I have no words but sorry for how long it took me to write this. And I honestly have no excuse besides lack of inspiration. But, I sort of got it back and I'm hoping to update sooner than last time; I am busy with life so it won't be frequent updates but I do want you guys to know that I am still thinking of this story and I haven't abandoned it. And it's kind of almost over, which means I will actually finish it at some point; it might take a while though.
But I wanted to thank you guys so much for the support and the reviews, they really do mean the world to me. And I am truly sorry for how long I left the story hanging, I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you enjoy the chapter
Dick woke before the sun rose, as he normally did those days. He still laid facing Chris but she wasn't lying beside him anymore, she rarely was – he'd realized she didn't sleep well during the night, and she often napped in the day. But instead of standing at the window staring at dawn, she sat on the bed looking at the shadows on the wall as they danced. "You gonna see Joe before tomorrow?" he asked wondering when she'd leave him, almost wanting to tell her to stay because he was so used to her warm body beside his.
"I was thinking about going after everyone had gone to bed, if you don't mind my staying another day."
He willingly took it, wondering how quiet the silence would be when her heart wasn't beating within it. "You can stay as long as you want," he assured her.
She smiled for a brief moment before moving the legs she'd bent over his waist so he could get up. As she watched Dick get dressed she sat caught between never wanting to leave and wanting to sit quietly with Joe's arms around her; Chris had been so sure she could contentedly sit in the same room as Dick without any troubles, hiding herself away from the others because her mouth didn't want to smile and her heart didn't want to laugh. But there was an ache buried deep in her chest, the sense of something missing rooted deep in her bones. She supposed it was hopeless; she was completely in love with Joe.
The rest of the day drew slowly on, the quiet page turning of 'For Whom the Bells Tolls,' the incessant pings of the typewriter, the stillness, the security; it was a peace neither Dick nor Chris would likely find again before the war was done. Though the sun had set and it was past the time for lights out Chris still sat on Dick's bed – but now her book was haphazardly lying open near the edge of the cot and an arm was slung behind her head. She looked at Dick to see his furrowed brows as he nearly glared at the paper stuck in the typewriter – she wouldn't leave him if she waited any longer. She could already see his exhaustion and frustration in the way he ran a hand over his face and if she didn't go before he laid beside her then she wouldn't leave at all.
"I'm gonna go," she said suddenly on her feet stuffing her book in her bag, rustling the package of a dead man's uniform that took up the bottom. "Will you see me off tomorrow, or am I stuck with Strayer?" she asked stopping in front of his desk.
He smiled gently as he stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. "I can if you'd like," he said, leaving the decision to her instead of admitting he wanted to be there; and she rolled her eyes smiling without giving him an answer – they both knew it was a yes, from both of them. He waited for her to go, to turn on her heel without another word leaving him with such an absence of presence it was like she was never there; she rarely ever said goodbye. "Are we seeing you again before your next assignment?" he asked when she didn't, knowing she was contemplating whether or not to leave.
And she was, now that she was standing ready to go it was settling in her that she may or may not see them again before December. "I'll be stationed at a hospital in Reims the remaining weeks, should you find yourself in France before then."
She didn't add maybe, she didn't continue and say they'd see her then, she let the sentence hang there as unfinished as it was unanswered – she didn't know if they'd see her again. That struck him with such a force he almost needed to take a seat in order to process the thought of this being the last night he had her. It couldn't be, she had so much left in her and it all might be taken away – this is why that boy haunted him, it was her fault. "We will," he said not because he believed it but because he wanted it, and if he said it loud and sure enough maybe God might grant his prayer.
A belief she didn't share, and it was evident in the sad quaint smile she gave before kissing his cheek. "Si nous nous réunissons à nouveau, cher ami." She stared at his handsome face a moment too long, trying in vain to etch it and the comfort he gave her to memory. And then she was gone, shutting his door behind her feeling him slip away from her with every step she took in that cold dark night until there was nothing left but the empty shell she'd always been.
It shouldn't have been a surprise, he'd always been her first choice. But when Ron came to and found Chris sitting with her back against his side, he allowed himself to be taken aback. He hadn't expected her to come see him, looking at him and him at her from afar had always been enough and they were able to go about their business without ever seeming to care. Until Carentan, with no word from anyone on Meehan's plane he'd let himself worry for the little shit. And so waking to find her next to him, a full admittance he meant something to her, he knew without seeing her face why she was there. "You're gonna die."
Three words, four counting the contraction, the answer to which was a twitch of her shoulder, encompassed her existence. How fleeting her life seemed, nineteen short wasteful years, a little less than a hundred German deaths to her name, and an emptiness in her that consumed any pride she might've had in herself. The weight of the world seemed to weigh on her shoulders as she tried to shrug, as she tried to pretend like death was just another chapter.
So he pretended the same, like losing this girl was easy for him. "Shame I didn't like you more, I might've missed you."
It did what he wanted, she gave a breath of a laugh as she smiled. Like an old worn shoe that fit her foot better than the one she'd been wearing. "If there is a heaven, Speirs, I will see you in hell."
His short quiet chuckle blended with the snoring around him. "Don't start the fun without me, kid."
"I promise nothing," she said hitting his leg before standing. The difference between Ron and every other human on the damn planet was she could leave it at that and feel complete, like she didn't owe him more or she hadn't done enough – it was finished. If only she could feel the same toward everyone else she might be able to accept she'd probably die before the New Year, she might not even regret it.
But it wasn't like that with anyone else, the proof being her place on the stairs outside the building Joe lay sleeping inside of. She didn't go to him, she would ruin his good mood and they'd either argue or say something they didn't mean and sit in silence the remainder of the night wishing she'd leave. It's how it always went when she was like this, and she hadn't felt like this in a long many months.
So she sat outside smoking her pack of cigarettes in the cool air as night slowly turned to dawn. It was probably the last night she'd get to sleep, no rest to be found in a hospital and then her assignment where she was sure to never sleep again – and yet she sat staring at the waning dance of the stars above her, wondering if one day the sky would be filled with the light of the souls granted entrance to heaven. And knowing with certainty her light would never shine.
"You weren't planning on telling us goodbye, were you?"
She looked at where Malarkey stood jostling back and forth on his feet, having woken needing to piss. Not this time, if Joe had been the one asking that's what she'd've told him and he would know it meant she wasn't coming back. But it wasn't Joe, so she said; "I'll be seeing you soon enough." She lied through her teeth, because wasn't it fucking pretty to think so. He occupied the space beside her, his body radiating warmth to her right and dawn chilling her to her left; they sat together quietly waiting for the first light of the morning to bring forth a new day.
As more people began waking she turned to Malarkey and find him already staring back with sad eyes that admitted he had an idea of what she wasn't saying. "Would you tell him for me?" she asked softly, her words and breath a disappearing wisp on the morning wind.
"He's not gonna be happy," he told her, almost regretting he'd found her cause Joe was sure to take it out on him.
Taking a last drag she handed him the rest of her cigarette and stood. "It's kind of the point," she said, walking away without looking back.
She was back in Dick's room before anyone else had woken, before the call would ring and she'd be forced to give her goodbyes. She didn't thank God often but she thanked him then that Dick was still sleeping, and she knelt beside his cot and kissed his warm forehead – holding herself there in that moment where the world didn't feel like a black abyss waiting to swallow her whole.
He stirred at her touch, his mind slow to waking; giving her time to slip away before he'd opened eyes. He was met with an empty room and the remnants of her cheek against his, knowing she'd have gone to Sink to leave without having to see anyone. Like a thief in the night she disappeared, leaving her Company wondering where she'd gone.
…
December 10,1944
She blew through the doors of HQ like a whirlwind, startling Dick's errand boy and nearly barreling into Bill. "You sit your fucking ass back down, I can show myself in," she told the boy aiming a daggered stare and a sharp finger in his direction before she next looked to Bill. "And you I'm not happy enough to be glad to see."
And on she continued, her boots thumping loud and quick echoing her attitude as she threw open the door to Dick's office and turned on Nixon. "I've got half a mind to cave your face in."
"Chris," Dick was quick to reprimand, though in truth Nixon might've deserved it because Dick didn't know what'd happened to make her angry.
Nix raised his hands in surrender. "Welsh hold her back," he said knowing the smaller man would do nothing for the amusement of seeing her kick his ass. "Now as I was saying," he calmly resumed turning to Dick, "I arranged for you to have company," he gestured to Chris like she were a prize Dick had won. "Thought you two might enjoy Paris, be boring together." He looked from Dick's face to Chris' to see neither of them were warming to the pass, something anyone else would've been glad to take. "Christ, the both of you, it's been two months and who knows if we're seeing you again. You're welcome," he said speaking directly to Chris who was still glaring as though she was calculating the best way to take him out.
"I didn't say thank you," she told him even though she knew she should be thankful. "I now have to say hi to everyone I didn't say goodbye to when I left. Not only that but I gave him," she thrust her accusing finger at Dick, "an emotional farewell and now I have to do it again."
Nix stared down at her hard face, seeing her resolve cracking as it became more apparent there was no way she was getting out of this. "What are you saying, Woodridge?" he asked daring her to continue.
A dare he wasn't entirely prepared for her to accept. "You better be glad your looks are the only thing you got goin for you," she told him before turning on her heel leaving him to stare after her with wide offended eyes, his thick brows high on his forehead.
"You forgot to salute," Dick reminded her.
Tearing the door open she muttered, "I'll salute your ass," before closing the door with less vehemence than when she'd come in. Upon exiting HQ she saw the short, top button always done, man she'd been looking for.
"Private Woodridge," John Zielinski, Winters' orderly, greeted upon seeing her. He'd been shocked at first at a woman in the 506th, as everyone else was, but unlike most his shock had stayed – and for the most part it was her doing, she made no effort to be friendly and quite frankly she scared him.
"I don't remember your name," she told him carelessly. "I was told I was being given someone on leave's quarters, where are they?" She followed his hand to the building he pointed to, knowing Dick's own room was probably inside as well. "Alright," she said, meaning to put a thank you at the end but the words got lost on the way out of her mouth. And then her name was being called.
"Thought that was you, how the fuck you been?" George asked slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her away.
Tired of seeing people die, that was the only answer she had but it was one she never gave – it was never what people were looking for. Least of all George, who wanted to laugh and make her laugh, show her off to the others that he found her first. "Ready to be back to Easy," she said watching a slow grin curl wide on his face. God she'd missed that smile.
He lead her to the mess hall, where the men were welcoming back Bill, and they hollered when they saw a soldier with hair now down to her shoulders. She'd have to get it cut again, to at least hide it under her helmet at the beginning of the assignment – which was gathering information about the German unit's next plan of attack and then blow their covers and be taken prisoner to lead them into an ambush. It was important this mission go to plan, that they take the Captain alive so they could feed him the report he'd give to his General – who they were also going to capture and force him and his men to surrender. Hundreds of German soldiers, this was the most important assignment she'd been given and it'd been the plan from the beginning – she realized the moment her orders had been given this was the torture she'd been trained for. So in sum, she had to get her hair cut. Which meant she needed Joe, who was currently sitting beside Popeye refusing to look at her.
These were her thoughts as she conversed with the men of Easy, smiled at their stories of all she'd missed the past two months, nodded somberly as they told her who was wounded or killed because this time she didn't see any of them, laughed at their jokes tried to joke with them. At face value she was normal, arrogant, biting, humorous Chris Woodridge - but her focus wasn't there. Lights out couldn't have come soon enough, she stood and walked against the crowd toward the one soldier she actually wanted to see. Leaning toward him she spoke directly into Joe's ear telling him both building, room, and time before she continued on her way, leaving him looking after her with dark eyes at being once more at her beck and call.
And yet within an hour he was outside her window tapping quietly on the glass, proving he'd come anytime she called. He'd spent the last two months thinking she was dead or going to die and hadn't said goodbye because it was easier for her to leave – needless to say the last two months he'd spent his time worried, amidst the war. He was finally starting to see why she'd pushed him away as firmly as she had, caring about her was making him unfocused and sloppy and it was gonna get him killed. But then she showed up on George's arm and reminded him why everything mattered. The fuck was he supposed to do.
"Is this the goodbye you forgot to give me last time?" he asked when she opened the window.
Her eyes hardened as he climbed inside and she stayed quiet while she relatched the window and pulled the drapes. And then she turned toward him. "The phrase I'm sorry is to admit failure – a failure I don't believe I made, so an apology I do not give."
He laughed at the absurdity of what she said, at the realization he'd never heard her apologize for anything – not for breaking Muck's nose, not for her attitude or her distance, her stubbornness that refused to let her enjoy card games. He might've been laughing because she really was worse than him. "Jesus, Chris," he muttered shaking his head not knowing what to do with her, only that the longer he stood in that almost quiet room the more he was glad to see her. "Alright, what'd you want?" he asked cutting to the point knowing it was easier for her.
Except no part of it was easy for her, she didn't know what she wanted only that he was apart of it – and then she was left explaining all of that and she'd always been a woman of few words who didn't like explaining herself. "I suppose I should've said goodbye," she reluctantly admitted, though it wasn't at all what she wanted to say.
And he knew it. "Don't push it, what do you want?"
"I need you to cut my hair again," is what she ended up saying without much thought behind it. It was true at some point that night she wanted her hair cut but that wasn't all of it.
Not like Joe was now thinking because he knew she wasn't above using someone to get what she wanted. "You got the fucking scissors?" he seethed, knowing if she'd just look at him he'd see what she really wanted and he'd stop burning like this. But she'd always been pigheaded, no matter at whose expense.
She almost missed his taking them from her he snatched them so fast out of her hand, but the cool metal against her skin warmed and she lowered her empty hand feeling him standing at her back with his hands in her hair knowing part of him wanted to rip out every strand. If she stayed quiet he'd finish and stand for several seconds at her back waiting for her to say something before giving up throwing the scissors at the wall and climbing back out the window to hate her for the rest of his life. He probably wouldn't think of her out of his own stubbornness, he'd get through the war without her weighing him down, he'd go home get married be happy and she'd be nothing but a memory he refused to dwell on. Him hating her was the best scenario and she'd gone through them all. But as stubborn as she might've been she was even more selfish and she couldn't stop her mouth from opening. "I don't believe in love, did I ever tell you that?"
The quiet snips of the scissors cutting her dark hair paused as he tried to figure out what she wasn't saying. It'd been many months since she'd last fought him this hard, he almost forgot how hard it was to care about her – she held everything to her chest keeping it hidden until she let only the smallest piece show. But he hated having to admit he didn't know what she was saying. "Your fucking attitude said enough."
She fell quiet again, not from his biting tone because she'd expected it. Her brain and heart were at war, logic and desire the ammunition, and she was the battleground waiting for one side to fall. His hands were softer less demanding as he too waited with her. "I'm going against what I believe in," she told him. "Again, considering I was warned on several occasions about getting too close to one of you."
"What are you saying?" he asked forgetting his stubborn self-righteous anger as he stood wondering if he was hearing her right.
She didn't turn to him, didn't give herself any reason not to keep talking because she'd let him get too close and it was her fault so she owed him the truth. So that's what she gave him, against direct orders and all commonsense she finally opened herself up and told him the truth no matter that it felt a little like dying inside. "I wouldn't have minded the house," she said in a breath soft enough to be a whisper. "Or the little Liebgotts." She could've been that person. It would've taken time, practice even in learning how to properly love, but she could've done it. She might even have been happy.
"Chris," he said trying to stop her because this wasn't what he wanted. An apology, a kiss even, but not her softness that only came when she thought she was dying.
But she turned to him undeterred, forced to strain her neck to see his face as she sat at the edge of the bed, leaving her pale neck exposed and her pulse visibly beating against her skin. "If this was the end of the world," she glanced between his dark eyes seeing not only in their gaze but also in the crease of his brow he wasn't happy with that thought, "would you love me?"
His first thought was naturally that it wasn't the end of the world, because he wasn't the kind of man to easily admit his second thought – that it didn't have to be the end of the world for him to love her. He stood staring down at her eyes, blue as cold water, and more desperate than she'd ever let herself be. "Yes."
She surprised him, as she often did. He didn't expect her to act first, not after she gave him so much; normally she waited for him to act. But she took his shirt in hand and pulled him to her, kissed him with far more strength than she ever allowed and just about completely swept him off his feet. She laid back pulling him with her not giving him a chance to settle on top of her before she reached for his belt. Feeling it slide from his belt loops is when his mind finally caught up, finding his teeth scraping hers, his hands lifting her shirt.
There wasn't time for all they wanted, their clothes were left half on, conscious ears were too close for them to say all they felt, every sound clawed at the back of their throats begging for release. There was no magic to be found, the world didn't turn on its axis, the stars didn't shine brighter, the universe didn't hold its breath. The war waged on, soldiers died, wives became widows, mothers became childless, sisters brotherless, children fatherless – the love found in that small dim room wasn't enough to heal their broken world.
And they were soon laid spent beside each other with nothing but their fluttering hearts and deepened breaths to show for. It wasn't as warm as it was stifling, not as safe as it was temporary, not as happy as it was content. But it was the closest they'd come in months, in a small candlelit room hearing people moving about in the rooms near them. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.
"You know if you just wanted to sleep with me you coulda said so."
She laid on her side facing him feeling his breath on her face as he smiled. "I couldn't be that easy," she said forcing her mouth to curl. Truth was she didn't wanna smile, she didn't want to joke and act like everything would be okay – she wanted to be weak, she wanted him to hold her for him to tell her everything would be okay because she really didn't think it would be. "I should've said goodbye," she told him, as much as she could tell him without going against orders.
He heard the double meaning, that he'd been right the first time – she didn't know if she'd see them again so she did what she thought was best, at least best for herself. "Is this goodbye?"
"Lieutenant Nixon gave me a forty-eight hour pass to Paris, I leave at 0600 hours."
"So this is goodbye," he said wanting her to at least make an effort, especially if she was saying what he thought she was.
She could see it in his eyes, behind the smirk and the heat, he was worried. "For now," she shrugged like it meant nothing to her. "I shouldn't tell you anything, I was ordered not to."
"Come on," he scoffed. "I can keep a secret."
Rolling her eyes she told her mouth to grin. "Yeah and George is sincere," she rebutted. "But in all seriousness you can't utter a word, I mean it Joe," she raised a finger in warning for good measure.
"Cross my fucking heart."
She paused a moment, to him it looked like she was weighing whether to tell him, but really she was looking for anything but the truth. "We're infiltrating another Company," is what she settled on, which wasn't entirely false
He knew immediately she was lying, her eyes were on his lashes unable to meet his gaze. "You've already done that, why are you worried?"
She raised a shoulder letting herself look uncomfortable, which she was cause she hated lying to him – but she'd hate even more if his concern for her got him killed. "I know," she said quietly. "And I successfully completed both missions, which means this is the one that's gonna go wrong. That's how it works, right?"
Her eyes were so perfectly widened with fear he didn't think to suspect this was another lie, he loved her too much to think she'd use his own feelings against him. "Chris, you're a spy. Fucking act like it, would you?" He waited for her taken aback face to melt into laughter, short quiet chuckles so not be overheard. "You're gonna be fine," he said not at all sure of it, or of her honesty. But it's all she'd given him, so that was all he had to give her. "The house'll still be there, we're already on our way to makin little Liebgotts."
He knew the moment her face turned to stone he'd been right in her having lied, because his words stilled her. Or at least the meaning behind them did. "Was that a proposal?"
Her voice was soft, her mouth pulled in a tight frown, her brows furrowed deeply – this was his Chris, his suspicious walled in Chris. And he pressed a long kiss to her sweet mouth before climbing out of the bed and pulling the sheets over her. "I'm gonna go before you say no." He gave her a sly grin, kissed her shocked mouth again before he climbed back out of the window.
She laid exactly where he left her, still turned to face him, her lips parted around an answer she wasn't ready to give. Only her wide eyes were now filled with tears as she sat with a longing she didn't think she was capable of, as she laid in the silence of her own breathing with the knowledge she'd never get it.
Dawn couldn't have come soon enough, warming her from her cold and lonely dreams. And soon she sat jostling beside Dick as they were driven to the train that'd take them to Paris, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin dissipating more and more each time her shoulder brushed his. Neither said a word, there were no words needed between them nor were there any to be said – it would've broken the peace. They stayed quiet in the jeep, stayed quiet on the train. The only way to tell they cared anything for each other was by measuring the distance between them, or rather lack there of. He felt every breath she took, his own breathing settled into rhythm with hers, and they sat staring out the window watching the world pass them by with the sky far brighter and more cheerful than it had any right.
They arrived in Paris at noon, the train having stopped more times than it should've not that either of them minded when they both would have settled for his room back in Mourmelon. "Are you hungry?" he asked as they stepped onto the platform, his body still feeling like it was rolling on the rails.
"Not really," she answered staring hard at every sliver of a crack around her for an ounce of familiarity without finding any. "I could go for a drink."
He cast her a half hardened stare. "You got another year before I'll allow that. I'm sure we can find a café," he told her only slightly joking.
It was comfortable being with him when he was so unchanging, albeit a little more haunted but for the most part the same. "I know one," she said making his brows raise with the admittance she knew where they were. "I used to steal pastries from it."
"Christine Marie," he hissed quickly following after her.
She turned to him with a face that read one part amusement and the other irritation. "You wrapped my breasts for a reason, Dick, don't advertise that I'm a woman. Also, my middle name is Maryse, not Marie." With that she plucked the map from his hand and stalked off, leaving him maneuvering his way after her around the crowd of people that never seemed to thin. After several long brisk minutes, and even longer blocks as they stopped first by their accommodations to drop off their bags and then back out into the busy streets, she finally stopped in front of a crowded café. "Here we are."
It was as good as any to Dick, he'd never been to Paris before. But a look had crept onto her face, something resembling nervous, making her face younger as her eyes rounded. He bit his tongue to keep from asking what she was thinking, knowing her well enough that she'd straighten her shoulders and throw the question back at him after she sharpened the edges.
So they fell silent again, Dick staring hard at the map looking for where he wanted to go and Chris staring at the same tower she'd once gazed hopefully at as a girl. All around them people spoke either quietly or boisterously, vehicles rumbled and honked, American men guffawed and the French turned up their noses. And yet the two paratroopers that sat together remained quiet, occasionally Dick glanced up at her wishing she'd just tell him but understanding that it wasn't dark enough to make her feel safe enough to talk.
"Anywhere you're thinking of going?" he asked unable to contain himself.
She pondered a moment whether or not to tell him, but then he'd offer to come with her and she felt so much like a child needing someone to hold her hand. "You should go, have fun, be free for the rest of the day. I'll stop off somewhere before going back to the room."
"Chris," he said trying to stop her before she stood but she was already on her feet. "Chris." He pressed his lips together feeling his teeth biting into his skin not knowing what to do but let her go. Not that he had much of a choice, she'd slipped into the mass of people and disappeared completely, leaving nothing but a few people who'd caught sight of her sharp elegant face and stared after wondering and confused.
…
It was late by the time he finally meandered his way back to their room, the two having been assigned to bunk together as he already knew she was a woman. He found her in the bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders and her back to him, and only guessing by her unmoving form she was asleep he quietly shut and locked the door behind him. He unlaced his boots, pulled off his jacket, slowed his movements to lessen the noise and ran a hand through his hair as he crept his way to the bed.
"You don't have to tiptoe."
Her voice gave him pause, nearly startled him it'd been so quiet before she spoke. "I didn't know if you were awake," he told her moving around the bedframe to climb under the sheets with her, no real thought about it even though there was a separate bed for him across the room. Whether it was his missing her constant presence, her beating heart and her even breaths beside him as he slept, or the soft warm bed he sank into, he gave a sigh of contented exhaustion as his eyes closed.
She stared at the side of his face seeing the bags under his eyes, having noticed earlier that day the tension in his spine. "Is that boy still haunting you?"
With his reverie broken he opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "How do you feel being back?"
Finally the peace she found in him engulfed her. No more strange yet familiar streets, no more emptiness at realizing how much of herself she'd lost, no more the feeling of being untethered. She was with him, she was safe. "I visited the orphanage," she said watching his brows raise with such surprise they neared his hairline. "The woman I knew died five years ago, the church took it over made them all Catholic."
Disdain was thick in her voice, as was her accent after speaking only French for half of the day. He almost smiled, would have smiled if not for the quietness in the way she laid beside him. "But how do you feel?" he prodded again.
She was back to this again, feelings and how they applied to her and the fact that she didn't want them to. But he'd turned fully to her, stared at her expectantly and he wasn't going to stop without an answer. "Lost," she said feeling that word stick to her tongue not wanting to come loose. "I'm not the girl that used to live here, she used to dream of better things, and I don't know how to be her again. I don't know if I can." Her chest felt empty as if she'd plucked that straight from her heart and handed to him. She hated this, it's why she did all she could to avoid it.
And he knew that, but he knew as well that she needed to get it off her chest or else she'd never be free. "What'd you tell Joe?" he asked knowing he was somewhere in her clouded mind, most likely being a majority of the problem cause Dick had figured out months ago she didn't feel good enough for him. He thought maybe if she'd just think about it, she didn't even have to say it out loud, but if she let the thought come to her that she wanted to be the kind of person who could be married and have a family then maybe she might come out of this. And the only reason Dick was verbally admitting his knowledge of their inappropriate relationship was because she needed every reason to want to come out of this alive, because they were truly going to lose her if she had any doubt. "Chris," he said pushing her harder than he ever had.
"I lied," she finally answered at realizing he wouldn't stop until she did, which meant he wanted the truth. So she gave it. "I said it was something safer than it was. He won't worry, it'll be fine."
She said safer like anything she'd done in the war had been safe, like at any given moment she wasn't under threat of death. "Is that what you want?"
Without thinking she shook her head. "He'll be fine." Her mouth said one thing but she was still shaking her head, because it wasn't at all what she wanted. None of this was. She was stuck not knowing what she wanted – to be the machine of a soldier or the hopeful little girl. Or maybe she wanted death, as Ernest Hemingway often wrote of – maybe her final act would be to march for her country no matter that her path led only one direction and there was no going back. She just didn't know.
That was the moment he understood everything she hadn't said, what she only alluded to. Colonial Sink said I was lucky the gun jammed. But I can't stop waking up thinking I might've been luckier if it hadn't. Even then, two months ago, she'd been thinking the same thing she thought now – only now it was closer and the part of her that wanted to live had been stripped so thin by how many deaths she'd been forced to witness. She wasn't sad, she wasn't heartbroken at the thought of never marrying Joe, these weren't the emotions of a twenty year old girl – she was a war-weary soldier having been fighting for almost ten years, and she was giving up. That's what she was thinking, what she'd been thinking for so long. "Chris," he breathed, brushing the hair from her face gaining her attention as she looked at him. Her eyes said it all, they had all along – not vulnerable, not unsure of herself, not slowly unfolding into an actual person. She was exhausted, her bones were tired and she was done. "Do me a favor," he stared hard at her moonlit face hoping she could see the sincerity and god honest desperation in his own gaze, "don't die."
It took a moment for his plea to stick in her mind, for her ears to recognize her own request to him, for her glassy eyes to shatter and resignation to shine so tangibly it spread over him like a blanket on a sweltering day. Not the reluctant giving in kind of resignation but the kind that settled in a person's soul, as if life to her had become as inconvenient as it was inevitable.
But hearing those desperate words and seeing his pained face had her sighing. And with the release of that breath and the death she'd dreamed, all the world seemed to settle on her shoulders – the weight of a promise. "Okay."