I don't own Band of Brothers. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the men in Easy Company and the soldiers just like them.
Summary: AU (a lot in this chapter). During the events at Bastogne, Doc Roe tires of his role as the agent of death.
Rating: T for language, attempted suicide, and violence.
Babe sank down onto the hard, wooden bench beside Gene. Years of worry and pain etched the still-young-and-not-so-young face. His brown, doe eyes still gleamed bright. It had been a hard transition for him, coming back to the "civilized" world with towels and running water and food that wasn't beans (he still couldn't stand the sight of even one measly black bean). He'd sunk deep inside himself, despite all his parents' and friends' pleas. It was selfish, he knew—and incredibly strange—because as he lie in the cool, green grass of the park he'd played in as a child, watching screaming children he didn't know and probably should know leap into the community pool, watching mothers fret and gossip about completely inane things, watching fathers and other men smile and puff their chests out as if they hadn't a care in the world…he found himself missing and yearning to be back out there. Although there involved screaming bullets and pain, Babe wanted it back. The near proximity to death made him feel alive. Knowing that the blue-black eyes were on him once again, Babe chuckled and glanced down at his hands. Around the wrists were white strands, criss-crossing just above his blue veins, showing prominently through his pale skin. The scars were old, and the memory dulled, but still there in the back of his mind.
"You saved my life, Gene, you know that right?" Babe croaked finally. "And I don't just mean out there on the line. I mean here too. Everywhere I guess."
And it was true. Gene was the reason Babe didn't just slice so hard one day that he'd never wake up. Gene was the one who could understand. Babe remembered that day well.
-b.o.b-
Babe sat on the tiled floor of his parents' bathroom, head tipped back against the clawed, porcelain bathtub that his mother took such pride in. His eyes were clamped shut—not tightly, but comfortably. The razor lay in his lap, a thin line of red staining the edge. His wrists lay on his lap, blood dripping from the miserable, beautiful cuts on each, blotching his mother's white towels. In his mind, his warrior self was lying against a muddy wall, with ammunition flying past his intense face, clutching his wrist that still held a piece of burning iron, fired from a Kraut gun.
"MEDIC!" The warrior cried, "DOC!" The pain grew, but was not so crippling that he could not raise his machine gun and cut down a line of advancing Germans. "GENE! WHERE ARE YOU?" Babe frantically searched side-to-side, but was alone. Black spots danced across his vision. But he was used to this. Gene never came. Nobody ever came because this was his own nightmare. His own miserable construct and he KNEW it. He wasn't crazy. Just miserable. With one final cry of defiance, he shot down the last German and sank into familiar blackness.
When he came to, Babe expected to feel the cold tile still beneath him. But he didn't. He felt warmth and comfort. Crap, he thought. I put myself in the fucking hospital. Opening his eyes, expecting to see white walls and his mother's tearstained face in a chair beside his bed, he looked up and saw his own ceiling hovering above him. A wave of relief washed over him. He raised his hands and rubbed at his crusted eyes. Fabric caught against his chin as his wrists brushed against his cheeks. Pulling his hands away in bemusement, he saw strips of gauze wrapped around his injuries in a familiar fashion.
"Your mother called me."
Babe started as a deep voice intoned from the back corner of the room. He peered into the gloom of night, but his eyes failed him.
"You ain't gonna see me Babe. Not til I want you to."
"Doc?" Babe questioned softly, hopefully, and tragically all at the same time.
"It's me Babe."
Babe smiled brightly. "Goddamn! What are you doin' here Gene?"
"Your mother called."
"Yeah, I know you already—"
"DO you know Babe? Do you really?" The venom in his best friend's voice wiped the tentative smile off Babe's face in an instant. "Do you know what you have been doing to that poor woman? Do you know that she called me in tears after she found you in that goddamn bathroom half-dead?"
"How did she—"
"She called fucking Winters. Goddamn man still keeps tabs on us. On ALL of us. Gave your ma my number. But that doesn't matter." And Doc Roe seemed to materialize out of thin air, angrier than Babe had ever seen him. His small frame seemed to expand and swell in anger. And in pain. "The fuck are you doing Heffron?" He reached over and grabbed a bandaged wrist. " The fuck is this? This isn't the man I knew out there on the line." Babe's eyes dropped. "This isn't the man who condemned me in Bastogne for the same goddamn thing."
"It isn't the same!" Babe cried, still a fighter as he always was once he got mad. "You TRIED to kill yourself! I just—I just…"
"You were just what? I'm listening Babe." Babe lowered his eyes, cheeks smattered with red in embarrassment and anger. Then his face went white. He raised his eyes, looking at the man who held the world on his shoulders and carried it as if it were a precious egg that he had to protect.
"I just can't handle this anymore Gene." Roe sank into a wooden rocking chair beside Babe's bed, eyes still intently locked upon Babe. "Nobody around here gets it! They don't understand what we've seen and done! They don't fucking get how lucky they are to be fucking alive! And fucking whole! Maybe I'm not like Joe or Bill, but I'm not whole either. I have something missing Gene. And I can't find it. I wish I had just died out there Doc. Died with the rest of our buddies, you know? I walk down the street and look at the young boys playing soldier and I think about how many German kids just like that that I killed. I'm a fucking murderer Gene. The sickest part? At the time, I LIKED it. I made a fucking game out of it. How can I ever come back here, to the green and the clean, when I'm a murderer? I'm not a hero like you or Winters. You did your jobs without excess killing. I killed for the sake of killing. I'm a murderer Gene. A murderer in heroes' company."
"You killed to stay alive Babe," Doc said quietly after a moment's pause and reached over and placed the old, wooden angel figurine on the nightstand. "And you're right. None of them get it. Nobody but the ones who have been there. You still got me right? And Dick. And Bill up the street. And Joe and Perco and Lip and Harry and everyone. You know that right? Look. You may not feel like a hero, Babe. But you are. You saved my life a thousand times over in Bastogne. And probably a thousand more after. You are a hero."
-b.o.b—
"You've always been my hero, you know that right Gene? Shit, I remember the day you first killed someone. Do you? You did it to save me."
-b.o.b-
Kneeling in the dirt outside of Foy, ready to charge and end the agony of Bastogne, Babe glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lt. Dike and shook his head. He's gonna get all of us fucking killed, he thought grimly. Tightening his fist around the barrel of his gun, he rose from a kneeling position into a crouch, ready to spring. As the officers continued to strategize, Babe chanced one final look down the line of men. He spied Doc at the very edge, ready to spring as well. Not an ounce of fear crossed the man's face, just intent concentration. Babe never prayed. He never saw the need to. Whatever happened happened and there was no use crying over it. But even as he thought this once more, he found himself praying, begging God to let Doc Roe live. And they were moving. They were running. They were stopping. They were dying. For the first time in a long time, cold terror washed over Babe's body. Dike created chaos with his incompetence. He created blind fear. And then, suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. It was Spiers, who, with a quiet bark of an order, saved their lives. He made them move. He made them fight.
As bullets screamed around the men, they pushed on, spurred on by Spiers' bravery. It was catching. Babe found himself leaping and dodging and shooting as he did before. His heart pounded in his ears as the adrenaline rush kicked in with a bang. His mind went blank; nothing seemed to connect, not even when the kid to his right went down in a crumpled heap. He pushed on when the faceless soldier to his left cried out sharply before falling dead on his face. Babe yelled hoarsely and moved forward alone. He rounded a corner, hoping for shelter. A bullet pinged the wall just beside his face. Pieces of sharp rock and plaster stung his neck and face as he skidded to a stop. He inhaled sharply and locked his eyes on the young German, hands trembling, pointing a gun at Babe's chest.
"Shit!" Babe cried and fumbled for the rifle that had slipped from his nerveless fingers. He couldn't find the trigger.
The Kraut yelled harshly in German and his hands steadied. Babe froze. For the first time in the entire goddamn war, Babe froze. The adrenaline pumping throughout his system made the world slow and the sound stop. He watched as the German rifle leveled with his heart and the boy's face hardened into a mask of hate. He saw explosions in the distance and the men thundering around the town, unaware of Babe's impending death. Babe almost closed his eyes, but didn't. He wanted to die with his eyes open. The shot rang out and the body crumpled to the ground.
Gene stood in the empty space that the German once stood in, rifle raised. Babe stood numbly, hands at his side, still aimlessly groping at the gun beside his thigh. Gene's eyes were locked onto the dead body that lay on the ground and then he slowly, painfully raised them to stare into Babe's eyes in devastation. Babe watched as Doc Roe dropped the gun to his side and stared at his shaking hands in front of him. He looked up again at Babe and Babe could quite honestly say that he had never seen someone look that lost until he looked into the blue-black eyes of the Cajun medic.
A couple of days after, once the men were seated in the beautiful church, listening to the choir sing, Babe sat down behind Eugene. The medic sat in the front pew, eyes closed, lips moving, mouthing the words to the song. Babe leaned forward; looking at the medic's closed face.
"What are they saying?"
"Plaisir d'Amour," Gene intoned deeply, leaning back so he could see Babe. "'The Pleasure of Love'. It's about this girl who promises to stay the same forever. To love forever. And she changes." His eyes were locked forward. "L'eau coule encore. Elle a changé pourtant."
"What?"
"The water still runs but she has changed." He paused. "Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie." Gene shifted in his seat. He looked down and whispered: "The pain lasts a lifetime." Babe sighed and allowed the silence to cover them both.
"It does," he said finally. Gene looked up at him. "You'll never forget the first man you killed." Gene looked away. "But you saved my life Gene. You haven't changed." And Eugene sighed deeply and accepted the cigarette that Babe held out.
-b.o.b-
Silence still met Babe. He looked long and hard at Gene before continuing.
"You know, I've only seen you cry twice Gene. I must have seen all the others break down a million times over that year of hell. But you? The entire time I've known you, I've only seen you cry twice. The first time was after Jackson died and I'm not sure that counted. Do you remember that? Of course you do. You remember everyone in that entire war don't you? Well, the night he died, you looked at me—only me. And I didn't know what to do."
-b.o.b-
Babe tentatively approached the medics' building a couple houses down. Standing against the brick archway as Eugene Jackson died under Doc Roe's hands, Babe had been blind. Blind with rage, pain, and fear. Rage because Jackson shouldn't have even fucking been there in the first place. None of them should have been. The patrol was a stupid fucking idea. Pain because Jackson had been one of them. He was so young—he had his entire damn life ahead of him and it was just gone. And fear because he'd seen Gene's face. Gene had looked at him. Just him. Ever since Babe had finally kicked it through the doctor's thick skull that they were friends and friends helped each other, Gene slowly became more trusting and more receptive to Babe's help and counsel. It was almost like talking to a fucking kicked puppy. But once Doc started to trust, Babe didn't quite know what to do. He never was a "feelings" type of guy. Sometimes that's what Doc needed. Like now.
As he approached the crumbling plaster of the medics' building, he heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass and splintering of wood. Babe dashed in, rifle raised, ready to kill. He stopped instantly. Gene stood in the back of the room, pummeling his bare fists into an exposed beam that lay across the windowpane. French streamed from his mouth in spasms. He kicked at empty crates beside his feet and smashed his bloody knuckles through the window. Babe stood dumbfounded at this tantrum; this rare display of emotion.
"Doc—" He started.
"WHAT?" Eugene spat, whirling around. "You got something to say Heffron, huh?"
"I just—"
"You just WHAT?"
"Jesus Doc, I—"
"Fuck this. I don't even wanna hear this shit." Doc spun back around and viciously smashed his fist through the plaster. "I don't wanna—" He was cut off as Babe grabbed him by his shoulder, spun him around, and punched him squarely in the nose.
"You gonna listen to me now?" Babe panted, flushed bright red. "Cause I—"
Eugene's small body pummeled into his side in a football tackle, sending them both to the ground. Babe rolled and kicked Gene off him. Both men rose and circled around each other.
"I don't wanna hurt you Gene," Babe warned. The only response he got was a punch to the ribs. The two scuffled for a bit longer until Babe tired of the nonsense. Eventually, he ended up sitting on top of Eugene's back as the medic lay on his stomach, face pressed into the wood. Gene struggled in vain for a couple more seconds until he realized that it was over. The fight drained from his limbs. "Can I get off your scrawny ass or are you gonna hit me again?" Gene nodded into the floor. Babe eyed Gene warily as he wiped the blood from his nose. He stayed lying face down on the hardwood, motionless. Babe sighed and gently lifted the man into a sitting position. Babe looked on as a single tear ran down the doctor's face.
"He was just a kid, Ed."
"I know."
"He didn't want to die."
"I know."
"I couldn't save him. He was too far gone."
"I know. He was."
"I'm sorry for hitting you."
"It's okay."
"And for punching the walls."
"Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to the walls."
"Wise-ass."
"I know."
"Can I say sorry to Jackson?"
"You think he'll hear you?"
"Yeah."
"Well hurry up. I'm starving."
"Je suis désolé Eugene. Je suis désolé pour vous laisser mourir."
"You done?"
"Yep."
"Okay, let's go."
"Okay."
-b.o.b-
"But that was nothing compared to the second time I saw you cry. I thought you'd never stop. But somehow, I didn't want you to."
-b.o.b-
Gene skidded around the corner frantically, sneakers sliding on the fresh wax buffed into the yellow-white linoleum. He flew past the white-washed walls smattered with colorful posters preaching the importance of soap, vaccines, and regular checkups. Nurses watched disapprovingly, tearful adults looked on in perceived sympathy, and children giggled as the small man stumbled momentarily on a discarded rubber ducky left in the middle of the hallway. Skirting past an old couple helping one another down the halls, Gene barreled on, willing himself to move faster. Had it been seven years ago, the onlookers would have been watching Doc Roe as he ran to the aid of a man blasted to pieces by mortar rounds and crying for his mother.
As he ran past countless rooms and people, he knocked into a metal tray that was precariously perched on the counter beside him. He barely suppressed a yelp that rose behind his lips and stuck in his throat as the scissors and scalpels crashed to the floor, befuddling his mind, instantly transforming the loud noise into tree bursts and thundering bombs. Eugene watched, horrified, as the white walls and floors shifted, transforming before his eyes into the snowy, explosive forest of Bastogne in the Ardennes. He shook his head violently, watching as soldiers and content patients all collectively roamed the crater-ridden field. Still careening forward, Eugene watched as artillery rounds of medical-grade scissors and rubber ducks rent the air. His breathing increased rapidly, hyperventilating.
"It's not real," he whispered fervently to himself. "It's not real. It's over. It's over. C'est fini. It's over. Please God, make it stop." This most recent episode ended abruptly as he ran face first into an opening door. His forehead smacked mightily into the wood. He landed heavily on his back and lay there, panting, for a good ten seconds before a very familiar voice sounded just above his head.
"Jesus Christ Gene! The fuck you doin' on the ground?" Babe hauled Eugene to his feet, lifting him bodily off the ground.
"Put me down," Gene commanded crossly, batting at Babe's hands and scowling at the irritating smirk that was ever present on Babe's face. He straightened his jacked and smoothed back his perpetually messy jet black hair. "Now I could get mad at you for my forehead," Babe sheepishly chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "But I won't, because I didn't come all the way to New York for you."
"Geez Gene. You wound me."
"How's Sarah? Is she alright?" Babe chuckled.
"Yeah, she's fine. She's tough."
"Had to be to marry you, eh?" Gene joked, eyes twinkling.
"Eh, shaddup," Babe said, nudging the small man. Then his face broke out into a wide smile. "Do you want to see her?" Gene mimicked Babe's Cheshire cat smile.
"It's a girl?"
"Yeah Gene. She's beautiful. I mean drop dead gorgeous. I don't know what Imma do once she grows up. She has Sarah's face—"
"Thank God."
"Shut up. And my hair. And she's so goddamn tiny Gene." Fear suddenly punctuated Babe's voice. "What the fuck am I doing Gene? I'm no father. I—I… I'm not ready for this! Sarah is, but I just…what if I fail Gene? What if I lose my job or what if she hates me?" His eyes grew wide and wild and he grabbed Eugene's sleeve. "She can't hate me Gene."
"Whoa, whoa Ed," Gene chuckled, placating the redhead with upturned palms. "She's not even a week old and you're already preparing for the teenage years." Babe scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "Look. You're gonna be a great father. Everyone knows it. Just watch your goddamn mouth, check that temper of yours, and for the love of God, you'll be just fine." Babe raised his head.
"You think so?"
"Of course." Babe's body visibly relaxed. Gene always had a calming effect on him.
"Thanks Gene," Gene smiled and nodded silently. "So," Babe began slowly. "Wanna see her?"
"Yes." Eugene blurted before the words were halfway out of Babe's mouth. Babe laughed and clapped Roe on his shoulder before leading him into the hospital room. Sarah lay on the bed, peacefully asleep, her blond hair pulled to the side, splayed on the pillow.
"Wait here," Babe said. "I'll go get her from the nursery." Gene nodded and pulled up a chair beside Sarah's bedside. He bent down and gave her his customary peck of the cheek. Babe left, shutting the door silently.
"He seems happy Little Sister," Gene said after a beat, using his fond pet name for the younger woman. "Thanks for taking care of him." Gene leaned back into the silence, allowing the memories to float before his eyes for the first time in a while. He sighed deeply and watched peacefully for once as the faces of the dead began their familiar black parade. Then suddenly, the room lightened. Gene's breath caught in his chest as Babe slowly opened the door, a yellow bundle held securely in the crook of his left elbow. He rose slowly and seemed to float over to where the new father stood.
"Gene, this is Evangeline. Evangeline Reneé Heffron." Eugene's head snapped up at the sound of the dead woman's name. Babe eyes held a soft quality that had never been there before. He looked back down at the bundle, a soft mist forming over his eyes.
"Evangeline," he whispered so softly.
"Yeah," Babe started excitedly. "Sarah and I have it all figured out. If she's a mama's girl we'll call her Eva and if she's a daddy's girl, we'll call her Vangie. And if shes…" Babe's voice dulled and trailed off as Eugene caught sight of a small wisp of red hair peeking out from the edge of the soft blanket.
"Gene. GENE." Eugene started and looked up at Babe. "Wanna hold her?" Eugene's eyes widened. He opened his mouth a few times without actually speaking. Quite frankly, he looked like a beached fish. He gulped.
"C-can I?" In response, Babe gently slid Evangeline into Eugene's arms. At first, Eugene could barely see the little girl through the veil of tears. "Bonjour, Ma Belle," Eugene whispered, gently stroking the chubby, rosy cheek with the backside of two fingers. Babe perched himself on the corner of Sarah's bed as Eugene sank into the wooden rocking chair, eyes riveted on the small yellow bundle. He watched, enchanted, as the sleeping baby yawned and shifted closer to his chest. Her tiny hands pushed out of the fleece wrap, reached out, and grasped the edge of his jacket with a firm grasp for one so small. With that move, the dam burst. Tears flowed freely as he clutched her tightly to him, whispering soothing words and promises in a mixture of English and French. As he clung onto the baby girl, everything suddenly became worth it. All those dead faces, missing limbs, and broken minds were justified in that one moment as Gene watched this tiny baby. She'd never have to grow up in a warzone. She'd live peacefully—she was too beautiful to deserve any less. Gene and all the other faces crowding his mind let go in that moment. A weight lifted off his chest as he forgave himself. He found himself smiling—truly smiling for the first time since he first left Louisiana for Toccoa.
"I wanted to ask you something Gene." Roe nodded through his tears.
"Will you be her godfather? You were the first person Sarah and I thought of. If you don't wanna, that's okay. You're just the best guy I know and I want my daughter to be raised by the best if something happens to me and I—" Babe was cut off as Eugene pulled him into a brotherly embrace, Evangeline cocooned in a cavity created by the bodies of her father and godfather. "I'll take that as a yes," Babe said, voice muffled. Eugene chuckled and pulled back.
"Of course I will. It's funny though. Just your luck that she was born on D-day."
-b.o.b-
Leaning back, the 75 year old veteran looked hard at the freshly turned dirt and newly polished headstone, glistening in the Louisianan sun.
Eugene Gilbert Roe
October 17, 1921 - December
30, 1998
"From this day to the ending of the world, We in it shall be remembered"
Babe sighed heavily as he looked at one of his best friends in the world. He looked on at his brother. He looked on at his hero and said haltingly through tears as thick as molasses:
"Lord, grant that shall never seek to be consoled as to console. To be understood as to understand. And to be loved…as to love with all my heart," Babe bent down slowly, with the help of his wooden cane. He grasped a handful of the fresh dirt in his hand and scooped out a small cavity. With a shaking hand covered in liver spots and scars, he drew a small, handcarved wooden angel out of his coat pocket and placed it gently in the tiny hole. He covered the angel and allowed a tear to slip from the corner of his eye and fall onto the grave. "With all my heart Gene."
"Dad." A redheaded woman stood a few yards away, face puffy and tearstained. "Let's go." And Gene and Vangie walked away from the graveyard, with heavy hearts and a guardian angel between them with invisible black-blue eyes.
Oh my god it's finally done! Sorry for the late update. I just wanted to thank all of you who kept on reading even when it got REALLY sappy, so THANK YOUUUUUUUU! You are all the bestest readers anyone could ask for. If you could review, one last time, that would be fantastic. Again, THANK YOU!
-Robin1231
