A/N: To everyone who has reviewed... Thank you so very, very much!
By the way, I lied when I said that the previous chapter would be the last depressing one. There'll be more sadness to come. Sorry, folks!
Songs/lyrics: John Mayer, Dinah Shore, & The Andrews Sisters.
Don't own Band of Brothers.
XIV. Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath
Of this love that we've been working on
With Foy and the Battle of the Bulge behind them, Easy Company should have felt more at ease, but really there was more of a collective feeling of having the life sucked out of them. Instead of earning a brief break from the possible death and destruction, the remaining members were rewarded with the nickname, "The Battered Bastards of Bastogne," and a scenic view of the Moder River, Germany, and the troops on the other side that were hell-bent on killing each and every one of them. It seemed like it was never going to get any better. Oddly enough, back in the States, things were looking up. The economy had begun to turn around, the cities were teeming with nightlife, and gambling was gaining popularity all over. At home, it was as if everything was right with the world, when, actually, the place was still in shambles. And when passers-by glanced at the faces in the trucks, this was all too evident.
Of course, there were two exceptions to the company. Cora and Dick sat side-by-side in the backseat of a jeep, leading the troops into the French town of Haguenau. Their eyes did not make contact once, but their fingers constantly touched. For Cora, there was an innocence about the whole situation that she hadn't enjoyed since she was sixteen. After that age, she hadn't been in a relationship that didn't involve sex. She had thought that maybe the Army would cure her of her slight nymphomania, but the first night she spent in Sobel's bed clearly proved her wrong. Even her rapports with some of the men had heavy sexual undertones that were often hard to ignore. And now that she had kissed Dick, it was bound to be all downhill from there.
Headquarters for all of the platoons and for the company had been set up by Speirs, who was looting the place when Cora walked into the former living room of the large house. The drapes were scorched halfway in some places and the wallpaper, pale blue with gold and silver vines and leaves, was torn and peeling away. The paintings and shelves were crooked; books were strewn throughout the room, and damaged furniture was piled high in the back hallway. Dust hovered in the air, covering the velvet sofa and other intact furnishing, including the piano. It had been hit by German artillery… often.
Lipton fell back onto the red cushions and leaned as far back as he could without actually lying down. Luz, a cigarette between his lips, hurried about, handing papers to Lipton and helping Vest organize. He threw a blanket over the patient as Cora yanked off her gloves.
"This is ridiculous, Lipton. I gave you something for that almost a week ago. It should have worked itself out by now. Please, I'm begging you, go rest," she said, placing a hand against his forehead.
"I will, Captain."
Cora stood and stretched. She could smell the coffee in the crates that Vest was placing in the corner, and just as she turned to ask him to take a package out for her, she was meet with a familiar face in the doorway.
"Web! I haven't seen you into… God, I don't even know anymore," she laughed upon seeing Pvt. David K. Webster.
Webster had gotten hit in Holland, at the crossroads. Since then, he had been at the hospital, the replacement depot… everywhere but Bastogne. Cora, of course, didn't (completely) blame him for it, but she knew at least sixty men that definitely would.
"Captain Larson, it's good to see you," he said, slightly breathless, mostly from her appearance.
Cora, like everyone else that he knew from Easy, had changed so much. She was thinner than before and her skin appeared to have lost some of its luster. The face he had once told the other hospitalized soldiers about was now blemished by scars, which would later become testaments to what had happened to her in the war. But he also noticed that she was standing taller than before, theoretically speaking, and he hadn't realized until then just how much he had missed her.
A skinny young man in clean fatigues walked through the double doors as Cora sauntered away from Webster, over to where Luz was hovering and counting. He looked like a little kid in a costume, like he was only dressing up for Halloween. She half expected him to ask her for candy.
"Is this the company C.P. for Easy?" he asked, turning to Lipton and then to Webster, who stood.
"Yes, sir," Lip croaked, shifting into a more upright position in order to not seem rude.
"Lieutenant Jones looking for Captain Speirs," the boy returned.
"He's on his way, sir…"
Cora sat down next to Webster on the piano bench and lifted her hands to touch the keys. Her fingers trailed along the ivory and attempted to play a tune. There were three little sisters. Three little sisters. And each one only in her teens.
Jones finally noticed the woman with the red cross around her arm and his eyebrows raised in slight confusion. He had heard about Easy Company's interesting addition, but he had expected something different. At the time, he couldn't recall what that something was, but whatever it had been, it wasn't the person humming along with the music she made in front of him. One loved a soldier. One loved a sailor. And one loved a lad from the marines.
"Listen, for Christssake, will you go back in the back and sack out? There's some beds back there with fresh sheets," Speirs mumbled to Lipton, interrupting his introduction to Jones. "Jesus, Cora, keep your men under control. I thought you said you were good at that sort of thing."
Cora chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Normally I am, but Lipton's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. And it's way too cold out for me to flash anyone. My breasts would just shrivel up from the cold and fall right off!"
Jones coughed loudly, clearly taking an offense to the conversation. Cora turned to him, her mouth open to say something smart, but before she could, the soft musky scent that she knew so well wafted in.
"Listen up," Dick said, combing his hair to the side with his fingers. "Regiment wants a patrol for prisoners."
Cora swung her legs around to the other side of the bench and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She pursed her lips as an exasperated expression made it's way across her face.
"This one comes straight from Colonel Sink, so, it's not my idea," Nixon said in a tone that almost suggested he was repressing a sigh.
"I'm shocked. Usually you're the one with the crazy ideas, Nix," Cora mocked. Nixon stuck his tongue out at her, only causing her to do the same.
As Cora's attention returned to Dick, she noticed just how battered he looked. The creases in his forehead had deepened significantly, as well as the ones around his eyes. He was paler than usual and his eyelids were an alarming shade of red. His lips, though, remained perfect. This is a sickness. She worried about him more and more as the winter months went on. She missed seeing his hair gleam scarlet in the sunlight and the beads of sweat that would travel down the side of his face in the summertime. Cora would have committed murder to see him warm again.
&&&&&
Jones and Webster were assigned to second platoon, and Cora was eager and willing to escort them there. She hadn't spoken at length with Malarkey since Muck and Penkala died, something she felt overwhelmingly guilty about. For the most part, though, the postponing of their talk had been mutual. Neither one of them actually wanted to speak about their losses, but Cora knew the relief that came with knowing that there was at least one other person who understood.
The two (semi) newcomers scurried along the sidewalk, slinking and ducking. Cora, though, walked naturally upright with an eyebrow quirked in their direction.
"Nervous in the service, gentlemen?" she asked.
"Not at all, Captain," Jones answered.
"Why is everyone asking me that question?" Webster mumbled.
Cora let out a laugh as artillery whistled overhead. Her eyes grew wide and as she broke into a run, both Webster and Jones right behind her. The three of them stopped near the base of a concrete structure. Each only took one jagged breath before taking off again, hurrying this time over to their building. Cora flung herself over the cold railing and helped the others haul their bags up. She quickly scurried through the door way and into the battered foyer of the tall house.
"You think I would have learned by now: don't relax for a single second. It's impossible," Cora grumbled, removing her helmet and letting her curls fall loose. Jones had said something, but she missed it… a song was playing on a loop in her head. If you ever go down Trinidad, they make you feel so very glad. Calypso sing and make up rhyme. Guarantee you one real good fine time…
Cora climbed the stairs two at a time and reached the landing almost instantly. She turned toward the sound of low voices and sashayed through the door with open arms. The faint smiles she was met with was enough to keep her own spirits up. I should have been with the USO. She fell instantaneously into Liebgott's embrace and stole a quick sip of his coffee, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek.
"Malark, this is Lieutenant Jones. You know, the West Pointer. Speirs sent him with Webster." The two shook hands and Cora wrapped her long fingers around Malarkey's forearm. "I think we should talk later."
He looked at her through the corners of his eyes and nodded. There was no question as to what she meant. His gaze turned back to Jones, who set his helmet down on the table and fixed his perfect, clean hair. Cora glared at it with a slight envy… her brain was battling to decide what she needed more: a shower or sex. Drinkin' rum and Coca-Cola. Go down Point Koomahnah. Both mother and daughter, workin' for the Yankee dollar…
"So are you going to introduce me to the men?" Jones asked.
He spoke to Malarkey as though he were just another sergeant, something that amazed Cora. Webster had mentioned the newspapers on their way over to second platoon, so Jones must have known what sort of situation he was walking into when they sent him to the 101st. If he didn't, he was an idiot.
"Well, some of the men are downstairs and the rest are right here," Malarkey said, his posture rigid.
Cora bit her bottom lip again and smirked a little before turning to stare out the window while the others harassed Webster. The sky was an eerie shade of gray, an omen for things to come. The trees trembled in the wind, causing her to shudder with sympathy. She could hear the men talking around her, but it all seemed to dissolve into a soft hum and then into a melody again. Drinkin' rum and Coca-Cola. Go down Point Koomahnah. Both mother and daughter, workin' for the Yankee dollar…
&&&&&
Cora decided to pass on the showers with the men. There was running water and a tub in her quarters that she thought would relax her more than the wolf-whistles. She gathered up her new uniform and new bag, which was filled to the brim with fresh medical supplies, including scissors. She waved them at Eugene, who raised two clean pairs from his bag and nodded.
She hurried over to her own personal headquarters and shut the front door carefully behind her. Overall, it wasn't in any better condition than the company C.P., but she didn't have to share it with anyone else. The window treatments were a faded green and the walls were half-covered in a pale yellow print, while the torn sections revealed beige paint. The sofa and chairs were relatively dust-free, the shelves were packed with books, the plumbing worked, and there was an entire pantry full of canned foods that hadn't gone bad yet. To Cora, it was the Ritz Carlton.
She tossed her new bag, uniform, and other supplies onto the bed and raised her arms over her head in a cat-like stretch before heading toward the bathroom. Cora took a glance at herself in the mirror and pinched her cheeks. Her scars had faded into dull flesh-colored lines that were thick in some places and thin in the others, but they didn't bother her as much as they did before that snowy evening in the Ardennes. And she could still feel Dick's icy fingers trailing along the raised marks just before he kissed her, just before he took her whole world and spun it off its axis.
Cora turned the ceramic knob of the clawed bathtub and let it run until steam rose from the water. Her boots dropped to the wooden floor with a loud thud and her socks were tossed beside them, allowing Cora to wiggle her toes for the first time in weeks. The rest of her dirty, weathered clothing soon followed until she was covered in nothing but goose bumps as the cold air hit her bare body. She slid deep into the tub and sighed contently as the heat enveloped her, a lidded look of satisfaction plastered to her features. Cora took one deep breath, pinched her nose tight, and completely emerged herself in the water… unable to hear the knock coming from the front door.
He didn't have a clue as to what he was doing there, standing in the living room of her quarters. He didn't have any particular reason why he wanted to talk to her, except to tell her that he just wanted to see her again. But he couldn't tell Cora that, not without coming off too strong, although, unlike her, Dick had been harboring a love for her from the beginning. It was rooted within him so deep, that it was starting to gain precedence over his brain, a fact that become more obvious as he began to move through her open bedroom door. Dick called her name out once, partially savoring in the way that the syllables rolled off his tongue. He turned down into the corridor, looking for any sign of her.
"Cora?" he called out again.
A door opened behind him and a soft light flooded the hall. He spun around quickly to find Cora, clad only in a thin blue towel. She looked up at him with relaxed eyes, not finding the situation at all embarrassing… other men had seen her in less. Dick, on the other hand, struggled with turning away and staring. His brain ultimately compromised, and he caught her from his peripheral vision.
Her dark hair clung to her neck and shoulders, already curling wildly. The terrycloth material that she had wrapped around her barely covered her chest and ended mid-thigh, allowing plenty of her clean skin to show. He could smell a hint of cinnamon and gardenia, an aroma that was uniquely Cora, on the air and it took most of his willpower for him not to rush her.
"Hiya," she said, tucking a wet spiral behind her ear.
"H-Hi," Dick stuttered, his gaze focused on the wall in front of him. "I just came to see you."
Cora laughed. "Well, then you've done a fine job. Stick around a little while, Dick. I'll put on some clothes and then you can stop blushing."
He nodded, listening to her gentle laughter as she walked down the hall and into her room. Dick waited on the sofa for her and drummed his fingers on his thigh. Lord, keep me from making love to that woman. Amen. Outside of the magazines that the boys passed around back in Officer Candidate School, she was the most that Dick had seen of a woman in her natural form. He knew that from that moment on, he wouldn't be able to look at her the same way… he'd always picture Cora half-naked. When she emerged moments later, her hair drying sporadically, she looked almost vulnerable, even in her boots and uniform.
Cora stood awkwardly in front of Dick for the first time in the three years that they had known each other. What is wrong with me? She laughed and then crossed the room to him to take his hands in hers. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. I must be insane. The two of them stood in silence, simply looking at each other. I think I'm at a loss for words… Cora bit down on her lip and glanced up through a fan of lashes, then placed her palms against both of his cheeks and drew him to her.
Her lips pressed hard against his, trying to express to the desperation she felt. Dick's mouth moved with Cora's, softer and gentler: the only way he knew how to be. His arms tightened around her waist and he was then exceedingly sensitive to exactly where their hips and chest touched. And somehow she had gotten his lips to part and had fully captured his bottom lip. Dick realized, then, that all of Cora's talk over the years hadn't just been talk.
Cora broke the kiss, though only for a moment. Her lips traveled along Dick's jaw line and the freshly shaven skin, and down his neck, which had been hidden by scarves and coats for far too long. As if by instinct, she unzipped his jacket and reached out to slide it off of his shoulders. At first, Dick went with it—even in the chill of February, he was starting to overheat—but when she loosened his tie and her fingers began nimbly unfastening the buttons of his shirt, his hands flew up to stop her.
"Cora…" he panted.
She looked up at him and then away. "Sorry," she said through heavy breaths. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
Dick laughed and backed away from her, getting his clothes back in order. Cora sat down on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her. She watched as he pulled his coat back on and made his way over to sit next to her. He gave her a few quick glances out of the corner of his eye then let out a loud laugh.
"Bet none of your little Pennsylvania girls knew how to do that," Cora said, starting to laugh with him.
"If they did, I didn't meet any of them."
As they laughed, Cora settled against Dick's chest and he draped an arm around her slender shoulders. She listened as his heart beat in rhythm with hers, steady and strong. There had been very few times in Cora's life that she felt completely whole, but the moments that she spent with Dick—whether it was in the middle of warfare or simply near each other—always made her feel as though she were with the other half of her self, the other half of her soul.
"So," she said finally, "what's this I'm hearing about a patrol?"
"Well, Regiment wants some prisoners. There's an outpost on the other side of the river and I was told to gather fifteen men, including a translator, to cross over, gather the prisoners, and demolish the outpost. It just seems like a waste this late in the war, especially for Easy… after all the men have been through."
"Colonel Sink must be off of his medication or something. What time is the patrol?"
"0100. Why?"
Cora scoffed and sat upright to look at him. "Why do you think, silly? I have to be prepared. I'm going with them."
"No, Cora… you're not."
Dick knew the second that the words came out of his mouth that he was going to regret them… and as Cora's nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed, he honestly did.
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