A/N: You didn't think I was just going to leave it there, now did you?
Kathryn was a ghost of a girl. She no longer felt like a whole human being. In some small part of her, she knew that the codependency that her brother and herself had exhibited over the years was going to be the cause of her downfall and ruin. They had always just followed each other around, never letting one be without the other.
Then John Egan had met Gale Cleven and things had changed . At first, Kathryn was certain it was for the better. Because they made each other better, they had each other's backs, they completed each other in ways that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. But she should've known the minute that Gale had gone down that her brother didn't ever intend on coming back either.
It was a raw and festering wound that tore at the very heartstrings of her being and there was no stopping that. Those first few days of them being gone—it made the base just feel empty . And it wasn't because only one plane had returned out of the dozens they had sent out. It was because her brother and Buck had been the shining light and beating heart of the 100th. And without them—
Things were dimmer. Things were more hazy and unclear. Things just didn't feel real.
So when she had a bag packed and was loaded into a car, Kathryn Egan went quietly. She didn't protest, she didn't fight it, she just sat in that car next to those pilots and she didn't say a damn word.
She had heard of Coombe House, of course. Dozens of men that had seen too much, had been through too much—they had been sent here. Colonel Harding wasn't a big fan of the option, but it did seem to help the pilots. Kathryn Egan was not a pilot though. And so for her to be here was a clear and blatant way to get her out of the way for a bit.
Tatty had explained to her, rather kindly, that Kathryn was going to help for a week there rather than be on the base. She wondered if it was because she could no longer muster a smile for anyone or if it was because the simple weight of her being John Egan's sister was just too much for people. Either way, Kathryn didn't like the prospect of being sent away to help like this.
Kathryn wanted to stay. Wanted to keep working. Wanted to stay busy. Because if she could stay busy, then she could keep the treacherous grief from boiling over. If she could stay busy, then she'd never have a free second to feel the burdensome weight of devastation. She didn't want to write to her mother. She didn't want to have to go through her brother's things. And she knew because she wasn't actually engaged to Buck—there would be nothing for her. Nothing but the ring that hung around her neck that no one except her brother even knew about.
The reception from the American Red Cross was nice . Truth be told, Kathryn wasn't quite sure what to make of the entire thing. She had barely spoken a word since Rosenthal's group had returned—and she hadn't said anything the entire drive to Coombe House.
But the minute she entered the room she had been given, Kathryn just felt like she wanted to break something. It was immaculate—right down to the dusting. Not a single speck was out of place and it barely seemed lived in. But it felt like somewhere that should by all accounts be safe and good. It wasn't though.
The bed was too comfortable. Just a sign that she was somewhere that she shouldn't be. Why should she get a bed when her brother was somewhere out there in Germany—either dead in a ditch, being tortured, or in some Prisoner of War camp? She didn't want it anymore than she wanted to go home.
Kathryn Egan had decided, a long time ago really, that if her brother wasn't coming back from Europe, then neither was she. She would stay here for the rest of her natural life if it meant waiting for him to come back. Because they had come into this together and they were going to leave together—consequences be damned.
She couldn't find it within herself to cry as she sat down on the wooden floor of the room, just staring out the window. No, Kathryn Egan wouldn't cry. She needed, after all, to grow up. This was war, after all. People died all of the time. Every single day. Why should today be any different? Why should she cry when others had lost so much more than she had?
Although she had finally made her way down to the kitchen and she had helped with the meal, Kathryn deliberately avoided dinner. She had too many thoughts to be eating. And she had found that some solace had come from having a drink or two. It was a bad habit to get into, and perhaps if she were in a better frame of mind, she would have been more careful about how much she was drinking.
But she didn't.
Sleep didn't come to her at all that first night. She lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering if they were dead in a ditch somewhere. Wondering if they were warm enough, if they had any food, if they were scared or not—and it was this very spiral of thoughts that kept her wide awake and unable to find solace.
Maybe she never would.
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The first thing that John Egan was aware of was the fact that he could hear horses neighing and that it was frigid out here. The second thing that he was acutely aware of, besides the thick globs of blood that were on his face, was the fact that he was probably going to die somewhere in the middle of Germany and no one would ever know.
And Kathryn was going to absolutely kill him for that.
The jostling of the cart he was on was bad enough—coupled with the fact that he was securely stuck under a body and the fact that someone was mumbling under their breath. It took every ounce of concentration in his body to be able to even open his eyes and force them to look up.
He could see trees passing overhead—and though the sun was out, this was a bitter sort of cold. Turning his head ever so slightly, Bucky fixed his gaze on the two people driving the cart of seemingly dead bodies. One wore a hat and both wore wool coats, but neither spoke. Not yet, at least.
Another moment of jostling before the cart came screeching to a stop and the sound of German filled his ears. Bucky shushed at the man mumbling—he thought it was the Lord's Prayer, but he couldn't be sure. But it was too late. As one of the men got off of the cart, shovel in hand, the other called back to him.
Bucky held still—horror striking through his chest as the shovel impacted with a wet splash into the soldier's chest. Blood splattered against his own face but he did not move. He willed himself to stay there, to stay silent, to stay alive . He had to get out of this. He wasn't about to die here in nowhere, Germany.
When he was certain that they were more than a considerable distance away, he lifted his head. Through the dried blood and blinking against the fresh blood, Bucky's eyes landed on the two men digging graves with shovels. They were focused right now and talking—he could make it. He could do this.
Trying to move presented a painful problem, but he pushed as hard as he dared against the bodies until he could roll onto the ground. He spilled out onto the ground, breathing heavily for just a moment from the exertion. His head was spinning and it felt like he had just downed a shot of whiskey, if he was really being honest.
Every movement was agony—but he pushed himself to his feet, nearly stumbling as he went. And then it was just one foot in front of the other. And he ran and he ran. Anyone could run 10 feet, is what he told himself as he just kept going. And he didn't stop going until his feet had given out from underneath him and his head lay on the dirt.
And as he stared at the blue sky—he thought of baseball, oddly enough. He was alone in the outfield. And no help was coming. He was on his own. And he was certain that he had just lost.
His last thoughts lay with the only two people he had ever really cared about. Sorry Buck. Sorry Kath. I don't think I'm coming home.
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The second day, Kathryn had kept to herself again. She had stayed busy, found ways to keep her mind off of what she was really thinking about. She had successfully avoided the therapist that the Brass had set up for all of them—and anything to do with that was considered a win in her book.
The third day though—with deep bags under her eyes, and a frown on her face, she found herself sitting under a tree and almost unable to bear the sunshine. She had tried to venture further into the garden, only to find someone crying. And she couldn't bear that. It was too much.
One of the men—she vaguely recognized him as one of the few that she had driven here with—passed by her and she couldn't help but give a warning. "I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," Kathryn called.
He looked taken aback before finding her sitting under the tree. "What do you mean?"
She just gestured at the garden. "Someone's in there. And they're crying."
"Oh."
Kathryn considered him for a moment, a frown on her face. "You look like you want to be here as much as I do."
At that, the man gave a wry smile. "Do we know each other?"
"I believe you flirted with me at the party before I directed you to my friend, Laura." Kathryn stated dryly.
Recognition passed his features. "You're Nurse Egan."
"I'm afraid I didn't get your name." Kathryn apologized hollowly. "It was a busy night."
The man just considered her for a moment—and everything was starting to click in place for him. He vaguely recalled getting dared to flirt with the Major's sister—unaware that it had been Major Egan's little sister, or the fact that she was romantically involved with Major Cleven. Both of them had gone down. And he had survived. He had made it.
It made perfect sense to him why she was here. She was a woman—and she had just lost her brother and the man that she loved. Things like that, that required a gentler approach. What he was dealing with didn't need that. He didn't need this.
Still, Robert Rosenthal forced a grim smile on his face. "Rosenthal. The guys all call me Rosie."
"You were the pilot."
His mouth suddenly felt dry at the scrutinizing gaze of Kathryn Egan. And he was almost certain he'd prefer her yelling or blaming him rather than this calculated look that she was giving him. "Yes?"
"Was that a question?"
"No, ma'am."
At that, Kathryn Egan cracked the first smile since her brother and Buck had disappeared. "Just Kat is fine. My friends all call me Kat."
"We're friends now?"
She just gave a shrug. "Well I warned you about the gardens, now didn't I?"
"I suppose you did," Rosie's hands went to his jacket pockets. He just didn't know what to say, didn't know how to interact—
"You know," Kathryn murmured. "I had a hell of a first day, too."
She wasn't sure why she was telling him any of this. Wasn't really sure why she was even talking to him, to be honest. And Rosie was thinking the exact same thing—he should have just walked away and be done with the interaction, but something made him rooted to the spot and want to hear Kathryn Egan.
"The fun kind?"
She almost laughed. "No. Surgery. This guy comes in, shoulder all torn up—and I've been at the base for all of five minutes. And I just did my job. Didn't think twice about it. Because it's what you do. Even when you lose a patient. It's what you do."
Rosie let out a deep sigh. "I get that. You just fly the plane. Do the mission. And you keep going."
Kathryn Egan considered him for a long moment. "Well the minute you want to jailbreak this place, let me know, Rosie. I don't want to be here, either."
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Sleep was elusive, yet again. Kathryn had made her way down into the library, curious to see what books she could possibly occupy her time with. It had been a long time since she had sat down and just read a book.
Her search had been going fine, right up until she saw a worn copy of Little Women sitting on the shelf and collecting dust. And everything in her had frozen and she had just stood there, middle of the night, staring at the book.
"I take it that you're the nurse Colonel Harding warned me about?"
Kathryn barely flinched at the sound of someone addressing her. "And you are?" She turned, crossing her arms over her chest with a slight scowl.
The man standing there just looked weary. "Doctor Huston."
"Pleasure," she stated shortly. "What did he warn you about?"
"That you might have a frosty reaction to this entire thing."
"He doesn't know me all that well."
"No one really does, it seems." Kathryn's jaw ticked, but she stood there firmly and unwilling to leave the library. She had been here first, after all. "Find a book that you like?"
"No."
"Colonel Harding also mentioned that you lost your brother and someone—"
"If I wanted to talk to you about it, I would."
He just stared at her for a moment before crossing over to the record. "Do you mind if I play some music? It soothes the soul."
"Not at all." Kathryn felt rooted to the spot. And so she did not move. And she waited. And she listened.