Don't wake me
Cause I don't wanna leave this dream
Don't wake me
Cause I never seem to stay asleep
I know when its you I'm dreaming of
I don't wanna wake up
"Don't Wake Me" by Skillet
Becca's POV
I heard his heavy breathing in my ears and a few tears escaped my closed eyelids. His fingers rubbed gently against my hair. I felt so much love and so much contentment in his touch. He didn't demand that I return his feelings. He didn't do anything but hold me as I cried.
"Becca, it's alright," he said quietly, squeezing me once before pulling away from me. Panicking, my fingers tightened on the front of his uniform.
"Bill, don't leave," I said, my voice raising several octaves. My voice seemed to spark something in him. He pulled me back to him and kissed me on the forehead. Heat rose in my cheeks and he smiled against my skin.
"Becca, it's okay that you don't feel the same way. I just...I wanted you to know how I felt about you. Before we go any further with this," Bill told me. I looked up at him in wonder. I'd never had this before. I'd never had a man who wanted nothing from me than to let me know how he felt. I'd never had a man period want me for anything other than the object of his insults. It was nice and different and I felt that feeling rise up in me again. It vibrated along my skin, making my hand cup his cheek. He closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly as he sighed heavily. I memorized the lines of his face, smiling when I saw a few scars on his cheek and forehead. I traced them, judging his reaction. He shivered, as if me touching them made them real again. Made him remember things that maybe he didn't want to. I leaned forward, placing my lips chastely on his own. I tried to pour my soul into that one feather-light brush of skin on skin. Tried to show him that I did love him, in my own way, but that I just wasn't ready to acknowledge that yet.
I pulled away slowly, trying to savor the feel of his body pressed against my own for as long as I could. I turned around, moving out of the comfort of his embrace, and started to dig our fox hole. For a few minutes, I heard nothing from where he stood. Finally, he walked over and started digging along with me. We stood in companionable silence. I looked at him every once in a while, a smile playing about my lips. A few times, we met each others gaze. I wondered how I could have missed the way he felt about me. And for once, I was able to keep my thoughts off of Ron.
Darkness had descended on us. It had taken about an hour for Bill and I to dig our foxhole. We were settled against the wall of our hole, snuggled against each other. His face was pressed into my hair and his fingers were playing lightly against the back of my hand.
"You know, Becca, you never told me where you were from," Bill said, "Come to think of it, you never really talk that much about your past." I looked up at him, my cheek settling lightly against the crook of his neck. I opened my mouth several times, but only ended up looking off in the distance. How could I answer him when what I could tell him was so beyond the possibilities of our imaginings? How could I tell him that I had been born forty years into the future?
"Bill, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you," I said, smiling humorlessly at my own statement. He wouldn't believe it. There were days when I didn't even believe that I was really here. Living history, the history that my father had talked to me about for hours upon hours without growing bored. I had to wonder if me coming back to the past was all a part of some preordained chain of events. Or if it was just chance, simply a glitch in time. I shook my head, trying not to think about it too hard. It made my head ache. My temples began to throb uncomfortably and I snuggled in tighter against Bill's chest. Until the sound of someone yelling wrenched me from his arms. I clutched my chest, trying to silence the sudden frantic beating of my heart.
"What the hell was that?" Bill asked, his voice strained and filled with worry. I motioned for him to stop talking. We listened, both of us tensed for what might be happening. Then, I heard the faint call for a medic.
"Oh, God, someone's been hurt," I whispered, my fingers playing along the strap of my medical bag. Before I could crawl out of the foxhole, Bill grabbed my wrist.
"Becca, you know there are two other medics in Easy right?" he asked, his eyes showing me what his words did not. I could see the worry and the fear. I stepped closer to him, my lips brushing lightly against the stubble covering his cheeks.
"Bill, you have to let me go sometimes. I don't care if there are two other medics. I have to go and see if I can help with whatever it is," I told him. I didn't know if it would work, but I had to try. Seeing him so worried terrified me. He was Wild Bill, a man with a reputation almost as tainted as Ron's. I wondered at the fact that I could make him feel so much when he'd been fearless on D-Day. When he'd been so fueled by anger and hatred that he'd killed a whole line of German's by himself. I cupped his cheek and he closed his eyes at the sensation.
"Let me go, Bill," I whispered against his skin. A moment passed in which I had no idea what his reaction would be. But, at long last, his fingers loosened from my wrist until I was able to pull away. I turned around, not sparing him a glance as I hurried away. I knew that looking back at him would just send me running back into his arms. I couldn't afford that right now, not when I'd worked so hard to make him see that I had a job to do here. There was a reason that I was here. Maybe it was to save someone that otherwise wouldn't have been.
The darkness surrounded me in a thick blanket and the sounds of someone singing in the darkness could be heard through our patch of forest. I strained my ears to catch some of the song, but found that it didn't sound like any American's voice I'd ever heard.
"What the hell are they singing about?" a voice sounded behind me. I opened my mouth to scream, but then a familiar set of arms wrapped around my waist and pulled my body into their chest. Their lips skimming along the curve of my neck made my breath hitch in my throat. Speech escaped me and I felt my knees growing weak as Ron continued his soft but forceful kisses along my skin.
"Ron?" I asked, my chest already heaving from what he was doing with his lips. I didn't understand how he could make me feel this way with just a kiss. Heat rushed across my skin and I felt droplets of moisture beading along my brow.
"Yes?" he asked between kisses. He shifted his arms so that he could turn me around toward him. In the darkness, I saw that his black eyes were glinting in the dim light. As always, his emotions were barred from me and I tried to feel terrified that I had no idea what he was thinking. All thoughts were wiped from my own mind however when he leaned toward me. My eyes closed automatically, but his lips weren't touching mine yet. I moaned in protest, my hands snaking up his arms toward the back of his head. It was maddening, being so close to him yet not able to touch him. That madness stroked things low in my body. I tried to step closer, to try and make him see that him kissing me was the most natural thing in the world. My pulse jumped against the side of my neck and my eyes seemed to be frozen shut. I waited for a breath-taking moment for him to do something, anything. For him to say something. I could feel some part of me die when I realized that he might just leave me again like he had on D-Day. Wanting him, needing him so much that it felt like my insides were being ripped apart.
"If I kiss you, are you going to be thinking about him?" Ron asked me, his voice husky. I could feel the weight of his desire in that question, could feel the restraint he was putting on himself by keeping those few inches between us. I considered his question, my mind doing front flips and cartwheels. I couldn't focus on any one thing except the need to have him pressed against me. I shook my head, but his fingers tightened in my hair. He pulled it slightly, why I didn't know but it made me open my eyes. What I saw took my breath away again. He was looking down at me, his heart and soul bare for me to read in those black orbs. There was so much raw need, so much raw desire in his eyes that it made me throb again in lust. I made to cup his cheek and this time, he let me. I stroked his stubble-covered cheek from his lips to his ear. I felt the way he shuddered against me and I gave him a small smile.
"I could never think about him while you're kissing me," I told him, my yearning overtaking every thought and every action. And the moment I said it, I knew it was true. This was the man that I had been dreaming about for two years. Unable to touch him, to quench those burning fires of desire in my body. Now he was here. Alive and so close that one heavy sigh would bring his lips crashing down on mine. His eyes looked at me. The world was spinning beneath our feet when he bent his lips to mine. It was soft at first, gentle and hesitant. Almost as if he couldn't believe that he was really kissing me. Something filled me then, something that made my heart speed in my chest and my fingers to tighten on the front of his uniform. It was desire and yet it wasn't at all. I realized that I had been waiting for this so long and it made something in me settle in a breathy sigh of relief. His arms tightened on my waist and I felt his low, masculine moan roll through his mouth and through me in return. I pulled away, feeling my lungs constricting painfully with the force of our passion.
"Ron," I muttered, wrapping my legs around his waist. He held me tightly for a moment, his head laying on my chest. He listened to the erratic rhythm of my heart.
"Rebecca, I need you so bad," he said, the admonition so soft that I wondered if I hadn't imagined it. But then I noticed something hard and firm pressing itself so intimately to my body. I shuddered against him, biting down on my lip to keep myself from crying out. I buried my head in his neck, my lips finding his skin immediately. I placed lingering kisses there, showing him what I would not acknowledge out loud. I could only hope that he would get my message, that he would realize what I couldn't tell him. He stood there, holding me so tightly that I knew I would bruise. I didn't care though. All that mattered was that finally, the world seemed to be on its axis. I was finally exactly where I wanted to be.
The moment was quickly shattered, however. I heard the trees behind us rustling and Ron froze beneath my lips.
"God dammit," he muttered before placing me back on the ground and disappearing into the darkness. I started after him, but he was gone from sight in an instance. He didn't make any noise either as he walked away. My heart seemed to break and I was filled with such desperation that I fell to my knees. Why did he keep doing this to me? Utter despair choked me, making my chest heave and my heart to pound in my ears in my desperation to get air into my lungs. Was I that worthless to him? Did I mean so little to him that he could just leave me without a second thought? I wrapped my arms around my chest, feeling my soul rip itself apart at the knowledge that maybe Ron didn't feel the same way about me that I did. Perhaps I'd been wrong about him all along.
But there's still Bill I reminded myself. I shook my head. I felt the tears pooling in my eyes, the salty droplets falling abandoned and forgotten to the grass beneath me. If I was being honest with myself, I would never feel the same way for Bill that I would with Ron. I couldn't place my finger on what it was, but there was just something so incredibly right about being with Ron. Yes, I loved Bill, but they were two different men. And I felt very different about the both of them. It was something that I knew with all my heart and soul to be true. And it terrified me.
Ron's POV
I stood in the shadows of the trees, watching her wrap her arms around her chest. It made my chest tighten to see her so sad. I could see the rivulets falling, unrelenting, to the ground at her feet. I couldn't believe that I had done this to her again. My lips were still tingling from the feel of her soft lips on my own. My skin was heated, and my pants were uncomfortably tight. The urge to relieve myself was so great and I could feel my fingers moving toward my pants. Bile filled my throat as I thought about it. Touching myself, looking at her sitting there as she wallowed in misery was so wrong. So perverse and I couldn't believe that I had considered doing it. I really was the monster that the rest of the men imagined me to be. I was toying with her emotions and all I wanted to do was keep her close to me.
I realized in that moment that I was very much out of my element. I'd never done this before, I'd never been in love. And here she was, alive and warm sitting only a few short feet away from me. I turned away, my thoughts swirling endlessly. What was happening to me? Was I going mad?
I felt my soul ripping itself to pieces as I walked away. Even when I could no longer hear her desperate sobs in reality, they echoed in my mind. They acted as a knife stabbing me through my heart. What was I doing? I should be back there holding in her my arms, reassuring her that I really did love her. As that thought ran through my mind, I had to wonder if that was why I ran away from her. Maybe I was still trying to deny just how I felt about her. Maybe loving her scared me more than I was willing to admit to myself.
Becca's POV
June 13, 1944
"Alright boys, we might be attacking a weaker force. Maybe more paratroopers," Welsh told the gathered group. He was looking at his map, his eyebrows furrowed and the tip of his tongue sticking out. I glanced at all the men around us. Perconte, Hoobler, Bill, Martin. Their faces were covered with dirt and dried sweat. I knew I didn't look any better. The last time I'd bathed was more than a week ago. I was disgusting and I knew that I couldn't be much to admire. Yet, Bill was still shooting me longing glances. I could feel his eyes shifting from Welsh to me every few minutes. And the back of his hand was laying dangerously close to my own. I'd gone back to our foxhole after what Ron did to me. Bill hadn't asked questions, he'd just opened his arms to me. I hadn't cried after that, just snuggled in closer to him. I'd felt safe in the circle of his arms, safe and comforted. I wondered how long I could keep this up. Kissing Bill and then kissing Ron. It was too much and Ron was more than confusing. I couldn't let him keep doing that to me. I wouldn't. Even now, with Bill next to me, my chest was tight and every breath pained me. When Bill's hand brushed against my own, I returned to the present. I focused back on Welsh, who was looking at Hoobler now.
"Yeah, and you know how they can be," he said, grinning at his own joke. I chuckled appreciatively.
"Fire and maneuver, that's the name of the game." We all looked closer to him, something in all of us making us alert and tense, "Dog and Fox Company will be on our left flank moving with us. Any questions?" We shook our heads and Welsh looked up at the sky, biting his lip. He seemed satisfied with our answers and grabbed his gear.
"Let's make 'em holler." We followed his lead, standing up. The guys grabbed their guns and helmets, preparing to surge back into another fight. Perconte looked at the row of watches on his left arm.
"It's nine thirty in the evening back home," he said. The information brought on a moment of silence, as if each of them was wondering just what their families were doing. It was these moments that were the most painful. I could see the sadness and regret in each of their eyes. I knew I had to be the only person who didn't want to go back home. I'd never belonged anywhere, not even in my own home. Here, in this place, I'd made friends that I knew I would never forget.
Their thoughts were interrupted by the sudden whistle of artillery falling down on us. I gasped when Bill grabbed my arm and crushed me beneath his body.
"Get down," everyone shouted over the explosions going on around us. Bill pushed himself off of me and we tried to crawl away to find cover. He pulled me into a shallow foxhole off to our left. That's when I saw that the Krauts were raining their wrath down on our left flank too. I tried to quench the fear gripping my heart, but all I could see and feel was Ron. I wondered if last night was the last time I would ever see him. I started to shake with un-shed tears and Bill wrapped his arms around me.
"It's okay," he whispered, kissing my forehead once before standing up and swinging his rifle up to his shoulder. Behind us, I could hear Winters' voice ringing out to all of us. Quiet and reassuring.
"Watch the silhouettes on the horizon, Guarnere. Perconte, Martin let's go!"
I curled into a ball in the foxhole, huddling on the opposite side of Bill. I tried to keep my thoughts blank, but I couldn't help but think of Ron. Was he okay? Had he lost any of his men? Would he get away without getting hurt? Then I heard it, a quiet call for a medic off to our right. I glanced at Bill. I watched his arms shake with the effort to hold his rifle to his shoulder. I tapped him on the leg. When he turned around, I jerked my hand toward the direction of the call that I'd heard.
"Be careful, Becca!" he shouted, fixing me with his gaze for a solid moment. Everything around us blurred together except for his face. His eyes held all the love and warmth for me that he was feeling. I could only smile at him, hoping that everything would be okay. I had to believe that. I had to believe that both of us would make it as I hoisted myself out of our hole. Moving as quickly as I could across the dirt that was being shot upwards by the bullets whizzing around my feet, I finally ended up sliding down beside the wounded private. He was looking up at the canopy of treetops, his eyes glazed and unfocused. I recognized him as one of the men who had been transferred into Easy a few weeks after me.
"Gaines? Private, can you hear me?" I asked him, my voice so soft and scared that it didn't even sound like me. He turned his eyes on me, his smile lighting up his whole face.
"Margaret?" he asked, his hand coming up to entwine with my own. I let him take my hand, letting him believe that I was whoever he wanted me to be. I could see from the blood dribbling down his chin and the way his pupils were two different sizes that he was not long for this world. The loss of it filled my soul and I bent forward so that I could hear what he was saying.
"Margaret, tell mother that I love her and that I hope she's proud of me. Tell her that I'm sorry for all the things I did to her. Tell her that I wish I could have been a better son," he told me. He had tears pouring down his face now, the clear drops mingling with the blood and dirt smearing his face. I nodded silently, droplets falling like sorrow-filled ran onto our entwined hands. He looked at my face, bringing a clammy hand up to caress my cheek.
"Margaret, please don't cry. I can't bear it. Someday, we'll be together again. I need you to think about that day in the future. Know that I'll be waiting for you and our son up there. I love you so much," he whispered, his breath issuing out of his body in a shaky rhythm that sent chills running up and down my spine. The life seemed to leave his eyes and I couldn't help but cry harder at the scene. Here was a man, no older than I was, and he had died in a foreign country. Surrounded by men that he hardly knew, gripping the hand of a woman he thought was his wife.
I wondered how many men would have to suffer this same fate. I wondered how many families, how many wives and children and mothers would be receiving telegrams telling them of their soldier's death by people who simply could not care. Even for the most honorable men, men like Winters, caring meant that every name worked as a knife against your soul. Such things had to be handled with caution, with a distance that would allow for the preservation of the heart and the mind. It was what would keep us all sane and each of us had to accept on our own terms that we were already dead, that we would all be scarred for the rest of our lives no matter what. We all had to live with these wounds, emotional and physical. I don't know what scared me more. The fact that I had accepted this or that others still hadn't.
I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. That one touch was full of so much. I could feel the truth of it burning sharply against my skin through my uniform. Understanding and comfort wrapped like a vice around the curve of my arm. I realized that whoever it was was pulling me to my feet. I turned my eyes up to their face, feeling the tears pouring down my face.
"Come on, Becca, let's get you out of here," Dick whispered softly, his warm breath blowing like a warm breeze against my face. It calmed me slightly as I let him guide me away from the death lying like a ravaged beast at my back.
An interesting chapter I thought. Although I have to admit that we really didn't get very far lol. My muse has a tendency of doing that. Also, sorry for the extremely short chapter. I know it's awfully small but the next one will be bigger and of course the drama of which guy Becca will choose continues. :)
Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing. AivieEnchanted, Dean's Leather Jacket, captain ty, BrokenAngel1753, Roossmit, beccasmind, and rosariomori. I appreciate the reviews, really I do. I'm so happy to have gotten them. And just a heads up to everyone who has me on author alert, I'll be posting two new stories on July 4th in BoB and in The Pacific category. I'm so nervous about the one in TP, but if you're a fan of that miniseries, then please go over and check it out. Maybe possibly leave me a review too. *puppy dog eyes* Oh! Also please, somebody break the tie in my poll so that I can take it the heck off my profile and put up a new one lol. Thank you!
Disclaimer: No disrespect is meant toward the real men of Easy Company. The only things I own are my OCs as well as any original plot you don't recognize.