A/N: I hesitated publishing this because I know it's not that great, but there isn't enough Eugene Roe on here. Actually there kind of is, but he is my favorite character so I'm kind of biased. Read and Review?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I don't mean any disrespect to anybody. This is only for entertainment.
His movements are quick and agile. He has done all of this before. His fingers brush over the bleeding man's wounds. Inspecting and probing, his hands know all.
His hands know when to apply bandages. His hands know when to apply pressure. His hands are the ones that know when to give Morphine. His fingers are the ones that let him know "Enough. He is dead." His hands know all of this because when he moves, his mind doesn't think.
His brain blocks out the familiar faces. (Isn't that Skinny? Oh hello again, Joe Toye.) His mind doesn't think about the weakening heartbeat and the pulse that he can't find. Doesn't think about the groaning and how the body underneath his hands twists in pain and agony. He blocks out the faces of the parents and their accusing glares. "Why didn't the medic do anything?" He can hear them weep to the man in uniform outside their door.
If he were to think, if he were to unblock his mind, then his façade would crumble. He would be obliterated, just like Guarnere's leg. He would feel the fear that he blocked long ago. He would tremble at the sound of incoming mortars. His fingers would freeze and become frostbitten and die and just like that, in a split second, all of his knowledge would be gone. He would be able to feel the throbbing warm blood running underneath his fingertips. He would notice, or at least be mildly surprised, that the creases in his hands are etched in a deep crimson red that will stay there for a while; no matter how hard he scrubs at them in the snow. And worst of all, he would be able to see. He would be able to see the crust of old blood coat his fingernails. He would be able to see that all of his friends are gone, wounded, or missing. Gone. All that is left of them are fragments of rosary beads and the tell tale spots of snow that have an eerie shade of red. If he were to begin to think he would be curious to try the exquisite fluid we all call Morphine. He would try it, just to see what everyone always talked about. You know the saying: Curiosity killed the medic.
The man stops twisting and he doesn't notice. He is up to his elbows in blood. He doesn't stop working until finally he glances at Renee staring at him with a look that says Enough. And in a split second of madness, he lets himself be frustrated. He throws down the towel and a curse falls from his lips. Eugene Roe is supposed to be an angel. Angels don't curse. They save people. With this thought, his eye meets Renee's. And that's when he knows that she knows. She knows that he is no angel, but simply a man. An imperfect mortal that makes mistakes. He also knows that with her, he is allowed to breathe. With her, he is allowed to think. He had never felt more liberated.
