Hello my wonderful readers, how are you today? Sorry, I'm still a bit hyped. I got a full-time job at the company I interned with and I just binged The Mandalorian and can't get the theme out of my head.
Anyway: I just wanted to thank you all for reading my work and leaving such uplifting and kind reviews. I am so happy that you enjoy my writing!
Now on with the story. Be warned, things are going to get worse before they get better. (Gosh, I started working on episode 7 yesterday and I already made myself cry once...)
In the early hours of Christmas Day, Catherine walked the line, lost in thought. Snow creaked under her boots, the cold creeping up her limbs and down her collar. Her anger at the officers had dispelled, the heaviness of Jessica's death returning to the forefront of her mind. She couldn't help but think of Jess' two little brothers, David and Fabian. They were only eleven. In fact, as Jessica had told her not two months ago, when they had sat huddled together in a foxhole in Holland, Fabian's birthday was on Christmas Eve.
How would that affect the little boy? The fact that from now on, his birthday would always be also the day his big sister, his hero, lost her life? Catherine couldn't even begin to imagine.
Mr and Mrs Helak would receive a telegram from the war department. Sometime later, Jessica's personal effects would be sent to them. And after that, they'd receive the 10,000-dollar life insurance most, if not all, paratroopers had signed up for.
A poor recompense for their daughter's life. For the fact that the joy of Christmas Eve and their youngest son's birthday would forever be tainted by their daughter's death.
.
Forcing the thoughts from her mind because this was the absolutely wrong time for pessimism and melancholy, the ranking medic crouched down at the lip of a foxhole and lifted the tarp.
The next thing she knew, she was staring up into the snow-grey darkness, no air in her lungs and a searing pain lancing through her gut.
Somebody yelled her name.
Catherine was on her back without knowing how or why. Snow soaked into her clothes and hair. Where had her helmet gone? Small spots of cold registered on her face where snowflakes landed.
"Oh shit", the same person swore before screaming for a medic.
Something warm and sticky was spreading on her stomach and running down her side. It felt wet. Why does it hurt? What happened?
A moan tore at her throat.
"Oh fuck, oh God", the same voice rambled. "Shit! MEDIC! God, I'm sorry, Doc, I'm so sorry, I gotta do this."
Then, hands pressed down onto the pain in her stomach and she screamed. Black dots swirled before her eyes. She didn't feel all that cold anymore. Odd, a tiny voice remarked, just as the black vortex swallowed her field of vision.
"Fuck, where's the goddamn medic?! MEDIC!"
That was the last Catherine heard.
The solitary gunshot had had everyone ducking for cover. When Malarkey's voice – pitched high and horrified – split through the frigid air, half of second platoon saw Doc Arricante fly past a heartbeat later, her boots kicking up fluffs of powdered snow.
.
Appearing out of the fog- and snow-hazed night, Mia came to such an abrupt halt that Malarkey was honestly astonished that she kept her balance. What little colour the cold had left on her face drained away. But she didn't hesitate for even the smallest of moments and dropped to her knees beside him. Wads of gauze found their way into her small hands from seemingly out of nowhere and he quickly scooted aside to give her room to work.
Everyone with a foxhole in the vicinity was craning their necks and peering over the lip of their hole. Only a handful of the neighbouring foxholes' occupants had witnessed the incident that had caused this commotion. And yet, nobody seemed able to fully comprehend what just happened.
Luz managed to shake himself out of his stupor when his ears caught a string of murmured German slipping from Mia's cracked lips and he made himself useful by calling for a jeep. He told himself that it was the cold making his fingers clumsy as he fumbled for the radio receiver.
The rest of the men could only watch as one female medic worked to save the life of the other, breaths caught in their throats.
"I- Is…is she dead?"
The tremulous query had Malarkey's head swivelling around so fast that he nearly snapped his neck. He stared at Keener, the replacement he'd been sharing his foxhole with for the past three hours because Keener's buddy was out on the CP. The twitchy idiot that had just shot their sister-in-arms.
Before he could open his mouth to form a reply – he wasn't feeling too sympathetic, his emotional capacity overwhelmed with fear for their ranking medic, so maybe it was just as well – the younger of the two women responsible for saving their lives and patching up their asses fifty times over beat him to it.
"No", Mia said without turning her head, her soft voice travelling effortlessly in the worry-thick air. Her hands were busy packing gauze into the hole in Catherine's side. "She's alive."
.
Audible puffs of relief shattered some of the tension at her proclamation, loud in contrast to the strange hush that had fallen over the area. NCOs began refocusing their guys onto the line. Replacements had their helmets slapped and admonishments of "watch the damn line" were given. The veterans still glanced back every now and then, curiosity and concern compelling them.
Mia's focused eyes, pools of unfathomable, unreadable blue, flickered to Malarkey. He just barely managed to contain the flinch, but his stomach dropped like a bag of bricks – like Catherine had. Never in the more than two years of knowing her had he seen unflappable and quiet Doc Arricante look so plainly and openly rattled.
She held his gaze for only a second before it shifted back to her patient, superior and friend. Two blood-coated fingers easily found the pulse point on Catherine's neck, rested over the reassuring, soft thumps for a moment.
"Wach auf, Catherine", she murmured. "Bitte."
First Sergeant Lipton crouched down next to the unconscious medic's head. "Luz is calling a jeep", he told Mia.
The taciturn brunette bobbed her head in acknowledgement, deftly unfurling a bandage and wrapped it around Catherine's midsection. Another followed.
.
Captain Winters and Lieutenant Nixon came to investigate. Mia assured them that Catherine would most likely be alright, but left other explanations to Malarkey. Satisfied that her friend wasn't in immediate danger of bleeding out on her anymore, she set about trying to rouse her from unconsciousness.
She was rewarded with a low groan and a flutter of eyelids. "Can you open your eyes, Mom?", she coaxed, the words an ingrained routine by now.
A bleary blink revealed a flash of brown, but Catherine's lids seemed to be too heavy for they closed again on their own accord. "Wha' happened?", she wondered in a mumbled whisper, rough around the edges and scratchy with pain.
Mia told her, somehow managing to blend matter-of-fact with soothing in her tone. "You got shot."
"Ah..." She grimaced, fingers grasping at the ground. "It…hurts", she breathed.
Lip took a hold of Catherine's hand, squeezing it gently. "You're gonna be okay, Catherine."
"Mmhh…", she grunted, face scrunched up. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she gasped for air that wouldn't reach her lungs.
Mia's brows drew together in a startlingly clear sign of distress. She shoved a blood-stained hand into her satchel and pulled out one of her last remaining syrettes. Sticking it in Catherine's shoulder, she rubbed her friend's arm. "It will feel better soon."
Catherine only managed a strangled noise before pain and blood loss pulled her away from lucidity once more.
.
Lipton, perceptive and empathetic as always, didn't miss the tiny hitch in Mia's breath as Catherine passed out again. Just like he didn't miss the flash of fear crossing that guarded, masked expression. Or the way those small, almost childlike fingers trembled when they moved to feel Catherine's pulse again.
He reached out, put his hand on the brunette's shoulder. It felt thin and bony. Her muscles tensed under his hand and for a second, Lip expected her to shrug him off. An exhale later, she relaxed, turned her head a little so she could look at him.
Her face was cold-bitten and so pale that it even swallowed the scars on her chin and cheekbone. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a small smile so incongruous to the lost, frightened look deep inside her eyes. She was shaking, he could feel it through the worn fabric of her jacket.
The growling engine of a jeep broke the taut quiet.
"Malarkey", Lipton ordered, "give us a hand."
Between the three of them, they carried Catherine to the jeep. With the driver's assistance, they got the ranking medic settled in the back of the vehicle. Mia climbed in and crouched down beside her, reading a bottle of plasma for a transfusion.
The driver wasted no time in sliding behind the wheel again. "Hold tight!", he called. He didn't wait for any reaction from the young woman in the back, simply hitting the gas instead.
The jeep lurched forward and barrelled off, leaving behind a solemn cluster of soldiers that was still grappling with the shock they had just suffered.
Catherine had woken up when they reached Bastogne. She was groggy and unable to properly focus on her surroundings as she drifted on the haze of morphine, but she was awake. Awake enough to notice the nuances in her friend's murmurs.
"Mia", she mumbled, wrenching her eyes open with inordinate effort.
The soothing melody of German whispers stopped. "Yes?"
Mia's face swam into her fuzzy view.
"Are you…okay?"
A shaky huff of laughter reached her ears. The smile on Mia's lips was pained. "I'm not the one with a hole in her stomach", the younger woman said softly.
"Don't..." She blinked, pulled in a breath that sent sharp twinges through her gut. "Don't…" – her eyes refused to stay open, much to her displeasure – "…worry about me. 'm gonna be fine."
She could hear a faint trace of a real smile in her voice as Mia answered: "I know. You'll be back soon."
"Mhm."
.
Mia couldn't help but stare at the smouldering piles of bricks and timber, the charred ruins and hollowed shells of buildings. The first pale hues of dawn deepened the shadows lurking in empty windows and gaping doorways, made the jagged remainders of walls loom taller. It was almost surreal. The house with the askew shutter five streets down from the fountain was reduced to rubble. The roof of that former restaurant had come down. The aid station was destroyed.
There were still fires burning from the attacks of the night. People were running to fill bucket after bucket to put out the flames. Medical personnel hurried around in the organised chaos and volunteers searched for survivors.
"Air raid", the driver said, as if Mia couldn't tell. She caught his disgusted sneer in the rear-view mirror. "Damn Krauts don't even have the respect to hold a cease-fire for Christmas. Fucking bastards."
She stayed silent.
Bill Guarnere prided himself on his ability to always have an ear on the ground when it came to Easy and his men. So of course, when he heard that Catherine, their beloved and respected ranking medic, had been shot, he immediately set out to get the whole story.
His first stop was, predictably, Maxine. The tall Washingtonian was thoroughly unsurprised to see him and offered him a warm, if somewhat strained smile. "You heard about Mom."
"Yeah. What happened? Krauts have been quiet since the last barrage."
The discerning hazel gaze dropped and she sighed. "The shot didn't come from the enemy line, Bill", she said, eyes rising back up to him.
He swore.
Maxine simply nodded wearily, too tired and strung out to scold him for his language. "If you want the whole story, Malarkey's your best bet", she told him, knowing that this was what he wanted. "He saw everything."
Guarnere acknowledged with a grunt and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Wanna come?", he asked.
She shook her head, explaining that she'd better go and bully their battalion commander into getting some rest.
The platoon sergeant laughed and promised with a gleeful grin to stop by her foxhole later to fill her in.
"Alright", she said, "see you then."
.
Malarkey was with Luz, Heffron and Toner and another wide-eyed replacement whose name Guarnere couldn't remember. Howards? Hutchins? From the sounds of it, Luz was currently recounting the time he had tricked Sobel into thinking Major Horton had joined them on a manoeuvre.
"Oh hey Guarnere", Luz greeted him over the laughter of his audience. "Any news?"
He shook his head. "No. Heard about Mom."
That sobered the mood quite effectively. Malarkey's mouth twisted into a frown. "Stupid accident", he grumbled.
Bill crossed his arms to ward off the persistent chill in the air. "What happened?"
Between Malarkey and Luz, he quickly had the complete story – including emotions that he agreed with. Stupid accident indeed. Or rather, stupid jumpy replacement. Or stupid siege that had them stuck in this stupid forest. "Damn", he muttered. He hadn't been there to see it but the image Malarkey's recount had painted of Catherine collapsing in a boneless heap wasn't a pretty one.
Luz nodded sombrely, but added an optimistic: "Mia said she should be okay."
Toner looked doubtful. "It looked pretty bad", he said quietly.
"Our medics are tough as nails", Bill said breezily, waving a hand. "The craziest and bravest bastards of the entire division. A little bullet wound's not gonna stop them."
He was exaggerating, he knew that. But the sentiment was true. In a way, being a medic required more guts than being a soldier. Because they were out in the field unarmed, running around under fire to save lives, even when they were hurt and exhausted themselves.
Malarkey bobbed his head distractedly, though his expression didn't clear up. "I've never seen Mia look so upset, though", he said, thinking back to the flash of naked panic on the youngest medic's pale face.
Luz bit his lip, choosing not to mention that he had and that he had only himself to blame.
"That girl's been alone behind enemy line twice, but she didn't look so scared then", Malarkey continued. "She's always so unreadable and calm, and she looked so shaken."
.
Guarnere huffed a decisive breath through his nose, joining their little circle. "Doc Arricante has more guts than any of us", he drawled with matter-of-fact casualty, though there was a line of iron underneath, aimed at the newer guys. "She's friends with Lieutenant Speirs, yelled at the Germans in their trenches and eavesdropped on the enemy."
Toner's jaw dropped and Babe couldn't contain a stunned "Whoa." Then he frowned. "She yelled at the Germans?", he repeated.
The veterans grinned, recalling the scene. Nerve-wrecking then, it was now one of the many moments that strengthened their respect and appreciation for the female members of their company.
"Why did she do that?", the replacement whose name Bill was pretty sure began with H wondered in an awed whisper.
The three Toccoa men shared a glance, silent communication taking place.
"Well, fellas", Luz began as he had just been nominated to tell this particular story. "It was in Normandy. We were in another one of those goddamned fields, us in one hedgerow, the Germans in the other. Now, one thing you gotta know is that the medics don't care what side you're on. You're hit, they patch you up, no matter what uniform you wear-"
Unfortunately, not all soldiers took kindly to an enemy medic taking care of one of their own.
One day, in another field, in another skirmish with the Germans, several members of Easy's first platoon watched in a mixture of disbelief, awe and outrage as Mia Arricante came under fire while she belly-crawled towards a prone, writhing form on the ground.
"Fucking Krauts!", Cobb cursed, glaring at the muzzle flashes in the other hedgerow as if it would stop the bullets from leaving the gun barrels.
Frances watched with baited breath, rifle clutched in her hands, fear for her friend making her heartbeat overly loud in her head.
"Damnit, Doc", Sergeant Martin groused, squinting to see the young medic's thin figure, "you trying to get yourself killed?"
The firing from the other trenches petered out, but one machine gun continued spewing round after round over the woman's head. Several sharp gasps hissed out when one bullet grazed the top of her helmet with a sharp scraping sound.
Louise murmured: "Bleeding Christ, Mia, you're out of your ruddy tree", a white-knuckled grip on her M-1 Garand.
Mia had reached her destination, but as soon as she made a move to pull herself into a more upright position, another volley of bullets spat up dirt uncomfortably close to her. She flinched back down, horribly exposed with only the weakly moving body of the wounded soldier as cover.
"Get out of there, get out of there", Nixon chanted under his breath, binoculars virtually glued to his eyes.
Another attempt to help the man was hampered by the incessant gunfire aimed towards her. She knew that the longer she waited, the lower the man's chances of survival sunk.
Taking a deep breath, Mia tried again. A bullet whizzed past her ear and she ducked low, bending protectively over the badly wounded man. Her ear was on his chest and the raspy sound of his breathing was anything but encouraging.
Later, she would look back and wonder what had possessed her in that moment. Whether it was a bout of insanity, desperation or just sheer stupidity, she could never tell with absolute certainty.
Whatever the case might be, the medic ended up baffling everyone including herself as she raised her head the fraction of an inch and shouted at the Germans. Her voice travelled on the wind so that Easy could hear her crystal clear in their hedgerow.
"Hör endlich auf zu schiessen, verdammt nochmal!", she yelled, helpless anger in her tone. "Ich versuche ihm zu helfen, du hirnverbrannter Trottel!"
The gunfire ceased immediately. A stunned silence settled over the battle field like a leaden blanket as all eyes were upon Mia. A shadow broke away from the German trenches, climbing up and stepping out into the open to reveal a Kraut medic, who hurried over to assist.
In Easy's trenches, several fingers twitched on triggers, but nobody moved. The entire company, as well as their enemy, seemed to be collectively holding their breath while the two medics worked on their patient.
An eternity later, the German medic gave Mia a pat on the shoulder and jerked his head in the universal signal for 'Get out of here'. She nodded and got up, casting a furtive glance towards the enemy line before breaking out into a run, booking it back to her line.
"She really did that?" Babe seemed to be caught somewhere between admiration, shock and glee.
Guarnere shot his fellow Philadelphian a grin a mile wide. "Yeah, she did."
"What did she say?", H- something or other wanted to know.
He shrugged. "No idea. Think Eddie Stein said she called the guy a brainless bonehead."
"She yelled at him to stop firing and that she was trying to help", Luz supplied, beaming proudly around his cigarette.
"Are all medics this crazy?", Toner blurted, making the Toccoa men cackle.
"Yeah", Popeye chimed in. Their audience had grown, several others drifting over to listen. "Remember how they gave Sobel that fake appendix scar in basic?"
A number of jaws went slack. "They what?!"
.
Cheerfully, Malarkey recounted that particular story which had cemented Easy's resolve to never ever get on their medics' bad side. He said as much, which prompted Hoobler to remind them of the time Catherine had broken up a barfight in Aldbourne.
The replacements gaped, eyes wide as they stared at the veterans who winced or snickered, the incident obviously hard to forget.
"Oh man, that was a good one", Popeye laughed. "She was spitting mad. Marched right into the middle, grabbed 'em fighters by the ear and pulled them off each other. And then read everyone the riot act."
Luz rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing as he recalled the spectacular tongue-lashing the Hawaiian had unleashed on the dishevelled brawlers and guilty bystanders. It had left even the most combative and hot-headed soldiers shame-faced and contrite.
"Yeah, that was one hell of a dressing-down", Bill nodded. Catherine's words had been harsh and unsympathetic, full of disappointed anger, but true and never below the belt. Which had made it all the worse. "My ears were still ringing a day later."
Talbert's laugh turned into a scratchy cough as he commented: "Be glad you got off with only a lecture."
A telling look passed between the veterans. A muscle in Bill's jaw tensed and even the expressions of Luz and Malarkey turned unusually dark. Babe frowned at the sudden shift in mood. Before he could ask what Talbert meant by that, however, Hughes beat him to it.
.
The Toccoa men glanced at each other again. This time, their wordless conversation ended with Guarnere blowing a sharp puff of air through his nose and fixing Babe, Toner and the new kid – Hughes, that was his name, he remembered – with a look that left no room for nonsense or argument.
"Our girls ain't some damsels in distress", he said, straight to the point as he always did. "They don't take shit from anybody and if a guy thinks he can have his way with them, he'll have another thing coming."
Toner scrunched up his face. "They- um…" He fumbled for the right words to phrase the question without getting punched in the mouth. "Somebody tried to… you know, tried to…" He trailed off.
"-get fresh?", a hoarse but distinctly accented voice suggested. Hughes jumped half a foot in the air while Toner let out a startled squawk.
"Proposition us? Cop a feel? Take advantage?", Louise continued, her grey eyes steely, a blonde brow arched.
Toner only managed a lame nod, the sniper's sharp gaze making him slightly uneasy. He fervently hoped he hadn't offended her…
"Louise…", Bill started, though nobody knew whether it was a caution, reproach or an aborted reminder that she wasn't required to answer.
She shook her head, but softened her expression. "Several have tried", she said, blunt but without any heat. "Mind you, it doesn't happen as often as it did back during the first months of basic training, but every time a new wave of replacements arrive, a few of them think propositioning us will prove their prowess and masculinity."
Disgusted eyerolls, sneers and grimaces all around. Babe couldn't help but wonder what somebody as fierce as Louise would do to a man who didn't keep his hands to himself.
"They usually lose the bravado when they hear about the Samaria", Muck piped up, a wicked and mildly worrisome glint to his smile.
A burst of nasty-sounding coughs wracked Louise's frame, through which she croaked out a sharkish: "They should."
.
Hughes looked back and forth between the veterans, puzzled and clueless. Unlike Babe and Toner, he hadn't heard even a throw-away comment, much less the whole story, yet. "The Samaria?"
The veterans glanced at Louise whose nostrils flared. "The troop ship that took us to England", she said with a shrug that was nonchalant to the casual observer's eye, her voice still gravelly from coughing. "Some lowlifes cornered three of us Easy's girls in a hallway, they put up a fight and the shit stains were sent off with their tails between their legs."
Her eyes moved to Luz and she resolutely switched topics by asking: "Luz, d'you still have any chocolate in your stockpile? I'll trade you two packs of smokes for one bar."
His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Two full packs?", he questioned. Louise wasn't one for short-changing and hustling, but that was quite the offer she was making.
He received one of her exasperated stares. "Yes, two full packs of cigarettes", she confirmed, impatience tempered with soft concern. "Now do you have some chocolate or not?"
Luz raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Yeah yeah, keep your shirt on. What's the rush?"
"I've got a medic to check on."
The light of comprehension dimmed the sparkle in his eyes as he quickly reached for his pack and dug out a slightly squished chocolate bar. He tossed it to the sniper, who caught it with ease, her free hand already pulling out the promised payment.
Luz accepted one pack, but didn't make any move to take the other. "Give that to Mia", he said when she cocked her head in a silent question. "She traded her last one for penicillin yesterday."
Louise dipped her head in acquiescence, lips quirking into some semblance of a smile. "Cheers, Luz." She put the chocolate and the remaining pack of smokes back into the folds of her jacket and said: "Right, gents, don't let me keep you from your teatime chat."
She caught Luz' eye and gave him a nod before walking away to the sound of Hughes asking why people called Catherine "Mom".
And while the Brit returned to her foxhole and pressed the chocolate bar into the small cold-pale hands of her dear friend, Theresa sat with her knees to her chest, staring at one of the slips of paper her brother had sent her in his last letter, keeping her mind suitably distracted by the puzzle he'd written on it in his flowing and clear handwriting.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon writing and rewriting the letter for Jessica's family. A sad total of thirteen pages had been balled up or even ripped to pieces before she had finally managed to get it right.
Dear Mr and Mrs Helak
My name is Theresa Nolan and I am writing to you on behalf of the women of Easy Company. By the time this letter reaches you, you will no doubt have been notified of your daughter's death. We are truly sorry for your loss and wish to offer our sincerest condolences.
As Jessica's squad sergeant, I have gotten to know your daughter very well and quickly came to admire her tenacity and loyalty. Even in the direst situations, Jess lightened the mood with a snarky comment or a clever joke. In fact, she had a reputation for offering sarcastic commentary during firefights.
She spoke often of her family and it was always obvious that she loved you all very much. She was so proud of her little brothers and would never turn down an opportunity to tell a funny story or two about all the mischief she had gotten into with David and Fabian. Jessica was a great story-teller, something she claimed to have inherited from you, Mrs Helak. Thanks to her wonderful skill, she managed to ward off the boredom of a long shift on watch as she told us Polish folk tales and legends.
It was a privilege to serve with your daughter and we miss her. Please know that Jessica died fighting for the country and the people she loved.
Yours sincerely
Theresa Nolan, Maxine Lloyd, Frances Shea, Ana María Hernandez, Louise Fields, Mia Arricante
It sat in her breast pocket for now, carefully folded as envelopes were hard to come by in this accursed forest. Theresa sighed and scratched at her nose. Either this puzzle really was as difficult as it seemed right now or the cold and lack of sleep were taking more out of her than she realised.
"Theresa."
"Hey Lip", she replied absently, eyebrows drawn together as she continued to puzzle over the riddle.
The First Sergeant settled next to her and despite her focus being on the paper in her hand, she could feel his assessing, caring gaze studying her.
She pretended not to notice. "My brother set me some new puzzles in his last letter", she said instead. She turned her wrist so he could read the riddle. "Any ideas?"
"Reese…" Concern joined the sympathy and understanding he radiated, the gentle inflection telling her that there was no need to put up a charade.
"He's taken them from this book he was reading. He thought I'd like them", Theresa continued, keeping her tone light and nonchalant. Despite its futility, she still held some semblance of hope that he'd play along.
Lip heaved a sigh, barely audible, and ignored her distraction attempt. "How are you doing, Reese?", he asked.
.
It was her turn to sigh. Theresa set the riddle down in her lap and turned her head to look at him. She regarded him wearily, brown gaze rational and honest as always. "What do I have to say to get you to stop looking at me like that, sir?"
"Like what, Theresa?"
She shot him a 'Cut the crap'-look. "Like you're just waiting for me to fall apart. I'm not going to say I'm okay because I'm not, but I've broken down over Jess and then I pulled myself together because my squad needs me."
Those kind eyes bored into her. The young woman met them. "Lip", she said when she saw the worry in his expression, the doubt that came from having heard the words 'I'm fine' far too often when they weren't true. "I'm doing alright, considering. I could sleep for a month and I'm so cold that I keep checking my nose for icicles and I have lost enough friends to last me a lifetime, but that's just how everyone feels."
He nodded, acknowledging the truth of her statement. "If you need to talk", he offered with a smile, "I'm here."
She smiled back. "Thanks, Lip. I appreciate it. Sorry for jumping down your throat like that."
"It's alright", he waved off. "I've had worse."
That drew a chortle from her. "Did Liebgott snarl at you too while Louise was gone?"
The look he gave her said it all. Theresa rolled her eyes and shook her head with an exasperated laugh.
"Now, want some help on that puzzle?", Lipton asked, smoothly changing the subject now that he was reassured that Theresa was as alright as she could be.
She held the paper out to him.