The Spirit of the Corps » Band of Brothers

90: Infinite and Stifling

There was water dripping steadily somewhere nearby, and the distant sound of footsteps as some of the civilians worked to clear the rubble even through the night. Charlie stood facing Floyd and this close she could hear his breath. He was as far away as he could manage to get but still unbearably close, his back against the building opposite her. The distance between them felt like the instant before bad news, infinite and stifling.

"I tried to get the word out about the food," he told her in a hurry once he knew he had her attention, not knowing he'd had it the second she'd seen him at the door. "I told as many of the men as I could get to and then there was this kid and I couldn't leave him and -" His explanation went on.

But Charlie didn't want to hear about the little boy. She'd seen so much suffering already. So she didn't try to listen. She watched Floyd's lips move, transfixed by them, until they slowed to a stop.

"I'm not mad at you," she told him softly, peering up at him through the fairy tale lighting.

"You're not?"

"I don't have it in me," she confessed. "Don't work yourself up worrying about it. You weren't the only one I told and still the word didn't get out. It took the regimental surgeon before anyone listened." She reached for him, couldn't help it, couldn't bring herself to stifle the impulse, and he let her hold his hand. "It wasn't your fault."

"Charlie," he said on a long exhale.

The way he said her name. So reverently. She could live in that sound.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said, dismissing the prospect. How could she not be fine when she hadn't been one of the people confined to that terrible, terrible place? In fact, she was more than fine. She was healthy. She had food and had showered recently and had a place to sleep for the night. She was abundant, even.

"No you're not," Floyd said.

"I am."

"I don't believe you."

Charlie shrugged. "Okay." Arguing seemed so pointless. What a waste of energy. He could believe what he wanted to believe and it didn't hurt her either way. As long as they were both healthy and safe, and close enough to each other that she could hear his voice at least once a day, what did anything else matter?

"Charlie," Floyd said again.

"Call me Freckles," she requested.

He smiled, just slightly, and her lungs filled with fresh air.

"Freckles," he said, and then he was back to that expression of concern.

"I should make up a nickname for you," she said idly, tilting her head to the side as she considered his face.

"Oh, yeah?" he humoured her. "What would it be?"

She thought about all of her favourite parts of his face (which was all of them) and tried to discern a single favourite (which was all of them) before she sighed and started to list her short list (which was all of them).

"Brown eyes," she suggested, and though he snorted a laugh she pushed on, "or crooked smile, or one dimple -"

"One dimple?"

"You've only got one," she informed him. And she loved that one dimple. Adored it.

"Anyway," she went on. "Cheekbones. Fluffy hair. Full lips. Pretty nose."

"You think my nose is pretty?"

"I'm envious," she told him. "Thick eyebrows," she continued to list. "Long eyelashes. Did I mention crooked smile?"