drovingallday96: thank you so much for reviewing, I'm so happy to know you liked the chapter - it made me smile reading your review. You're right, she is starting to show quite a bit of her humanity, and she'll continue to - but she's also kind of learning it too, because she's never really had a family before. And I will say a lot of learning to be a person comes from Winters, and their relationship is almost as big as her and Joe's is gonna be. I'm also very glad to hear you like her and Joe, I'm really enjoying writing them. Thanks so much again.

June 7, 1944

Speirs walked through the town littered with dirty paratroopers, searching their faces for one in particular without finding her – not even after he saw Liebgott, who'd asked if he'd heard from her only to be left disappointed and worried when Speirs had nothing for him. He hadn't thought she'd stop on her way to Carentan, but he tried anyways. There was only one man she would've halted her direct orders for, and he caught sight of him and made his way closer.

"Hey Lieutenant Speirs," Winters greeted when he saw him, shaking his hand. "How many men have Dog Company got assembled?"

Speirs thought about it a moment, going through in his head who he'd regrouped with; it wasn't many. "Handful, maybe twenty," he answered waiting to ask Winters his own question.

"You the only officer that made it?" Winters asked watching him closely; he didn't look happy, granted not many of them were, but Speirs looked troubled; sporadically working his jaw over the gum in his mouth, eyes twitching to look around him – he looked like a man in need of something destructive to lament his frustration, a look that often translated as half crazed fury.

He watched Buck take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and toss it to another man. "So far," he said. "Still waiting for orders. You heard from Meehan?" he asked without the patience to wait any longer.

That, Dick realized, was his problem; he was worried. "No," he answered as unhappy to say it as Ron was to hear it.

"Or anyone else from his plane," Buck added.

Dick knew from the way Speirs clenched his jaw that wasn't what he wanted to hear. "We won't hear from her til we get to Carentan," he told him, something they both already knew.

"Yeah when the hell are we getting to Carentan?" Speirs asked not looking for answer. If she hadn't given Dick a message it either meant she hadn't linked up with any of the men, which was quite likely, or she was dead – either way they wouldn't know for sure until they got to Carentan and she either met them or didn't. And even if he could, Ron wouldn't go out and find her – he just wasn't that kind of man. "You got some cigarettes?" he asked Buck.

Buck pulled a pack from his pocket and watched as Speirs left. "Hey keep the pack," he said sarcastically, not understanding the man in the slightest. "Was Chris not with you?" he asked Dick after Speirs had gone.

He shook his head; he'd wanted her with him the moment he knew she wouldn't be, and he wished in that moment that she had been – she'd still be unaccounted for but he would've at least known she made it off the plane. "She was with Meehan," he said watching realization settle on Buck's face.

"I don't think anyone outside your plane knew that," Buck told him; hell even George had said she'd be flying with Winters.

"Yeah," Dick said having figured that would be the case, "until we know anything for sure it'd be best to keep it that way."

Buck nodded his agreement, knowing most of them would sit unhappily waiting for when they'd get to Carentan – they'd be devoured by constant wondering. "Well shit," he said, "I liked that little asshole."

Dick smiled briefly as he looked around the town, seeing many vaguely familiar faces from other Companies. "She said the same thing about you," he said making Buck laugh.

She wasn't exactly friendly, but she was just pleasant enough that they thought she was; and because of that most of them liked her. Inappropriate humor, fouled mouthed, rough edged personality – she was one of the guys, someone they cursed at and with, someone who could take a punch and throw one back even harder. And the sweetest smile any man would fight for.

"She'll be alright," Buck said caught between stating and asking. He had no idea if what he said was true, but he wanted it to be so he said it.

Dick wanted her to be alright too, he wanted it more than he should – they were in a war for Christ's sake, she should be a passing thought in the face of everything else. But in that moment, that brief quiet moment, he thought maybe if he knew she was okay then everything else would turn out to be as well. "Yeah she will be."

…

Dick hadn't thought about Chris the rest of the day, what with the assault on Brecourt and then finding Nixon; it's how it should've been, she was just one of the men no more important to him than any of the others. But it wasn't true, she was more important and it wasn't only because she was their spy – he genuinely liked her, felt a need to see her alright and not just to see her alive. He'd never met someone and thought, 'I just want to see them happy, just for one moment I want to see the light in their smile reach their eyes,' at least not until he met Christine Roi; it'd taken him two years to realize he felt that way because he didn't think she'd ever really been happy.

The thought of her took him completely by surprise; he sat alone watching the town across the water burning, the smoke painting the purple sky black, the silhouette of the buildings framed by the orange glow of fire as the sound of machine guns and explosions played a melancholy symphony. He'd stared at it thinking of how much death had come from that single day, how many more lives were being lost in that burning town – he'd thanked God for letting him live, allowing himself to dream a dream of peace he might find if he survived.

Then suddenly he thought; "she would've thought it was beautiful."

He blinked surprised as he thought of Chris, as he imagined her standing half behind him as close as she could get without touching him staring at the same fiery landscape. "It's almost beautiful," she would've said.

Which was so far from his own thoughts he wouldn't have stopped to think about what she meant before he said, "people are dying, that was a terrible thing to say." And he'd look at her disappointed in her lack of compassion forcing her to look away ashamed for something she didn't understand.

He realized then he was too hard on her, and he only realized it because she was right. "Why do we find things beautiful, then, if not for the terrible things?" she would've asked him, her voice a soft breath as she stood without looking at him.

If she had been standing beside him he would argue with her that beauty was found in spite of terrible things – there was nothing beautiful in another person's misery, but the way they over came it. But she wasn't there, she stood only in his mind and because of that he let himself realize how right she was. The ability to find even the smallest of things beautiful in the midst of a world gone mad, such as the color scheme of a burning town set against the twilight, made life worth living.

And of course it'd be her to make him realize it; the orphan girl who didn't understand the concept of love, who'd been trained to kill without remorse, whose emotions had been so scattered and dispersed it'd taken almost two years to find something remotely human in her – the girl who couldn't for the life of her understand the meaning of card games but played them anyway, the girl who was madly in love with Ernest Hemingway.

And he still didn't know if she'd even made it off the plane.

…

In the days that followed more men found their way back to Easy, cheerful greetings when they came – adding to the list of who was accounted for, leaving another list of who was still missing. The only person not asked about was Chris, they all knew where she was – or at least where they thought she was. There were very few men who knew she'd been on Meehan's plane; Dick, Nixon, Sink, Speirs, and now Buck. Not counting, of course, who else had been on Meehan's plane.

None of the others knew to worry, could feel the time ticking by until they reached Carentan to see whether she was dead or alive. Only Nixon was sure of her survival.

"I'm telling you, Dick," he said trying to convince his friend yet again, "division is getting Intelligence from someone inside Carentan. The only person I'm aware of that was assigned to finding where the Germans were in the town and then give them specifically to us, was Chris." It led Nixon to a very satisfying conclusion that she was alive.

Dick, however, was not of the same mind. "Is her name attached to the Intelligence?" he asked waiting for Lew to answer which he didn't, and he gave the other man a hard look before shaking his head. "I want to see her alive," he told Nixon, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw her with his own eyes.

Nixon sighed at Dick's stubbornness to hope. "We all do," he informed him. "And I'm keeping my ears open like she told me."

He paused at that. "Like she told you?"

Nixon smiled as he remembered that conversation the day before the jump. "Yeah, she said if anything happened to make us question her survival she'd send me a message," he answered watching Dick's brows crease in confusion. "Don't be jealous, since I'm who she worked with the closest I know certain things about her 'messages," he told him.

Dick smirked almost amused. "Like what?"

"Well for starters, they're for you," he said smiling at Dick's burst of laughter. "I'm telling you, girl's alive, stop worrying."

…

But Dick didn't stop worrying, he wouldn't stop until he knew for certain she was alive; which came the day before they reached Carentan.

"I have a message," Nixon said straight to the point, far too excited to think of introducing what Colonel Sink had just told him.

Dick turned to him surprised, trying and failing to keep his hopes at bay. "Is her name on it?"

Nixon shook his head and raised a hand. "The message is her name, just," he paused to take a breath, finding he could barely speak.

"She's alive," Dick said quietly realizing from how hard it was for Nixon to form a sentence – which was unheard of for the man – that there was proof. "You thought she was dead," he said seeing then the relief in his dark eyes.

"No," Nixon said in his defense, "when I found out the Intelligence could only come from someone inside Carentan I knew she was alive."

Dick nodded letting it go. "What'd the message say?"

Nixon pulled out the paper he'd written it onto. "Colonel Sink was given the message by hand today and told to relay it to me, which meant she gave it to someone at least three days ago," he told Dick, quickly holding up a hand and telling him to wait when he saw the doubt creep into Dick's eyes. "In regard to Lt. Meehan, ask Lt. Dick Winters in Easy Company after Carentan is captured."

Dick sighed knowing what Nix would say, it meant she wanted to tell him in person – which was what it meant, but he'd been hoping for more. "That's not," but Nixon cut him off before he could say it wasn't enough.

"It also says; 'Tell Lt. Nixon to give the message to Lt. Ron Speirs in Dog Company," he said reading word for word what he'd written down before putting the paper back in his pocket. "There it is," he said smiling as Dick took a breath without a weight on his shoulders. "You should've seen Speirs when I told him, he smiled like it was Christmas – for a whole second, before he was Speirs again. I told you, Dick, she's alive."

He couldn't have kept himself from smiling even if he'd tried, because he could finally put her out of his mind – it didn't answer what happened to Meehan, but it left him content knowing she was waiting for them.

And she was waiting, rather impatiently after days sneaking around the town gathering where Germans were stationed for more than just Easy, looking for any German Intelligence, or holing up in one of the houses. She was quite ready for Easy to get there so she could find them and leave. But as it happened she was the one who was found the next day by Bull Randleman – after she tried to kill him.

June 12, 1944

Chris smiled at the sound of gunshots, which both meant Easy had finally arrived and that she could now locate the Germans without creeping into houses to find them. She used the gun fire to her advantage and ran between buildings, searching them long enough to not find any Intelligence before she was back on the street running to the next one.

This time she entered an occupied home, moving along the German's blind side before skating into the house. She timed her steps to match the machine gun, covering any stray creak the floor might've made as she made her way to the top floor and pressed herself against the wall outside of the door.

They never saw her coming. Her body out of sight one second, and with the next she'd charged – a bayonet through the base of the trigger man's skull and a broken neck for the one feeding the magazine. And that was that; quick, easy, both Germans dead without a sound.

She knelt beside them and rifled through their jackets, taking note of their patches and insignias – one was an officer, the other a Captain. She smiled at her luck knowing the Captain would have something on him, and sure enough she pulled out a folded map of France with a great many marks for German guns. This is what she'd been trying to find for four days, on top of pinning down where the Germans were in the town - they'd moved building to building almost as much as she had. And they had to know by then someone was in the town; she left a trail of dead bodies behind, and to make it more confusing not a shot was fired. The sound alone would've given her away if by chance she wasn't hit, and so she couldn't use her weapon or give them time to use theirs; she moved quickly, calculated down to the second what she needed to do to have however many Germans taken out before six seconds. That's how much time she allotted herself, how much she figured it would take for a mind to see what was happening and formulate the correct response. She'd had several guns aimed at her, a finger just barely putting pressure on the trigger before she reached them in time to stop them. Six seconds was enough, and a gun never went off.

…

Bull had seen the gun in the upper window of the home, had watched a man's body jolt as bullets tore through him, and then the Germans found a new target – he'd taken that chance to run into the building, pushing the already open door in further before making for the stairs.

His foot had just found a rogue piece of wood that creaked deafeningly under his weight in the sudden silence; and he froze on the stairs waiting for the Germans to find him. With his heart pounding in his ears he took another step, holding his rifle in sweaty hands knowing if there was a person in the room behind the stairs they would see his head and take a shot – he was vulnerable with little else to do but keep climbing. Holding his breath he looked over the ledge, rifle raised finger on the trigger ready to shoot if there was anyone standing in the doorway – only there wasn't.

He rounded the top of the stairs and stepped toward the room, cursing silently when another floorboard groaned under his feet, and then he stopped horribly confused at the sight of two dead Germans slumped against the window. And yet even then he held his rifle firmly, knowing someone was alive in the room – it was a strange feeling, beneath the sounds of gun shots and yells was utter silence, the kind that hung thick in the air saying there was a heart beating within it.

And so with his rifle in hand and a finger still over the trigger he crept forward, looking through the thin crack between the half open door and the frame – before his eyes flicked to the left corner of the room opposite him that was revealed as he took another step.

That was a mistake, if he'd have kept his eyes trained on that crack as he moved he would've seen the person flattened against the wall leaving just enough room between her and the door frame that she wouldn't be seen until it was too late.

He had just stepped into the doorway when the door suddenly slammed into him sending him crashing into the wall. He barely heard his rifle clatter to the floor before a small strong body collided into his own; and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back with a German straddling his chest holding the bayonet stolen from Bull's belt above their head to bring it down on his own.

Only it wasn't a German. After his head cleared and the ringing in his ears from hitting the wall died away, he saw a paratrooper's uniform – and beneath the helmet he saw a young elegant face, and her eyes were as wide with shock as his own.

Chris sat with a knee on either side of him pinning his arms to the floor, frozen as she stared down Bull – she'd almost killed him, had just barely kept her arm from embedding the bayonet in his skull. The kind, sturdy Arkansas man who always called her darlin' when he saw her; namely because it softened her normally calculating face making her coy and bashful for a moment before she rolled her eyes. She almost felt ashamed.

"Hey darlin," he said softly when he could finally breathe again.

She let out a breathy laugh before lowering the bayonet and settling on his chest, "hey," she greeted softly in return. They stayed still for a moment, a quiet moment as their hearts calmed and their breathing settled – realizing how close they'd both come to killing each other.

"You're stronger'n you look, girl," he told her taking her hand as she pulled him up.

She shrugged moving to the window wondering how many Germans were left in the town – half the buildings she'd run in had been occupied yesterday, but they were empty today. She didn't know if it was because the Company that'd been stationed here was simply running or if they'd formulated a plan; and she wasn't about to try her luck to overhear information, she'd spent the last four days moving around as silently as she could to hear anything they'd planned – it'd been the most dangerous part of the mission. And several times she'd gotten too close and was left with finding a way to kill whoever was in the room silently, which of course didn't go unnoticed because she was killing officers and someone eventually went looking for them only to find them dead – she had a very strong feeling her presence was one of the reasons why the other units had pulled out the night before; why would they stay undersupplied when they were trying to hold the city against a seemingly never ending stream of Americans, and at the same time being haunted by an unknown shadow.

Bull came up behind her, hearing heavy fire and a lot of yells from the ground. A man, he wasn't sure what company, held up one of the bottles he'd taken from a liquor store – and then his leg was blown off. Just like that, a smile on his face at the simple happiness of alcohol, and then he blinked and his leg was gone.

Chris moved down the stairs behind him and out onto the street. "Here," she said taking his rifle so he could carry the wounded man, "I'll cover you."

Bull ran carrying the man across his shoulders with Chris close at his side; she killed two Germans before he'd reached an aid station – and he didn't notice them until after she fired. She'd saved his life both times, the burly soldier carrying the crying man was as big a target as any, and so she shifted her gaze in a circle around them – over and over and over again her eyes flicked over every corner in front and behind them. Shooting one German to their left, and another she noticed the same moment he'd noticed them running past.

"Where's your rifle?" Bull asked her when they'd reached the station and she handed him back his weapon.

She shrugged looking around them wondering where Nixon would be; the German Company was dead and the town was quiet, all she had to do was find him. "Down a German's throat," she answered taking him by surprise; he knew she meant it literally, and the thought of it alone made him shake his head. "I'm gonna try to find Nixon," she told him before turning on her heel and walking away. She didn't stop and talk to anyone but to ask if anyone knew where Nixon was or where Battalion HQ had been set up – which no one seemed to have the answer for.

"You know I was looking for a nice broad."

She turned at the sound of a thick Philadelphia accent. "Hey Bill," she said giving him a distracted smile. "You know where Nixon is?"

He looked at Toye who only shrugged. "Nah, he's probably with Sink. Don't know where he is," he added before she could ask about the Colonel.

With a sigh she nodded irritably, hating the part of looking for someone. "Good seeing you, Bill," she said clapping his arm before marching off.

Bill and Toye looked after her. "I'd say she didn't care to talk to you," Toye said almost laughing at Bill's offended face.

Chris nodded, waved or straight up ignored the men who called out to her as she moved through the town, catching sight of Strayer and knowing he'd tell her where to find Nixon.

"Chris. Hey, Chris."

She turned at someone grabbing her arm prepared to tell them if they didn't know where Nixon was then they needed to fuck off cause she didn't have time to see who all she wanted before they'd be given the order to move out. "Hey," she said quietly, the tension in her arm loosening when she saw it was Joe, "you survived D-day." It was a thought that had occasionally crossed her mind the six days they'd been there, along with Speirs and Winters – they were the only three she'd spared a thought for. There were a few other men she'd be visibly upset if they'd died; George was the first there, and Bill, Nixon, and Lipton though not because she felt any particular fondness for him but because he was a good man and she didn't like it when good men died.

"I could say the same about you," he said nearly grinning at finally having an answer to whether she'd made it – and he'd worried about it a hell of a lot more than she'd thought of him. "No one's heard from anyone on Meehan's plane, I didn't know what to think."

She stood with him still holding her arm, something she was unconsciously aware of and was almost leaning against him, looking around for the man she wanted. "Yeah he's dead," she said callously turning to look at him. "That your blood?"

Joe reached a hand to where her eyes were trained before he realized what she was talking about. "No, it's Tipper's."

Without actually thinking about what that meant, only taking the time to hear that he wasn't wounded, she nodded and looked away again. "Ah, there he is. Good seeing you were alright," she said before stepping out of his grasp without looking back.

She left him standing unhappily watching her walk to Lieutenant Nixon, who smiled warmly at her. She hadn't even given him thirty seconds before she'd brushed him aside for the Lieutenant, and it upset the hell outta him.

"She doesn't have time for you."

Joe looked to his right to see Speirs watching her closely, as though if he took his eyes off her she might disappear.

"She'll talk to him then go find Winters, who she really wants to talk to, then she'll find Sink and report – and all before we ready for a counter attack," Speirs told him, explaining she had little time to spare. "She gave you twenty seconds, it might not be much but it's more than she gave anyone else."

…

"There's the lady of the hour," Nixon greeted with a smile when he saw Chris walking up to him. "You know I've heard from a few men that there's dead Germans in some of the houses, but there's no blood. And one poor guy found a Kraut with the barrel of a rifle shoved down his throat."

Chris smiled innocently stopping in front of him. "Sounds like there's a maniac on the loose," she said making him laugh. "I found this, thought you might like it," she said pulling out the map she'd found. "I don't think it's all the German guns in France, but it's a hell of a lot of 'em."

Nixon took the map smiling. "Yeah it's missing quite a few," he said watching her brows knit in confusion. "Dick found a map with all of them."

"That's great," she said almost excited to know that, it certainly made war easier when you knew where the enemy was.

"Yeah," Nixon said shaking his head, "I wouldn't tell him that. He lost a man, Hall from Able Company. He didn't take it so well."

She nodded wondering if she'd known him, the name didn't ring any bells. "That makes it not so great," she said softly.

Nixon stared at her openly surprised, his dark brows raised high. "Look at you," he said fondly, "you're almost a person." It confused her but it made Nixon smile, she was so different from the girl they'd met in Toccoa – the one who would've shrugged not seeing the importance of a dead man she didn't know. He didn't know if it was all Dick's doing, it was probably a mixture of him and how much time she'd spent with the guys; they'd changed her.

Chris stared at him with deeply furrowed brows not knowing what he meant, she hadn't realized she wasn't a person; but she shook her head figuring it was just one of the things she wouldn't understand. "I was hoping to talk to Winters," she said getting to what she'd really been wanting for six days, "know where he is?"

Nixon pointed to the building they set up as an aid station wondering when she'd leave to talk to him – it hadn't taken long. "Guess I'll see you when you decide to see Colonel Sink," he said emphasizing Colonel, who should've been the first person on her mind to see.

"You trying to say the Colonel is more important than Lieutenant Winters?" Buck asked Nixon stopping beside the two of them. "Good to see you sweetheart," Buck teased knowing she had mixed priorities when it came to Winters; having caught sight of her dark hair and made his over glad to see she was alive.

She looked up at the impressively large man; standing back to back with him he'd literally be double her width. "Stop calling me that," she told him as she did every time he did it, only now it didn't bother her, it was simply the memorized response.

He laughed as she began walking to where Nixon pointed, knowing she hated it – and he enjoyed irritating her. "You still owe me a dance," he told her, which she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"What dance?" Nixon asked him.

Buck turned to him and shrugged. "I didn't meet her til a month after I was transferred to Easy. She kept telling Luz she'd meet me the next weekend but she never took the passes. I eventually ran into her and told her when she did finally take a pass out I'd get a dance out of her."

"I bet she happily agreed to that," Nixon said amused knowing she wouldn't have, and Buck shook his head smiling because she'd flat out refused. "Look at them," Nix said seeing her walk through a group of men who all smiled and greeted her, George standing forefront with the largest smile, "they didn't even know to worry."

Buck nodded his agreement having seen it'd been a good thing they hadn't known when he'd overheard several of them talking about her coming back when they got her from Carentan – they never once doubted she'd made it. "I bet you anything Joe did," he said. "She tells him everything."

Nixon wondered if Joe knew she'd been in Meehan's plane, it wouldn't surprise him to know she'd told him – the many times he'd had to explain to Dick he couldn't separate her from Joe because trust had been developed. Which is something Sink had told him a year ago, since he was the Intelligence Officer she worked closest with and knew quite a bit about her mission in the war, that by nature she would chose a man she could depend on if she'd come to need it – and she'd chosen Joe.

…

Chris smiled and joked as she moved through the guys that had noticed her, abruptly quieting and her smile falling as she made her way past the last one and toward the aid station she'd just left – having completely missed Winters.

But she found him then, sitting on the edge of a table with Roe holding his ankle. Moving past a very docile wide eyed man she stopped behind him and looked at Roe as he bandaged Dick's leg. "Well hello, I've been looking for my other medic," Roe greeted when he looked up to see her; he was used to working with her, she was quick on her feet when things needed to get done and blood meant nothing to her.

"Oh I'm sure you and the wounded have been missing me," she said looking back to the man lying behind Dick. "What with my great advice being; get over it."

Eugene gave a half amused laugh as he shook his head. "You got the worst bedside manner," he muttered as he held Winters' foot still. He looked to Chris again to see her eyes on Winters, and his eyes on her; he looked at her as though she were Christ returned, devoted and relieved.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, not realizing just how much he'd been worried until he felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he sighed.

The corners of her mouth lifted briefly before settling in their normal curve, as though she wasn't sure whether she should smile. "Hi," she breathed. Roe looked between the two not knowing exactly what was happening, only that they were two people very glad to see each other again.

"What's this?" Dick asked gently taking her hand in his own when he saw a bandage.

She looked down having almost forgotten about it. "It's a small burn, it's healing though."

Roe released his foot and moved toward her. "Let me see it," he said taking her hand from Winters and peeling back the bandage not knowing what to expect – she'd be the person who was dying and said it was nothing, he knew not to trust her word. But in truth it didn't look bad, a little pink at the most. At least until he saw the cloth beneath her sleeve, and as he gently pushed it back he realized it had been worse than she'd said. "How bad was it?" he asked turning his eyes to her face long enough for her to see he wanted the truth before he looked back to her arm as he began unwinding the cloth.

"Not too bad after I popped the blisters," she answered.

He looked up at her sharply. "It's not small if you got blisters," he told her.

She shrugged not concerned, it was barely tender now. "I found an elder plant, used the leaves. Seriously Eugene, it's fine," she told him.

His brows rose at her having used elder leaves. "That was very French of you," he told her as he tossed the cloth aside and inspected her arm; he could see the circles on her skin from where the blisters had been, many had been small but there had been a few larger ones – he knew it'd hurt a few days ago. But by then her skin looked sunburned, not too hot to touch which meant it was mostly healed, it really was fine. And he sat back down satisfied and once more began bandaging Winters' leg.

Dick had sat silently listening to the two half concerned for her and amused by how different they were; Roe took things too seriously, and Chris shrugged off too many things – they complemented each other, as Nixon would say. With her arm no longer the focus she turned back to him and he shifted himself over on the edge of the table giving her room. "Come here," he said so softly it almost made no sound as he pointed to the place beside him.

She sat facing him with her hands in her lap willing every other thought away so she could give an impartial answer. "Okay?" she asked waiting for him to nod. "He's dead."

And there was the disappointment he often felt with her, hearing in her tone of voice the callousness inside her – Meehan had been a good man, a very good man and would've made a good commander for Easy. And she'd said it as simply as she would have if she'd told him his hair was red. "So he didn't make it off the plane?" he asked her.

"No he did," she said, her voice deepening as her eyes refused to look at him. "He was just on fire when he jumped."

He took a sharp breath at the thought, how awful it'd be to burn alive parachuting – the oxygen making the fire grow, burn faster, he could imagine the screaming. And then he thought of her, she'd been helpless to do anything but hear them screaming; he saw then she wasn't unfeeling, but was trying to be. "How'd that happen?" he asked knowing if he pushed her too soon she'd say nothing and leave, and he didn't want her leave. He wished they were alone, maybe walking outside in the dark at a camp because she was always easier to talk to when no one could see her – ironic enough, those were the times he saw her the best.

She looked up at him for a fleeting moment before she looked away, not wanting to see his sympathy – she wanted to go back to not caring about anyone except Speirs, it was so much easier, and she didn't know when she stopped being that person. "The engine got hit. He'd had just enough time to see it and throw me out of the plane." She didn't say anything more, she didn't have to because that sentence said it all – he shoved her out of the plane knowing he would die. They were quiet several moments, her lost in screams of agony and Dick staring at her having never seen her so conflicted and sad. "He had a wife," she said, her voice now hard and her face stoic, "and a daughter."

"I didn't know that," he said softly, not sure how to respond to her – he'd never seen her upset before.

She nodded bitterly. "I need to report to Colonel Sink," she said standing so she could escape this conversation, only she couldn't because her mind had turned more than she'd wanted and she was now left with why she was so unhappy Meehan had died – when it really wasn't about him at all. "Do me a favor," she said looking down at him. He nodded waiting for her to tell him not to bring it up again or something equally as biting because she didn't like her feelings; but she shocked him, shocked him speechless by how soft she'd grown toward him. "Don't die." Her voice was so small, almost childlike in its frailty; and then she was marching out of the door leaving him behind.