Been reading Lando Norris fics so I haven't had the time to write ;)
ALSO there is a mention of her being sick and her stomach hurting - I promise this is NOT what you think it is.
Word count; 2,143
Frances
— March 11th, 1945. Sturzelberg, Germany.
Much had changed since France. Easy Company now occupied a town in Sturzelberg, and we had more contact with the world than before. A German post office was now home to general correspondence back to the U.S; butchers and bakers operated as they had done before the war. Like always, men billeted into houses formerly owned by locals, kicked out for the time that we were there. With the President dead, and word of Hitler's health and power declining, many questioned how much longer we would be in the European theatre.
The hour was late, early into the morning, and a downpour shattered against the windows. Since becoming a leader of 1st Platoon, it was rare that I went to bed before 4am, and even rarer to wake up before noon - as was the same with the other officers. They were gathered in the Company HQ, a decently sized townhouse with many rooms for hosting guests, and had invited me a couple hours ago to join. Except, my stomach had been rotting for a few weeks, and finding no other distraction from the sickness, I decided to take up the offer.
I ascended the stairwell, following the voices of intoxicated men. When I reached the top, I wouldn't have known where to go if it wasn't for Nixon wandering out of a chamber, a mission in mind. Not questioning it, I entered the room. There they were, sat around a circular table make of dark oak.
"Why hello, darlin'." Harry simpered, taking a sip from his glass of bourbon.
Spiers, cigarette between his lips as always, raised a brow, too focused on the cards in his hands, only to smile at the sight of me.
My abdomen curling, I responded, "Good evening, gentlemen."
"Is it still evening?" Ron scoffed, looking back at his cards.
Lipton - now a Lieutenant - looked over his shoulder, "Hey, Lieutenant."
"Hey, Lip."
"Come sit." Harry kicked at the chair opposite him.
"Is-"
"Nah, he won't be back," Welsh answered immediately.
I glanced behind me before taking a seat at where Nixon once sat. Cards were piled around the table, alongside empty bottles of whiskey and rum and cartons of cigarettes. I hooked an arm around my lower stomach, the spasms coming in waves.
"Wanna play?"
I don't know who asked it, but after noticing the pieces of cash scattered across the surface, I shook my head.
"I don't gamble I'm afraid."
"What do you do?" Spiers probed absent-mindedly.
My eyes settled on the Captain, questioning if he had noticed what he said. Lipton finished his go, resulting in a curse from Harry. Ron looked up, briefly figuring what he would do for his next turn, until he regarded me.
"It's a good thing." Welsh said. "I've lost too much money to these assholes."
I tittered, tightening my grip on my stomach as a pain thrashed at it.
"Sure you shouldn't be asleep?" This was Spiers again.
"I tried."
Harry placed his cards on the table, a smug look on his face.
"Well done, Lieutenant," Lip dropped his cards carlessly, drinking straight from the bottle of rum next to him.
Ron clicked his tongue, also releasing his cards, leaning back into his chair. Welsh reached across the table, grabbing his earnings.
"What are you going to spend it on?" I asked innocently.
"Well-"
"A necklace for Kitty, perhaps?" Spiers remarked.
"That's a good idea, y'know-"
Ron shook his head, puffing smoke into the air, "Hey, Harry, why don't you go get the Lieutenant some water, huh?"
Welsh stood up almost instantly, pushing money into his pockets, "I'll grab some more bourbon. Anything else?"
At no objections, he left. Lipton rubbed his forehead.
"You don't need to stay up, y'know?" I told him. "They're bad influences."
"We are not." Ron contended. "You've been around me a lot longer than he has, yet you won't touch a drop, let alone a cigarette."
"Point still stands."
"I think she just insulted you, Lieutenant." Spiers said to the man opposite him.
"Not tired." Lip shifted in his seat. "Just had a bit too much."
"Well, put it away."
"Tastes too good." He smirked, swallowing another swig.
I declined my head with a chuckle.
"Are you a Christian?"
My head snapped towards Spiers, the origin of the question.
"That's random, hon."
"Well, you don't drink, don't smoke, don't gamble."
"Yet I've killed a man." I said, neither coldly nor warmly. "Many men."
Ron prompted his brows. Not just men.
"Wouldn't be a very good Christian if I did that, huh?"
"That's what you believe?" Lipton queried.
"I believe there is no scale." I regarded Spiers, observing contently. "To answer your question, I used to go to Church each Sunday, until I realised that it was filled with pretentious mothers who wanted to send me home with their sons."
Lipton laughed, filled with booze. Something presented in Spiers, like the urge to apologise, yet he could be brimmed with grief and never would. That and the fact that he also had too much to drink.
"Since we're playing ask whatever we like, my turn." I turned to Lip. "What do you believe?"
He shrugged, "I've been carried this far. Something up there has to do with it."
"That's not what she asked." Spiers sat forward.
Confused, we both looked at the Captain.
"What do you believe?"
"You're telling me you're a believer of fate?" Lipton frowned.
"It's not your go yet." He replied.
"It wasn't yours either." I grinned.
"I don't believe in fate, no." The Lieutenant drank from his bottle of rum. "Do you actually have a wife or do you steal all that silver for the fun of it?"
Spiers absorbed the sourness of the man's tone, and responded likewise, "What do you think?"
I inhaled deeply, the atmosphere tense. Both men glared at each other from across the table, chewing on the venom of this new found game.
"My go." Spiers' gaze found mine. "If you're a Christian, how do you intend to marry a Jew?"
Whatever was left of my smile vanished, as did Lip's.
"What?"
"You heard me."
I squeezed my flesh, another pang shooting through my body.
"I'll say it again." He was louder, rougher. "Lieutenant Kennedy, how do you intend to marry Corporal Liebgott, given you two are of different faiths?"
I stared at my lap. Any other day, any other influence, and perhaps I would've answered in the way that I had thought through before; confidently, gladly. In that moment, I tried to blame his callousness on the alcohol, the lack of sleep. After all, I couldn't wait to tell them. But that was mean.
"What is your intention, Captain?" I examined his pupils, trying to push out the fear and immense anger.
His lips tilted, more as an expression of I don't know. "I'm just a little confused, that's all."
"About what?" I snapped.
"Well, you don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't gamble. Yet you choose the man who lucks out on all three." He pushes his tongue to his inner cheek. "Just doesn't make sense."
"You want to know?" I smiled hysterically. "Do you really want to know?"
"Please." He said sardonically, indicating for Lipton to pass him the bottle of rum.
I scoffed, hoping Lipton wouldn't oblige. He did anyway.
"Okay." I breathed, mind racing.
Spiers downed a couple gulps, slamming the bottle on the table when he was done. All of the sudden, I had no idea who this man was, nor the other beside me.
"Okay." I swallowed. "Why did I choose Corporal Liebgott? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was there when no-one else was. The fact that I was taken, and tortured, because I wouldn't tell the Germans who I was. That due to a matter of luck, I managed to escape, with only my trousers and my boots, dripping in blood, and he was there. That he held me like I was air, like he had to survive on it. He gave me his shirt, and when I begged for him not to let go he promised that he wouldn't.
And when we managed to flee far enough, he still sacrificed himself for me. He took the bullets whilst I ran, all so I could tell your Company about precious Foy and their move forward.
So forgive me if I don't care about our differences. It had nothing to do with alcohol or cigarettes or gambling. That was the last thing on my mind when I was out running Krauts." I spat. "You should be ashamed, sir." I faced Lipton. "As should you."
I stood up, head spinning. As I stormed through the doorway, I passed by Harry, barging against his shoulder. Behind me, an argument erupted. I didn't care. Nothing mattered. I stepped out into the rain, allowing it to wash away my tears. All the while, a voice had crept into the back of my mind.
Lehmann's face curled into a frown, "Is it that you want to die, Fräulein? Is it?"
He dismissed the doctor, ordering Vogel inside and Böhm to bolt the door shut. One of them undid my hands, my whole body ready to collapse onto the floor. Another pulled out a set of pliers.
Seeing my figure droop, Lehmann announced, "So be it."
I brought my hands closer to my view, unable to see clearly in the dark. Still void of nails, no sign of returning; a constant reminder. Luckily, I had managed to push it out, because there was never a need to be reminded. Up until now.
Daylight arrived rapidly, as did the time for Easy Company to depart Sturzelberg. Trucks and jeeps plagued the streets, military personnel climbing aboard them. I handed my holdall to Martin, who packed it up with the rest of 1st Platoon's, before pivoting, shading my eyes from the sun. Ahead of me, Spiers and Winters departed from the HQ, casually conversing.
I walked along each of the vehicles, smiling at those that I made eye contact with, pretending I hadn't spent most of dawn avoiding nightmares. I stopped behind a small group of men, poking one in the centre of his spine. He whipped around, clearly irritated, only to soften when he realised it was me.
"Walk with me for a moment?"
His pupils flickered between mine, already comprehending my lack of positivity. He glanced at his friends before stepping away.
"Everything okay?" He asked as we furthered away.
The phrase alone made my throat tighten, my eyes swell.
Noticing immediately: "Hey, hey,"
We stepped around a corner, the biggest privacy we could find.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
"I can't explain it all." I said; we were to move out in five minutes. "I just, I can't stop thinking about them."
"About who?"
I fiddled with my fingernails and he looked down, finally recognising my words.
"Hey," He hooked an arm around my neck, bringing me against his chest.
I took balls of fabric from his back into my fists, suppressing every tear.
"What happened?" He leant back, cupping my cheeks with his palms.
"Spiers asked about us. He asked why." I croaked. "So I told him why. But now I can't unhear their voices."
"Untie her." said the Captain. "Get her up." "Vogel," "Take it off." "All of it."
He pushed me back to his chest, hand holding my head close to his collarbone. This time, I allowed the tears to fall, keeping as quiet as I could.
"I'll never let that happen to you again, sweetheart." He moved his thumb gently through my hair. "While I live and breathe, you know that."
I nodded, "It's just really hard."
"I know," He pulled away again, rubbing away my tears.
"Thank you." I released him from my arms.
We went our separate ways. I approached the jeep that I would travel in; Winters and Nixon sat in the front, me beside Spiers in the back. Everyone but Dick were in their seats, already bored. I climbed into my position, stomach curling at the thought of the man next to me.
"Look," He cut through the awkwardness, his voice a whisper.
"You could've just asked when you were sober." I interrupted.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't I tell you?" I frowned. "I'm glad I didn't, hon."
"Look, that's not-"
"That's not who you are?" I hissed.
Lewis turned around, "Is it just me or is the whole world fucking upside down today?"
I crossed my arms. Once more, the voices encroached on my skull, grovelling their way into my mind.