaned at her touch. “That’s just fuckin’ cruel.”

“Then do something about it,” Alix purred and that was all the paratrooper needed to hear.

Joe could be a very petty and proud man, but even so: he wasn’t superhuman.

Scooping her up in his deceptively-strong arms, Alix let out a small yelp of surprise as Joe moved her away from the wall and began backing her towards the bed, their lips crashing against each other’s again and again as they stumbled to it, throwing off their clothes as they went.

Joe’s tie, her dress, his shirt, her heels, they all were strewn somewhere on the way but neither of them noticed where.

The backs of Alix’s knees hit the bed and Joe gave her a gentle push, easing her onto it, the mattress springs creaking softly.

But for all his earlier cockiness, the paratrooper was rendered completely awestruck by her nearly-naked form, and he took a step back for a moment, simply standing there in his skivvies, gazing at her in pure disbelief.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered finally, his eyes roving down her lounging body on the mattress, absorbing the image as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Alix propped herself up on her elbows to give him a better view. Her bra was long gone– tossed to the floor nearby– and all that remained on her were her black garter belt, and matching stockings.

Suddenly, Alix found herself feeling more nervous than she ever had before. Modeling was impersonal. This wasn’t like that at all.

None of the artists had ever looked at her the way Joe was looking at her now, so…so reverently and yet so ravenously at the same time.

Come to think of it, no man she’d ever met had looked at her like that before, with such a mixture of carnal desire and awestruck admiration, and it was driving her wild in the best way.

She needed him. In whatever way he wanted, Alix knew she needed him.

As if he could read her thoughts, he walked to the edge of the bed and gently nudged her legs apart with his hand.

Alix must’ve looked surprised because he gave her a playful wink and settled between her thighs as though he'd always been, the look of pure desire in his eyes sending a tingling sensation to her most sensitive parts.

Shifting the pillows so she could have a better vantage point, Alix could see even from there that Joe’s pupils were blown with lust and she could feel herself reddening under his gaze.

“You just sit back and relax up there, Ziskeit,” he entreated her, the old cocky, flirtatious Liebgott grin she’d seen earlier in the evening returning once again.

“This is gonna be fun.”

“Joey, you don’t have to…” Alix began softly but the feeling of his lips nipping and kissing the inside of her thighs killed the rest of the words in her throat.

God, he was good.

He left a burning path of love bites from her hip bones down her inner thighs, causing her to whine impatiently at the dull ache blooming between her legs.

He was driving her crazy and he knew it too, damn him.

Alix’s breath hitched as Joe eased her panties to the side with a finger.

"God, you're fuckin' soaked," he breathed and Alix felt her heartbeat quickening at the lewdness dripping from his words.

But even underneath the obscenity and voraciousness of his tone, there was an underlying sweetness too.

“You sure you wanna do this, Ziskeit?” he asked tentatively, meeting her eyes and suddenly seeming almost nervous.

“We don’t have to, y’know…I’ll understand, if you don’t…”

Alix frowned.

Had she misread his signals the whole night? Was he just here because he was mollifying her?

“Do you not want to?”

His eyebrows shot up immediately and he sat back on his knees.

“You kiddin’ me? Of course I want to! I just didn’t want you to think-”

“I don’t,” Alix interrupted, knowing instinctively what he was going to say. “I don’t think that, not at all.”

He nodded his acknowledgement and returned to his prone position between her legs.

"Oh, by the way," he remarked nonchalantly, looking up with a positively sinful grin.

"You're gonna be cumming at least twice before we do anythin’ else."

Alix’s eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“U-Uh,” she stammered, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt now that her face was a deep crimson.

“One thing, before you start. Um…I’ve never…y’know…Not from this…or anything, really. I don’t even know if I can…”

Joe’s eyes were as round as hers as understanding set in.

“Wait, never?” he asked incredulously and Alix shook her head with a nervous titter, suddenly feeling extremely shy.

“Nope.”

Clayton had never been the type to care about her pleasure and the others had been similarly apathetic.

Truthfully, she hadn’t even known sex was supposed to be enjoyable until Lavinia from St. Mary’s had shared stories of her romps in the woods with one of the boys from St. Ignatius.

“I, uh, I hope that’s not a problem, Joey.”

Recovering from his momentary trance, Alix saw something flicker in the golden flecks of his eyes, like 24Karat gold dust…was it affection?

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dollface,” he reassured her with an easy smile as he nudged her panties to the side once more.

“Just lay back and lemme make you feel good.”

Alix obeyed eagerly and he hooked his arms under her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders before descending on her heat like some kind of starving animal.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, feeling a bit pathetic at the way a few well-placed laps of Joe’s tongue already had her head feeling light.

Tangling her fingers reflexively in his thick, lush brown hair, Alix swore she could feel him smiling as he devoured her, reveling in the way he was making her come undone in a way no one else had.

Minutes later, she was trembling. The assassin everyone was so in awe of was quivering like a leaf in the breeze at every broad stripe of Joe’s well-practiced tongue.

He knew what he was doing, that was for sure.

Her free hand gripping the sheets, she could feel the muscles in her stomach clenching, bracing for each wave of pleasure that Joe’s tongue sent rushing through her.

“Shit, you taste good,” Joe mumbled, greedily lapping at her core like a man starved, burying his tongue so deeply within her that Alix had to scrunch her eyes shut to keep from falling to pieces right then and there.

“So fuckin’ sweet for me, aren’t ya, Zees?”

“O-Oh God,” Alix gasped out, tugging at Joe's hair desperately.

The pooling warmth in her stomach was getting stronger, deeper, her legs trembling as the waves of pleasure began to build, filling up like a balloon seconds from bursting. “Joey, I-I think-"

Joe groaned in excitement, lapping steadily at her core, before beginning to suckle on her clit, causing her vision to flash momentarily white.

Alix let out a strangled cry, her back arching clear off the mattress and involuntarily thrusting her breasts into the air.

“Oh-Oh fuck, Joey,” she mewled, her voice carrying clear across the room as the dam broke. She tried to press her quivering thighs together, the overwhelming sensitivity like a tsunami of bliss completely flooding her senses, but Joe wasn’t done with her.

Not even close.

“Louder,” he urged as he coaxed her through her first orgasm, giving quick kitten licks to her most sensitive spot and teasing her slick entrance with a finger.

“C’mon, Zees, I wanna hear you.”

“Joey, if you keep this up, the whole hall is gonna hear me,” Alix half-sobbed, the pleasure so overwhelming that she could feel her vision swimming.

Joe pressed a soft kiss to her knee before slipping a second finger inside her, sending her keening his name so loudly that she was sure even the clerks at the concierge desk could hear.

“Good,” he affirmed, beginning to scissor his fingers inside her core as her breathing quickened to ragged, blissful gasps.

“Besides, we’re newlyweds, remember?”

He shot her a wink.

“We’re ‘sposed to be at it like rabbits.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Alix had always thought the phrase “seeing stars” was just an expression but after the third or fourth orgasm Joe had ripped out of her, she was pretty sure there were lights dancing before her eyes after all.

“You doin’ okay, Zees?” The paratrooper perked his head up from between her legs, the evidence of her arousal glistening on his chin.

His bangs were stuck to his forehead, the both of them covered in a sheen of sweat, but he looked as satisfied as she felt.

“You need a break or somethin’?”

Alix gave him a reassuring smile and shifted her still-trembling legs off of Joe’s shoulders.

“I’m good, Joey.”

He cocked his head and sat back on his heels, eyeing her inquisitively, a note of concern in his husky voice.

“You sure?”

Alix nodded.

“I promise.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I’m just taking a quick second to recover, that’s all.”

Satisfied with her answer, the paratrooper crawled up beside her, back against the headboard, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he searched the face beside him intently for a reaction.

“Pretty fuckin’ good, huh?”

Alix giggled.

“If you couldn’t tell from me screaming your name for however long it’s been, yes, it was ‘pretty fucking good’.”

Joe gave her a playful nudge with his shoulder.

“Just checkin’. Can’t leave Mrs. Liebgott unsatisfied on our honeymoon, y’know. What kinda husband would I be?”

Alix knew he was just joking but the reference still made something in her flutter with delight.

This paratrooper…This technician with the warm smile and the quick wit, who seemed to read her better than anyone else, he intrigued her like no one ever had.

He was an adventure, a revelation, an epiphany, everything she hadn’t known she’d been missing, all wrapped up into one charismatic person.

Feeling something stirring deep inside her again, Alix found herself gripped by a primal urge she couldn’t shake.

She needed him, all of him. Now.

Rolling over onto her side so that she was facing him completely, she could see the taut muscles of his thin, wiry frame, tensing like a panther as he looked at her.

How could he always read her mind?

Giving him a once-over, the spy glimpsed the same salacious shape straining against his underwear.

Leaning over, she began to toy with the waistband of his skivvies, causing Joe's hips to buck up involuntarily as her smooth fingertips dipped below.

“C’mon, Ziskeit,” Joe cajoled, those deep brown eyes full of unspoken pleas for release as Alix resumed kissing down his neck. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”

“If I recall,” Alix murmured against his skin as she grazed her nails down his abs, making him inhale sharply.

“A certain person made me beg for a full five minutes…”

“Well that person's a fuckin’ idiot," Joe grunted desperately.

As he was speaking, Alix slid his skivvies off and took him into her mouth, delicately tracing the head with her tongue.

"And I'm sure he – Oh fuckin’ Christ!” Joe hissed, tangling a hand in her hair desperately to keep some self-control as she went about her work, taking him deeper into her throat.

“Fuck, I’m sure he knows better now."

Alix smirked, hollowing her cheeks and taking him still deeper, pushing him further down, savoring the taste of him, and she could feel his hips starting to buck.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growled but as she deep-throated him again and again, he released her hair, his hands hurriedly finding their way to her shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Zees,” he choked out, pushing her away gently and it only took that warning tone for her to release him at once with a lewd pop.

“You okay, Joey?” she asked, her turn to be concerned, and he laughed nervously.

“Uh…” he chuckled, sheepishly running a hand through his hair.

“I…I wasn’t gonna last too much longer, if you kept that up. That was… Christ, that was somethin’ fuckin’ else.”

Alix hummed appreciatively before swinging a leg over and straddling his lap.

“Can we try this then?” she murmured, ghosting her fingers up and down his strong arms.

"Jesus Christ," Joe whispered almost reverently from his half-propped position against the headboard, his heavily-lidded eyes roaming every inch of her nude form, still admiring her as though she was a priceless Caravaggio.

"You sure you're not a fuckin' dream or somethin'?"

He slowly reached out, his fingertips ghosting across the valley of her breasts in mesmerized disbelief, as though he was afraid she might disappear at any moment if he was too rough with her.

"I'm real, tesoro," Alix assured him, guiding his hand to squeeze the supple flesh, sending a flood of warmth through her and she could feel him twitch beneath her, prodding her inner thigh with his arousal.

“I promise, I’m real.”

Carding a hand through his hair, she captured him in a long, passionate kiss which he returned just as fervently, the pair moaning deeply into each other’s mouths as she sank down on his cock.

She gasped as he bottomed out, the slight burn filling her with ecstasy, and he groaned deeply.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

Alix didn’t even have the words to reply. The feeling of fullness Joe supplied was unimaginably euphoric, blanking out her mind completely.

Relying on animal instinct alone, she began to roll her hips, rutting against him as desperate keens and gasped curses fell from both their lips like prayers.

Joe wrapped both arms around her waist, burying his face in her breasts with a deep, rumbling groan of ecstasy, gripping her to him as though she was a lifeline, the lifesaving driftwood to a drowning man.

“Madonna mia,” Alix breathed, the fervent motion of her hips stuttering momentarily at the feeling of him latching onto the sensitive skin of her nipple.

She rutted against him desperately, needing more and more of him, tugging on his hair in a silent plea for everything that only he could give her.

“Hey Ziskeit,” he murmurs seconds later, his voice husky with arousal, and she could feel her walls constricting around him tighter and tighter. “Goddammit, I think I’m gonna cum soon...”

Her pace twice as insistent now, Alix bore down on him, Joe’s dog tags jingling musically against her chest as she rode him into oblivion.

“Fuck, Joey, I need you," she murmured, chanting the last three words like a prayer as she felt herself teetering on a precipice for another time.

“Don’t say that," Joe gasped out, his grip around her hips so insistent that she was sure bruises would form later. "Don't fuckin' say that unless you mean it."

He was bucking up against her too, matching her rhythm, every stroke so intense in her core that she was left a whimpering mess.

“I mean it, Joey,” Alix moaned as she pressed his face to her chest, "God, I fucking mean it."

“Oh shit, Jesus Christ!” Panic and pleasure twisted Joe’s handsome features, his voice raising frantically. “Uh, Zees, I- FUCK!”

His warning tone reached a fever pitch just as his orgasm jolted through him, ripping a guttural sound from his throat and leaving him slack-jawed and panting as his cock pulsed.

Alix was seconds behind him, burying her face into his shoulder with a broken sob as another orgasm overwhelmed her, plunging her instantly into white-hot bliss as he held her, murmuring praises in English and what she assumed to be German.

Joe lolled his head back against the headboard, his murmuring voice farther and farther away now. Alix was too fucked out to think anymore and she found herself slumping over on top of his chest like a ragdoll as she drifted off.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Surfacing from sleep around 1am to find Joe still buried comfortably inside her, the pair of them still tangled in each other’s arms, Alix gently eased herself upright, wanting to take in the scene for a moment, not knowing if she’d ever have the chance to again.

Was this a one-night stand? God, she hoped not. Was it her imagination or was there something more between them?

A spark? No…a flame. More than a flame. An inferno.

In one night, Joe had shown her an entirely different world, an entirely different life than the one she’d been trapped in before.

How could she just go back to normal now, as if she hadn’t been completely and totally changed? As if her entire world hadn’t been rocked by one cocky paratrooper with puppy-dog eyes?

Their clothes, still damp from the sleet, lay discarded in messy bunches along the carpet like autumn leaves.

Thinking back on it, Alix couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd begun but the chill of the remaining frost that had coated them both at the start was long gone by now, replaced with the sticky-sweetness and feverish heat of sweat and sex.

Joe wasn't like Clay or any of the handful of guys she'd been with before, she mused.

They'd all been selfish lovers, entirely focused on chasing their own wants while denying her hers. She was merely a vessel for them to get off, nothing more than a doll to be used and discarded once her purpose had been fulfilled.

In one night, Joe had treated her like the complete opposite.

He was still as full of fire in the bedroom as he was out of it, but for once, it was only for Alix to see. He had been chasing her all night but not in the way the others were. For the first time in her life, someone seemed hungry to please her. The thought was so foreign that it sent another shiver of pleasure through her.

Even in his sleep, Joe’s breathing hitched at the sensation of her walls contracting around him and she couldn’t help but giggle into her hand.

“Whassofunny?” Joe mumbled, cracking an eye open.

“Nothing, cucciolo,” Alix assured him, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. “Go back to sleep. You need it.”

“I fuckin’ don’t,” Joe insisted doggedly, starting to sit up, but when Alix started to lift herself off of him, he hissed and shook his head.

“Not yet, Ziskeit,” he pleaded, his words still running together a bit in his after-sex haze. “A little bit longer.”

“Then go back to sleep and I'll stay put,” Alix countered.

“Can’t,” Joe yawned. “Can’t sleep much normally, ‘cept after…y’know.”

He made a vague gesture to their situation and Alix cocked an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

“If that was your way of trying to come onto me again,” she commented drolly. “I appreciate the creativity. I don’t think ‘Fuck me to sleep’ is a line I’ve heard before.”

“Wasn’t a line,” Joe responded with a shrug. “I really can’t sleep for shit."

His warm brown eyes were boring into hers again and she could feel the playful chuckle he was trying to suppress in his voice when he added slyly,

“But y’know, just outta curiosity… if it had been a line, would it’ve worked…?”

She was now hyper-aware of his hands resting gently on her bare back as he held her, the roughness of his calloused fingertips sending sparks dancing deliciously across her soft skin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy,” she teased with a soft roll of her hips, but the slight catch of desire in her voice when she felt him stiffen betrayed her.

"Shit," Joe grunted at the sudden movement, pupils blown with desire. "You're such a fuckin' minx, y'know that?"

"Am I?" Alix blinked innocently before clenching the muscles in her core around his cock in a vise grip, making him hiss. "I hadn't noticed."

"Okay that's it," Joe hissed, the rasp in his slightly nasal-tenor coming out as almost a primal growl. Keeping one hand steady on her back, he pulled out and flipped her over, pinning her firmly underneath him.

Alix sunk her nails into his back to keep herself from moaning needily as he buried himself within her once again, rougher this time, the heavenly ache between her legs as he bottomed out causing a small whimper to escape.

“Gotta be quiet now, dollface,” he mumbled, crashing his lips to hers to keep himself from groaning out loud.

“People’re probably sleeping. Like we would be if you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Such a charmer, cucciolo, I- Oh fuck!”

Working up speed, Joe began pounding into her mercilessly, seemingly determined to make her pay for teasing him so cruelly earlier, and Alix wrapped her legs around him, craving him impossibly closer to her.

“Tesoro, fuck, I think–” she whimpered from beneath him. “I think I might-”

“Yeah?” he grunted, the vigor of his pace only increasing.

Thinking back on it, his dog tags had been clinking so loudly against his Star of David pendant that Alix hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Real sorry I took so long, Pops,” a soft-spoken but familiar voice rang from the entrance. “But Doc said-”

Shifty Powers, the sweet-faced trooper who’d waved to Joe in the lobby earlier, was now frozen dead in his tracks, his eyes dinner-plate wide as the tall glass of water he’d been carrying slid from his hands, shattering into several glistening chunks on the floor with a CRACK!

He was beet-red but rooted to the spot, his horrified gaze dropping down to the shattered glass at his feet and then back up to the still-intertwined Alix and Joe like he was tied to the tracks of an oncoming train.

“Shit,” he mumbled, stammering out excuses and apologies, half to himself and half to the couple as he immediately dropped to his knees and began busying himself with trying to collect the glass shards. “I- This-this isn’t…and y’all aren’t…But I thought-”

Alix lunged for the comforter, which she hurriedly wrapped around herself like an oversized towel.

“Don’t worry about the glass,” she reassured him kindly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. “We’ll take care of it. You just get where you need to go.”

“A-Are y’all sure?" He was speaking entirely to the carpet, head dipped to avoid any more accidental views.

If it hadn't been such a humiliating situation, Alix might've giggled.

"I wouldn’t wanna cause y’all any trouble.”

“It isn’t any trouble,” Alix insisted. “Isn’t that right, Joe?”

Joe made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a grunt, but the glare she shot him could’ve wilted even fake flowers and he finally relented.

“Yeah sure,” Liebgott replied, dulling the sharpness of the irritation in his tone. “No trouble at all.”

“Well alright, if y’all are sure…” Shifty mumbled, his face still a bright cherry red. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll just see y’all around. I'm just gonna-"

With that, he fled the room like a bat out of hell, leaving a disgruntled Joe and a mortified Alix in his wake.

"God, I cannot believe that just happened." Alix squeaked into her palms, wishing that the Earth would just swallow her whole.

Even the exquisite soreness between her thighs wasn't worth that.

Joe meanwhile, was muttering to himself as he stepped over the glass shards strewn along a small patch of carpet.

"Going somewhere?" Alix asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah," Joe grumbled. "To latch and lock that goddamn door.”

105 notes · View notes

mccall-muffin · 2 years

Text

Love vs. Hate - Part 1 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Next Masterlist Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appears to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language

A/N: Hello everybody :) Welcome to my "big" Band of Brothers Fanfiction. I put a lot of work in this one and there will be a lot of chapters. Olivia Stark is my OC and we will get through her war days with her. @brassknucklespeirs thank you love, for encouraging me and for the read through of my first chapter! :)

September 1942, Camp Claiborne, Louisiana

"You really have to go?", Harry asks me and I nod slowly. "Yep, Colonel Dunn ordered it. I'm being transferred to the 101st." "Unbelievable," Harry says, shaking his head. "And all because of a little scuffle? I mean Johnson had it coming, if you ask me." "Dunn said if it was only once, he wouldn't have said anything, but... You know... Doesn't really help that my dad gets involved, either." Harry grins at me. "Once a week is more like it." "You don't have to say anything, do you? Mister look-at-me-and-I'll-slap-you-in-the-face! I still can't believe they put you forward for the OCS, and that's after they demoted you, wait... Six times?" "You're not the only one Liv... I still can't believe it, but they just think I have what it takes to lead people." "And I couldn't agree more," I laugh and put my hands on his shoulders.

Harry sighs and then puts on his cap. "I'm definitely going to miss you, kiddo." He takes me in his arms and I wrap my hands around his middle. "I'll miss you too, Harry." "Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again soon." "You never know, that's true." "Depending on where they put me after that and I don't like it, I may come back to you. Maybe your relations will still be useful then." I break away from him and laugh. "Well, I can try. Take care Welsh! And when you finally go to war... don't die, will you?" "Likewise!" He waves at me before I get on the train to Georgia. As I sit in a compartment, I open the window and look at Harry again. "What's the name of the place you're going?" "Camp Toccoa in Georgia, 506th Infantry Regiment as far as I know." "Good luck! And don't let them get you down. You may be a woman... But you're still the toughest son of a bitch I know." "Thanks for the flowers Harry," I grin and give him one last wave as the train pulls away.

September 1942, Camp Toccoa, Georgia

When the train stops, I grab my bag and get off. As I stand on the platform, I rummage in my breast pocket for the information letter from Colonel Dunn and read it through again. "Report to Colonel Sink," I mutter to myself and look around. There is chaos on the platform, as I am not the only soldier who has just arrived. I am used to the strange looks of the other soldiers by now, because I know that most of them have never seen a woman in uniform.

"Sergeant Stark?", I then hear a voice and look up. "Yes?" "I'm Private Barton. I'm supposed to take you to Colonel Sink." I nod and then follow the Private. "Did you have a good trip, Ma'am?" he asks as he leads me through the camp. "Yes. Long, but otherwise quite calm." "I'm glad to hear that, Ma'am." Slightly skeptical, I look at the Private from the side. It's rare that soldiers are so friendly to her right from the start. Most of the time they rather keep their distance and give her funny looks. But maybe Private Barton is just a friendly person.

He leads me further through the newly arrived soldiers, who are still staring at me, and then to a building. He stops in front of an office. "I'm going to take a quick look to see if the Colonel is ready for you yet, Ma'am. Why don't you have a seat," he says, pointing to a chair in front of the office, then knocks on the door and disappears into the room. I take a deep breath and sit down on the chair. My gaze is fixed on the office door, which is marked 'Col. Robert F. Sink'. I let my mind wander as to whether or not my father once told me anything about him. I can't remember. But Dad certainly wouldn't have me transferred here if he had a problem with Sink as a leader.

Suddenly the door opens again and Barton comes out. "The Colonel is ready for you now Sergeant," he says, gesturing invitingly toward the door. "Thank you," I smile and stand up. I enter Colonel Sink's office before Barton closes the door behind me. I stand in front of the desk and salute the Colonel, who also salutes me. "At ease sergeant," he says with a strong southern accent. "Sit down." I do as instructed and sit down in front of Sink's desk. "Welcome to Camp Toccoa and the 101st." "Thank you Sir."

Sink takes out a report and reads through something briefly. "You were transferred here with high recommendations Sergeant. Still, I have to ask: What happened to get you transferred here? It just says miscellaneous incidents." The Colonel looks at me and raises his eyebrows. "Well sir, it has mostly been minor disagreements." "Minor disagreements?" "It may be that in each case these have led to minor brawls." Sink is still looking at me. "You have to know, Sir, in my old company, not everyone was thrilled about having a female sergeant. And some of the men made me feel that. Sir, I'm not a person who gets handsy on my own, but I don't put up with everything either." "I should hope so, Sergeant. Respect is very important to me. Your father speaks only highly of you. I can understand that it's not easy for you and I also hope that you continue to not put up with everything." He takes out another paper. "I have decided to assign you to Easy Company of the 2nd Battalion under the command of 1st Lieutenant Herbert Sobel. He is strict, I can assure you, but under his leadership this company will be the best the 101st has ever seen. Lieutenant Sobel has already been briefed. I must warn you, however. Sobel will not give you special treatment." "I don't want him to, Sir." "I expected nothing less from you. Report to Lieutenant Winters. He will assign you to your barracks and your platoon and explain everything else. Private Barton will take you to him." "Thank you Sir." I salute him and then leave his office.

Barton leads me into another building and then knocks on a door before opening it. "Lieutenant Winters, Lieutenant Nixon. This is Sergeant Stark," he says, and Liv steps into the room behind him. A dark-haired man and a red-haired man stand in front of her and stare at her for a moment before the red-haired one, labeled 'Winters,' clears his throat briefly. "Right, our transfer from 82nd." He extends his hand to me and I take it. "2nd Lieutenant Richard Winters and this is Lieutenant Lewis Nixon", he says and I smile at them. "Sergeant Olivia Stark. Nice to meet you." "Likewise," Winters says, smiling at her. Nixon is still staring at me, which is why I look franged at Winters. "Hey, Nix. Snap out of it, will you?" says Winters, and Nixon shakes her head. "Sorry. I just... I've never seen a woman in uniform before," Nixon then says and I smirk. "I get that a lot. No worries."

"Well, let me show you to your quarters. I assume you are aware that you will be sharing these with the men, right?" "Of course Sir," I say. "This is not the first time. I was in military school and in the company in the 82nd I didn't have any special treatment either. Which I don't even want, Sir." "Good, good. Come with me, then." Winters leads me back outside and then over to some barracks. He opens the door of one and the conversations, which were in full swing a moment ago, immediately fall silent. The men stand quietly by their beds. "At ease soldiers," Winters says, and the men stir. "This is Sergeant Olivia Stark. She was transferred here from the 82nd. I hope you treat her with the respect she deserves. Sergeant Lipton?" he then calls out and a man with brown hair steps forward. "Lieutenant Winters, Sir." "Your responsibility." "Yes, sir." Winters turns back to me. "Sergeant Lipton will explain everything else to you." I nod and salute him. He salutes me as well and then leaves the barracks.

Sergeant Lipton walks up to me and smiles at me. "Carwood Lipton," he says kindly, extending his hand to me. "Olivia Stark," I say, also smiling. "Here, this bed is free," he then explains, pointing to a vacant cot. I place my bag on it and briefly look into the eyes of the men next to me.

On my left, a black-haired soldier has thrown himself back on his cot and is reading a Flash Gordon comic. I look at him briefly, but he doesn't seem to intend to talk to me. I shrug and look to my other side, where a friendly-looking brown-haired man, with equally brown eyes, is grinning at me. "Hi," he says, grinning. "Hello," I return, slightly skeptical. Then he stands up, wipes his hands briefly on his uniform, and then extends one to me. "George Luz," he introduces himself. "Olivia Stark," I say, and he's still grinning. "Got that." "You better change into your OD's now. Sobel is expecting us at the drill site at 1300," Lipton then interjects. "Oh and Olivia, 2nd Platoon, okay?"

I nod and sit down on the bed. As I'm taking off my boots, I notice the soldier across from me looking at me. I look up and look into his brown friendly eyes. He smiles kindly and then stands up before putting on his helmet and following the others. The soldier next to me has also gotten up in the meantime and follows the others out. I quickly change, grab my helmet, my weapon and run out as well.

I stand behind Winters and in front of the men and look briefly at Lipton, who nods barely noticeably. In the heat we stand there and wait. It looks like Sobel is making us wait. Suddenly, however, I hear a voice and stand up straight.

"You people are in the position of attention," calls a rough man wearing a leather jacket who stands in front of us. He lets his gaze glide through the men and lingers briefly on me, but says nothing. Then he stands in front of a small southern-looking soldier. "Private Perconte, do you have your pants over your boots like a paratrooper?" he asks, and the private holds his rifle forward. "No, Sir." "Then explain the creases at the bottom," Sobel demands, and I already know he's an ass. "No excuse, Sir." "Volunteering for the paratrooper infantry is one thing, Perconte, but you've got a long way to go to prove you belong here. Your weekend pass will be revoked," he then says, before moving on to the soldier who introduced himself to me as George Luz.

"Name," Sobel demands. "Luz, George." "Dirt in the rear sight opening. Pass revoked," Sobel says, then continues walking through the men. At Lipton's side, he stops and I look over at him nervously for a moment. "When did you sew on those chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?" asks Sobel. "Yesterday, Sir." "Long enough to notice this. Revoked." "Sir," Lipton says, and as Sobel continues, he looks at me briefly. I press my lips together sympathetically for a moment.

"Name." "Malarkey, Donald G." I look to the side for a moment and Sobel is now talking to the soldier who smiled at me earlier from the cot across from me. "Malarkey? Malarkey is slang for bullshit, isn't it?" asks Sobel. I have to hand it to these men. They give themselves that shit. "Yes, sir." "Rust on the butt plate hinge spring. Private Bullshit. Revoked." I quickly turn my gaze back to the front, hoping I haven't drawn attention to myself. But I was hoping for nothing.

Sobel stands in front of me and muscles me. Then he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before reading my name tag. "Sergeant Stark, is it?" "Yes, sir," I reply, continuing to stare straight ahead. "Yes, yes... Our transfer from the 82nd... I'm going to tell you something now, Sergeant, and I'm not going to repeat it. If you think you're going to get any kind of special treatment here, I'm going to have to disappoint you. You're a soldier here, just like any other. Understood?" "Yes, Sir." He eyes me again before continuing.

"Name." "Liebgott, Joseph D., sir." I turn my head to see Sobel now facing my other bedmate. Liebgott..."Rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?" "Yes, sir." "Not with this," Sobel says, then steps back in front of the company. "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I won't take you to war in your condition. Thanks to these men and their infractions, every man or woman in the company who had a weekend pass has now lost it," Sobel shouts, looking at me intensely to make it clear that he doesn't like it at all that he now has to watch me all the time. "Get your PT gear on, we're running Currahee." Sobel walks away and Winters turns to us in front. "Second Platoon, move out. You have two minutes."

I and the men quickly run back to the barracks. A trick, which I already learned in my old company, is to wear the PT gear already under the OD's, then one can take off only the upper layer. My gaze briefly wanders to Liebgott, who is also changing next to me, but continues to ignore me. He is handsome, you have to give him that. I quickly discard the thoughts as I take off my pants and straighten the shorts underneath. Again I feel the looks of the men on me. They have probably rarely seen so much leg of a woman in public. But as Sobel said, I don't get any special treatment here either and that's completely fine, but it also means that the shorts are pretty short and the shirts are too big for me. I look briefly at Malarkey, who is eyeing me, but as soon as he realizes that I know he's eyeing me, he averts his gaze.

"Olivia?" I hear Lipton call out, looking at me urgently. "We're going through the barracks. Come on," he says, and I follow him outside. As I walk, I tie my long blond hair into a high ponytail. I follow Lipton quickly into the barracks next to us, since ours is already complete. "You can call me Liv," I say hastily, and Lipton smiles at me. "Lip," is all he says, and I nod.

We step into the barrack next to ours together. The first thing I notice is that Perconte is in his training uniform but still has his jacket on and is angrily ranting something. As soon as we enter, Lip already speaks up. "Alright, let's go. On the road, in PT formation. Let's move, move, move." His gaze also falls on Perconte. "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." The latter looks briefly from me to Lip before angrily taking off his jacket and throwing it on his bed and walking outside. I look after him with satisfaction, but then my eyes fall on a soldier still in his OD's sitting on his cot. Lip looks at me for a moment before addressing the soldier. "Private White, why are you not in your PT gear?" he asks him, but receives no response. "I asked you a question, Private." Again Lip looks at me and I just shrug. I've heard before that in the Airborne, many of the soldiers don't last. I see Lip take a deep breath and then shake his head before ordering me outside.

Outside we follow the other men who are already getting ready to run. Lip and I walk behind the other men, who seem to be annoyed, but continue anyway. "Ah, Easy Company. Hey, while you're running, don't worry, we'll take your dames to the movies for you," says a soldier from another company. "Yeah, good, they need some female company," Liebgott quickly replies and I can't help grinning, but then the soldier spots me. "Oh hey, maybe we'll just take her out? What do you say, Darling? Then you'd have a real man for once," he says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. I frown and look at him. "And that's supposed to impress me now? I wouldn't even go out with you if you were the last man on earth," I just say and jostle him as I walk by, making my men laugh. "That's right! Give it to them," laughs Malarkey, who is now suddenly running beside me.

I look over at him and grin. "You just can't put up with everything," I say, and he nods. "That's right. I'm Don, by the way," he says and I nod. "Nice to meet you. I'm Liv." "I'll tell you one thing. You've got some serious balls coming into this company." "It's not like I have a choice, right?" "True. Still... but you could always leave ." "I could, but I don't want to. I grew up with the Army, which is why all this is only half bad. Even Sobel..." "We'll see about that," Don quips, winking at me. "I'll ask you again after Currahee. You can get used to it. Three miles up, three miles down." "If that's all it is," I wink at Don and he laughs up. "Big mouth, it seems, huh?" "Kind of been trained to be... As a woman in the Army, you have to be, to fight back." "True again. And yet, I think you'll soon wish you'd stayed with the 82nd." "That's where you're wrong Don... I think it's best that I'm with you now. Even though not everyone seems to be thrilled about it." I point my head at Liebgott and Don smirks. "Don't worry about it. Liebgott is just like that... Even he will come around to the idea." "We'll see."

When we get back to the bottom, I'm drenched in sweat. I lie down on my back on the grass and stretch my arms from me. "Okay... you were right Don. This mountain is a fucking bitch!" "Told you so," Don says, propped up on his thighs beside me, breathing heavily. "You held your own, though," a new voice interjects. "The first time I had to run up there, I almost collapsed." I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at the soldier. "That's reassuring," I grin. He holds out his hand and I take it. "Warren Muck, but most people call me Skip," he says with a smile. "Olivia Stark... But call me Liv," I say, also smiling. "Have you asked her yet Malark?", Muck then turns to Don. "No not yet...", he says and then looks at me again. "Asked what?" "We're playing cards tonight and wanted to ask you if you'd like to join us? It's a good way to get to know the men a bit," Muck explains. He's a genuinely friendly guy. "I'd love to... Although if it's poker or blackjack, I'm out... No idea how that shit works." Don and Muck laugh. "Don't worry, you'll learn..."

After dinner we finally have free time. Completely exhausted, I let myself fall onto my camp bed. "Finished already?" George grins next to me and I shake my head. "No, I'm just not used to it anymore, I noticed," I grin back. "Smoke?" he then asks, holding out a pack to me. Gratefully, I accept it and pop it in my mouth. George is quick and lights my smoke right away. "Thanks." "You're welcome."

"Hey Liv... After the showers we're going over, yeah?", Don calls then and I nod. "She's coming?" Liebgott now interjects, looking at Malarkey. "Yeah, why not?" Liebgott doesn't answer, but simply snorts before grabbing his shower gear and walking out of the barracks. "What did I say?" I ask directed at Don as we both look at Liebgott. "After one day, it doesn't count, okay? He'll come around."

After I shower, which is really the ONLY exception where I get special treatment, I brush my hair, tie it into a side braid, and then head back to the barracks. I put on my OD's pants, but a white shirt above them. This is a little tighter than the one from my PT Gear, which is why you can now see my curves very well. Some of the men look up when I open the door and examine me. I throw my shower utensils into the box in front of my bed and then turn back to Don, who also looks at me. "What?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Nothing, nothing. Ready?" "Yeah." "Good, let's do it. Penkala? Liebgott? You coming?" he then asks to the back. "Go ahead, I'll be right there," Liebgott mutters to himself, and Don just shakes his head. Another soldier comes out from behind and we make our way to the other barracks. "Liv, this is Alex Penkala," Don introduces him and I give him a friendly nod.

In the other barracks, the game is ready so far. "Poker after all?", I ask Don, looking at me apologetically. "Ah here you are at last. And our guest of honor is here too, perfect. Where is Liebgott?", Muck greets us and the others look at me. "He said he'd be right along." " Whatever... So Liv, are you ready?" "Well actually... I'll sit out for now and watch you guys." "Oh come on," Don says, looking at me. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find another way to take away my money," I grin and sit down next to Don. "This here is Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye, and Skinny Sisk," Muck introduces the others who are playing along. "Pleased to meet you," I say, smiling forcedly at them.

When they finally get everything ready, the door opens and Liebgott walks in. As always, he doesn't give me a glance and then sits down next to Muck. The boys start playing and I'm still trying to figure out how this game works. "Where are you from, kiddo?", Bill then asks me and I look up, surprised that he is addressing me directly. "California," I say and he's eyeing me. "Newport Beach, Orange County," I add, which earns me an amused snort from Liebgott. "You got a problem with that?" so I ask him, finally looking at me. His brown eyes bore into my blue ones. "No, I don't. Rich girl," he then says, but in a sarcastic tone. "Don't you dare talk about me if you don't have a fucking clue, got it?" "I know Newport... And I know what kind of people live there, too." "Oh come on Liebgott. Give her a break, will you?" then Don interferes again. Liebgott, who until then was still looking me in the eye, averts his gaze again and shakes his head in annoyance. "I'm out," he then says and throws down his cards, before he lights a cigarette.

Then Bill turns to me again. "West coast, huh? Don't take him too seriously, will you? Just because he's from San Francisco, he thinks he knows all of California," he grins and I have to laugh. I briefly look at Liebgott again, but quickly avert my gaze. "Explain something to me...", Joe Toye then says. "How does a young woman like you end up joining the paratroopers as a sergeant? I'd be interested in that story." He looks at me and frowns. He's not the only one, though, because now I have all eyes on me. I look around and bite my lips for a moment.

"Well, as you know, I was in the 82nd, I was assigned there when I was done with the OCS." "You graduated from OCS? Shouldn't you be a Lieutenant then?" asks Muck, also frowning. "Are you kidding me? I mean... look at me," I laugh and Muck seems confused. "I'm a woman, Muck... Do you really think they would give the rank of Lieutenant to a woman? Not a chance. That's why I'm 'just' a Sergeant," I say, underlining the word 'just' with quotes. "Unbelievable," Muck grumbles, and Toye also shakes his head. "And why did they transfer you here?", Skinny then asks and I smile at him. "Well in my old company there were some who couldn't handle having a female Sergeant, which is why they gave me a pretty hard time. I didn't let it get to me, though, so I kept getting into... well, rackets." The boys look at me, but none of them say a word. "I can fight back, even if I don't look like it. I went to military school and I've been trained in physical combat since I was little. Anyway, my Colonel didn't think this was very funny, and he got into it with Sink, and here I am..."

"I, for one, think it's great. I mean, why not get all the help you can get. And then if she looks like you... With a kiss on the hand," Don then says and smiles at me, which I return. "Suck-up," Liebgott grumbles, propping himself up on one elbow. "I agree with Don," Muck grins at me, and Toye and Bill also nod. "Thanks guys. I hope I don't let you down."

#Band of Brothers #bob #bobedit #joe liebgott #don malarkey #dick winters #Joe Liebgott x OC #ww2 #hbowar #hbo series #Long Story #Hope you like it #It's just the beginning #much more is coming

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softspeirs · 10 months

Text

Everything Has Its Place

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x OFC (Anna) Summary: Anna and Joe have a heart-to-heart after an argument. Mid-war timeline. You can read more about Lieb and Anna here.

But sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon And just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

It’s absolute chaos during and after taking Carentan. Anna feels like she hasn’t had a second to breathe in days. Between her and Shifty nearly being pinned down and the endless combat, her eyes are practically crossed due to exhaustion.

“Drink.” A hand is in her face, thrusting a canteen at her.

She looks up, eyes barely open, seeing Liebgott standing over her. “You should save it for yourself.”

He looks-- well, he looks like shit. He’s as tired as she is, no doubt. There’s something else in his eyes she doesn’t recognize.

“What happened to you?” He asks, gesturing at her forehead as he sits down next to her.

“Oh,” she says, like she’d forgotten, reaching up to dab at the half-dried blood on her face. “Comes with the territory unfortunately.”

She and Shifty had been pinned down on opposite ends of a chicken coop for nearly a half hour during the heat of the battle. Between the fucking chickens squawking their heads off and the bullets whizzing by, enough debris and shrapnel had been flying around to cut Anna’s face in several places.

She also feels sore on one arm, but she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been hit. She’s not bleeding, at any rate. Her rifle arm especially feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. She had her arms upright for nearly the entire battle.

“Here.” He tries again, and this time she takes the water, chugging some of it before handing it back to him.

“You okay?” She asks, glancing at him up and down. He looks alright, but there’s still that... something on his face from earlier.

“Fine, only a few scratches. I-- Tipper got hit. Bad.”

“Shit.” Anna swears, turning to face him. “Is he--”

“I don’t know. He was alive when I left him. I don’t-- Jesus, Anna, you should have seen him. There was so much blood, and his fucking legs...”

“You don’t have to talk about it.” This is Joe’s best friend they’re talking about. To live through Normandy and then have to go through this? The world is a cruel place sometimes, and she hates that Joe Liebgott is the one bearing the brunt right now.

They both sit there for awhile in silence, heads leaning back against the wall at their backs. Anna’s breath slows and Joe is pretty sure she’s asleep. He’s hesitant to wake her, but Lieutenant Welsh starts hollering, and she startles awake.

“Easy, Tiger.” He says, and she glares.

“Let’s go, first!” Welsh calls from the distance. “Cunningham!” He shouts, and Anna’s on her feet with a groan, Joe right beside her.

“Be careful,” she says quietly, and with a small smile, she’s gone, leaving him to watch after her, that tightening feeling in his chest getting worse when she’s out of his sight.

That night they finally have some rest, though everyone is on edge. They took some fire earlier in the day and Anna was grazed, and everyone’s been walking on eggshells around her ever since.

Everyone, that is, except Joe Liebgott.

He’s glaring at her now from across the foxhole, as the Germans on the other side of the hedgerow keep right on singing as if they don’t have a care in the world.

“You need the aid station.” He grumbles, eyes fixed on the spot on her shoulder where a white bandage is soaking through. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but Anna can’t deny she’s hurting.

“Doc said--”

“I heard what he said.”

Anna’s face scrunches in displeasure. “What’s with you, Lieb?”

“Maybe I just got done scrubbing my friend’s blood off my hands from fucking earlier, and I don’t want to have to do it a second time.” Without thinking, he absently rubs his hands over his pant legs.

“In case you missed it,” Anna hisses, trying to keep her voice down, “I was already hit, Lieb. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that.” He fires back, eyes dark. “And you don’t need to remind me that I wasn’t there.”

She rolls her eyes. “Denying you a chance to play white knight, Joe? Jesus Christ.”

He leans forward, grabbing her arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Cunningham. Sorry I wanted to help my fucking friend.” He says, vitriol lacing his words.

She knows she’s being unreasonable, but she’s also a goddamn sniper. One of the best marksman in Easy, and she’s tired of everyone acting like she needs to be rescued. Especially Liebgott, who, as he so gently put it, is supposed to be her fucking friend. He’s supposed to have a little bit of faith in her.

“You can’t be behind me every time, Lieb.” She says tiredly, trying to soften her words. “They’re firing at me more than they’re firing at you.”

“Just leave it, Cunningham.” He says, and before she can reply, Talbert is there, waiting to get Liebgott for his watch.

“All right?” Tab asks, hesitating, watching Lieb go.

“I’ll be fine.”

He raises a brow, but doesn’t challenge her, just tips his helmet to her before heading off to follow Liebgott.

The next day is another shit show. They’re in it from the moment they wake until nearly nightfall, but the 2d armored division shows up right in time to save their asses.

Joe and Lieutenant Welsh are sharing a cigarette on the edge of a hedgerow with shaky hands when Anna shows up, sliding in next to them.

“Cunningham, how we faring today?” Welsh asks, a big grin on his face.

“I’ll be hard of hearing for years, sir, but I’ll live.”

He nods. “That’s my girl.” He swats at her helmet, knocking it askew.

She scowls, but it transforms into an easy smile, the adrenaline of winning the fight hard to keep off her face.

“I should go find out what’s what.” Welsh says, and leaves her there with Joe, who hasn’t looked at Anna once.

“You hit?” Anna asks him, and he shakes his head.

“No. A few close calls, though.”

“You’re telling me.”

He takes a deep breath, then finally meets her eyes. “Look, I’m not good at apologies, okay?”

She shrugs. “Me either. And for the record, I wasn’t asking for one.”

Joe fidgets, looking down at his hands. “Tipper-- that scared me, alright? I just... I don’t want to see that happen to anyone else. Especially you.”

Anna freezes, but the look on his face passes. “You can’t protect me forever, Joe.” Before he can open his mouth to reply, she continues, “You know I’ve got your back, right? I don’t mean to be so--”

“Bitchy? Reckless?” He snipes, but there’s no heat behind his words. In fact, she can still see the lingering worry in his eyes.

“I have to be, Lieb. You know that. Everyone was expecting me to fail on day one, and be some wilting flower. I had to cut that shit out of my personality. I’m not doing it to worry you or-- be a bitch, as you so eloquently put it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that. It’s me you’re talking to.” He lights up another cigarette with slightly shaking hands. “’M sorry, okay? Christ.”

She rolls her eyes at how exasperated he sounds, but nudges his shoulder with her own. “I know you are, stupid. I am too. We’ll be alright, you and me.”

He meets her gaze with that look again, the one she can’t decipher no matter how hard she tries. It’s gone as soon as he blinks, but she feels the weight of unspoken things settle in between them again.

She just knows one thing for sure - they’re a pair. In one way or another, they go together. They have since basic when they were paired together for nearly every drill, every exercise. It’s been Anna and Lieb since day one, even if they had to quit arguing for two seconds to realize how well they worked together.

It’s always been Anna and Lieb, and she’s going to work damn hard to make sure it stays that way.

Everything has its place It is certain to me now Wild and arranged We were built for the same purpose somehow As sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon Just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

#band of brothers fanfiction #joe liebgott x oc #joe liebgott x ofc #joe liebgott fanfiction #softspeirs band of brothers fanfiction

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sergeant-spoons · 1 year

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20. With Certainty & Charm

Bernadette Noel

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry for my lack of my updates on most of my fics these past few months; between periods of sporadic busy-ness, a long bout of writer’s block, and the holiday exchanges I’ve been involved in, I haven’t had much energy or time to work on these longer fics. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll be getting back into the swing of things in the coming months. 🤞 In the meantime, thank you for your patience. 💕

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

Six months ago, on a troopship not unlike this one, Berni had been surrounded by arrogant show-offs with no regard for personal boundaries and what seemed to be a strange vendetta against any woman to outrank them. She'd punched quite a few of them and might have done worse to others had her compatriots not reeled her in, and just when Berni was starting to be of the opinion that she could never in her life work with scoundrels like these, she could not have been more relieved to discover through the 101st Airborne that not all American soldiers were quite so foul. She was even starting to like the skies of the Southern states—they were good for flying in—but then everything went to pieces and Berni returned to anger and hurt. She'd been stewing in her emotions ever since they left Camp MacKall, and that was a week ago. Unfortunately, there weren't many places to go on a boat (even a big one); cut off from her beloved planes, it was only a matter of time before the captain resorted to other, less reputable means of letting off steam.

"Keep it up, Captain! Let 'im have it!"

"Come on, Jonesy! You can't pick a fight with a woman and then lose!"

"This broad's gonna make a fool of herself!"

"Hey, hey-" The man facing Berni in their makeshift ring turned and waved down his wolf-whistling friend. "-knock it off, Mack."

Berni chuckled and readied her fists, wrapped in white cloth that was already a little bloody from her last bout.

"Ready?"

Her opponent turned back to her with a cocky grin.

"Only if you are, Captain."

Someone whistled, and before the shrill sound had even left the air, Berni took the first swing. The fight lasted a good seven or eight minutes, and that wasn't just for show. The men around them shuffled around a bit, holding up their cash as motivation for the boxers, but no one went far, and the boundaries of the ring made by the spectators' bodies remained relatively secure. It was a good, clean match, and when her rival finally ceded victory to her, Berni was impressed enough to hand him a glass of water that someone passed initially to her. He panted for a minute, sipped at the water, then came to shake her hand, a move which delighted her. He was the first of her competitors to do so, and though he was mocked for doing so, he didn't back down. Berni might have stayed to talk with him a minute and make sure she hadn't bruised his jaw too badly, but she was already being drawn away into the excited crowd. As she collected her winnings from a rather disgruntled-looking fellow, another soldier lit up a smoke and offered it to her; when she opened her mouth, he stuck it between her teeth.

"Mmm, thanks," she mumbled to the stranger, counting her cash with one hand and pinching the cigarette with the other, "you're a good chap."

"You're better," laughed the American, "you just won me a hundred bucks!"

Fiona and Délia surfaced then, drawing near as the crowd dispersed. Fiona looked a little perturbed but was trying to hide it, whereas Délia was just about vibrating with excitement. Berni glanced up, gave them a nod, and let a purl of smoke slip through her lips.

"Don't look at me like that, Fee," Berni hummed as she unwrapped her hands, rolling her cigarette between her teeth.

"Yer bruisin'," Fiona said, pointing at Berni's shoulder, forearm, and collarbone.

"Wow!"

"Augh, no, Deets, not 'wow'," Fiona protested, but Berni, smirking, shot Délia a wink, and Délia had a hard time suppressing her grin.

"So?" the captain asked, tucking her wrappings in her pocket, planning to wash them later. "Where's the fire?"

"Oh, no," Délia chuckled, "we put that out an hour ago."

Berni, chewing on her cigarette, slowed.

"You know what? I'm not even going to ask."

"Aye." Fiona cleared her throat. "Well, ah, Cap'n, it's, ah, it's Thelma."

"What about her?"

"She says ye left somethin' in her cabin last night and wants ye t' come get it."

Délia snickered, and though Fiona elbowed her, Berni had heard.

"What?" she asked, squinting at the pair, and Délia giggled again.

"Ye should go on, and go fast," Fiona said, her cheeks reddening slightly. "She said if ye don't, ye might be interruptin' somethin' ye don't want te."

"Ah." Relaxing, Berni ruffled Délia's hair as she made her goodbyes. "Don't start another fire while I'm gone, if you can help it."

"We won't."

Berni made sure to knock when she got to Thelma's cabin, and she heard a mattress creak as if two figures were moving to sit apart. When she called that it was only her, the mattress creaked again in the opposite direction, and she made sure to shut the door behind her when she came in. Thelma and Addie were cuddling on one of the cots, Berni wasn't sure whose. They seemed altogether innocent save for the way Thelma had her hand under the back of Addie's shirt and the way Addie was blushing as she admired her girlfriend's face.

"Afternoon, ladies," Berni said as she shut the door behind her, "good to see you're doing better, Coffey."

"I am, Cap'n, thanks."

Berni nodded nonchalantly, crossing to the chair where her bomber jacket hung. She'd left it there last night after a late-night smoking visit with Thelma while Addie spent the night in the sickbay with a nasty stomachache.

"You mind if I...?"

Berni turned around, holding up a pack of cigarettes, but neither of the women on the cot had heard her, too busy staring into each other's eyes, so close their noses brushed.

"Oy." Berni waved her hand, and Addie looked over, her blush deepening. "Thelma, these yours?"

"Yes'm."

Berni slipped them into her pocket, getting the sense that she (and all others) would be barred access from this room for the next hour or so.

"Hey," Thelma groaned, pointing at Berni's hand in her pocket, "those are my good smokes. Leave a few for me."

"Sure, sure."

Back out in the hall, Berni lingered for a few seconds until the lock clicked shut behind her. With her suspicions confirmed, she couldn't help a small smirk, and she hummed a few tuneless notes under her breath as she checked her pockets for her lighter. She was a few yards down the hall only to be called from the opposite direction, and she pivoted as she walked, her head turning before the rest of her body.

"Captain," Ellis called again, smoothing down her shirt, and a slight frown creased Berni's brow.

"What is it?" the captain asked, slipping her lighter back into the pocket where she'd found it.

"They've spotted shore," Ellis said, and Berni noticed only then that she was a little out of breath. "I thought you'd want to see."

Berni's smile shot wide across her face, and she hastened to her meet her fellow pilot.

"Remind me to buy you a drink next time we're out at the pub," the captain chirped, clapping Ellis on the back as they beelined for the stairs.

"What about Coffey and Duran?" Ellis asked, looking back over her shoulder at the closed door. "Should we get them, too?"

Berni snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Best not to interrupt them."

"Interrupt them? With wh-" Ellis cut herself off, and Berni didn't have to look to know Ellis' face had just gone a bright beet red. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

They made it to the top deck within the next half-minute only to find it already crowded with Americans curious about the new shore. Berni, unphased, drove through the crowd as Ellis held on to the back of her jacket so as to not fall behind. She commanded things like "Move aside gents, Captain coming through," and as soon as the men heard her, they made way. Some didn't bat an eye, while others looked at each other in surprise, having expected one of their superiors to push past, not a slightly-disheveled, five-foot-six Englishwoman with a hundred fly-away hairs and more authority to her voice than Winston Churchill had to his. A few of the taller Americans a few yards back from the bow recognized Berni from the boxing match and were quick to escort her and Ellis to the railing. As soon as they had a clear view, the coast became apparent before them, and Berni made sure to move her smoke away from her lips before she sucked in a breath through her teeth. A smile turned up her lips, and as she slung her arm around Ellis' shoulders, she took a long drag from her cigarette.

"I'll be damned," she said, staring straight ahead the same as a hundred others. "That's England, alright."

The pilots of Tare were some of the first to disembark the ship two hours later. They scampered down off the gangplank and ran up the dock, the others close behind, and Berni nearly kissed the soil when she felt the English grass beneath her boots. A patriot at heart, she couldn't deny her utter joy to be returned to the land of her birth. Anything to do with family was neither here nor there—she couldn't claim any substantial blood relations even if she'd wanted to—for it was more than enough to have her girls with her. Her spirits rapidly rising for the first time in many days, Berni wrapped one arm around Délia's waist and the other around Ellis', and together, they laughed and stumbled across the gravel to their waiting transport. They all knew which it was at once, the open-air bus more familiar to them than any American truck or jeep. Their driver held a sign that simply read "Tare" in neat handwriting that Ellis recognized as that of their old commander.

"You think we'll be back with the Major?" she asked Berni as she accepted a hand up, and Berni shrugged.

"I can't say for certain, but I'd sure like it to be true."

They drove for the rest of the day, arriving just after nightfall in Newcott, where they'd be staying for the foreseeable future. Their driver dropped them off and then continued north; where to, he wouldn't say. As soon as they were beyond prying eyes, Addie picked Thelma up and spun her around, cheering for their freedom. The other girls politely looked away as the couple shared a sweet kiss, then they regrouped and made for their lodgings. They marched in the door, doubting they'd know a single soul around only to be greeted by a familiar face smoking a pipe behind bushy white whiskers. They had their reunions over a late supper, and Major Harbridge could hardly catch a breath in-between all the stories the girls had to tell him. Berni spent most of the time watching their old commander, certain Ellis' guess had been right, to some extent. He looked older, and not by the six months that had passed, more like by three or four years. There was a new wrinkle on his forehead and he had to flex his hands every now and again when they seized up. His arthritis had always given him grief; Berni hoped it wouldn't take him out of the service entirely. The Major had always been so kind and open-minded with Tare, and Berni knew for a fact that their position within the ATA would be threatened without his supervision.

The Major finally told them over pudding what Berni had been waiting for. He was indeed going to resume command over Tare, but not quite in the way he had before. While Berni would remain the chief officer, Major Harbridge would act as a pipeline between the higher-ups in the RAF, Tare's work with Easy, and the two other ATA squadrons who were being outsourced by the Americans. The Major drew Berni aside as the others yawned their way upstairs to unpack and get some sleep. He wanted to know who was Flight Captain of the remaining girls, the ones who'd stayed in the States, and was pleased to hear Berni had left Polly in charge. Reassured in her decision, Berni told him further about Corporal Hennessy Honor Corsair and how she would additionally be assisting the girls under Colonel Sink's jurisdiction. Telling her she had put an old man's mind at ease, Major Harbridge shook Berni's hand and dismissed her to bed.

Upstairs, Berni expected most of her girls to have crawled into bed, but her attempt at a quiet approach proved unnecessary, as the lights were still on and everyone was crowded around Fiona's bed.

"What's all the fuss?" Berni asked, shrugging off her jacket, and Délia jumped up and drew her Captain over by the arm, chattering away in Portuguese like she did when she was excited or annoyed and forgot no one but Fiona could understand her.

"Look, Cap'n," Thelma said, tilting the newspaper in Fiona's hands so Berni could see, "we've made the front page."

The headline read "The Attagirls Are Home At Last!" with a photograph of the women rejoicing on the grass by the docks. In their excitement, it seemed they'd missed the photographer entirely, but he sure hadn't missed them. Thankfully, the article painted the pilots favorably, describing their moment of frolicking as patriotic enthusiasm and gratitude (which, for the most part, it was). Fiona, who was the only one to have read the full article so far, pointed out a few mentions further down. The author of the piece wondered at the mystery of only six pilots out of twelve returning and then made the following supposition that something dreadful had happened to divide the crew. Berni, who'd seen enough fluff pieces in her life, waved off the comments as negligible speculation despite agreeing with the description of the "something" that had separated Tare being "dreadful". She'd been expecting curiosity, but not on a large scale, and this paper was a local one, not from London or even Bristol, where they'd come into port. No doubt the author of the spread wanted to see his name on the front page; adding a bit of suspense to his article seemed to have done the trick.

"'The Attagirls'," Berni mused, eyeing the photograph as Thelma borrowed the newspaper. "I'd almost forgotten that's what they call us."

"The papers have got everybody saying it," Addie said, nodding toward the window. "Our driver, the lady who checked us in downstairs, probably even the Major."

"Look at this," Thelma chuckled, showing the continuation of the article a few pages in. "We've got star billing, sure, but the Americans aren't far behind."

Berni scanned the article and pursed her lips as her brow furrowed. Of course, the Yanks had taken up something ridiculous just as soon as the English had left. It wasn't their Yanks, per se, but still.

"Can you believe it?" Thelma snickered. "Not sure who these guys are, but they've gone and built their aircraft backwards."

Berni groaned. "Just because American doesn't mean Amerishould."

Thelma burst into such laughter that Addie had to take her out of the room to calm down so the others could get to bed. Berni was still the last under the covers, staying up well past midnight to write a letter on the day's happenings to Hennessy, and by extension, all her girls back in the States. She closed her eyes just after 01:00 hours and opened them again just before 06:00. Leaving the others to sleep a little longer, she went downstairs for a cup of coffee and was soon joined by Addie. They woke the rest of the girls about an hour later and gathered for a quick breakfast before heading out to their new assignment. It felt almost like a field day, discovering the airfield at Upottery was at least twice as big as anything they'd seen in the States. They could really work here. Ellis said they should send a photo back to the other girls, but Berni said that wouldn't fly for two reasons. First, there was no point in stirring up envy, and second, a photograph detailing an Allied airfield so close to the coast of the English Channel would never make it past the censors. Ellis assented, and the crew continued down the tarmac toward the hangar.

Major Harbridge arrived at almost the same moment they did, and he and Berni did the honors of opening the hangar doors (though he needed a bit of help from Thelma in the end, with his arthritis and all). The planes within appeared to be good sturdy bombers at first, but upon further inspection, they turned out to be the same kind of transport used by the American Airborne, Douglas C-47 Skytrains. The pilots were puzzled—why would they be flying the Skytrains without the paratroopers? Major Harbridge had an answer for them, and it was that they wouldn't be, these planes were here in storage. The planes the girls would be flying were on the other end of the hangar, where the expansive doors opened directly onto the runway. Délia took off first with the others hot on her heels; Berni took a more professional stance and walked calmly alongside the Major, though her feet itched to run and her eyes burned to see. When they arrived, Berni was surprised to see the others staring up at the medley of planes in awe, slowly realizing something she had yet to clue into.

"Congratulations, girls," said the Major, saluting the women, who saluted him right back. "You've been officially commissioned in the RAF as ferrier pilots."

It had taken two and a half years and a whole lot of grit and gumption, but they'd made it. Colonel Sink had mentioned something along these lines in that unwelcome meeting that was mostly a bitter blur to Berni. The captain didn't realize she was just standing there until Thelma came over, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her over to a bomber, a Martin B-26 Marauder, one that they'd flown before, together.

"You won't begin your service officially until tomorrow morning," Major Harbridge informed them, raising his voice to be heard by the women who'd scattered. "Today is for getting yourselves used to flying these planes again. Captain Noel?"

"Sir!"

"I presume you'll be alright running a few drills on your own?"

A smile finally broke across Berni's face, and she saluted her commanding officer with certainty and charm.

"Yes, sir!"

"Then I'll leave you to it. Cheerio."

Berni turned to Thelma, barely able to contain her excitement, and her friend flashed a grin, offering her a lit cigarette.

"To the skies?"

Berni raised the smoke toward the hangar roof as if giving a toast.

"Aetheris Avidi!"

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