Hi guys! Sorry for being so late again. The internet went out on us and my computer had some strange issues and on top of that, I managed to catch a bad cold (shockingly, walking through knee-high snow and then sitting in an office all day with wet pantlegs and boots is not good for your health...)
And the weather has just been insane the last two weeks. First, it threw down almost one metre of snow in one day and traffic descended into chaos. You'd think that living in a mountainous region, people would be more used to driving in snow... anyways, last week, the temperatures went from -9 to 15 °C in the span of two days and we had strong winds for half the week. And now it's back to heavy snow with temperatures around the freezing point.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It deals more with the emotional fall-out of the last chapter. The perspective bounces back and forth quite a bit, so let me know if it's confusing.
Any other day, Mia would have smiled at the way Luz's eyes turned the size of dinner plates when she entered the room. "Jesus Christ! What happened to your face?", he exclaimed, gesturing towards the angry mark blooming on Mia's jaw.
"Vest was very upset", she shrugged.
"I can see that." He inspected the bruise. "Does it hurt?"
"Only when I talk."
The deadpan reply didn't smooth out his frown, but it took away the edge of concern. He looped an arm around her shoulders as he so often did and casually led her towards the kitchen. "Lipton looked better this morning", he told her as he had her sit down at the surprisingly clean table. "He's up and about, but Captain Speirs is gonna drag him back here sooner or later."
She smothered a yawn and grimaced when that sent a twinge through her jaw. "No doubt." Their new CO was – in his own way – almost as much of a mother-hen as their First Sergeant, who had already been given the moniker "Mama Lip".
"Oh, and Ana María went back to her platoon, she said she wanted to do something instead of just lying in bed all day."
Figuring that the Puerto Rican wouldn't have left if she hadn't felt up to it, Mia accepted it with good grace and a little nod. If her condition took a turn for the worse, the guys knew to send for a medic.
A steaming cup of coffee was put in front of her and Luz wagged a finger. "You'd better drink all that if you won't go upstairs to get some sleep", he mock-ordered in a close imitation of Catherine's exasperated tone that she always used when she had to compromise with patients who couldn't or wouldn't obey her recommendations.
"I can sleep when the work is done", Mia responded around another yawn, reaching for the cup and taking a scalding sip.
Luz shot her a grin that held an unholy amount of glee and threatened: "Yeah, but if you don't, Louise will sit on you until you do."
"I know."
.
Mia spent the day staying busy and avoiding people. She had always been one to seek solitude when she was overwhelmed or stressed, preferring to make sense of the situation on her own before talking about it. So she scrounged, bartered and traded for supplies, manned the aid station while Gene gratefully collapsed onto the ledge in the alcove for a much-needed nap, and grudgingly endured the probing inquiries of Colonel Sink and what felt like half the regimental officers as they questioned her on her family's background, character, and political leanings. It was nerve-wrecking and humiliating and left her feeling small and wrung out.
Leaving the regimental HQ, she was absurdly glad that her stomach was empty so there was nothing to throw up. They had told her that it was only a formality and she'd nearly bitten through her tongue to keep herself from telling them just where they could shove that obvious lie.
Trembling hands were buried deep into jacket pockets as she blew out a weary sigh and rolled her head to relieve the ache spreading across her shoulders. Vertebrae popped. She sucked in a pained breath, which sent her into a coughing fit that left black stars dancing in front of her eyes.
A hand wrapped around her bicep, catching her before her knees could give out.
"You sound terrible, Doc", the dry voice of Captain Nixon announced from her right. If Mia hadn't been so concerned with breathing, she would have appreciated his sardonic bluntness.
A fondly chiding "Nix" came from Winters, who appeared to be the one steadying her.
She blinked a few times to get the world back into focus once the burning sensation in her lungs and throat eased. The familiar, keen gazes of Winters and Nixon scrutinised her, mixed levels of concern and sympathy in them. Satisfied that she wasn't about to keel over, Winters let go of her arm.
"I'm fine, sirs." Her voice crackled like gravel.
Captain Nixon's expressive eyebrows rose to communicate his disbelief. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to a nearby jeep. "C'mon."
.
Knowing that she couldn't hide much longer before somebody tracked her down, Mia returned to the CP as dusk turned the sky into a study of powdery pink and glacier blue. She snuck upstairs, murmurs about a second patrol trailing her footsteps. A bitter thought crossed her mind, one that she instantly felt guilty for. At least there's no more of my family they can find.
Lipton was in 'his' room, reading through some reports. A cup of tea, half full, sat on the night stand. He looked up when Mia entered.
"Hello Lip", she said, dropping her bag by the armchair and shedding her jacket. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." A rueful smile quirked his lips and he admitted: "I guess taking it easy helped."
"It's hard when everyone is busy", Mia sympathised, taking his temperature and noting with approval that it was lower than the day before.
Once she was finished with her examination and had gotten Lip to promise that he would get some more rest afterwards, she let him get back to his paperwork. She felt his gaze on her, but he didn't push her to talk about it. He simply offered his sympathies and support.
"If you want to talk, I'll be glad to listen", he said.
"Thanks, Lip. I'll remember that."
And nothing more was said on the topic.
.
After a quick trip downstairs to filch a few sheets of paper from the stationary stock, Mia settled in the armchair to start a letter.
Liebe Mama
Her pen hovered over the paper, the tip trembling in the air. How could she tell her mother that her brother-in-law was dead, killed possibly by someone in her own company? How could she tell her that the only reason she knew was because her cousins had been taken prisoner and as the closest German-speaking medic, she'd tended to them?
Anger boiled up to her throat and she fought down the impulse to chuck the pen across the room.
Shoving a hand through her hair, Mia took a deep breath and swallowed against the lump of burning coal in her throat. What was she supposed to say? Come on, Mia, she berated herself. You have always been able to talk to Mama. But she'd never had to talk to her mother about her family being killed, she argued back in her mind.
In the end, the page remained as it was and she tucked it into a pocket. Maybe she would find the right words after some sleep. Using the padded armrest as a pillow and her jacket as a blanket, she pulled her knees to her chest and closed her burning eyes.
Music greeted Speirs at the CP, floating towards him as soon as he stepped through the door. The melody was easy on the ear, even if some notes were slightly out of tune. From the entrance, he could see a drab-clad figure sitting at the piano. Sergeant Nolan, he realised, recognising the braided brown hair trailing down the soldier's neck. Her fingers moved over the keys with a calm born only from years of practice.
"Hey, that's a really nice song you're playing there", the short Italian radioman that had returned from hospital the day before complimented. "What's it called?"
Nolan flashed him a smile. "Thanks, Perconte. It doesn't have a name, I'm making it up as I go."
Crossing the room, Speirs filed that piece of information away, still listening to the conversation as he accepted the missive a runner delivered.
"Have you heard about that second patrol?", Perconte continued.
The tune morphed from cheerful to melancholy. "How could I not?", Nolan answered drily. "Louise spent a solid ten minutes cursing about it. I kept count."
Perconte snorted, as accustomed to Louise's torrents as any other Toccoa veteran.
Tucking the missive away, Speirs contained a chortle of his own as he made for the stairs. He'd witnessed one of the sniper's volleys himself just an hour ago when Louise had offered a scathing commentary on the soundness of mind of the higher-ups – "They've lost their marbles" and "They have all the strategic sense of a string bean" being the tamest assertions.
Following him up the stairs, Nolan's improvised melody shifted again and slowed. "She has a point, though", the Sergeant said, "and with her so worried about Mia, well… I'm not surprised."
"Why, what's wrong with the Doc?"
The music dropped an octave and a chair creaked. "Frank, if you have to ask, I'm not going to tell you."
Their voices faded as Speirs walked down the corridor, wondering what he might find behind that door.
.
I should move away from the window. The thought had crossed Mia's mind a few times, but her legs had yet to obey. The glass was no longer cool against her cheek. Darkness was reaching across the river, inky fingers crawling along the buildings.
In a minute, she'd go back to her chair, she told herself.
In a minute, she'd close her eyes and fall asleep.
In a minute.
Footsteps approached. They stopped outside the door, then entered slowly. She pulled herself up straighter, as if her head wasn't swimming, as if her mind wasn't screaming or her chest burning with more than just a cough.
"Mia?" Speirs' tone was enough to get her attention. He'd never said her name so softly, so gently.
She swallowed, trying to hold back the tears welling up in her eyes. A shiver chased down her back and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Mia", he said again without a single trace of impatience.
She turned to face him, bottom lip trembling in a vain bid to quell the sobs that built in her chest. She didn't want to wake Lip, not when he had settled into the deep, healing sleep he needed.
He moved a little further into the room. "You don't have to pretend for me."
It was such a simple sentence. She deflated and slowly, slowly met his eyes. The understanding on his face tore down her last defences. She stood there, in the middle of this dusty bedroom with the peeling wallpaper and helplessly stared at her CO and friend as tears started rolling down her face.
He closed the distance between them in a few slow, measured steps. Mia looked away, shame burning bright on her cheeks above the fever, but much as she wanted to, she couldn't find the energy necessary to raise her hand and wipe her face. She sniffled, bit her lip and hung her head.
Strong arms encircled her and carefully, oh so carefully drew her closer. She took a shuddering breath and after a moment of frozen hesitation, rested her head against his shoulder.
.
Mia cried like she did a lot of other things in life – quietly. Her erratic breathing told Speirs that she was trying her hardest to muffle her sobs so she wouldn't disturb Lipton. He could feel her ribs, her spine, could feel them almost too easily under his hands. He felt her chest spasm with each laboured inhale, the air catching in her throat on the way down.
"I hate this war."
Her voice was low and cracked and spiked with so much pain that Speirs didn't think there was a word to describe it.
"It- I…" – more cracks spiderwebbed through her hoarse whisper – "I don't want to see more death."
Tears soaked into his shirt and her shaky breaths fluttered along the fabric. "We try… so hard to- to help, to save lives", she continued, choking the words out between near-soundless sobs. "But it's not enough."
On those four words, her voice broke, splintering into pieces like the trees in the Bois Jacques.
And at the same time, Speirs' heart broke at the sound of the exhausted despair and inconsolable grief in the sentence.
Mia now clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her breathing had gone sporadic. He held her tight as she shook under the weight of her muted tears. A hand, firm and comforting, cupped the back of her neck, anchored her, tucked her against him. She didn't like people touching her hair, so his thumb rubbed tiny circles on the soft skin at the base of her skull.
They stood like that while night fell outside and the shadows in the room rose up to swallow them. The fine tremors running through Mia's frame intensified steadily. Her sobs had petered off into shaky sniffles through sheer exhaustion and heat radiated off her like a furnace.
.
"I'm sorry." She pulled back, wavering as she tried to wipe away the tears that kept spilling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
Speirs adjusted his hold, slotting his hand under her shoulder the way he had seen the medics do it countless times with an unsteady patient. "You need to lie down."
"I'm sorry", she breathed again, glassy, reddened eyes skittering over his face.
Steering the girl to the unoccupied side of the bed, he said: "You don't have to apologise."
She mumbled something else in disjointed German as he made her lie down.
"Hush", he murmured, "it's alright."
He stayed with Mia until she dropped off into an exhausted sleep, tear tracks slowly drying on her cheeks. He was due to meet with Winters and Nixon to plan the second patrol, but he put off leaving for as long as possible, rubbing Mia's back to help her settle when coughs and grief choked her. She still trembled, even under the blanket he'd dragged up over her shoulders and in spite of the dry heat emanating from her.
Eventually, when he was satisfied that Mia would likely not wake up any time soon, Speirs got to his feet and snuck out of the room. He had another prisoner snatch to organise.
Gathered in the basement, the atmosphere among the soldiers was introspective and tense as they waited for the commanders to arrive and deliver the briefing for the second patrol. Webster and Lieutenant Jones had been accepted into the fold, both having redeemed and proven themselves respectively through their actions last night.
Despite not being a part of the patrol, Theresa was there with them, speaking quietly with Louise in a corner. The sniper methodically cleaned her rifle, the routine of the motions tempering the anger and concern raging inside her.
"Catherine told me back in Bastogne that she was worried about Mia", Louise was saying, frowning at the breech block she reassembled. "That was almost two months ago and call me paranoid, but she hasn't exactly improved, has she?"
Theresa offered a pensive hum and pointed out: "I've been gone for almost a month, Louise."
The observation earned her a dissatisfied huff and a sharp glance. "But you have eyes and a brain, don't you?"
"Yes, and I know Mia is upset and confused and possibly even scared and you and I both know how she deals with that."
Testing the functionality of her rifle with a touch more force than strictly necessary, Louise blew out a sigh. "I know." Frustrating as it was, she knew very well that Mia mostly worked through her emotions on her own and only opened up about them when she was good and ready.
They were distracted from their conversation when Cobb tried to get a rise out of Webster and then mouthed off to Lieutenant Jones. Theresa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Great", she muttered in ringing sarcasm. "Just what I need."
Johnny refused to give the drunk man the argument he was spoiling for. Cobb glared and opened his mouth, no doubt to launch another attack, when Theresa interceded.
"Cobb, put a lid on it", she said, cutting across whatever verbal diarrhoea he'd been about to expel.
He looked at her, something akin to betrayal on his face. "Are you siding with them, too, Sarge?"
"There's no sides, Cobb."
He snorted and took another swig from his bottle. "Yeah right. You don't got anything to worry about, you're not on this bullshit patrol."
The accusation rolled off Theresa like water off a duck's back. One thing she'd learned about dealing with Cobb when he was in one of his moods was to never take the bait. "That's enough", she said instead, coming to stand right in front of her recalcitrant squad member. "Go get some air."
He blinked at her, glassy gaze focussing with some difficulty. Lifting his chin, he asked: "That an order, ma'am?" It sounded more confused than threatening.
Nonplussed, Theresa plucked the bottle from his hand. "Outside. Now."
He met her stern gaze with a belligerent scowl that didn't move her an inch. She stepped closer, crowding him, all the while staring him down. "Now", she repeated, pointing to the doorway with an outstretched hand.
He followed it with his gaze, then looked back at her. His confidence faltered and after another minute, he backed down. "Yes ma'am."
Throwing Johnny a telling glance, Theresa followed Cobb outside.
The patrol was off. On paper, it would take place of course, but it would yield no result. In reality, Captain Winters had blatantly told them to give him a false report in the morning, which he would then dutifully pass on to Colonel Sink.
Confusion turned to shock turned to exhilaration. Louise laughed when Liebgott asked "Am I fucking dreaming?", feeling almost light-headed now that the choking weight of this disaster waiting to happen lifted.
"A good night's sleep, huh?", Babe drawled next to her, face split side to side with a beaming grin that didn't match his dry tone. "The hell is that? Something to eat?"
"Don't be ridiculous, it's clearly an exotic tree."
He guffawed loudly and their laughter joined in with the ruckus of their friends cheers and chatter.
.
As the night deepened, the exuberant relief petered out, the giddy feeling of snapped tension fading to make room for the heavy weariness that had been their constant companion since their departure from Mourmelon. Still, as the snores of her squad members filled the billet within moments of them climbing into their bunks, Louise found herself staring at the underside of the top bunk. Her mind kept going in circles, returning to the stricken expression on Mia's face the night before over and over again while also showing her countless other memories of her friend.
A thin brunette silently changing into her first set of ODs.
One of their first instructors expounding on the weakness of the female body to the young woman who said "Yes sir" and "No sir" in all the right places with a blank face.
Guarded blue eyes meeting her own, a firm handshake contrasting the soft voice offering the name "Mia Arricante."
Someone mocking Mia for her accent and halting speech only to be shut down by an acerbic "And how's your German?" from Louise, which earned her a smile and later a friendly conversation.
The two of them sharing a smoke and small talk while waiting for their turns in the shower, bonding over a shared dislike for liquorice and a penchant for sarcasm.
Mia's golden laugh as she melted into the group hug after D-Day.
Louise turned and pushed her face into the pillow, screwing her eyes shut as if it would block out the images dancing behind them. Mia giggling over a letter from her little brother. Mia asleep at the aid station after Nuenen, a jacket bunched under her head and another draped over her torso. Mia grinning after bluffing Toye out of 40 dollars in a round of poker.
Mia, ashen-faced and shivering, staring into the fog with her thoughts miles away.
.
The mattress dipped, the bed springs emitting a slight squeak. Louise whipped her head around, mouth opening to fire off a stinging rebuke.
"Budge over", Liebgott's voice whispered, accompanied by a hand pressing against her ribs.
She shuffled towards the wall and let him slide in next to her. "What do you want, Joe?" It came out as a tired sigh.
"For you to stop thinking and go to sleep", he replied bluntly. There was some more shuffling and rustling as he got settled. His hand left her side to unravel her braid.
Closing her eyes, Louise wondered: "How'd you know?"
A puff of air tickled the back of her neck and she could picture him smirking. "I know you." His fingers carded through her hair and a shower of tingles rushed down her spine.
She smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks, Joe." She reached blindly and patted him on the knee.
He responded with a soft "Mhm" and a simple squeeze of her shoulder before he returned to separating her hair into sections and weaving the strands together into a fresh plait.
With Joe's calm ministrations, Louise felt her mind slow down. The bitter and grim memories faded first, a few of happy and unblemished moments passing in front of her closed lids until the exhaustion outweighed her lingering unrest and washed her into sleep.
Morning approached in slivers of dull grey light seeping through grimy windows. It travelled across dusty floorboards, crept up to brush along furniture and made the dust particles in the air glitter like a shower of sparks. It was almost surreal, Lipton thought as he watched the display. The upholstery of the armchair by the bed glowed in the light.
He felt surprisingly refreshed, he found as he dragged himself upright. His head didn't feel like it was stuffed with cotton anymore and the ache in his chest aside, he felt a great deal better than the day before. Rubbing the grit from his eyes, he made to throw back the covers and get up, only to pause when he noticed the other occupant of the bed.
A drab blanket tucked snugly around her, Mia was curled up on top of the sheets, errant strands of her duck-fluff hair falling into her face. A mess of discolouration trailed the slope of her jaw in a strip of dark blues and purples. Lipton's mouth pursed as he studied the injury, seeing it clearly for the first time. According to Doc Roe, it was a miracle that the blow hadn't broken her jaw.
The object of his scrutiny stirred, dark brows scrunching in discomfort. She looked so different asleep, he mused. Younger, more vulnerable. When she was awake, Mia didn't advertise what she thought and felt, neither through words nor overtly readable facial expressions. As Catherine had once said, with a sigh of motherly concern, Mia could be hiding anything behind her smiles.
Mia shifted again and pried open gummy eyelids to squint against the light. Levering herself up onto an elbow, she brushed her chaotic hair out of her face and blinked at him.
"Lip?" Her voice was hardly more than a husky whisper. She sat up and looked around the room. Fever-bright eyes caught on the glistening dust particles. A flicker of something crossed her face and she said, almost surprised: "It's morning."
"Yeah." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and busied himself putting on his boots, glancing over his shoulder to see her do the same. When he got to his feet, she still sat on the edge of the mattress, her head in her hands. A frown creased his brows. "How're you feeling?"
A series of rattling coughs made her double over. "Sick", she said once the coughing died down.
"D'you need me to call Doc Roe or Spina?", Lipton asked, taken aback by the admission. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Mia Arricante admit to not feeling well.
She shook her head, slanting him a wry glance. "They'd only tell me what I already know."
Worried about how ill and shaky she looked as she got up to feel his temperature, he checked: "Are you sure?"
"Yes sir." Her lips quirked. "Your fever is gone", she declared, moving past him to pick up her satchel. "But you still have to take it easy."
He nodded dutifully, knowing better than to argue with a medic.
.
They had just made their way downstairs and found themselves a cup of coffee each when Captain Speirs breezed into the CP with the best news they'd heard all month. Easy Company was getting pulled off the line.
Mustering something that could pass as a smile, Mia drained the last of her coffee and ducked outside. The bright sunlight made her head throb and by the time she reached the aid station, it had graduated to a steady pounding. She stumbled through the door and surveyed the room.
"Gene?" She coughed and pain flared through her jaw. "Spina?" Whose turn was it to mind the aid station anyhow? Was it hers?
An indistinct mutter came from the back of the room and after a moment, Spina's head popped up. "What?", he grumped once he was sure there was no emergency.
"We're moving off the line", Mia told him, taking in the half-organised chaos that presented itself to her and trying to get her brain to think. "Where's Gene?"
He interrupted his grumblings about a fellow never getting enough sleep around here to reply: "Uh… OP 3, I think." There was a beat of silence before he wheeled around. "Hold on a minute, did you just say we're moving off the line?!"
"Mhm."
He let out a whoop, lethargy blown away. She dug her teeth into her tongue at the searing spike it drove through her skull. He practically raced for the door, calling over his shoulder: "I'll find Gene, be right back!"
The door slammed against the wall, making Mia flinch. As Spina's running steps disappeared, she rubbed her arms to ward off the chill and set to work. That her head hurt with unrelenting persistence and her thoughts felt jumbled and sluggish didn't matter; they all had so much practice in packing up the aid station that she could have done it in her sleep.
.
When Spina returned with Gene in tow, they shared a look and stepped in to help. Mia barely acknowledged their presence, seemingly lost in thought as she piled supplies into crates. Silently working together, the three medics made good time, a handful of soldiers from the HQ Company hauling the equipment out to the trucks that had started arriving.
Handing off the last crate to a private he didn't recognise, Gene paused when he saw Mia leaning against one of the rickety tables, staring off into space. It looked like she'd just frozen in the middle of checking her own kit and forgotten all about the syrettes in her hand. He held back a sigh and dug into his bag for a thermometer.
"Mia?"
At first, she didn't even blink. After a minute, she reacted with a distracted "Hm?" before finally shaking herself out of whatever thoughts she'd been absorbed in and turning to him, too-bright eyes regarding him quizzically. "What?"
He waved the thermometer and the confusion turned to resignation.
"You won't believe me if I tell you I'm fine, hm?"
"No."
She took the thermometer and stuck it under her tongue, giving him an almost disgruntled look. The contents of her med kit were returned to their proper place inside her satchel, then Mia plucked the thermometer from her mouth. Sparing it only a passing glance, she handed it to Gene and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll live, it's not that bad."
He raised an eyebrow at her and refrained from commenting that if it had been anyone else, she wouldn't consider a fever of 103.9 °F 'not that bad'.
She sighed, coughed and ducked her head. "I'm sorry, Gene. I don't feel like myself right now."
He dismissed it. "Don't worry about it, chérie." He knew how uncomfortable it made her to be fussed over and in the three years he'd known her, the only times she'd been tetchy with her friends had been when she was overwrought in addition to running under too much pressure and on too little sleep. "Just promise you'll try to get some rest."
"I promise."
Even if Mia had been a forgetful person or had made the promise without the intention of honouring it, Gene needn't have worried. By the time the convoy cleared the outskirts of Haguenau, she had fallen asleep, tousle-haired head resting against Bull's upper arm.
Contemplating with affectionate exasperation whether Mia's mule-headedness was hereditary or just a "German" thing, Louise spread a blanket over her slumbering friend. Bull chuckled at her mutterings. A glare blistered at him from the next seat over, its effect wasted in the face of Bull's even smile.
"Easy for you to laugh", she harrumphed. "You weren't there the last time she got this sick. Scared ten years off my life in one heartbeat."
He raised an eyebrow in curious interest. "That right?"
"Yes."
.
Nobody had realised that the oddly quiet girl was ill, in part because she had hidden it so well and also because she wasn't one to draw attention to herself anyhow. They had all been exhausted and grumpy, the bad weather only adding to their misery of enduring Sobel's training, so Mia looking pale hadn't raised any questions. Catherine's mothering instincts had gone off when she hadn't finished half her plate one evening, but had been appeased by the explanation that she was just not hungry.
Three days later, they'd returned to their barracks after running Currahee to change into dry clothes. Shivering and frustrated, they had all been too busy complaining to see anything amiss. Mia had gotten up from her bunk after tying her boots and had reached for her jacket. Swaying on her feet, she'd stalled, hand changing course towards the wall. By virtue of having the bunk next to hers, Louise had noticed and looked up. Mia's gaze had caught on hers for a second before her eyes had rolled up into her head and she'd collapsed without a sound.
Louise's alarmed holler had silenced the barrack and immediately summoned Catherine to her side as she'd vaulted over the bunk to get to her fallen comrade. Mia had come around a few minutes after they'd brought her to the infirmary and had recovered quickly, but for a good two weeks after, she'd been subjected to a fair amount of hovering. It had made the reticent brunette supremely uncomfortable and it had only stopped after she'd sworn to Catherine that she'd tell someone the next time she felt ill.
.
Louise told Bull none of this. Mia'd had too much of her private affairs exposed already recently.
Thankfully, the tall Arkansan didn't pry and simply hummed an acknowledgement, glancing down at the sleeping medic when she shivered and shrunk deeper into the folds of the blanket.
"Well", he drawled around his unlit cigar, "leastwise we're going off the line. Hot food, plenty 'a sleep, she'll be right as rain in no time."
"Yeah…" Let's hope you're right.