Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.
It was raining, and Eleanor was pissed.
Holed up in a little attic room that doubled as her office, she stared out of the window wearily, watching the fat drops of water rolling down the glass and beating out a rhythm on the slanted roof. The weather had turned foul days ago and had barely let up since, as appropriate a metaphor as ever there was for their circumstances at that point in time: dreary, with little to no hope of improvement. Sighing, she rolled her shoulders and winced, body aching with the strain of long hours spent ferrying between the regiments of the 101st but her mind too restless with worry to settle down and sleep. It was a predicament she would never grow used to but was at least marginally familiar with; still, it had been some time since her insomnia had been this bad.
It was bad for a reason. Market-Garden had failed; that much had become clear over the past few days. Virtually all of the concerns she'd had about the undertaking had proven to be right: communications had fallen short, cooperation with the local underground had been insufficient, and a plan based on the assumption that every little detail would work out as expected had come undone the moment they hadn't. What they were left with were the shambles of a military operation and an appalling loss of human life. More alarmingly, they lacked a coherent exit strategy; unless the whole of the Allied advance were to be redirected northward - something that seemed highly unlikely if not outside of the realm of possibility - they would have to leave the area somehow, but despite the enemy continuously tightening their hold, there had been no methods of retreat prepared.
And so Eleanor was left to brood in an abandoned loft in Uden, waiting for the regiment's next action and the orders that would no doubt go along with it. She had sent her team to bed a few hours earlier, well-aware they could do with the rest and there was little to do for the time being anyway. Between surviving two bombardments and having to deal with the fallout of Market-Garden going awry, it had been a hell of a few days, Meg's loss still weighing heavily on them even as they struggled to continue going forward. If we keep going like this, we'll soon have team members buried in every occupied country this side of the continent, Eleanor thought glumly. Looking back, she wasn't sure what she had expected when she had first started working with her team. There had always been the danger of casualties; of course there had been. They were in the midst of a war, for Christ's sake. Two dead and one critically injured wasn't a staggering number in the grand of scheme of things, either, but relatively speaking it was a lot, right up there with some of the companies' losses. Squaring with that knowledge was proving to be difficult.
The door creaked and footsteps resounded on the wooden stairs, making Eleanor startle at the sound of them. She wasn't expecting company, not at this time of night, and she was on edge as it was; her fingers tightened around the rifle she'd been cleaning instinctively and she lifted her feet from where they'd been resting on the table. In no time, though, Betty's dark curls appeared above the banisters, followed swiftly by the rest of the lieutenant.
"Oh, it's you," Eleanor breathed, body relaxing slowly as she realized it was only her second-in-command. The other woman looked a little drowsy still, appearance uncharacteristically disheveled and usually sharp eyes narrowed as she tried to focus them.
"Good morning to you, too," she greeted wryly, rubbing a hand across her face. "I knew I heard someone rummaging around up here."
Damn it. "I'm sorry if I woke you," Eleanor offered, grimacing regretfully and turning her chair around a little so she could face her friend fully. She hadn't meant to keep anyone else up; just because she had a hard time sleeping didn't mean other people ought to.
Betty shrugged, apparently not too bothered to have been woken. "Don't worry about it," she mollified, stretching fatigued muscles, "Wasn't getting much sleep anyway."
"Still, you should go back to bed, try and get some rest at least..."
"I could say the same to you," the nurse said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at her CO. She knew Eleanor hadn't been sleeping well and it was no secret that the captain had been twitchy from the get-go; though Betty had tried to get her to calm down a bit, she remained obstinately wound up. Letting her gaze wander around the small attic room, the lieutenant frowned when she noticed the weapon spread out on the table besides Eleanor, inclining her head towards it curiously.
"Interesting choice of time to be cleaning your rifle." Looking more closely, she realized it wasn't just any gun either. "Is that-"
"New?" Eleanor finished for her, nodding as she ran a finger along the barrel. "Yeah, she is. Gift from General Taylor." The division commander had given it to her when she had dropped by to visit his headquarters, saying she'd need a proper firearm now that matters were heating up - whatever that meant. To her surprise, it had been the newly introduced sniper variety of the standard M-1, a scope mounted atop of it; she hadn't used this type of rifle since joining up with the American forces. When she had looked to Taylor for an explanation, he had merely smiled. Odd as the whole thing had been, she was a beauty of a new gun, and a present Eleanor was quietly pleased with.
"She needed some attention," she continued, "Couple of adjustments. There's always hiccups with new designs like this."
Sitting down on one of the chairs on the opposite end of the table, Betty snorted, apparently too tired for social niceties, and shook her head. "You know, people are going to think you're crazy if you continue to talk like that," she commented, happy to see Eleanor smile when she caught on to what she'd said. Attachment to rifles wasn't uncommon amongst the men, but referring to it as if it were a person was indeed taking matters a little far, perhaps.
For a moment, Betty observed her friend, noting the circles under her eyes and the way she fidgeted with a bit of cleaning rag. It wasn't hard to deduce that she was exhausted, but something was obviously keeping her up. Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, the nurse folded her arms across her chest pensively. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," Eleanor said, rather too quickly for it to be true. Betty fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"Right," she retorted, "And Captain Winters isn't a raging ginger."
"Well, his hair looks positively auburn in certain lights."
"You would know," Betty muttered, amending her statement when Eleanor shot her a decidedly unimpressed look. "You would know, ma'am." The fact that the captain let the cheeky remark otherwise slip was another indicator of her state of mind. Betty sighed. Something had to be up. "Seriously, though, what's going on?"
Eleanor gnawed at her lip, troubled. "The battalions are moving out again."
"The salient south of Veghel?" Betty guessed, having heard the news about the German forces driving a wedge across the Allied column on the infamous Hell's Highway. The whole camp had been abuzz with it and it seemed only logical to assume that someone would be send to deal with it.
"The road needs to be kept open," Eleanor confirmed grimly, "If only to retreat through."
"You really think it's that bad?" the younger woman asked quietly, disturbed by how bleak the answer she received was. It had been coming for a while now - things had already been going wrong when she and the other nurses had arrived in Holland, after all - but it was a discouraging notion nonetheless.
"You've seen the same intel as I have," the captain noted, looking up at her colleague, "Don't you?"
Betty was silent, unsure of what to say but unable to deny the severity of the situation. Balancing her chair on its back legs precariously, she met Eleanor's eyes across the table. "What about the Jedburgh team?"
"Disbanded, now that Market-Garden has officially been declared over," Eleanor said, reiterating what she had been told all but verbatim. She had expected to feel more relief at having gotten rid of the inefficient and often infuriating group of men but was rapidly beginning to realize having them around had had its uses. For one, the translators had been invaluable, and the presence of the English men had streamlined working with the British divisions at least a little. Now that they had been broken up and dispersed among the Allied forces, Eleanor's team would be left to take over most of their work. Betty made a soft noise of annoyance.
"Because clearly any form of coordinated liaising with the locals won't be necessary anymore," she remarked caustically, setting her feet back onto the ground. Eleanor allowed herself a fleeting smile.
"Clearly."
"Great," Betty groused, running a hand through her mussed hair, "So it's a waiting game until the higher ups finally decide what to do with themselves."
"Pretty much," Eleanor agreed, pushing back from the table and getting up to open the window a little, "I expect we'll be back to what we did in France soon enough- processing intelligence and the like, picking up where the Jedburghs left off." Outside, she could just make out the shapes of men running back and forth through the rain, preparing for the upcoming mission, and scowled at the sight of it. "Keeping the damn aid station afloat."
"You wish you were going with them," Betty said slowly, understanding dawning on her pretty face as she watched her CO cross the room, "The men, I mean."
Eleanor leaned her head against the ledge. Maybe. "I don't like waiting."
"You don't like not knowing what's going on," Betty argued, knowing she had hit the nail on its head when Eleanor flinched visibly.
"Last time I didn't know what was going on, Meg ended up dead," she pointed out, sticking her hand out of the window carefully and letting the rain fall down onto it. The droplets were cool, splashing softly onto her palm and forming a small puddle there. Exactly the opposite of what fell out of the sky that night...
"You know that wasn't your fault, don't you?" Betty said, regarding her friend sorrowfully as she lingered by the opening in the roof, "There was nothing any of us could have done."
"Tell that to Miller and Van Klinken," Eleanor mumbled, pulling her hand back and shaking the water off it. When she turned back towards Betty, the nurse was frowning, apparently confused.
"I'm sorry?"
"They died because we had no idea what we were heading into," the captain elaborated darkly, walking back to the table and perching on its edge, "One half-decent recon mission and we would have known the Krauts had an ambush lying in wait for us."
Betty shook her head. "It wasn't your job-"
"It should have been," Eleanor cut her off sharply, haunted by the memory of Van Klinken's too-still body and the tiny waver in Hashey's voice when he had reported that Miller was dead. Insecure as she was of her own abilities at times, she knew she could have done better, now torn between guilt over not having stepped up and raised her concerns more and anger at being denied the opportunity to do so. Betty, meanwhile, was looking at her appraisingly.
"Maybe," the lieutenant allowed, breathing in deeply, "Look, I know we've blundered our way through this entire operation-"
"Understatement."
"But we're doing the best we can."
"Tell that to the Dutch people when we inevitably abandon them."
This time, Betty didn't even try to resist rolling her eyes, thoroughly fed up with her boss' moping. "Christ, are you always this chipper this early in the morning?"
"It's a talent."
"I bet," she said drily, getting to her feet and circling around the table until she was standing next to Eleanor. "Come on. We're getting some air."
The captain's eyebrows shot up. "It's raining."
"It'll clear up," Betty countered, silently daring her friend to disagree. Eleanor merely eyed her suspiciously.
"And how come you're so optimistic?"
"It's a talent," the nurse parroted, nudging the other woman in the shoulder, "C'mon. You could do with a break, and I could do with a cigarette."
"Anyone ever tell you you get bossy when you're tired?" Eleanor groaned, getting up regardless. Might as well.
Halfway down the stairs already, Betty chuckled sardonically. "Many have tried."
Somehow, Eleanor did not doubt it.
Morning dawned slowly, the watery sun seeming to rise almost timidly, as though it was reluctant to do so. Eleanor and Betty watched it climb its way over the horizon, kept up first by a newly transmitted bit of code, then by the distant roar of artillery as battle recommenced. They were back in the aid station and sorting through supplies when an agitated looking trooper came rushing in.
"Anybody seen where the fuck O'Brian's gotten to?" he called, right around the time when Eleanor identified him as one of the stretcher bearers. Nobody answered him, several people around the room shaking their heads or shrugging their shoulders until the man kicked at a nearby chair and swore loudly in frustration. "Goddammit!"
Waving Betty over to join her, Eleanor made a straight line for him, fully intending to find out what had the NCO so riled up. "What seems to be the problem, corporal?"
The medic snapped to within an instant, eyes wide. "Ma'am!"
"At ease," Eleanor pacified, looking him up and down unconsciously. He was a stocky thing, reliable in build and character, and though she couldn't remember his name at the time, definitely a veteran of the previous campaign by the way he carried himself. "What's going on?"
"It's my driver, ma'am," the man answered, expression turning sour, "I can't find him."
Eleanor nodded solemnly; at her side, Betty twitched in anticipation, already foreseeing action of some kind. "And you're meant to be heading to the line?"
"Yes ma'am, second battalion's area."
"Right," Eleanor said, trying to ignore the little flutter of anxiety at the mention of that particular outfit. If the stretcher bearers were being called over to evacuate people, it meant they were more than likely still alive and not beyond saving. This didn't necessarily mean the worst. "Betty, grab Grace and take over for me?" she asked her second, searching her surroundings for her kit.
"You got it," Betty concurred, deftly catching on to what her CO was planning and setting off to find her coworker. In the meantime, Eleanor held out her hand to the medic expectantly.
"You, give me your keys."
"Captain?" he asked, puzzled.
"Keys, corporal," she repeated, tapping her foot impatiently, "I'm taking one of my team to the front. We'll pick up whatever casualties you were called in for."
"Is that wise-"
"A minute either way might make the difference between life or death," she reminded him, slinging her bag around her shoulder before sticking out her hand again. Come on, buddy, help me out here. "You ought to know that by now."
He handed over the keys to his jeep dutifully, even if he didn't seem any less hesitant about the entire thing. "But what am I supposed to do?"
Spotting Grace jogging over from the back of the building, Eleanor turned on her heel and made for the door, barely pausing to glance over her shoulder.
"Find O'Brian!"
It took them a matter of minutes to get to the back of the American lines, what little sun there was eclipsed by clouds of smoke, dirt and gunpowder as they neared the front. Well, at least it's stopped raining, Eleanor mused absentmindedly, scanning the horizon for any sign of the men they were meant to be picking up. Grace - next to her in the passengers seat - was the first to spot them, rising up slightly to point out the small group and forced to cling on to the windscreen as Eleanor turned the wheel toward them abruptly. Not that she didn't understand; she had recognized the men as quickly as her captain had, heart skipping a beat at the sight of them as surely as the older woman's had.
Eleanor parked the jeep less than a meter away from the troopers, leaving the engine running as she vaulted out from behind the wheel and, taking in the scene before her, addressed one of the medics tersely.
"Spina, what the hell?"
Her incredulity wasn't wholly unfounded. Ralph Spina was supporting a limping Private Herron while worriedly looking over at Shifty Powers where he was keeping pressure on the wound of a replacement - the one who helped me at Nuenen, Eleanor recalled - and, in turn, sending sporadic, concerned glances over at Gene Roe- who, it seemed, was also wounded.
"Don't look at me," Spina complained, but the relief in his voice was evident, "I only just got here!"
Ye Gods. Okay, first things first... "You okay, Herron?" she asked the hobbling man, checking him over swiftly.
"Fine, Cap," he guaranteed her, and she nodded curtly. One down.
"Get him into the jeep," she told Spina, gesturing at her subordinate to get to work. "Grace, take over from Shifty."
"Yes ma'am."
The replacement taken care of for the moment, Eleanor knelt down by Roe's side, searching for the source of the blood that was seeping into the mud beneath them. "Hey, Gene," she greeted, smiling up at him briefly, "Let's have a look, shall we?"
"Cap-" he began, struggling to get himself into a sitting position, "I need'cha to check on MacDonald-"
MacDonald. Of course. Gently but firmly pushing him back down, she squeezed his shoulder for a moment before focusing on the jagged wound she had discovered on his thigh. "Don't worry, Grace's got him," she soothed, tearing apart the fabric of his trousers to get a better look at his leg.
"What happened?" she asked of Shifty Powers, a little mystified as to what could have caused the type of injury she was being confronted with. It wasn't your typical kind of battlefield wound; she'd seen many types of injuries over her years in the field, and this was certainly not your average bullet-or-shrapnel deal. Anxiously watching her work, Shifty swallowed before beginning to explain what had happened.
"Well, ma'am, we was evacuating when the Krauts started shootin' at us-"
Eleanor frowned. "This isn't a bullet wound."
"No ma'am," Shifty nodded, seeming a little flabbergasted himself, "We, ah, we had to jump this barbed wire fence, you see, and I think someone musta hit him in the bag- knocked him right off his feet."
"And got his leg tangled in the wires," Eleanor worked out, wincing in sympathy and reapplying pressure to the gash. Ouch.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Powers said, making her raise her eyes to his in astonishment. What's he apologizing for? He frowned remorsefully."I didn't even realize he was bleedin' until he just keeled over like that."
"It's all right, Shift, it isn't your fault," she reassured him, motioning at the towel she had pressed against the Cajun medic's leg. "Hold this." Once her hands were free, she dug around her bag for a package of sulfa. "D'you know if he hit his head when he fell?"
"Couldn't rightly say, ma'am."
Stirring underneath her touch, Roe dazedly shook his head. She'd almost forgotten he was even awake. "I don't-" he said, breaking off mid-sentence as though it were hard for him to focus, "I don't think I did."
"That's good," Eleanor encouraged, starting to get a bit concerned by just how dazed he seemed. If he really hadn't hit his head - thus discounting a concussion - and considering he didn't display any other signs of shock, it was somewhat odd for him to be this out of it. It's almost as if he can't quite believe he got hit... "Anything else you remember that I should know about?"
"No."
Spina, having deposited Herron in the jeep, came running over, boots squelching in the sludge. He threw one look at Gene's leg and whistled low. "Jesus, Doc, what did you do t'yourself?"
"Barbed wire fence got in the way," Eleanor answered for him, sprinkling the antiseptic powder over the wound liberally. Spina shook his head.
"Fuck."
"Yeah," she agreed, lifting the limb carefully to tie a bandage around it, "He'll need stitches."
Again, Roe squirmed, this time in protest. "No- I can't leave-"
"You can and you will," Eleanor countered sternly, taking the other end of the dressing from Spina and knotting the two sides together. As much as the company relied on Roe, they would simply have to make do without him, at least for a few days; she wasn't about to let him aggravate his wound by overstraining himself. "Grace, how's MacDonald doing?"
"He's stable," the nurse called back, all of them ducking down when a shell hit a little too close for comfort. Straightening back out and studying her surroundings, Eleanor was quick to conclude that it was probably an artillery round that had overshot its mark rather than anything intentionally directed towards them. Small mercies...
"Bullet wound to the gut," Grace continued, only a little breathless from the sudden impact, "No major organs or vessels hit though."
"You ready to move?" Eleanor inquired, double checking the bindings on her patient's leg. They were secure, unlikely to move during transport; it was high time for them to get out of there.
"Should be."
"Okay," the captain said, taking a breath and making a final assessment of the situation before doling out her orders. "Spina."
"Ma'am!"
"Go give Grace a hand."
"Yes ma'am."
The unhurt medic darted off to do so, leaving Eleanor to look after Gene. "Shifty, you're with me," she told the sharpshooter, scooting over to one end while directing him towards the other. "Get his arms, I'll take the legs." Together, they managed to lift the two wounded men and hurried them towards the jeep, lowering them onto the stretchers attached to the vehicle.
"There we go- easy-" Eleanor urged, leaning sideways to help Shifty settle Roe down, "Careful with his head." Climbing back into the driver's seat as Grace bent over the windscreen to keep an eye on MacDonald, she twisted to address the remaining duo. "You two good to head back to the line?"
"Sure," Spina said, rearranging his supplies and readjusting the straps of his bags around his shoulders. Eleanor nodded.
"All right. Shifty, could you report what happened to Captain Winters?" And please make sure he's okay while you're at it...
"Of course, ma'am," Powers said, patting the hood of the car, "Be safe."
Eleanor released the break. "You too."
They got back to the aid station without too much trouble, unloading the wounded and handing MacDonald and Herron over to the surgeons. Eleanor, still worried by Roe's inexplicable stupor, took him to one of the smaller rooms close to her team's hub and sat him down, grabbing a suture kit before removing the bandage on his leg and cleaning the wound. Despite the lack of anesthesia and unpleasantness of any debridement he remained quiet throughout, flinching only slightly whenever the pain became too much. Eleanor contemplated the possibility that his silence was some sort of coping mechanism; always quiet to begin with, there was no physical cause she could find for this baffling bout of muteness, leaving a psychological reason as the only possible explanation left. He appeared to have retreated in on himself, speaking only when strictly necessary but staring at the wall opposite him otherwise, eyes troubled. It was as unnerving as it was uncanny.
Once she had finished disinfecting the cut, she unwrapped the surgical tools and smiled up at him. "Let's get you stitched up, huh?"
"Uh-huh," he murmured, still gazing past and away from her. She pressed her lips together momentarily, not sure how to deal with this subdued, unexpectedly vulnerable side of her normally strong and capable friend.
"I'm just going to give you some morphine to numb the pain," she informed him, administering the drug and seeing his eyes lose focus almost immediately. "There," she said softly, resting her hand on his knee, "Why don't you lie back, cheri, get some rest?"
He nodded vaguely. "Okay."
Sinking down against the armrest of the sofa she'd put him on, his eyelids began to flutter close of their own accord as he struggled to stay awake. Eleanor, noticing how sleepy he was, paused in her administrations and smiled at him warmly. "Go to sleep, Eugene," she murmured, realizing he must be bone-tired himself. She hadn't been the only one to have gotten little sleep of late.
Just as she was about to return to her stitching, he mumbled something unintelligible, head already drooping. Unable to understand what he'd said, Eleanor frowned and halted her work once more. "Sorry?"
"No one ever calls me that 'nymore," he said, voice suddenly very small, and her heart ached with the knowledge that he was right. It was always Roe, or Doc, maybe the occasional Gene, but never his full name. She wondered how long it had been since he'd been called that, shuddered at how alienating it must have been in his already isolated - by choice or no - existence within the company. His was one of the heaviest burdens to bear, yet he bore it alone, and it saddened her to get a glimpse of its more harmful consequences.
"I know," she whispered sadly, reaching out a hand to smooth his hair back as he fell asleep at last, "I know."
Another day and night seemed to pass at a snail's pace, and Roe slept through most of both. Eleanor, though determined to talk to him once he had rested properly, was glad for it; the week or so they had spent in Holland felt like a lot longer, and she had a feeling they'd be sticking around for a while yet despite Market-Garden having come to an end. He would need all the energy he could get, and this way at least his leg would have a chance to heal without the risk of him pushing himself too far. It wasn't ideal - she wasn't wild about the idea of Easy being down to one medic, for one - but it would do for now.
It was on the afternoon of the second day that word arrived of second battalion's imminent return to Uden. Casualties had been coming in fairly steadily since the action had begun; Strayer's men had run into German tanks and other artillery and it had cost them. Nevertheless, they had pushed back the salient across the highway as ordered, and now it seemed they would be falling back to the town from where they had set out to begin with. It was a small victory, but those seemed all they were capable of at the moment and like with so many things 'good enough' was the most they could realistically ask for. At least it isn't all out defeat, Eleanor caught herself thinking as she headed out during one of the rare dry spells. Thousands dead and even more wounded, never mind the loss of material, and an operation that is nothing if not unsuccessful. If this doesn't constitute as a defeat, then what the hell does?
Sighing, she crossed her arms and tilted her face towards the warmth of the setting autumn sun, closing her eyes in what she hoped would be a moment of respite. She'd been working on intelligence issues just about none stop since she had brought Roe in, attempting to anticipate German troop movements and trying not to despair at the way they were hitting the Allied forces from both flanks at once. Though there would be plenty more to do when the men came back, their return made for a welcome break from the gloomy decoder room, and she had told her team to use the opportunity to go out and get some air as well. A few of them were standing nearer to the aid station, not as trusting of the weather as she was, talking quietly amongst themselves as she waited in the middle of the square- for the men or the rain, whichever came first.
"Captain?" a voice stirred her from her brief repose, and she opened her eyes and turned her head to see Allen Vest next to her, looking bemused. "What are you standing out here for, ma'am?"
"Second battalion's due in soon," she explained pointlessly, only remembering he probably knew already when the words had left her mouth, "I just want to make sure their wounded are seen to."
Vest lifted his eyes towards the dark clouds gathering rapidly overhead. "But what if it starts to rain again?"
"Oh, it probably will," Eleanor said wryly, smiling down at the mailman. He mirrored her grin easily.
"Ain't that the truth," he chuckled, producing an envelope from his pocket and handing it to her, "Got a letter for you, ma'am."
Hold on- a letter? "Really?" she asked, frowning as she took the missive from him. The writing on the cover was neat, feminine, and there was some kind of watermark on the corner that she couldn't quite make out in this light.
"Yeah," Vest reaffirmed, watching as she turned the item over in her hands and studied it closely. "From England, looks like."
She hummed under her breath, more than a tad nonplussed by this unforeseen delivery. "Strange."
"You're not expecting any?"
"Not particularly, no," she said, mentally ticking off a list of people it could have come from. The private was right in that it had come from Britain, so it couldn't be from Philip; any of her old friends seemed unlikely as well, considering they hadn't a clue what division she was attached to, which left those of her American friends confined to a hospital - but then the handwriting didn't match up. Bizarre. "Thanks, Vest."
"You're welcome, ma'am," he said, saluting her quickly before retreating inside and leaving her to stare at the envelope. She was in the process of opening it when she heard the unmistakeable tread of marching soldiers and, looking up, could just see the first of the battalion arrive around the corner. They looked miserable, soaked to the bone and covered in dirt, postures slumped even as they marched perfectly in step with each other. Stuffing the letter back into her own pocket and whistling at her team, she signaled them to come along and help her out.
It felt like they'd need a miracle before any of the troopers would be dry again.
It didn't take a miracle, in the end - just a lot of towels and patience. By the time all of the men had been seen to and settled, evening had fallen and the mandatory blackout put into effect. Eleanor withdrew to the her little office in the attic, drawing the curtains and lighting a few candles, wanting to get some more work done before bed. While the table in the middle of the room had been cleared, there were still whole stacks of documents on the desk in the corner that had been left behind by the Jedburgh team. Sorting through them would take some time but was a necessary task, and so she set to it resignedly, rifling through and reorganizing the papers in an attempt to restore some order to the chaos. Maps on the left, enemy dispositions on the right, code work in the middle... where am I going to leave the resistance reports...
She was so caught up in the job that she nearly missed the knock on the door, scarcely looking up to acknowledge it. "Yeah?" she called distractedly, narrowing her eyes at the document in her hands as she tried to decide which pile to put it with. Who ever had knocked trotted up the stairs, faltering at the top of them when they found her preoccupied.
"Ellie."
Head snapping up, she twisted around to find Dick standing a few feet away, expression hesitant as though he wasn't sure she'd be willing to see him. "Hey!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised; while she hadn't expected him, his presence was rarely an unwelcome one. If anything, it'd been a good few days since she had seen him last and she was glad to have him there. "Come in- sorry, let me just-" Turning back to the desk, she shuffled some last papers into place, aiming to leave it tidy enough for her to return to at a later time without too much trouble.
The floorboards squeaked and without warning his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. Her breath caught at the sudden contact, but she leaned back against his chest with a smile not long after, reports slipping from her fingers as she covered his hands with her own. "Hey."
"Hey," he echoed tenderly, pressing a kiss to her cheek and tightening his grasp a little. "How are you doing?"
"Not too badly," she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, "You?"
"Same," he murmured, content to simply stand there for a moment and hold her. The mission to the south of Veghel had been drawn out and dangerous and he was as troubled about the recent turn of events as she was, but there was a certain comfort in having her near and knowing they were both all right- if only for the time being.
"You're remarkably dry," she observed, shifting slightly and glancing back at him. Towels notwithstanding, the men she had left behind earlier had been damp at best; an improvement from their previous condition, to be sure, but definitely not as dry as he appeared to be.
He ducked his head and smiled crookedly. "I changed earlier," he admitted, letting her turn in his arms until they were face to face, "How's the doc?" To his consternation, her face darkened fleetingly, but then the smile returned and she reached up to fuss over his lapels.
"Better," she said, running her thumb over the infantry badge on his collar, "He's been asleep, mostly, but I already had to stop him from getting up and seeing to my patients the second he was awake."
Winters exhaled steadily, mouth subconsciously pulled to one side. "I can't say I'm surprised," he reflected, all too familiar with his medic's endless dedication to his job. Looking up when Eleanor nuzzled her nose against his jaw, he ran a gentle hand down her spine, their eyes meeting. "Any word from division?"
"Nothing yet," she said, brows furrowing, "They're going to have to make a decision soon, though. Even they can't dawdle forever."
"Hm," he breathed, about to ask her what she thought would be their next move when she pressed her lips against his. He wound a hand into her hair, groaning softly - and wholly unintentionally - when she clung to him, her knees feeling weak when he deepened the kiss. God, she'd missed him. The desire to have him close was overwhelming, the yearning to never let him go again even more so. Her heart sped and her stomach somersaulted, utterly betraying the calm she'd intended to keep throughout the evening. Oh, please, don't stop.
But stop was exactly what they did when another knock resounded through the loft, followed swiftly by hurried footsteps dashing up the stairs. When Evelyn Williams stepped into her CO's office she blushed ferociously, looking between the two flustered officers at the other side of the room and instantly aware she'd just intruded on a private moment. Eleanor, clearing her throat and straightening herself a little awkwardly as Dick looked anywhere but at her, turned to her subordinate.
"What is it, Ev?"
"You'd better come outside, ma'am," the nurse said tentatively, cringing when a scowl flickered past Eleanor's countenance.
Can I not? "What's going on?" she asked, straining her ears to hear if she could pick up anything besides the drip of the rain on the roof. Evelyn fidgeted.
"I- I don't rightly know how to describe it, but-" she pulled at the end of her braid uneasily, a nervous habit Eleanor had seen her display many times before; none of those occasions had been good. Whatever it was, this did not bode well. "You'll want to see it for yourself."
"All right," Eleanor conceded, snatching her helmet from the table and redirecting her gaze towards her partner for a moment. "Dick?"
"I'll see you later," he said, neither of them sure when that would be, but the tiny quirk of his lips reassured her that despite the embarrassment of being caught kissing like a couple of teenagers, he would see her when he could.
"Okay," she smiled, following Evelyn down the stairs and out of the building, the steady rain soaking her within seconds of her stepping outside. Not entirely sure what she was meant to be looking at, she turned to her younger friend and followed her direction when she pointed down the road to their left in silence. What Eleanor saw there had her catching her breath all over again, albeit for completely different reasons this time.
"Dear God."
A bit of a shorter chapter than usual - especially compared to the last one I left you with! - but between my vacation turning out busier than anticipated and my participation in the War-A-Thon over on Tumblr, this took a lot longer than I'd intended. I do hope it's all right. Apologies once again for the ridiculously long wait! I've got the dialogue for the next few chapters done, at least, so updates should hopefully be quicker.
Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and messages, by the way - you guys are amazing and your continued support means an awful lot! Do read and review!
