Hello everyone and welcome back to another chapter of Women of War. I'm sorry this update is late again. I'm not doing so well currently for a number of reasons - one being that winter is coming and it's cold and dark when I leave the house in the morning and it's cold and dark when I come back in the evening... thank you SAD...
Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know if you have any ideas and as always, constructive criticism is welcome :)
The CP was filled with quiet but focused activity. Speirs and Lipton were discussing the patrol and who to send. Luz and Vest bustled back and forth, busy with the supplies and about a dozen other things that needed to be done.
As Mia went through her stack of paperwork, signing off on the shipment of medical supplies and checking the inventory sheets against the requisition forms and what they'd actually gotten, she let the murmur of background noise wash over her.
"Hey Mia?"
Humming a light "Hm?" to indicate that she was listening, she ticked off the items on the inventory sheet.
"What's with that package you got from C Company?", Luz wanted to know, rummaging through a box of ammunitions. "Why'd they owe you a favour?"
"Oh, that." She scribbled her signature onto yet another dotted line. "I found them some things in Holland."
She's been bounced around between the companies at that time, medics getting wounded or sick all across the regiment while they were slugging through the flooded fields and fighting against railguns. During her stint with Charlie Company, they'd been caught in an air raid before taking the town. Flooded with casualties on those days, Mia had put her scrounging abilities to good use the day before she'd been relieved, gathering medical supplies, food and odds and ends like soap or sweets.
Luz made an understanding noise and asked: "So what did they get you?"
"Um…" She looked up then, making a vague gesture towards the package which still sat on the piano. Ingwer. Kamille. Salbei. Honig. She couldn't find the words in English, so she shrugged helplessly and said: "Stuff to make tea that helps against illness."
The way Luz' eyes lit with relief let a small smile blossom across her lips. Mia knew how much he worried, saw the grief and concern tucked under layers of humour, jokes and banter.
He smiled back and gave her a light nudge. "I'll find you some hot water then."
"Thanks, George."
.
Reality returned far too soon to dispel their moment of companionship when Alley entered the CP, a supporting arm slung around Ana María's back. The sound of mortar blasts followed them inside from the distance. Mia set down the clipboard after hastily signing the last sheet of her paperwork and went to meet them.
Ana María was chalky pale and her usually cheerful expression tight with discomfort. One hand fisted into Alley's jacket, she moved slowly and gingerly, a far cry from her vivacious and energetic personality.
"This is why I hate the cold", she grumbled through a few deliberate breaths. "Makes you sick in all the nastiest ways."
Mia chuckled. "Let's go upstairs. There is a bed for you there."
The Puerto Rican's brows rose before pulling into a doubtful frown. "Upstairs? I can hardly stand on my own and you want me to climb stairs?"
"Don't worry, we'll help you", Mia said with a reassuring smile.
"I know that. But what if I have to pee?"
While Alley flushed and coughed awkwardly, Mia simply shrugged and eased her friend's concern. "It has a toilet upstairs. And I am going to be here."
.
With Alley supporting her, Ana María was soon shuffling into a bedroom that had seen better days. Peeling, faded wallpaper, scratched floorboards and a rug whose original colour was impossible to make out.
But there was a bed with fresh sheets and clean pillows and for Ana María, that was more than enough. She sank down onto the mattress with a tired grunt and let herself tip to the side, dark eyes closing in relief only to fly open a split second later as vertigo hit. She lurched forward, nearly falling off the bed and promptly vomited into the bucket Mia had shoved under her chin in a lightning-quick motion that spoke of experience and anticipation.
Rubbing soothing circles on Ana María's back, Alley looked to the medic, concern furrowing his brows. "Are you sure she's okay?", he asked. "Wouldn't it be better if she went to a hospital?"
Mia shrugged, lips twisted in a sympathetic smile. "They can't do anything more either."
A string of heated Spanish rose in protest in between bouts of gagging and dry heaving. Alley only understood one word out of fifteen, but it was abundantly clear that Ana María refused to go to a hospital.
"Shh, ganz ruhig, Ana. You don't need the hospital right now", Mia assured her gently, setting the bucket aside once she was sure Ana María wouldn't need it anymore for a while. Alley didn't look entirely convinced, so she added: "Don't worry. This happens sometimes. Have you never had an ear infection?"
He shook his head, but seemed relieved at her lack of worry over Ana María's nausea. "Not really. At least I don't think so."
"Lucky you", the Puerto Rican chimed in groggily, trying to get her limbs to comply as Mia manoeuvred her out of her gear with practised ease. She blinked at him, grimace of discomfort on her face. "It sucks."
.
Getting Ana María settled was a matter of minutes. Her webbing and equipment were placed on the nearby chair, the jacket hung over the back and her boots placed next to the bed. With Mia easing her down, she gingerly rolled onto her side and got comfortable.
Alley patted her lower thigh. "Get some rest so you'll be better soon", he said with a fond look on his face.
"Mhm." She gave him a warm smile.
Mia picked up the bucket and promised to come back soon with something to soothe her upset stomach before leaving the room, Alley trailing behind her. They headed downstairs and parted ways, Alley returning to his squad and Mia ducking outside to clean the bucket before finding Luz, who had some boiling water waiting for her. He'd also fetched her package of herbs and spices from the piano.
Chamomile, sage and ginger were left to steep for a few minutes, during which the radioman doubling as supply officer/runner pressed a fresh cup of coffee into the hands of the tired young medic. "You on rounds today?", he asked, twirling a pencil through his fingers.
"Nu-uh", she replied around a sip of coffee. "Gene."
He chuckled and joked: "So you're on sick duty."
She hummed an affirmative into her cup, the smile almost reaching her eyes. Hearing Lipton cough in the adjacent room, a thought popped into her head. "Can you tell me the way to OP2?"
"Uh…yeah, sure." He gave her the directions, which were simple enough. "Why?"
"Heffron has one of the heating canteens."
Luz perked up as he caught on and he offered to tend to the tea so she could go to the outpost. With a grateful smile, Mia accepted. "You can take out the … floating thingies in a minute or so. Tell Ana she should drink it slowly, but when it's still warm."
Bobbing his head in understanding and snickering over the phrase 'floating thingies', he playfully shooed her out.
The atmosphere at OP2 was fraught with tension, thick and cloying as it hung in the air. Second platoon had just heard of the patrol that was planned for the night, plunging morale into a pit of resigned frustration.
From his spot by the window, Lieutenant Jones observed the soldiers now under his command. Sergeant Fields had slumped down onto the nearest bunk, but only after touching base with Sergeant Malarkey, who had then practically pushed her towards the bed. A man with dark hair and sharp features settled next to her. Jones didn't hear what they said, but the exchange quickly turned into an argument.
He had half a mind to intervene and remind the soldier whose name he didn't know yet that Sergeant Fields was his superior, but he had a feeling that the blonde sniper wouldn't appreciate his interference. Besides, everyone in the room apart from himself seemed distinctly unconcerned and mainly entertained by the bickering pair's rapid-fire back and forth.
"Best leave them to it, sir", Sergeant Malarkey advised with a shrug, catching his confusion.
"Will this be a problem?", he asked. If those two couldn't work together, he'd either make sure to keep them separate on missions or even try and get one of them reassigned.
The sergeant gave him a droll look, like he didn't see the issue. "It's Louise and Liebgott", he said as if that explained everything. "That's just what they do."
Jones considered asking him to elaborate, but ultimately decided against it. He was already the proverbial fish out of water in this group of battle-weary veterans, he didn't want them to think he was stupid, too.
.
Footsteps approached on the stairs and a moment later, the medic from the CP entered. She tossed a light "Hey" into the room, her blue eyes skimming over the occupants. She too was completely unfazed by the ongoing verbal sparring match between Fields and Liebgott.
The men acknowledged the unexpected arrival with a smattering of greetings, no one looking overly puzzled by her appearance. Jones couldn't help but notice that she made no effort to salute him or any of the other soldiers that outranked her. Instead, Arricante turned to the redhead – Heffron – and asked: "Do you still have the heating canteen?"
The lieutenant wondered if she'd misspoken, but Heffron just nodded and began digging through his bag.
"Who's it for, Doc?", McClung wanted to know.
"Lipton."
The room went still. All eyes were on the brunette, apprehension and worry on the faces.
Malarkey squared his shoulders like he was bracing for something, and asked: "How is he?"
The young woman's blue eyes were warm as she smiled. "Stubborn. But he is doing better."
The tension snapped like a rubber band. Malarkey sagged a little and even Liebgott's sharkish smile turned bright and genuine at the news.
"Ah-ha!", Heffron made as he unearthed a dented metal container from his bag. He held it out to Arricante, who took it with a grateful "Thanks."
.
A whooshing whine filled their ears and the soldiers exploded into action.
"C'mon, let's move!", Malarkey shouted, snatching Jones by the sleeve.
The men leapt from their bunks and raced for the door, helmets and rifles in hand.
"Go, go, go!"
Sergeant Fields' voice rose through the scramble, barking orders to stay low and take cover.
They thundered downstairs, shoulders hunched as the building shook, and dove under tables and into corners.
.
Just as soon as the attack had begun, it was over. The echo of the last detonation trailed off and while the dust and dirt falling from the ceiling started to settle, chuckles drifted through the room that quickly grew into exhilarated laughter.
Flabbergasted, Lieutenant Jones stared at those combat veterans, laughing like this shelling had been nothing more than fireworks on the 4th of July. Sgt. Malarkey, who stood in the archway at the foot of the stairs, gave the ceiling a long-suffering look and shook off the dust with a chortle. The men got up from where they had taken cover, their spirits higher than he'd seen them ever since he'd reached the outpost.
Even Arricante was smiling as she climbed to her feet. She moved around the men to speak to Malarkey, trading a few murmured words with him that had him offering her a smile and a light pat on the shoulder. And with a simple "See you later", she slipped outside and disappeared down the street.
If the reactions of the veterans – or rather, the lack thereof – were anything to go by, Jones concluded that this wasn't unusual for the medic. Webster would later clue him in that Doc Arricante was as stealthy as she was taciturn.
Jogging back to the CP, Mia dodged a few errant mortar strikes that were clearly just shots in the dark since they hit nothing of consequence.
A coughing fit niggled at the back of her throat and she tugged the collar of her grimy jacket higher. The wind bit through her battered clothing, burning a needling ache deep into her bones. Through her scuffed, blood-crusted boots, the dirty slush crept in to spread cold numbness. She coughed, felt it rattle and tear in her chest.
A wave of warmth hit her as she entered the CP, tingling on her face and weighing her with fatigue. She rubbed at her eyes and heaved a deep breath before moving further into the building.
Lipton was still on the couch, focused on the report in his hand with the air of a man who was fighting a loosing battle against exhaustion and illness with willpower as his only weapon. Automatically, Mia's hand drifted into her bag, fingertips brushing the cold metal of the heater – one of several Frances had built in the forest.
Speirs came towards her, on his way out. He spotted her and his determined strides slowed. "Doc." His hand caught her, fingers curling lightly below her elbow.
"Yes sir?" She looked up, absent-mindedly made note of the lines of tension around his eyes, the tight muscles in his jaw.
Titling his head towards the couch, he said: "Get Lipton to bed", tone hovering somewhere between exasperation and mild amusement.
"Yes sir."
He gave her a small nod and after a soft squeeze, the touch disappeared, leaving only a faint echo.
.
Turning around, she saw Lipton had been watching them, a fond expression on his face. The smile deepened when he met her gaze and she smiled back. "Captain's orders, Lip", she said, picking up his gear. "You need rest."
He sighed and studied her, but didn't offer any protest. He knew it was futile and if he was being completely honest with himself, he couldn't refuse the offer of a real bed and some sleep to get better. He hauled himself up. The blanket slid off him and almost immediately, he was wracked with chills.
Mia grabbed the blanket and draped it around him like a cape and if he hadn't been feeling so miserable, Lipton would have chuckled. When it came to her patients, that girl didn't miss even the slightest twitch.
Once upstairs, they stopped briefly by Ana María's room. The radio operator was dead to the world, fast asleep on top of the covers with her grimy dark hair fanned out on the pillow. Mia glanced at the bucket sitting next to the bed and was pleased to see it still clean. The mug on the nightstand was empty.
Leaning against the doorframe, Lipton watched as their most reticent medic pulled the covers up before quietly backing out of the room again. She left the door open, though.
"So I can hear her", she murmured, guiding him to the room right across the corridor.
A sizeable bed took up the majority of the space, along with a wardrobe and a matching chest of drawers in the corner. An armchair with scuffed upholstery stood next to the bed. The windows were dull with dust and dirt and the wallpaper was peeling in several places, but that hardly mattered to Lipton. It was warm and dry, the mattress in surprisingly good condition and it was the most comfortable sleeping arrangement he'd had in ages.
.
Luz popped in with another handful of reports, his expression wavering between apologetic and gleeful. "Guess what", he said, handing the papers to Lip. "They're setting up showers. With hot water."
"Hot water?", Mia questioned, glancing between them. Her eyebrows were raised to match her tone. They'd all heard too many empty promises to get excited at the first hint of good news.
"Yeah. And new ODs, too."
She made a soft noise, not quite a hum. "That sounds nice", she said, frowning at the sordid state of her clothes.
Months' worth or filth, sweat and blood had turned them an unrecognisable colour, the fabric worn and patched in more than a few places. The kneepad peeked through a smattering of holes by her left knee, there was an unevenly mended tear running up the sleeve of her shirt and the seams at her wrists were frayed beyond recognition.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Mia turned to Lipton with a smile. "First shower, then reports or the other way around?"
Luz quirked a brow, but kept quiet as Lip decided that he'd prefer to get the paperwork out of the way before showering.
Mia accepted it with a nod. "Okay. Then I'll go find Ana María's fresh clothes before I wake her. Luz, can you get Lip some of the tea?"
"Yeah sure."
To Lip, she explained: "It will help with your cough and it won't be bad for the fever either."
He smiled and thanked her, settling against the headboard and tugging the blanket up to his chest.
.
"I thought he was supposed to rest?", Luz said as they headed downstairs. "Now you let him do paperwork?"
She shrugged. "He's in bed and when it's done, he won't worry about it. Then he can sleep."
A disbelieving snort escaped Luz and he shot her a sidelong look. "You really think that?"
"Yes. He's exhausted, George, and ill. A warm bed, hot tea, a quiet room… he'll be asleep before long."
He laughed. She'd said it so casually, like it was the simplest thing in the world, getting the stubborn, mother-henning First Sergeant to sleep. Slinging an arm around her neck, he declared: "You're devious, do you know that? How come nobody knows that?"
Mia's shoulders shifted and she self-consciously ran a hand through her hair, making it even messier than it already was. Her lips curled into a playful, almost wicked smirk. "What did you expect? I have four siblings."
"Good point", Luz acknowledged. Coming from a large family himself, he knew very well just how siblings could inspire all sorts of hijinks and calculated endeavours.
With a pile of crisp new ODs, fresh undergarments and even a pair of new boots – their winter shoe packs had finally come through – in hand, Mia guided Ana María to the showers. The Puerto Rican was sleep-dazed and unsteady on her feet, leaning most of her weight on Mia's shoulders, but she valiantly kept her pace as they made their way down the road.
The showers were already in use, a small crowd waiting in line to finally get clean and into fresh clothes. The men that left the shower tent all looked noticeably more cheerful, even though the lack of dust and dirt made some of them look even more haggard and run-down than before.
"I can't wait to get clean", Ana María said with a longing sigh.
"Mhm."
A group of Fox Company soldiers came their way, loudly teasing one man about his bright blond hair – now finally visible again. The two Easy company members snorted as one of the men hollered: "Hey, Pescini, better put your helmet on or the Krauts can spot you from ten miles away!"
The man in question didn't seem to take it too hard, flipping his comrade the bird and laughing: "At least I'm not ugly like you, Patruno."
As their group passed the two women, one of the men slowed. "There's a shower for you girls around the back", he told them, pointing towards the tent.
Mia thanked him with a smile.
He waved off and called after them: "Let's hope Maynard hasn't used up all the hot water."
They laughed. Audrey hated cold showers with a burning passion and was notorious for turning the shower stall into a steam-obscured sauna.
.
Pushing back the tent flap, Mia manoeuvred them inside. The fresh ODs were hung from the hook driven into one of the tent posts, Mia's jacket, jumper and shirt deposited in one corner, Ana María's in the other.
"In case I throw up all over you", Ana María spoke up, fighting her way out of her undershirt, "I sincerely apologise."
Mia shook her head in silent laughter, helping her friend undress in the narrow confines of the shower stall. "If I'm too slow to move out of the way, that's my own fault."
Water hit the ground with a splat when Ana María turned on the shower, a steady rhythm drumming on the ground when the stream evened out. She stepped into the cascade and let out a moan of pure bliss as the warm water enveloped her.
Running a hand through hair, she grimaced at the mud trailing down along her spine. She was determined to get every last speck of Bastogne off her scalp and body. A wave of dizziness made her head spin. Groping blindly at the air, her fingers found a shirt-clad shoulder.
"Okay?", Mia asked.
Ana María stopped herself from nodding. "Uh… yeah. Sorry."
A slippery bar of soap was pressed into her hand and she felt Mia shift. Jump boots splished on the wet floor.
"Don't be", the medic's gentle voice said and then there were hands in her hair and lather running down her face and back.
Ana María made an unhappy noise of resignation, but offered no resistance. She might hate feeling so weak and helpless, but that was no reason to take out her frustration on Mia, who helped without judgement or second thought.
.
With Mia's capable and unassuming assistance, Ana María was soon scrubbed clean. Shutting off the water, the warmth lingered for all of five seconds.
"Ohhh Dios", she squeaked, shivering as the winter air snuck in with mercilessly cold tendrils brushing along her skin. She hurriedly dried herself and gladly accepted Mia's help in getting dressed.
Shoving socked feet – dry, warm socks! – into the new boots, she tugged a jumper over her head.
Mia held out a towel. It had seen better days, but it was clean and really, that was already more than what they'd come to expect. Ana María took it and went to dry her hair.
Her right ear popped, sending a shooting pain through her. She jerked with a hiss, covering her ear. The abrupt motion turned her stomach and bile shot up her throat, panic right behind. Ana María gagged and stumbled, disoriented but desperate to try and avoid puking in the shower.
"M-Mia", she gasped hoarsely to alert her friend to her predicament.
Before she could blink, she was being hauled outside, the tent flap snapping out of the way. Cold air bit her flushed face. Bile choked her on its way up and she retched, folding in on herself. Small hands braced her, gathered her hair at the back of her head while she spewed the meagre contents of her stomach into the gutter.
.
The heaves passed, leaving her panting. She spat out the foul taste in her mouth and wiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes.
"Here".
A canteen appeared in front of her. She took a swig, rinsed and spat, then spat again. Her breathing slowly returned to normal as she was guided into sitting down on a wobbly bench. Mia's steady presence vanished from her side briefly and she looked up.
The medic had ducked back into the shower tent, returning with the rest of their clothes.
"You're all wet", Ana María observed, frowning at the wet splotches on her friend's clothes. She was also still in her t-shirt, slight shivers tracing up and down her bare arms.
Mia shrugged and draped a new jacket around her shoulders. Ana María gladly burrowed into the garment, which felt strangely light without the countless odds and ends she always carried in her pockets.
Once Mia had put on her outer layers again and the pockets of Ana María's old and disgusting jacket had been emptied, they made their way back to the CP.
"Hey remember when Sobel made all of us run Currahee that one time?", Ana María asked. "When it had been raining for three days straight?"
Mia nodded, a small smile ghosting over her lips. "Hard to forget. I think nobody came back without injuries." Twisted ankles, sprained knees, countless scrapes and an array of bruises. It was a miracle that no one had broken their neck going up and down the slippery, muddy incline.
"Mhm." Ana María snickered. "God, Louise was ready to commit murder…"
.
The smile lingered in the corners of Mia's mouth as she listened. Ana María had a habit of recounting scenes and events with verve, even if they were shared experiences. Her vivacious narrations always made people feel like they were right there in the moment. It was something Mia admired about her friend.
While Ana María kept talking, still roiling stomach and aching ear almost forgotten, Mia let her thoughts wander back to that day. They had all been miserable: cold, wet, hurt, angry and frustrated. Theresa and Ana María had run with tears hidden in the rain. Elizabeth had lost her temper on the last stretch to the summit, screaming and kicking at the mud as she'd hurled obscenities into the sky. Louise had seethed and cursed until she'd run out of air.
Mia herself hadn't uttered a word, limping on a twisted knee and her teeth clenched to hold back the small whimpers that clogged her throat.
And yet, she thought as she helped Ana María up the stairs, the memory was also a fond one. Because no matter how awful they had felt, they had supported each other.
Frances and Kathleen had come up with 50 different ways to ruin Sobel's day in order to cheer up the crying girls. Jessica and Catherine had held Elizabeth tight, comforting her when rage had swung into despair. Irene and Helen had acted as a physical crutch for anyone that needed it. They had given each other a hand up through the mudslide at the top and they had returned to camp dirty and soaked to the bone, but with iron determination in their eyes and their heads held high.
They had marched past the men milling about in all their bruised and bloodied glory and had presented themselves in rank and file to Lieutenant Winters, who had made no effort to conceal the proud look on his face as he'd accepted their salutes and told them to get cleaned up and have their injuries seen to.
After getting Ana María settled once more and making sure she had everything she needed – hot tea, a clean spit bucket, an extra blanket –, Mia went across the hall to Lipton's room. The bed was empty, but Lip's webbing was still where she'd left it.
Peeling herself out of her jacket and taking off her scarf, Mia dropped into the armchair with a long, weary sigh. For a minute, she just sat there, revelling in the silence.
Growing up in a household with three older (and later on also one younger) siblings, an extraverted mother and a gregarious father, Mia had always been surrounded by sounds. Even if their apartment was still and quiet – at night or on the rare occasion that nobody else was home –, it had never been truly silent: a car down on the street, the old building creaking and groaning as it settled. A dog barking, a neighbour puttering about, the kids outside laughing and shouting as they played.
She was used to noise and activity and being surrounded by people, even though she liked the quiet, valued her personal space and preferred solitude sometimes. So in moments like these, where she just had a few minutes to herself in a quiet room, she often let the silence hug her.
A cough dragged itself up her throat, rupturing the spell of stillness.
Mia grimaced and angled for her bag, which somebody had deposited by the wall. After some rooting around, she eventually pulled out a small, battered book. Shifting to sit sideways, she folded her legs against the armrest and back of the chair and flicked through the dog-eared pages until she found the place in the story where she'd left off.
.
That was how Lipton found her when he returned from his shower. The steam had helped his congested lungs, but it hadn't been enough to shake pneumonia's grip on him. Not that he'd expected it.
He smiled at the sight of Mia nestled into the chair with a book in her lap, mouthing words as her eyes travelled slowly across the lines, snagging on unfamiliar words or phrases but never really stopping. It made her look young and innocent in a way they so rarely got to see from the quiet medic, who'd had such a weight resting on her thin shoulders from the beginning.
One of her gentle smiles met him when he crossed to the bed. "Feeling better?", she checked, taking in his appearance.
"Yeah. A bit." Sinking down onto the mattress, he took off his boots and lay back. He was even more tired than before, but at least his chest didn't feel so tight anymore and the hot water had soothed some of the aches in muscles.
Humming in pleased acknowledgement, Mia went back to her book, which, now that Lip thought of it, looked vaguely familiar. A strange russet discolouration on the cover drew his attention. He inspected it a little more closely and frowned, realising with a pang in his heart that it was a blood stain.
Mia must have caught his expression, because she looked at him with sadness in her eyes and a twist of something else in her brows. "It's Kathleen's", she said. "She bought it in Aldbourne before we moved to Upottery."
A distant memory stirred in Lip's mind, conjuring the image of the lanky New Yorker sitting on the airfield tarmac in full gear and grease paint, reading while they waited for orders. "Where'd you get it?", he asked, curiosity outweighing his hesitancy to actually hear the response.
.
Her gaze flickered away, drifted off to fixate unseeingly on a spot by the foot end of the bed. In an unconscious motion, her fingers brushed over the blood stain marring the cover. "When I found her, after D-Day, she was still alive. She was really scared at first. Th… there was nothing I could do, so I sat with her. She wanted me to take the book. She said it was a good story."
"And is it?"
She blinked at him, jolted out of her thoughts.
"The story?", Lip clarified, noticing her confusion. "Is it good?"
Thin shoulders lost some of their stiffness and blue eyes softened, the haunted expression fading only gradually as she nodded. "Yes. It's a kid's book, so I can understand most of it." She started telling him what the book was about before trailing off mid-sentence and offering: "Do you want to hear the story?"
Lipton nodded, intrigued by the outline she'd painted with unsure words and deciding that it would be a good way to stave off the boredom that would likely soon set in now that he had run out of tasks to distract himself with.
Mia smiled and when he had settled into a more comfortable position, she flipped to the first page. Clearing her throat, she glanced at him again before focusing on the book. "An Unexpected Party", she began. "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell…"
.
With Mia's soft voice filling the air, Lip slowly felt his eyelids growing heavier, the warmth of the bed wrapping itself around him under the blanket. The story was easy to follow and even though some of the words didn't come out quite right, Mia's narration was pleasant to listen to. His eyes slipped closed, the voice in his ears spreading a comforting sense of peaceable calm.
She had that effect on people, he mused absent-mindedly. At first, they'd been put off by her skittish eye contact and apparent stoicism. But time, an observant gaze and no small amount of persistence on the part of Louise, Luz and a few select others had revealed Mia to be a determined, mellow and selfless young girl, who never talked for the sake of filling the silence and was always ready to lend a sympathetic ear and offer a warm smile.
Before he could continue his drowsy train of thought, though, he slipped off into sleep, the steady murmur of Mia's voice fading until only the feeling of content quiescence remained.