As she made her way clumsily to the foxhole that she used to tentatively call "home", Emilie was greeted by the suspicious murmurings of the soldiers around her. But she refused to wilt under the glares, instead raising her head and walking on past when inside she was crumbling. So much could change in so little time.
But not everyone was hostile; half of the men scrambled out of their foxholes to greet her with smiles, welcoming her back and asking question after question, also ignoring their comrades. Zimmermann was amongst them, at the head. She told them as much as she could, but lied about the rest: she said that she had been taken to another aid station, but that she had to stay there because it had been too dangerous to go back, what with the frequent American patrols. She just hoped they didn't ask the other aid stations, or the CO or General. When confronted about Drechsler, she simply said she didn't know, that he had dropped her off and that had been the last she had seen of him. Oh, how she wished her story was fact.
Zimmermann must have seen she was tired and sick of constantly explaining herself, as he told every other man to give her space. Yes, she was over the moon to be back with her men and friends, but she was still wounded, and all she wanted to do then was curl up in her foxhole.
As all the other soldiers unwillingly dropped back into their holes, though they still peeked their heads out to watch her the entire time like she was some kind of celebrity, albeit a controversial one, Zimmermann turned to her and lead her to her foxhole.
"It's fallen into a state of kind of… Disrepair," he told her nervously as they looked down at the hole that was half-filled with snow and dirt. "Sorry."
"It's fine," she replied with a small sigh. She looked down at her crutches, then back at Zimmermann, smiling faintly. "Sorry, I know it's a lot to ask, but I can't exactly dig a hole in my condition, and—"
He held up a gloved hand to interrupt her, smiling in that little mousey way he had. "Of course I'll help you dig it out, Emilie."
Emilie nodded and smiled thankfully, feeling a little guilty and useless as he turned, disappeared into his foxhole for a moment, before reappearing with a shovel held in both hands. He ploughed through the snow that had gathered in her foxhole in no time; she was impressed. For such a little thing, he was actually quite strong. Maybe he was just trying to impress her. Well, she would be happy to tell him it was working. But just not in the same way Eugene impressed her with… Everything. God, how many times a day was she going to dwell on him? She hardly knew the guy. But half of her said she didn't need to know anything else to come to the conclusion that she—No! She still wasn't sure what the bloody hell was going on with her.
Zimmermann was finished in the blink of an eye, and looked up at her like a puppy would look up at their master to see if they had done the right thing. She smiled back and murmured thanks. That was all he needed to make him happy.
He scrambled up beside her with his shovel, dirty and covered in snow, and gestured to the cleared foxhole like a magician would to his completed trick before the amazed, applauding audience. "I missed you," he told her softly, almost shyly.
Emilie chuckled, slowly sliding into the foxhole and laying her crutches beside her. She looked up. "I missed you too, Zimmermann. Even if this wasn't quite the home-warming I was expecting."
"I'm so sorry about the others." He replied guiltily.
She shook her head. "No, no, don't apologise. It's not your fault. I understand. I would be the same in their position." No. I wouldn't allow myself to be brainwashed by an idiot.