This is just a short fic
about Cobb right before his court martial
I don't know what actually happened before his court martial, or what his feelings were, so this is all made up (Except for the 9 years and Africa and stuff. That's all true.)
but
I just have a lot of feelings for him

Cobb sat against the back of a chair, rubbing his hand through his short hair. One hand held his cap, limp in his hand, just like any other piece of cloth. "This is bullshit," he murmured, and looked up. Paintings and photos alike stared at him, seemingly mocking him.

One General's photo specifically, and even though he had no idea who the man in the photo was, made him scowl at it in disgust.

He was waiting to be informed about the hearing of his court martial. Waiting to be kicked out of the army, he knew. "This isn't fair," he whispered to himself.

In that lonely hall, he remembered many men's faces. Many faces that he knew he would never see again. And not all were from Easy. Most were from his nine years service, prior to even hearing about Easy. He had ridden in with the assault landing, in the 1st Amoured Division in Operation Torch, in North Africa. He had nine years of experience under his belt that most of these men, even as tough as they were, had never experienced, and never would. He had experience with sand, heat, and flies that they could never even begin to imagine. And for what? To be made a fool of? To serve dutifully for his country, only to stay a private, not to receive any sort of recognition?

Was it because of Normandy? He shook his head, and rubbed his jump wings inbetween his fingers in retrospect, remembering the day he was awarded them, a day he truly felt proud of himself for his hard work. The smooth metal under his fingertips was a cold, almost harsh, reminder of what he was, what he trained for. He had traded his spot with another man in his stick, Luz. And the man whom he had traded spots with, traded so he himself wouldn't get hit, and that's exactly what happened to Cobb. Two years of intense training, two years of starting all over again, for what? Getting hit in the hand, right before the most important jump he'd ever make? And not to be able to jump?

Cobb wiped his eyes, hot tears stinging him, but not ever falling down his face. He felt pathetic for it, pathetic for getting into this mess in the first place. Pathetic and tired and alone. And not a damned soul seemed to be on his side.

I have a lot of Cobb feelings