A/N:

Thank you Byron W.4 for another review! Thank you for the info on Haguenau!

Thank you drovingallday96 for the review! I keep reminding myself not to have the characters move on from the deaths yet, and it's quite difficult! I want them to recover and be happy, but overcoming something like that isn't an easy feat, especially following Malarkey's book. He never did get over Skip, so if Marie was real I think she'd feel the same way about her fallen friends.

Thank you BobtheFrog for the review! I know! It bugs me too that I had to write that Marie is mainly being placed with the blame, but unfortunately that's how it went back then. I was actually going to cover that in the next chapter or so, it's funny that you brought it up lol.

Thank you Potterheadfanfiction for the story follow!

Thank you GreenVeilWho for the follow and the favorite!

Thank you Finnobhair for the review and the follow! Thank you so much for your kind praises, wow! It really means a lot coming from you! :)

Thank you LadyGrace42 for the follow and the favorite!

Thank you mmsmith1945 for the story follow!

Thank you missavc34 for adding me as a favorite author!

There are so many conflicting dates between Malarkey's book and the TV series that I'm literally going crazy! In the TV series Easy Company is in Sturzelberg, Germany by March, in Malarkey's book he doesn't mention the company leaving Mourmelon until April 2nd I believe. And they don't head to Sturzelberg in the book; they head to a village called Dormagen. I'm trying my best to balance in between the two and it's not easy! Anyway, thanks for reading! Dialogue from Malarkey's book.

TW: If you're squeamish about shots/needles, heads up!


Mourmelon, France

February 28th – March, 1945

Malarkey lay on his back, savoring his cigarette and the mattress that was comfortably pressed to his back. Beds had become such a rare treat these days that he knew better than to take it for granted. He took the cigarette from between his lips, blowing smoke out of his nostrils as he watched it waft slowly toward the ceiling. Being in Mourmelon hadn't been as relaxing as he'd hoped; he wanted more tranquil moments like this in the early hours of the morning right before the sun peeked over the horizon. Right when Easy Company arrived they were greeted with the unpleasant surprise of finding their belongings that they'd left in Mourmelon looted. They'd opened the doors to their old dwellings to find piles of clothes that almost reached the ceiling, carelessly tossed around with evidence of disturbed furniture. The guys suspected it was some "air force rear-echelon folks" had come through after Easy had left for Bastogne and tore the place apart. It was disappointing to discover all their souvenirs were gone which included: guns, cameras, medals, patches, wings, jump boots, knives, and daggers. Everything that had some kind of value to it had been snatched away by some greedy soldiers. But as Malarkey reflected, not everything was all bad. He'd received a three-day pass to Paris, and had just returned on the 28th. Unfortunately Marie couldn't go with him on this trip, so the visit wasn't as enjoyable as he imagined. He'd promised to take her to Paris and yet again he had to make it a rain check once again. Going on vacations by himself wasn't that fun, considering being alone was what brought out the demons that he tried so hard to keep pushed at the back of his mind. The demons reminded him of death and suffering, cackling as he felt himself slip into that familiar deep pit of melancholy that seemed to gobble him up whenever it had the chance. He attempted not to focus on that now, he was back in Mourmelon, unable to sleep as he laid in Marie's bed, contemplating the past few weeks while sucking the nicotine out of his cigarette.

Malarkey glanced over at Marie's slumbering figure. She lay on her stomach, her head facing him as she was nestled into her pillow. Her blonde hair was falling around her face, tousled and uncombed. The sheet from her bed covered her rear as her bare back trailed down right to the curve. He watched her breathe though listening was hard – she'd always been a quiet sleeper. Some nights he'd wake up and would have a slight panic attack that she'd stop breathing. The girl had definitely learned to be a soldier all right, sleeping like a mouse in a foxhole was a skill that needed to be a priority when the enemy was lurking nearby.

Malarkey gingerly tugged the sheet higher so it would cover more of her exposed body. She stirred slightly in her sleep, letting out a low murmur but she didn't fully awaken.

Smiling to himself he recalled the first moment he'd laid eyes on this woman. It was the summer of '42, he was standing at attention getting called out by Sobel with every little "infraction" he could invent along with the rest of the company. He remembered Sobel referring to him as "Private Bullshit", a nickname that hadn't stuck, thank God, when two women approached the CO from behind. That's when he spotted her from the crowd of Easy Company, standing beside Emilia. She was short and he could tell by the angry look on her face that she already detested Sobel's blatant superiority complex and sexism. She'd get along with the company just fine. The second time he saw her was when she was running Currahee. Her face was red like a tomato and sweaty, and her hair was pulled back in a stump-of-a ponytail that was starting to come undone. It was in no way love at first sight, to be honest he didn't think much of her at first. She was like any other person you just happen to pass in the street when you're headed somewhere of vague importance. But they wouldn't officially speak until they were in the middle of running when Muck twisted his ankle and started to collapse from the pain. Marie and Malarkey had instinctively reached out to help him when Sobel snapped at them to not assist. Marie had stuck her tongue out at the back of Sobel's head and called him an "asshole." He was surprised by her boldness – the two of them had clicked instantly.

It was strange how they'd managed to get along from the very beginning. Marie is serious, cautious, and quick-tempered, while Malarkey is the polar opposite, but befriending her felt natural. She was like a friend that he'd known for a lifetime when they first met. And that's just how she viewed her for however long, just a friend. Malarkey didn't even realize he had feelings for her until two years later, though the rest of the company seemed to have that figured out before he did. Of course he looked at her with a prowling eye on a couple occasions, he was a man after all. He noticed that her hair was a lovely shade of blonde, and he could sometimes see the outline of her bra through her white PT clothing. Not to mention she had hips that a guy could die for, but he never told her these things because he knew he could get into some deep shit talking like that when it was so clearly stated NOT to fraternize with the ladies of the company.

As the thought about it, did he even flirt with her? Ever? The two just always seemed like they were there, together from the very beginning in subtle ways that led up to where their relationship was now. Here he was lying beside her sleeping body after another session of lovemaking, stopping only when they thought they heard someone approaching the bedroom. Although Malarkey didn't want to openly admit it, there was a thrill to the secrecy and forbiddingness of their relationship and late night encounters. The two of them were regular paratroopers during the day, obedient and following orders like a loyal lap dog to America, but at night behind closed doors they were like young honeymooners unable to keep their hands off each other. Malarkey wondered how far their relationship would go, he wasn't sure if the sex was both general lust and a way to mask all the pain, or if it was because their feelings were easier expressed through actions other than words. Neither of them ever even muttered the word 'love' in a romantic-sense, as if they were afraid of it and the responsibility that came with it. He did swear that Marie had said it their first night together, but he didn't know if it was his mind playing tricks on him. Marie didn't appear to be a person who'd admit that word so easily. Malarkey did want to tell her how he truly felt, but he was afraid that he'd scare her off. Marie could be funny that way when it came to affection and acknowledging the severity of it.

He sighed another puff of smoke, hearing Marie yawn as she drowsily opened her eyes as a lopsided smile spread on her sleepy face. She extended her hand, gently caressing his forearm with the tips of his fingers. Her touch instantly warmed his skin by the small contact of intimacy.

"There's still forty-five minutes until we need to wake up for PT. You should go back to sleep." Malarkey informed her, his cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

"Then why aren't you asleep?" Marie yawned, half-awake.

"I can't sleep, so I finally did it."

"Did what?" Marie questioned, propping herself up on her forearms.

"I managed to write Faye." Malarkey reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a folded up letter. He held it in between his fingertips, his expression slightly morose as he stared at the paper.

She gestured for him to hand over the letter. She unfolded the letter and laid it on her pillow. She blinked her eyes a few times, waiting for her drowsy vision to adjust. The words appeared as if they were vibrating as she attempted to focus on them.

'Dear Faye,

Received your swell V-mail a couple of days ago and finally have found the time to answer. I had wanted to write you long ago but the government won't allow it until they are certain that enough time has elapsed.

I hardly know how to write this letter, Faye. Your loss has been so great that there is very little I can say that would in any way console you. He was my best friend and the hardest thing I've ever had to do was go on fighting after "the Skipper" was gone. I've seen a lot of them go, and I'd never seen men cry 'til that day when Skip joined the angels. Countless tears from a lot of his friends fell into the snow that day. He was without doubt the best liked person in the company – respected as a soldier – loved as the happy-go-lucky Skipper.

I've never missed Mass, Faye, and Sunday morning was always certain that I got out of the sack. That last Sunday [before Skip's death] we went to services in a snow-covered field in Belgium so we can be thankful in knowing that he was in the State of Grace.

I do hope and pray that someday I will be able to meet you. I've always felt as if I really did know you. If ever I do get back to New York I shall promise to come to Kenmore. I'd always planned to do that with Skip. I wanted to tell you how lucky I thought you were. Now I can only shudder at the anguish you must be enduring. Gosh! Faye, I wish I could spend several hours with you so I could tell you everything that I can't seem to put into words.

I hope you will write. I know he would have wanted it that way. Marie Docherty and Chuck Grant send their regards. Joe Toye is in pretty tough shape. Smitty [Burr Smith] is in the hospital, too, but will be back soon.

Love, Don'

As Marie read the words on the page grew heavier and heavier until it felt as if they were physically sitting upon her eyes. She neatly folded the letter up and handed it back to Malarkey. She turned over and sat up in the bed as Malarkey kept his eyes on the ceiling, the two of them quiet after thoughts of Muck and Emilia seemed to flood the room and suffocate them.

"I've been meaning to write to her, too. I just don't know what to say." Marie finally spoke.

Malarkey took the cigarette from his lips. "Just write and let the words flow. That's what I did." He paused, letting out a sigh, meaning to tell her something else but unsure how to say it. "Speirs wants me to go on a ten day furlough in England to help clear my mind."

Marie snapped her head in his direction. "You're leaving again?"

"Yeah, sorry." He apologized sincerely.

"But you just got back…"

"I know, I know. I'm leaving tomorrow, I'll be back before you know it." He wrapped his arms around her, in a meek effort to comfort Marie. "Rumor has it that we'll be heading to Germany soon, maybe in the next two weeks. I'll be back so we can head to Germany and end this whole war."

Marie scoffed. "Didn't everyone believe this war would be over by Christmas?"

"We're getting closer and closer to Berlin, aren't we? Back in the States it feels like peacetime again, that's what you told me."

Marie shrugged half-heartedly. "There's still more fighting to be done, the Germans haven't surrendered yet."

Malarkey kissed her softly on the forehead, on her scar that she'd received in Carentan. He felt a great weight in his chest; it felt like he was abandoning her to go have fun while she had to remain with the company and work. She deserved a break, too, but the brass was still being stubborn when it came to the equality of the female soldiers. Marie had stopped fighting the unfairness, though he could still tell it irked her constantly. Malarkey knew he wouldn't be able to relax on this furlough, either. He'd keep as busy as he could, but his mind couldn't escape death, Marie, or memories of home. Letters from home were arriving regularly, but they didn't give him that warm, fuzzy feeling like they used to. Bernice's letters had become unenthusiastic and getting less and less frequent, though the guilt of being with both Marie and Bernice had been eating away at him. In a way it was kind of a relief that Bernice and him were drifting apart.

"I guess I'll try to fall asleep again." Marie's voice had interrupted his thoughts.

He nodded. "All right." He said gently, leaning over and giving her another soft kiss on the forehead.

She nuzzled herself into her pillow as he waited a moment for her to close her eyes and for her breathing to slow. After he was positive she was asleep, Malarkey left to ready himself for tomorrow.


A few days have elapsed since Malarkey had left for England, and Marie had dedicated all of her free time to working in the aide station. Instead of having soldiers come to her with bullet wounds and bleeding gashes, they would come to her with bruises from fistfights or for treatment for a cold. Marie, herself, had been having stomach upset. She wasn't used to the richness of the food that was being served to them in Mourmelon; she'd grown so accustomed to rations and bean broth that her stomach would practically reject anything else that she ate.

"Looks like you'll have to go back to eating that brown goop again." Barbara laughed, watching Marie hunched over a metal bin, gagging as waves of nausea hit her.

In between retching Marie chuckled. "Screw you, Barb."

"No steak sandwiches for you."

Barbara's reply was the sound of Marie puking into the bin. Abernathy winced as she watched the back of Marie's hunched over and helpless figure. She had to force her eyes away, she started to feel queasy herself watching Marie cough up all the contents in her stomach.

"Hey, bumpkin, want some of my water?" Barbara offered her canteen.

Marie wiped the spittle that dribbled from her chin as she cast Barb an exhausted look over her shoulder. "Are you sure you want my backwash?"

Barbara made a disgusted face. "You're right." She twisted the cap back on her canteen. She hopped off her bed, her combat boots landing with a heavy thud against the floor. "Well I'm gonna go shoot some birds." She slung her rifle casually around her shoulder and proceeded to head for the bedroom door.

"You're going to what, Corporal?" Abernathy questioned.

"I haven't been hunting in a while, I need to sharpen my skills." Barbara answered before she left.

"So, what are we going to do now, Sergeant?" Abernathy asked timidly, breaking the silence Barb had left.

Marie sat up from the floor, wiping around her chin with the heel of her palm. She strode past Abernathy, her main concern was rinsing out her mouth and disinfecting the area. That was Marie's plan, anyway, with Malarkey gone for a few more days there wasn't much else she could do to occupy her time. As she gathered supplies to clean Marie discovered something sitting face down beside the nightstand of her bed. She went over and picked it up and immediately regretted it.

Gazing back at Marie was those familiar piercing blue eyes of the German. She felt a sharp chill run down her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. His wife, unknowing to the inner killer instinct of her husband, stared back at Marie with a giddy smile while she held her swollen belly. Malarkey had the photograph last, he'd showed it in Bastogne. He left it behind without knowing, there was no way he'd purposely leave it behind for Marie to find knowing it would taunt her.

"Is everything all right?" Abernathy questioned.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Marie responded as tersely as she could, quickly setting the photograph down face down.

Abernathy wrung nervously at her hands for a moment. She straightened out her back as Marie turned to face her, words working their way up the sheepish girl's throat. "Corporal Goode wanted the two of us to get to know each other better…" She interjected, her voice coming out strong but ending on a quiet tone.

Marie raised her eyebrows. "Okay?"

"I mean, it's been nearing a month since we've met and she thought it was a good idea…" Abernathy's meek voice failed her once again. She shied away from Marie's gaze, unable to confidently look the medic in the eye.

Mare softened as she observed the girl, feeling a little sorry for her. "Yeah, that makes since." She sat down on her bed, mustering a warm smile so Abernathy could feel welcome to the conversation. "What do you want to know, Harper?"

Abernathy sighed breathlessly in relief, a nervous grin spreading awkwardly on her face. She sat herself down on her bed in a jittery motion, folding her hands together in a thinking manner. "Well, um, where are you from?"

"Georgia."

"South Carolina."

"What were you before you ended up with Easy Company?" Marie inquired, trying to keep the conversation flowing as long as she could.

"My parents own a cotton plantation. Before the war I would help them run the business side of it, although they weren't really fond of me assisting."

"Why not?"

Abernathy's smile fell, becoming weak and small as she recalled her family. "I have three older brothers. My mother thought working on a farm was man's work, so she was training me on becoming a woman of high society. She wanted me to marry someone of the same social class of what we were born into. I didn't really enjoy that lifestyle, but they didn't care."

Marie listened to Abernathy intently, not expecting an aristocracy story to come out of Abernathy's background. If she came from a wealthy, upper-class family, how on earth did she end up fighting in the grit of what was considered a man's war?

"My parents made sure I had the best education and private tutors, but I was never a very decent student. The only things I enjoyed were languages and music practice." Abernathy chuckled lightly to herself. "I wanted to escape from the life that they had me trapped in, I wanted to actually make a difference in this world and not just end up as some tycoon's wife. My parents cut me off when I told them I enlisted."

Marie was speechless. She felt genuinely bad for Abernathy, she knew what it was like to be rejected by one parent, but two was imaginable. She must've felt so lonely when she had first joined the company, especially considering that she didn't even have a home to return to when this campaign was finished. She watched Abernathy silently suffer as the pain of being an outcast from her own family was shown plainly on her face. Marie wasn't sure how to comfort the poor girl, so she just dipped her head and let the quiet state of the room do the talking.

"What about you?" Abernathy muttered. "What did you do before the war?"

"I was a trauma nurse. I had just graduated from college and started working in a hospital a couple months before I was in Toccoa. My father is an automobile mechanic, my sister is still in school, and my brother just graduated from Fort Sill. My mother was an alcoholic that ended up dying, although she left us long ago."

There was a prolonged, stiff pause that made Marie practically itch with discomfort. Too much of their lives were exposed, and Marie hadn't even gone into the gruesome details yet. The two women remained mute as they sat on their beds, wringing their hands together and avoiding eye contact. Opening up was supposed to be a positive experience, but all it did was stick a knife into an old wound and twist until it was unbearable.

Abernathy stood up, abruptly, a smile plastered on her face that was pulled far too tight. "I was chosen to be a runner for CP today, so I should go." She dismissed herself to leave Marie sitting alone on her bed.


Days passed by as a blur to Marie whom dove headfirst into focusing on treating anybody for any condition or complaint they had. Whether it is a stomach ache, fever, or a cut on their finger, Marie was on top of everything in order to keep her mind busy and her skills sharp. The cases she received over the past week were mild and weren't even really considered full-fledged 'cases', until a soldier from F Company came gimping into the aide station tent one afternoon.

By his gritting teeth, pale and clammy skin, and favoring of his left foot Marie could instantly detect that something was amiss. She helped him onto a nearby cot. He just kept muttering 'my foot, my foot' over and over again in a strained voice as she laid him down. She unlaced his boot and pulled off his sock to check what was bothering him. His foot was swollen with large blisters and sores that were discharging pus, and his skin on his left foot seemed to be turning from red to a brownish color. The smell was just south of cheese and had already started to overpower the strong scent of antiseptic that was the usual smell that filled the aide station.

The man had trench foot, and it was a really bad case. Browning skin indicated that it would be soon be turning black, which means the tissue was dying rapidly. She scratched her head in thought, pondering whether she should even attempt to treat gangrene this severe, or send him straight to the battalion surgeon to prep him for amputation.

Marie kept her expression neutral as she observed his foot, not wanting to scare the poor soldier into worrying about his wound. She walked over to where all the supplies were kept and stacked on shelves. She took out a bottle of penicillin, a shot, anti-bacterial bandages and gauze, and sulfa powder. Even if the foot couldn't be saved, she still had to try. Turning him away didn't seem like an appropriate option. She carried the supplies over to the cot and kneeled down so she could be eye level with his foot. The soldier didn't speak; he was sweating and occasionally bared his teeth from the discomfort, but he didn't even bother to ask her questions or retort to her treatments.

Marie got to work on thoroughly scrubbing and drying his feet, ignoring the dead skin and pus that had seeped off and was now sticking to her hands. She worked diligently on making sure his feet were dry and as sterile as they could possibly become. After cleaning the infected areas she ripped open a packet of sulfa powder and poured it over his foot, although sulfanilamide was usually supposed to be applied to prevent infection, she figured it couldn't hurt to add it now. It was a shame that this soldier waited until his symptoms got this bad, but there wasn't much she could do with preventative measures now.

Marie injected the needle into the top of the penicillin vile and watched the cylinder tube absorb the antibiotics. She stuck the needle into his foot, feeling him twitch as he winced from the tenderness of the pain. The area she inserted the head of the needle into made a crackling sound as she sunk the needle deeper, which was another worrying symptom that trench foot caused. She pumped the area with as much penicillin as she could give him without overdosing, hoping to flush out the infection before it spread and started causing more decay. She started wrapping his foot with the gauze, then applied bandages to keep it in place. She gave the soldier her usual spiel about keeping his foot dry and about changing bandages. She wasn't sure if he was fully paying attention, he appeared to be bleary-eyed and turning more sickly by the minute. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand (avoiding to touch him with the pus-covered part of her hand), feeling that he had a blazing fever.

"Your trench foot is causing you to have a high fever. You're going to have to stay here for the night so you can be monitored." She informed him. She headed toward the aide station sink and started to rinse her hands off and disinfect them. The soldier grunted in a weak reply, too exhausted and delirious to form any words.

Marie laid a damp cloth on his forehead as she searched for supplies that she could use to break his fever. She heard the flap of the aide station tent open. She was too focused on her current objective to glance at who had entered to pay them any mind.

"I'm back."

Marie stopped, turning around to see Malarkey standing in the middle of the aide station. He peered over at the ill soldier on the cot, his brows furrowing as he studied his worsening condition. Malarkey seemed to slink back a moment, realizing that he'd interrupted her at a bad time. He held a letter in his hands, folded up as if he were going to present it to her.

"Sorry, this looks like a bad time." Malarkey began, starting to back out of the tent.

Marie didn't want him to leave, he'd only been gone ten days but it felt like too long. "No, I could use your help." She welcomed with a tired smile. Malarkey joined her as she made her way beside the cot. She dabbed the cloth on the soldier's forehead, letting the cool water help reduce his temperature.

"He's running a bad fever, huh?" Malarkey questioned in a hushed voice.

Marie nodded. "I don't really have anything else to give him, I pumped him with so much penicillin that he's just going to have to starve this fever out."

"When's the last time you slept?" Malarkey asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Marie shrugged. "It's not like I can rest now, I've got a patient to watch over."

"Barb told me you haven't left the aide station."

Marie didn't respond, she continued to dab around the soldier's face with the washcloth.

"Faye sent another letter while I was gone. It just arrived." Malarkey added.

"Really? That was quick. I just sent out my letter to her yesterday."

"Want to read it? I'd like you to read over it." Malarkey gestured for her to take the letter. Her tired eyes landed on the folded paper, making him pull it back. "Actually I'll read it to you." He unfolded it and began to read while she watched over the solider.

'Dear Faye,

Just returned from a grand furlough in London and your swell letter was a real treat.

I'm sorry to hear you had been sick, Faye, but I'm sure that by this time you must be back to normal and enjoying yourself as much as possible in these days of war. Though I'll have to admit the way it's going now anything could happen. It's hard to believe that the Rhine is so far behind the line these days.

This damn war has been going so long that when it finally does end I won't be able to believe it.

I know how hard it is for you to realize Skip is gone. And how hard it must be to forget. I don't think things always happen for the best – they just happen and we have to try to adjust ourselves accordingly.

Perhaps we can console ourselves in that he is in a happier place where there is always peace and not the misery and horror of a crazy world at war.

I'm afraid that the telegram is official. The chaplain does write the family but it does take time. It's hell to think Skip's mother is still hoping. His personal things are also to be sent home by the chaplain. I'm sure that in time they will arrive.

Well, Faye, I'll close for now. I'm getting along great in spite of this G.D. life. You needn't worry about haunting me. I'll come to Kenmore with Marie. If anyone or anything ever does.

Love, Don'

As Malarkey folded up the letter he could see Marie's lips drawn in a thin line as she fought off the urge to cry. Exhaustion mixed with sadness had set in and he could see her fumbling with the washcloth as she attempted to keep dabbing it around the soldier's face.

"Let's get Roe or Spina in here so you can take a break and get some rest."