A/N: Sorry about this reaaaally long chapter aha. I just wanted to give Eugene and Emilie some reason to actually want to further their friendship; I've read some fics where the characters were in love by D-Day, but I wanted something more, something a bit real.

Speaking of which! Thank you so much to everyone who has been following this fic. It means the world to me, and your reviews have actually made me grin like an idiot, I'm not ashamed to say. :D

So, once again, sorry about any mistakes (please tell me if you spot any!) and I don't own any of the characters except Emilie and the fake Germans I have created.

xx

A few days had passed since the barrage on the American troops, and, so far, things were looking good for Germany. Only one man had been hit by an American sniper, but it had been a clean shot through his shoulder and Emilie had been able to patch it up easily. All the same, he wouldn't be fighting this one-sided battle anymore.

So it wasn't the other side they had to watch out for; it was the weather. Already two snowstorms had passed through the area. The officers saw it as a good thing, thinking this meant the Americans couldn't receive any assistance from their planes, but the men were suffering through every one of them. But still they could stay in their foxholes with blankets and their buddy's body heat to keep them warm. There was still a light restriction, so they weren't allowed fires, but they were coping nevertheless.

But Emilie didn't have that pleasure. She had gotten to the point where her teeth were chattering so hard she was scared she would chip a tooth and her jaw hurt. She was numb all over, but still her bones managed to ache; she was sure that if she looked in a mirror, her face would be completely blue. But the mirror would have been frozen anyway. So much for her winter clothing keeping her snug and cozy.

Yet she still forced herself to make the rounds of the troops. But she didn't just have to look after her own regiment; now she also had to care for the other divisions and the SS Panzer Divisions, though they were often too proud to accept her help. Even then, though her body was screaming at her to leave the morons behind to freeze, she would just fold her arms over her chest (which was hard with all the layers and made even more difficult because she was shaking so profusely, but she still tried to look intimidating) and wait, her gaze boring into the backs of their heads. She could have become a snowman with all the waiting she did in the falling snow.

Eventually, the men would find her presence so disconcerting that they would allow her to examine them just to get rid of her. In that case, she couldn't help the triumphant grin that spread across her face, though that was somewhat diminished by her chattering teeth she seemed to have no control of anymore. She would check their fingers and toes for frostbite, making the grumbling soldiers briefly remove their shoes and gloves in order to do so. At least they didn't have to worry about gangrene with their weather-proof boots.

"Hey," One of the SS soldiers spoke up as she inspected his hand, turning it over. It was icy cold to the touch, but not in any danger of falling off just yet, which was a relief. Emilie didn't look up, simply grunted. The man continued, leaning in, "If you ever need a way to warm up, I know the perfect way."

When she glanced up, he was waggling his eyebrows at her. She couldn't help the amused snort that flew from her nose, and he frowned, seemingly taken-aback. It was as though he had been expecting her to throw herself at him.

"I think I'll stick to blankets," she answered, pushing herself to her feet and brushing herself off, voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement, "But thanks for the offer. Hey, if I see any other gals, I'll send them your way." She clicked her tongue at him.

He gave her an embarrassed smile, having lost all his earlier confidence. Emilie let out another chuckle and patted him on the shoulder as she passed.

All around her, men were eating their k-rations in their foxholes, huddled together. They shoved the concrete-like biscuits into their mouth, obviously wanting to get them out of the way – Emilie couldn't blame them – before moving onto the tasty and more nutritious canned meat and tubes of Limburger cheese. Emilie's mouth watered at the sight, having not eaten all day.

She foraged around in her bag and pulled out her k-rations, shovelling the food into her mouth as she walked. She had wanted to be a vegetarian when she was younger, hating animal-cruelty, but when you're starving, you will eat anything, and suddenly the meat seemed like the best thing in the world.

Though Emilie was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to retire to her foxhole and lie down, she doubted she would sleep a wink. She just needed to walk. She just needed to do… something other than check hand after hand after hand.

Finishing off her pathetic meal that barely satiated her hunger, she glanced over her shoulder. No one was paying any attention to her. Now was her chance – that was her, always taking chances that usually backfired and ended up with someone being killed. But everything seemed quiet at the moment, so, with one last look, she walked briskly towards the portion of the eastern Bois Jacques forest the German army was holding.

Somewhere to her left, she could hear her soldiers singing loudly, most likely to irritate the Yanks, but also to keep themselves warm and their spirits high. Strangely, even with this freezing weather, morale was still high, and Emilie thanked God for that.

As she got further into the forest, she expected to be stopped and turned around by the soldiers that had claimed the area. But there was no one in sight – German or American. So she just wandered on, and she found that the weather was slightly more bearable under the cover of the trees. Before the war, she had always loved winter, and had looked forward to it every year; she despised summer. But now, she had no idea what she had been thinking. She craved the warm sunlight.

At that moment, movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she whipped her head around, searching. Lying on the ground about a yard away were a number of dead German soldiers, and she flinched inwardly at the sight. Their blood stained the white snow red, their glazed-over eyes staring blankly up at the sky. She didn't know them, as they weren't from her regiment, but still that familiar, crippling guilt tugged at her heart.

But the corpses weren't what had caught her attention. Standing over them, looking startled with his hands in his pockets and his chin nestled in his jacket, was Eugene Roe. She strained her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. What was he doing here? He turned and began to walk away, quickly as though trying to run from the image of the dead bodies, but before he could vanish into the woods, Emilie called out his name, not thinking. The wind almost carried away her voice, but he must have heard it nonetheless as he stopped abruptly and looked back.

What the hell am I doing? "Gene," she called again, taking a step towards him. It took a moment for him to realise who it was, but he seemed to visibly relax as he remembered.

Taking that as a sign that it was safe to approach him, Emilie jogged forward, holding down her helmet with one hand. As soon as she stopped in front of him, she pulled off her helmet and held it under one arm, using the other hand to shake out her curly hair that she was sure must look like a bird's nest, especially after being stuck under that stuffy helmet for so long. "Hi," she greeted, surprised by how cheerful she sounded when just a few minutes she had been pessimistic and brooding, "What the hell are you doin' here?" Nice, Emilie. Smooth greeting, really considerate. Way to make a friend. Wait. She didn't want to make a friend of the American medic… Did she?

Eugene smiled slightly, though he looked more confused than anything. "Eisenhower called us in," he answered, "You guys took all of us by surprise, and we were the only ones nearby, restin' up and re-equipping."

"I didn't know we were fighting any paratroopers," she muttered, suddenly alarmed that Eugene, or any of his division, could be killed or wounded.

He shrugged. "Like I said, miss Demont, we were the only ones available."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "You remembered my name."

"I guess you could say I'm good with names," Eugene replied. Then he seemed to remember something, as he added quickly, a sense of urgency in his voice, "Hey, you don't happen to have a spare pair of scissors by any chance, do ya?"

Emilie was about to say no when she realised she was still carrying her bag around with her; she wore it so much that the 1.6 kilograms had started to feel like her own weight. She held up one finger, indicating for him to wait, while she searched her bag. He waited patiently, and, when she flicked her eyes up to his face, he was clearly hopeful. She found the pair of scissors beside her packet of 10 Natrium bicarbonic tablets and held them up, triumphant.

"I only have one pair, but you can have 'em."

Eugene was about to take them, but he stopped himself, shaking his head. "No, no. I couldn't take 'em from you if they're your only pair. I'll find some somewhere else. Thanks for the offer, ma'am."

"Don't be stupid, Gene. I can find another pair," She frowned, still holding the scissors out to him, "You Yanks are the ones who'll be needing all the equipment you can get, I'm sorry to say."

The American medic narrowed his eyes, seeming to remember that she was the enemy, but his face softened once more a heartbeat later. "Keep them. One of the other soldiers will have some in his aid kit."

"Okay, fine, I'll keep the goddamn scissors. God, you Americans are so difficult," she rolled her eyes though a crooked smile still played at her lips. That was when she realised she had been imitating his accent when he said 'scissors', and now he was looking at her pointedly. She searched his face for any sign of annoyance, or that he had taken offence, but there was nothing. Emilie let out a light laugh, "Sorry."

Eugene smiled, but it somehow looked sad, like a lost puppy that had been left out in the rain. Woah. Where did that come from? "It's fine," he assured her, a short, soft hum sounding in his throat. Damn, even his laugh was adorable. He glanced over his shoulder worriedly.

Emilie blinked, running her tongue over her lips to sooth the dry skin. She tasted a little blood, and remembered when she had bitten her lip a few days earlier. "Hey, if you need to get back to your men, just say so," she told him, smiling thinly, "You aren't a POW or anything."

He shook his head. "Good to know. I think they can last without me for a little while longer; the German's have been quiet so far today."

"And you can count on us being quiet for a few more hours," As soon as she had said it, she regretted it. Letting out a sigh, she shrugged, "God, you know, whenever I'm around you, I manage to screw up and say stuff about my army I shouldn't. Guess I'm still not used to the whole 'this shit is confidential, keep it quiet' thing. I would'a thought that after two years, I would be better."

The paratrooper eyed her sympathetically. "I'm not gonna say anything," he answered. Before she realised what was happening, they were walking, Emilie having to take bigger steps in order to keep up with his longer stride. They kept a respectable distance between them, but they still walked side-by-side, staring at the snow-covered ground in front of them. "You joined the army two years ago?"

"Drafted," she corrected, her voice coming out more harshly than she had anticipated. It was just a sensitive topic for her. She glanced at him, continuing when her voice was back to normal, "I was drafted, I didn't join voluntarily. You know, 'all true Arians return to the motherland'. But, yeah." She paused, frowning, "Wow, two years ago. I didn't really realise it had been that long. I, um, I went through normal military training in terms of all the exercise, and I was in basic weapons school, but after that I was sent to a special course for medics for six months where we learnt a little self-defence. Let me tell you, that was a ball of laughs." She finished sarcastically, adding with a mischievous edge to her tone, "But, hey, at least I got to flip over any of the guys that pissed me off." Which was basically everyone.

He nodded. "Same story here, but, on top of that, I went through paratrooper training. Only a third of all the men that signed up for it actually made it through."

"Jeez," she breathed, raising her eyebrows, impressed. Her respect for Eugene just grew even more.

Somewhere in the distance, a German fired a shot of their rifle, and both of them tensed, stopping dead to listen. But when no one screamed for a medic, their muscles relaxed and they continued on. It was silent, but, for some reason, it wasn't awkward. Emilie felt strangely comfortable around him, something she couldn't describe even if she tried – and she had been trying to.

Then something occurred to her. "Gene," she broke the silence and he glanced at her. She felt a little flustered by the intensity of his gaze, which was a new feeling. She was usually so self-assured, at least on the surface when inside she was crumbling apart. "If you don't mind my asking, why isn't anyone around here? Shouldn't there be soldiers up on the line? Anyone could wander through here."

She saw Eugene swallow, as he answered quietly, "We're stretched too damn thin." His eyes flicked to her, and she knew what he was silently asking.

"Hey, what we say here is just between us," she murmured, "You can trust me, even if I am a Kraut."

They locked eyes, as though Eugene was looking for any sign that she was lying in her eyes. She stared calmly back at him, even though she felt anything but calm on the inside. Goosebumps ran up her arms and tingled her spine, but for once it wasn't from the cold; it was like he could read her soul. And though she usually preferred to close herself off, she found she liked it.

Finally, she blinked and he looked away, going back to watching the ground as they walked. She almost forgot how to walk, stumbling over a large shard of wood that had been blown off in the barrage. Silence gripped them yet again, and that allowed time for Emilie to think a little bit. She realised she wanted to help him, but if that got back to the Germans, she could be pressed against a wall and shot for treason. But she had to try. She had to save at least some lives, even if they were from the enemy's side.

"Eugene," she spun around, stepping in front of him to block his path. He barely had time to stop, and, when he did, they were but inches apart, so close she could feel his warm breath tickling her skin. He stepped back, and she was once again cold. She began to speak, in such a rush the words almost connected, "Listen. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but we… They are planning to bring in an air strike in three days. And when they do, you'll have to treat some serious wounds. What I'm trying to say is you should take this time to stock up on medicine, find a way to make sure your soldiers aren't too far from their foxholes when the time comes without making it seem like you've been talking with a Kraut. Oh, and be careful. I know that's hard for a medic, but please just try not to get killed." Why should I care if he gets killed?

He was quiet for a few moments, staring out into the distance where the other Americans were. "Thank you for the warning," he finally murmured, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as he frowned in concentration, lips pursed. Damn, those lips… Emilie exhaled, annoyed with herself. What was getting into her?

The mood now was dark, and Emilie found herself worrying about whether or not this would affect how Eugene viewed her. Perhaps this had put up a barrier between them, with him being the American soldier and she being the German. And yet she couldn't, for once, hate herself for speaking up. She had done something, and she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. All she could do now was pray that each army would come out of this more or less in one piece. But that was almost an impossible expectation in war.

"So," Emilie finally spoke up, her voice a little uneven as she continued to shiver, the snowflakes that were gently falling and melting in her hair not exactly helping with the cold. "If you're Cajun—"

"Half-Cajun," Eugene broke in, smiling ever-so-lightly.

She rolled her eyes. "Right, right, sorry, half-Cajun," she laughed, "But, really, that's like saying I'm only half-German. People still see me as a German. Anyway, let's not get into that, yeah? What I was gonna ask is paule vous François?"

He seemed surprised, glancing sideways at her questioningly. "Oui. Et toi?"

Emilie tilted her head from side to side, shrugging. "Eh," she replied, "Only what I learnt in school. I'm not fluent. Two languages are enough for me." She chuckled.

Eugene nodded.

"You know, I've never been to the States," she told him, shoving her hands in her pockets as they walked on, "I would like to, though. Hey, it's quite a coincidence you're from Louisiana."

"How so, miss Demont?"

"Well, my Oma," She hesitated a second before clarifying, "My grandma got really sick when I was twelve. No one could cure her. Then she heard about this… God, I can't remember what it's called. Ah, traiteuse! That's it. Anyway, she went all the way over to the US to meet this Cajun woman in Louisiana. And, lo and behold, a month later she returned to us, completely cured," She shook her head, smiling at the memory of one of the few good members of her insane family, "I couldn't believe it."

She looked over to see Gene staring at her, lips parting slightly. Emilie smirked, "You okay there, trooper?"

Removing his bare hands from his pockets and rubbing them together, he nodded slowly. "That was my grandma."

Emilie let out a shocked sound. "No shit!" she exclaimed, smiling broadly, "Wow. Well, your grandma did an amazing job, Gene. If I could thank her myself, I would. That was freakin' magic."

Eugene smiled.

They talked a little more; Eugene asked about her family, and she opened up as much as she felt comfortable with. She told him that they didn't really get along, that she and her mother had always been locked in a battle because she wasn't the perfect, obedient daughter she had wanted. Her father was weak. And then she spent a few minutes raving about her little brother, which eased a smile out of Gene. She had discovered she enjoyed making him smile or laugh, and had kind of made it a challenge for herself.

She explained a little of how she had moved to Australia and her job as a nurse, and they shared a few stories about their times as medics. It seemed to Emilie that he had faced everything she had, and that gave her a little bit of comfort in the knowledge that she wasn't the only one going through this.

When it was his turn, he told her about his home town, his family, and why he had become a medic. He had dropped out of school shortly before he graduated primary school during the Depression, and had gone to work at the nearby mechanics. When he was twenty, he had signed up for the Airborne, but not as a medic. But, once, when they had run up Currahee (he had told her about Sobel and the torture he had put them through; but, apparently, it had paid off) a man had tripped and injured his leg. Sobel had screamed that no one was to help him, but Eugene had stopped to check on him, ignoring Sobel's abuse. When they had finished the run, he had been called into the CO's office, supported by Lieutenant Winters, and was told by Colonel Sink that he had purposely disobeyed a direct order in order to help a fallen soldier, and that that was the type of man he wanted as a medic. As it turned out, Sobel had recommended him.

Emile listened intently, engrossed in his stories, and he seemed a little relieved to talk about it with someone, even if she was the enemy.

Finally, Emilie noticed that it was beginning to get dark. How had she not realised that before? God, she was going to have absolute hell to pay when she got back to the line. Eugene seemed to notice at the same time she did, his eyes raised to the sky that was blanketed by dark clouds.

"I have to get back," Emilie told him softly, feeling inexplicably sad and disappointed, almost resentful. Whenever she was around him, everything bad faded away. She could almost have forgotten she was in the midst of world war. It had been as though they had been in a bubble of their own little world that Emilie didn't want to leave; or, at least, that was how she had felt.

"It's been a pleasure." Eugene extended a hand, and Emilie remembered the first time they had met, when he had helped her to her feet. Always helping. She took it, and even through her thick gloves she could feel they were freezing and shaking, though he seemed determined to not let her see how much he was suffering. That was when she truly realised what he was wearing, and she was horrified at the sight: he wore boots with no weather-proof lining, he had no gloves, and the only thing between him and the snow was his ordinary uniform, not built for shielding the wearer from harsh European winters.

"You won't last a week with those clothes," she breathed, alarmed, "I mean, I know that you were brought here without any warning, but this is fucking ridiculous, Gene."

He withdrew his hand, eyes flitting over his clothes before landing back on her face, jaw set and eyes hooded. "We don't got nothin' else to wear."

"Take the coat and scarves off the dead German soldiers we saw back there," she suggested, gesturing behind them. She tried not to dwell on the fact that they were dead, even if she didn't know them. But it was hard.

Eugene frowned. "Isn't that a bit disrespectful, even if they are Krauts?" She didn't know whether to be glad he felt comfortable around her enough to call them by that somewhat offensive nickname, or to be irritated.

"Well, they won't be needing them," she replied darkly.

He studied her face for a few moments longer, while she stared back at him coolly, before finally shaking his head. "We'll find a way to cope."

"Fine, have it your way. But don't come running to me when your fingers are falling off." Actually, on second thought, feel free to come running to me anytime. She bit her tongue.

"Thank you, miss Demont," Eugene smiled thinly, preparing to walk away.

She chuckled. "It's Emilie."

"Miss Emilie."

"Do you enjoy being difficult, or does it just come naturally?"

He smiled once more, before turning and waking quickly away, hands shoved in his pockets and breath billowing around him. He looked back only once.

As Emilie walked back to the German line, she was on a strange high, a feeling she had never experienced before. When silence fell upon her once more, broken only by the snow crunching under her feet, she realised she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and it took a good ten minutes for it to calm down to a regular beat. Even more strange, she discovered she was smiling uncontrollably, and only stopped when her cheeks began to ache. Had someone put laughing gas in the air or something?

But the high quickly became the lowest of lows when she stopped in front of the fallen German soldiers, sorrow and regret now gripping her heart that just a minute ago had been squeezing with joy. Crouching down, she closed each of their eyes, hoping to compensate at least a little for what she was about to do. She carefully pried their stiff, freezing arms out of their coats, unwrapped the scarves from their necks that she was sure would snap off if she pressed on them too hard, and slid their gloves off their blackened hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered, scared that her tears would freeze on her face if she let them fall. "I am so, so sorry."

But the remaining soldiers needed the clothes more than they did.