Amanda: thank you so much, I'm glad you liked it.

Lauren :thank you for your kind words, it made me smile reading them. I'm so glad you think the story is good, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting into with making an OC for this fandom - and I'm trying very hard not to mess with what actually happened, and also trying to keep her as close to realistic as I can.


Chris reported to Colonel Sink, who was very glad to have visual confirmation on her well being so he could pass it along to General Donovan – the man she actually answered to. "Your orders are to remain with Easy for the time being, as a medic," he was quick to remind her, having been told several times she was more a fighter, he'd have to tell Winters to keep her back on the line. "Your next assignment will be given within the next few days," he told her watching her nod

"Do you have any idea of what it'd be, sir?" she asked him wondering what she should prepare for.

But he shook his head. "Not at the moment," he answered. "General Donovan did, however, arrange for this to be given to you. He said you may find it useful." He reached behind him for the rifle sitting against the wall that a runner had brought him the day before, and Sink watched her take a breath as she delicately took it from him.

It was beautiful, as silly as it was to call a rifle beautiful – but it was new; the wood was a dark bourbon, and in her hands it was heavier than their standard M-1. She knew exactly what this rifle was made to do, and she looked at Sink and happily took the small cylinder pack that held the telescope, and took it out. "Shifty's gonna be jealous," she mumbled standing at a window looking through the scope; the clarity she now had, the distance she could shoot from, the accuracy – it was magnificent.

"Shifty?" Sink asked not knowing the name. And he found himself curious of the man who'd first come to her mind at the sight of the gun.

"Darrell Powers," she clarified too caught up in the sniper to catch that he was insinuating an inappropriate relationship – which was completely sexist considering if she were a man he wouldn't've thought anything of it. "Best shot in the 506th, possibly the entire division."

Sink nodded recognizing the name. "A better shot than you?" he asked. Her weapons handling had been the first thing he'd asked to see when he was first told about her – it'd been one of the reasons he agreed to her, that and her hand to hand combat which she was even more skilled at, and of course the fact that he wasn't really being asked.

She scoffed a laugh as she mounted the scope on the rifle and locked it in, quickly kneeling in front of a window and seeing every crack on the walls of the buildings and every streak of dirt on the men. "A much better one," she admitted as she stood and put the scope back in its pack; handling the sniper with something close to reverence.

"You know a normal girl would've been that excited for jewelry," Major Strayer said having been watching her almost amused.

She turned to him with a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. "I guess it's a good thing Christian Woodridge is a twenty-three year old man."

The Colonel cleared his throat and focused his gaze on the Major. "If the situation's dire she's to be pulled to out," he told the man, raising a stern finger toward the private watching her opened mouth close. "It's not your place to discuss this, young lady - have the last two years taught you nothing?" he demanded watching her spine straighten as she stood at a position of attention, no longer at ease or willing to speak out of turn. "Go on back to Easy now," he told her, returning her salute. He waited until she'd left before turning back to Strayer. "You're gonna have to tell Winters he'll need to be firm if he has to give that order; that girl could charm the devil if she needed to."

Strayer nodded having seen her with Nixon and the other Intelligence Officers, and especially with Sobel; she could get what she wanted with a single look. "She could scare the shit out of him too," he said seeing Colonel Sink nod his head in agreement.

Chris slung her rifle over her shoulder, accustoming herself to the added pack that held the scope as she walked toward the sound of George's voice. "Well I'll never have to worry about finding you guys," she said turning their heads at the familiar calm lull that came when she was there.

"She speaks," George said, his loud voice a stark contrast to her soft one. "Did you talk to Winters?" he asked, knowing without being told that's who she'd really been rushing to see.

She grinned stopping beside him. "I did," she said watching him make a face because she wasn't playing along to his teasing – it was less fun for him when she wasn't defensive, but it was a lot of fun for her to see the irritated defeat on his face. "Oh it's good to see you George," she said clapping him on the shoulder, curling a smile on his mouth as he reached a hand around to smack her on the ass.

"You too, Chris," he told her grinning from ear to ear.

Turning her indignant eyes from his satisfied face she stepped toward where Shifty sat with Buck Taylor, Floyd, and Joe. "He makes you laugh," Joe told her before she asked him to remind her why she liked Luz, something he had to remind her of a little more than occasionally. He looked her over, smirking at the swell of her breasts – what he wouldn't have given to be alone with her in that moment; he'd kiss her so hard he'd take her breath away.

He could even imagine her wide-eyed surprise when he pulled away, the look that told him exactly what she was thinking – only once before had he seen it, he'd called her beautiful before he realized what he was saying. And for a second he could see her confusion and wariness, and fear. But he'd also seen the warmth, the want – and then she blinked and he saw nothing but himself in her eyes. That was the look he wanted, the one he always wanted to see because it was only time he saw that she felt anything close to what he did.

His eyes left her chest to take in her uniform – it was wrinkled, and what he'd first passed off as dirt he realized was dried blood. And then he saw the sleeve on her arm. "You get that in the jump?" he asked watching her raise her arm to inspect what was being questioned – seeing further the singed material where fire had touched it softly.

"Yeah," she said seeing it looked worse than it was. "It's fine now," she said pulling up her sleeve to show him the pink skin, which he still wasn't quite unsatisfied with because while her skin was only a shade of pink the places her blisters had been were a dark red – and they still hurt her a bit. And they did then because he'd stood and now held her arm in his hand – unlike Eugene whose fingers only brushed against the white flesh taking care not to hurt her. She looked up at him prepared to explain calmly that it was still a little tender, and his already hot hand was burning her not completely healed arm. All words left her when she met his dark eyes, she could feel his gaze pricking her skin rooting her where she stood. She could nearly feel the way he wanted to kiss her, not the soft tentative way he had when he thought she'd been asleep, but her lips crushed against her teeth smothered beneath his mouth – the way she'd kissed him, that's what he wanted. It was too much, there was too much heat.

"Lets go first platoon, weapons on me," Welsh called as he walked toward them. "We're moving out."

Chris stepped away from Joe turning her back on him and shaking herself out of whatever stupefied haze he'd put her in to make her stand in front of the others so obvious. She walked beside Shifty, numbly answering his questions after he'd caught sight of her rifle – taking out the scope for him to marvel through, even though his eyesight was impeccable – barely hearing Welsh call for Blithe beneath the pounding in her ears.

"You're with me, Woodridge."

She looked up at her name being said to see Harry looking at her, having been told by Winters only a few minutes before she was his. "Yes sir," she answered unenthusiastically, as she did every time Winters put her with him.

Welsh nodded walking near her. "You even old enough to fight, Chris?" he asked making a show of looking her over to enunciate what he'd said – he knew the answer to that question, which was just barely.

She turned mimicking his action and glancing down the length of his body, which was a good two inches shorter than her own. "You even tall enough?" she snarked back at him.

The moment their eyes met they both grinned, a ritual having formed every time they greeted each other – one he'd started unintentionally when he'd first met her; he'd insulted her, and because she was her she'd insulted him back, and so began the ritual.

"I'm almost glad to see you made it," she told him, thoughts of Joe hiding in the back of her mind as Welsh distracted her.

He smiled as he moved to the side prepared to go to the front. "I could've gone a few more days without ya," he told her leaving her to chuckle lightly.

Taking the scope Shifty handed back to her she returned it to its case, feeling a body brush against her side and looking to see it was Joe – and all previous thoughts resurfaced and she turned away before he could trap her with his eyes.

He walked with a smirk curled on his mouth, having caught the look he'd been wanting to see. For six days he'd wondered if she was alright, worrying whether she actually survived D-Day; and it'd made him worry more when Speirs didn't even have an answer because even he knew Speirs and Winters were the only two people she'd contact – he didn't like it, but he accepted it. And surprisingly enough he'd kept coming back to the thought of whether he'd see that brief heated look in her eye again, the one that made him want to throw her in bed. It was almost funny that he still tried to convince himself he hadn't fallen for her, that he still questioned whether she felt the same when it was so obvious in her unreadably closed off way that she had.

"Stop thinking about me."

Joe turned at the sound of Chris' soft voice with furrowed brows. "That's awful conceited of you," he told her laughing at her hard eyes.

She elbowed him as they kept walking, hearing Perconte complaining to George in front of them – 'Jesus Christ Frank I don't know, when they tell us to stop,' was George's irritable reply.
"You keep looking at me," she said, having noticed every so soften he'd glance her way.

He raised a shoulder defenselessly. "You're nice to look at."

After quickly looking around for Winters, who thankfully was nowhere to be seen, she turned back to Joe opened mouth. "Wha-," she sighed shaking her head. "You can't say that," she told him wondering how much trouble they would've gotten in if Winters had been around – they certainly wouldn't be assigned to the same platoon again, that she knew for a fact.

He laughed glad he'd flustered her, he liked when he worked her up. "You're fucking beautiful," he said watching her eyes widen with his deliberate intent on being inappropriate. "And your tits, God," he breathed shaking his head.

She was left to walk trying to find something to say, something very Winters like because his voice was raging in her head on how she needed to stop encouraging this – and yet she was flattered, her ego was being fluffed and a part of her was enjoying it. "Shut up Floyd," she said looking at Talbert walking on the other side of her, who only continued laughing.

"Jesus, Chris, if you were normal you'd be blushing," he told her realizing he'd never actually stood a chance – she wasn't normal, she was crass and sometimes mean, and funny as hell; she was Joe with tits, except scarier.

There wasn't much she could actually say, except that he was right – and she wouldn't admit that she could feel heat spreading along her chest, not with Dick's voice still echoing in her head. And so she settled for looking back at Joe irritably and heaving a sigh, seeing it did little more than amuse him more. Before a response from either of them was formed the sound of gunshots had them throwing themselves to the ground.

"Contact right, get in the hedgerow!"

Chris stayed on her belly as she crawled to the line of trees, knowing standing then would only get any of them shot since they were such perfect targets. "Shit," she hissed watching a man, who'd been on his feet, fall to the ground – and something in her, after a year and half of training, clicked at the sight of the wounded man.

She barely heard Joe call her name as she made her way to him, looking up to see a very thin line of bushes was her only coverage – no wonder he'd been shot, she thought as she reached the crying man. "Ah, this would've been easier if you were dead," she muttered more to herself than to him as she was left thinking of a way to get them further left so they had more shrubbery to cover them; only the man, who she didn't know, heard her and started whimpering. "Hey, it's not that bad you're fine," she tried to tell him hoping to keep him still, except he kept trying to stand. "They can see us, you gotta sit still," she said trying to keep him down – but he continued to say he had to see him mom, he couldn't die here.

"Chris you good?"

She looked up briefly to see Eugene waiting to crawl to her if she needed it. "Yeah, if he'd just fucking stay down," she said growling the last part as she reached a hand to his head and shoved it into the ground – and in that same second a mortar exploded in front of them sending a wall of dirt and shrapnel over them.

"Chris!" Eugene yelled trying to see through the smoke if they were alright.

Three, two, one

She threw herself at the man rolling them both to the left as another explosion went off closer to where they'd been laying before – one that would've wounded them both if they hadn't moved. As it were he caught a piece of shrapnel in his leg and her helmet was torn off as they hit the ground, their ears ringing and their heads pounding as they tried to breathe.

"You good?" she asked the man beside her, her voice sounding muffled to her own ears as she shook him. His eyes were wide as he nodded, very much in shock, but otherwise still alive.

Eugene, having watched them roll to the left, crawled over to them and tilted Chris' chin up to look down at her. "You hit?" he asked looking her over for blood.

She shook her head almost flinching as the ringing in her ears became a tangible thing that was stabbing into her brain, and then thankfully it rang out and she sighed. "I think I'm good," she told him breathlessly. "Where the fuck's my helmet?"

He reached to her left and grabbed it before putting it on her head. "See if anyone else needs a medic, I got him."

She nodded glad to leave this man behind her, but she looked back him severely. "If you even think about getting up I'll come back and slit your throat."

Eugene stared after with wide eyes wondering why she found gentleness so difficult, but looking back at the wounded man he saw he was terrified of her. "You're gonna stay down right?" he asked, finding he was almost amused by how quickly the man agreed.

The sun had almost completely set when she finally made her way back to first platoon, having stopped for quite a few grazings that were easy to patch up, and then she'd found Winters.

"How are you, Chris?" he asked when she crouched near him.

She shrugged nonchalant, calm having returned to her an hour before along with a terrible headache. "Fine now," she said seeing the interest in his eyes of what she meant. She shook her head knowing he'd be unsettled if she told what'd happened. "If you find yourself talking to Sink, tell him that my being safer as a medic is utter bullshit."

He stared at her not knowing what she meant, only that something had happened – and there was a sizable dent in her helmet near her temple with a bruise to match. "Well it's good you're fine. I guess find your way back to first platoon," he told her.

With barely even a hint at a salute she turned her back on him. "Yeah I'll find my way back to first platoon," she muttered as she moved crouched low the way she'd come, leaving him staring after her shaking his head.

"There you are," Joe said when she slumped down beside him, having spent the remaining of the afternoon worried – yet again – about her. "So who was the guy you went back for?"

She sat in the small trench they'd dug glad to be somewhat laying down – her head didn't feel so light, her body not quite as heavy. It also didn't help that she hadn't slept at all the night before and so she'd already been tired. "Fuck if I know," she said taking off her helmet and feeling around her head for a bruise – and finding it the moment her fingertips brushed against her right temple. "Asshole almost got me blown up, twice."

"Jesus, by what?" Joe asked, not realizing what'd happened after he'd turned away and made for the bushes.

She shrugged having no idea. "A tank, a mortar, a fucking grenade, I don't know," she mumbled putting her helmet back on.

"Well are you alright?"

Both she and Joe turned to their left to see Smith, a rather young wide eyed man, staring at her concerned. "No, I died," she told him blandly before leaning against Joe for warmth.

Joe compliantly let her lay against him, her helmet pushed back and her head more over his chest than on his shoulder. "Hey, d'you eat?" he asked not knowing where she'd been when food was distributed.

Running a hand over her heavy eyes she nodded without moving off him. "Yeah, I think he felt bad he gave me two extra pieces of bread."

"Damn, being a woman's got its perks," Floyd said moving down the line to check on them.

She shrugged. "So's not eating since yesterday morning," she said, the explanation she'd given after shoving the entire piece of bread in her mouth. Half-heartedly she waved a hand dismissing their shit's, and Jesus', and how the hell'd you do that. "I found myself in house with Germans and I couldn't kill them without giving away my position so I hid in a closet, with a dead German. It wasn't pleasant," she said softly as she sighed, finding Joe was very warm.

"Is she gonna take watch?" Smith asked looking around the tree he was leaning against to see her.

Floyd smiled after he hit her leg, earning himself nothing more than an incoherently mumbled fuck off before she stilled again. "Nah, let her sleep," he said knowing she probably hadn't slept if she'd been in a house with krauts.

She'd slept over half the night, with Joe sitting falling in and out of sleep with an arm around her and his cheek against her helmet, when a rough hand hit her leg startling her awake. "Just checking on you, kid."

"Lieutenant Speirs," Joe said surprised to open his eyes to see him kneeling in front of them.

He didn't glance Joe's way as he continued staring at her, and she smiled as she turned to face him – her shoulder taking the place her head had been, her body reluctant to unattach from Joe. "Did Nixon pass along my message?" she asked yawning.

Ron nodded taking in the sight of Joe's arm still around her, seeing the young man was barely conscious he was doing it – Winters was right, they'd gotten too close, and he didn't think she even knew. "How are you?" he asked, knowing Meehan hadn't survived, it'd been six days with no word – what he didn't know was why she'd gotten out of the plane alive when no one else had.

She shrugged. "Well I'm not in a bed, Joe's not a pillow, and I'm wet. I'm well, I guess."

The corners of his mouth just barely curled before his lips were a straight line once more; she'd never really been one to complain, even if she was damp and cold and tired – the things everyone else was complaining about. The three turned at the sound of someone whimper; "Jesus Smith it's me, Talbert."

Chris watched Joe run around the tree to see what'd happened, though she had a very strong feeling she already knew. "You're not gonna go, medic?" Ron asked her seeing her contemplate it pitifully after Talbert called for one.

"I'll let him deal with it," she said, not even bothering to shrug as she continued watching – waiting until Eugene got there before she turned back to Ron. With a fleeting burst of energy she got to her knees and kissed his cheek before laying back in the trench ready to go back to sleep.

Ron smiled fondly at her, she was so different from who she used to be. "I should wake you up more often," he told her, the remnants of her lips still etched on his skin. "You're very sweet."

She hummed her agreement knowing only he would think she was sweet. And then another, quite sad thought, came to her. "I know what you think, about being in war," she said watching his head tilt as he waited for her to say more. "I just want you to know, I'm not ready for you to be dead yet."

If she'd said that to Dick he would've smiled at her words, at knowing she cared for him to live – but Ron's mouth didn't even twitch. She had the same view as him, they were already dead; she'd never once thought she would make it home, a thought that should've saddened him if he didn't agree with her mindset. "I'll keep that in mind if you do the same, when you're on your own." He waited for her to nod, knowing she really had no choice over what her missions would be, before he stood and his way back toward his Company.

They were all awake and ready to attack by 0530, waiting for the order. Chris sat in a foxhole with Joe sharing a cigarette, waiting for the call of medic after the bullets started flying so that she could go run around helping people – whoever thought being a medic would keep her further back from the line of fire was an idiot.

Joe had almost been irritated that she hadn't come when Talbert called for a medic, since she was literally two steps away; but she'd been asleep when he'd sat back down beside her, and when they woke he'd seen the bruise on the side of her head before she'd put her helmet on and hid it. So he hadn't said anything, seeing then why she'd been tired and biting the night before; her head had probably been killing her. "I just don't see why you have to leave already, I mean you haven't had any time to not be face to face with krauts," he told her, again, about her leaving them within the next few days – maybe even that very day.

She shrugged not really having an answer. "I go when I'm told to go, do whatever they tell me to do – I don't really get asked my opinion on the matter," she said not seeing the problem, it's how she'd spent much of her adolescence, being told when what and how to do things; it was second nature for her.

"Yeah I get that but still, not even a day?" he asked not knowing how she wouldn't just get burned out. "I mean-"

"Mortar!"

They both crouched low in the dug in shelter, which really didn't look like much in the light of day. "Stop pushing me down, dammit, you're the woman," he yelled before standing with his rifle.

She almost smiled having pushed him to ground then, and when they'd first heard shot the day before – both of which he technically should've pushed her down since he was a man, but she kept beating him to it.

"Medic!"

And that was her call, at least as the red cross on her arm signified. She found her way by Welsh and George and a man unconscious on the ground. George helped her move him back and out of the line of fire, which resulted in blood all down her left leg as she had the man nearly in her lap as she kept him behind a thick patch of shrubbery.

"How is he?" Eugene asked coming behind her.

She removed her hand from his neck and looked up at Eugene shaking her head, not even knowing where he'd been hit only that he was still bleeding – and she hadn't found a pulse, not that it mattered if she had, within a minute he would've bled out anyways. The two medics quickly pulled him further back before separating at two cries for their help.

Chris found herself behind a line of men, barely concealed by anything as bullets and mortars were continuously fired at them, trying to patch up a man with a bullet in his chest as best she could so he could be moved out. She poured the sulfa powder over the wound, which was thankfully closer to his armpit than his heart, and went about wrapping it.

"Keep it up!" she heard Dick yell to the men as he knelt by the wounded man, seeing the small rise and fall of his chest – and he'd looked up just long enough to see the medic wasn't Eugene as he'd initially thought. His mind had just enough to register that it was Chris before she'd turned back to the man and he'd turned to yell an order to Guarnere.

She wrapped his wound as best she could, trying more to stop the bleeding than anything else. "Get him out of here," she said passing him on to a man behind her before running once more toward the cry of medic.

This time she found another man already gone, a bullet to the neck; she didn't like finding them dead already. It wasn't just that it was a waste of time, which it was, but she came with the intention to help only to find out that she was worthless.

She'd just reached a man who'd gotten both his index and middle finger blown off, she'd pulled one of the strings woven into the netting on his helmet to tie them tightly, when she heard her name.

"Chris! Woodridge! Cover me!"

She looked a few men down the line to see Welsh standing with who she thought was McGrath and a bazooka as they ran in the field. Reaching for the scope she locked it on her rifle and moved forward, checking the angle she was at before moving further left and shouldering her way through two men before laying down and watching the Germans around the tank, taking a shot whenever she saw one.

It was easier to pin down the exact place a shot came from within a bush, get a line on a moving German, and pin down which Germans had taken note of the two men standing without cover. The first bazooka shell hit the turret but bounced off, doing nothing but drawing the aim of the man stationed at the machine gun. Which, at the vantage point she'd chosen, she could just barely draw a line on the shooter's right arm before he actually shot – and she smiled at the effectiveness of her new weapon, seeing the man cradle his arm as one of the men down the line took a shot that managed to kill him.

She took out a handful more krauts before Welsh and McGrath finally hit the tank and ran back; and she stayed just long enough to cover them before she moved back from the line and resumed her role as a medic.

Down the line she went, patching up those who could be patched up – like a man who'd been shot through the arm and into his shoulder, he'd walked himself off the line after she'd bandaged him. One man caught the explosion of a shell, one that had landed only a few feet behind her sending dirt raining down on her. It'd torn through his throat and half his face, and she'd knelt beside him holding his hand trying for the mercy Eugene tried to explain to her. She didn't say anything, he wouldn't've heard her if she had, but she stayed by his side ignoring the cries of medic for just that moment. Holding his hand firmly she watched as he twitched on the ground, letting him cough up blood that spilled warm down her neck and on her shirt, seeing the tears leaking from the eye that hadn't been burned shut. And for a moment, a short moment, her mind tricked her into seeing Meehan and she cupped the good side of his face and wiped his tears with her thumb – smiling gently at him as she reached for the small handgun she always had on her. And she gave him as much mercy as she was capable, seeing the relief in his eye, before she pulled the trigger.

She stayed with the wounded after the Shermans came and the Germans had gone, no longer having to rush her way through helping them because the cries for a medic dwindled until all she had left to do was patch up the more wounded of the men so that they could be taken back to the aid station.

Winters found her, after asking Joe if he'd seen her, a while later. "Are you hurt?" he asked standing beside her and taking in the blood that ran from her neck down to her breast, and then the dried streak on her leg. But she shook her head, standing still as she kept her eyes on the ground.

"Jesus," Joe muttered at the sight of the burned man, quickly looking away.

Winters looked from the man to Chris' face, which looked so confused and lost he wanted to hold her – something he knew she wouldn't allow. "Did you know him?" he asked her, receiving nothing more than the slight shake of her head. "Was it a tank, mortar?" he asked hoping to get her to say at least something.

She looked up at him with wide blue eyes looking so very young. Quietly she said, "I shot him," before look back to the dead man at her feet before surprise could register on Dick's face. He honestly didn't know what to say to her, if the man hadn't been killed immediately shooting him had been the kindest thing – but he was one of their own, and it made killing him different, harder to swallow. "He made me think of Meehan," she said looking up at Dick briefly without being able to hold his gaze, "for a second."

He nodded still at a loss for what to say; Speirs would've known, and if he didn't say anything he at least would've known what to do. "How do you feel?" he asked her, something he'd asked her occasionally before but she'd never had an answer – she didn't fully understand feelings, or at least how they applied to the thoughts that swirled within her mind.

With deeply furrowed brows she looked back up at him, staring at his concerned face and wishing she could give him an answer to satisfy what he wanted to know. "I feel sad," she told him with stark honesty, something she'd never allowed herself before except in a fleeting look that only Joe had seen. "And I don't know why."

It was clear as day in her eyes what she was feeling, and in the confusion he understood that she really had no idea why she felt the way she did – but she felt it, and even more than that she knew she felt it. And for that, he still had no idea what to do.

"Come on," Joe said coming up behind her, wrapping an arm around her back and forcing her to turn away from the man she couldn't seem to leave. He looked to Winters quickly and saluted, seeing the Lieutenant nod realizing then what Nixon meant when he said she needed Joe, before he turned back to Chris. He'd been struck by the same desire to hold her, hearing in her voice she was deeply troubled by something. But he didn't, because he knew she'd tense and step away from him, she wouldn't even welcome an arm around her shoulders as a means of consolation. And so he settled with walking side by side with her, feeling her arm brush against his own naturally – something she accepted, a comfort she was willing to take.