Third Person - Complete

Personal Moment

Lewis lifted up the jeans from the box, putting them over her front and grinning at Wizzy. Stokes and Heather were sitting in chairs, helping Lewis unbox and put away the personal effects that the Army shippers had picked up at Lewis's aunt's house and taken to Germany.

The room was dim, stacked with boxes that the movers had brought in. Stokes had mainly sat in the chair drinking beer and quietly watching everything. Heather and Wizzy had been more excited about helping Lewis unpack and put away the remnants of her civilian life.

"Can you believe I used to fit in these?" Lewis asked.

Wizzy shook her head. "You were a big girl before you joined the Army, huh?"

"Not all of us were built like Tinker-Bell, WASP scum," Stokes laughed.

Lewis nodded. "Yeah. Little fat girl," She giggled, then threw the jeans on the pile of clothing that she couldn't fit in any more. Heather tossed the panties that were way too big for Lewis into the same pile, while Stokes cracked open a beer and leaned back in her chair, staring at Lewis with shadowed eyes.

Wizzy sipped at her drink, staring at Lewis over the rim of the glass. Heather picked up a shirt, squinting at it, looking at Wizzy, then tossing it into the pile. Wizzy just stared and after a moment she lowered the glass and licked her lips.

"What?" Lewis asked, looking at the t-shirt she was holding. Wizzy's intent look was bugging her.

"You think your friends actually buy that bullshit, Bobbi?" Wizzy asked.

Lewis frowned. "What bullshit?"

"That you were just fat," Wizzy grunted. "You think we buy that shit? Stokes, Cromwell and me? You think we're stupid, Berserker?"

Lewis swallowed thickly. Wizzy had seemed a little darker since she'd opened that box of paperwork that had been shipped from her aunt's house along with the rest of her personal effects.

"No. Why do you say that, Wizzy?" Lewis asked, tossing the T-shirt to the side.

Wizzy lunged forward, grabbing a bra out of the box. Stokes noticed Cromwell's uncovered eyes began glowing brighter as Wizzy pulled the bra away from Lewis. Wizzy held it up and Lewis felt herself go pale.

"Cromwell's a fucking surgeon. Stokes used to be a 91B, a fucking medic. I have six yunger brothers and sisters," Wizzy said. She held up the bra, tapping the unsnappable flap on the cup with one finger. "And I know a maternity bra when I see one, Berserker."

Lewis flushed.

"We've seen the stretch marks, Berserker," Stokes said, sipping at her beer.

"Stretch marks from being fat," Lewis tried.

"Yeah. Those too. But we know preggo stretches when we see them," Wizzy snorted. "My tits got them big marks I rub Vitamin E into to try to mitigate them, so we know what kind of stretch marks milk-bags get when they plump up right quick."

"You've seen Stokes, right?" Cromwell snorted. "She's a fucking Amazon."

"And Heather's built like a Soviet tank," Stokes said softly. "You're in a room with three big girls and you're trying the 'I used to be fat' on us?"

Lewis sat down on Stokes's bed, staring at Wizzy. "I... I..."

Wizzy waved her hand in a dismissing motion. "Hell, Bobbi, we all got our reasons to hide our pasts. Hell, if anything, Special Weapons Training erases who you were in a way that's almost impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't gone through it."

Stokes sighed, taking another drink off her beer. "This place, it changes you more."

Lewis shrugged. "I haven't noticed. How so?"