A/N: It's been a while. How 'bout a present for the new year?
Do not own Band of Brothers, etc. Song/lyrics belong to Sam Phillips.
X. Reflecting Light
Now that I've worn out
I've worn out the world
I'm on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon's never seen me before
But I'm reflecting light
Cold. The only thing that Cora could concentrate on was the cold. Not even when she fell through thin ice as a kid could she recall being this damn frozen. It was the last night of Hanukah, 1944. It was the Festival of Lights… of miracles, but warmth and hope still seemed to be distance memories.
"Cora, can you pass me my trench knife?" Dick said through chattering teeth.
She looked at him with a quizzical expression. "How can you be shaving at a time like this? The facial hair police aren't going to arrest you, you know."
Dick scoffed. "This coming from the woman who shaved her legs while snow fell on her head."
Cora's eyebrows knitted in defiance. The tip of her nose was tinged a bright shade of pink, detracting from her ivory face, and her wild curls had grown so much that the tresses now fell slightly past her shoulders; the dark contrasting with the pure white of the snow. She rubbed her hands together and blinked rapidly. "That's a different story! My legs were starting to look like Nixon's. It was disgusting."
Eugene Roe approached from behind them, gripping one hand in the other. There was a sadness in his eyes that Cora picked up on instantly. She internally wondered how many bodies he had found. He sat down next to her, still holding on tight to his fingers. She took his hand into hers and gently squeezed his index finger. Blood, bright red, pooled in the middle of it. Cora pulled a thin strip of olive green fabric from her bag and wrapped it around Eugene's wound, then tied the ends into a bow. They both smirked at the bandage. Something about it reminded them of home.
The sound of a twig snapping caused all three to twist their heads around immediately. A pang of fear raced through Cora's blood. Dick grabbed his gun and crouched down low, stepping closer and closer to the noise with Roe and Cora following close behind. He aimed into the dense, white fog, and called out to whoever it was. His words were meant to be some form of German, Cora thought, but he sounded more like a drunkard, slurring his speech.
A young Kraut soldier stepped forward through the mist with his hands above his head and a terrified look on his pale face. The breath came in spurts from blue lips and the pair of deep-set eyes darted back and forth between Dick and Cora. Other soldiers circled around the German boy with their rifles, poised and ready to fire, as Dick searched through his wallet and his pockets.
From the wallet, he pulled a small photograph of a middle-aged couple that must have been the mother and father. Cora's eyes fell upon the man in the picture. There was a sudden pang in her heart as she thought of her own father. She figured that he was bored without her there. He didn't have to mediate fights between his wife and his wild child, didn't have to worry about where she was whenever nine o'clock rolled around, didn't have to deal with the accusations that the worst daughter was his favorite… there was only the worry that his Artemis, goddess of the hunt, was never coming home.
"Take him back to regiment," Dick said, thrusting a bandage at Cora.
Breaking from her thoughts, she took it and clutched it in her fist. She turned to Eugene with a smile. "Here, you might need this more than I do."
A jeep pulled up, carrying General McAuliffe and Colonel Sink. McAuliffe's feet were still in the air when he asked for an evaluation. Cora stepped nearer to Dick and shoved her icy hands into warm pockets. As she looked to him, she noticed that he still had white soap all over his face. Part of her bit back a smile.
"We're under sporadic artillery fire, General. We're taking a lot of hits and we have no aid station. We've run out of food, we have no winter clothes, and we have little or no ammo," he said. The analysis of the situation was so matter-of-fact, it sounded even worse than when she had first heard it. "The line's spread so thin, the enemy wanders into our C.P. to use our slit trenches, sir. We just can't cover the line."
"The medical supplies are low as well, sir. I could honestly go without an aid station, but to have no plasma and little morphine left is a horror. Many of the medics have been forced to take from the men's aid kits," Cora added. Despair swept over the General's demeanor. It was visible in every aspect of his body language.
A tarp flew up and the sleep-ridden face of Lewis Nixon peaked from the foxhole. His eyes squinted into the light and then popped open as soon as he noticed McAuliffe standing in front of him. True to his character, he rose to his feet and continued with a Jersey confidence that Cora knew so well. The man never missed a beat.
"There's a lot of shit heading this way," were McAuliffe's parting words before he and Sink sped off into the fog.
The officers parted ways and Cora turned back to Eugene again. "I got everything, right? The morphine, the plasma…"
"Everything except for the bandages," he replied, rubbing his hands together.
Her lips formed a hard line as she mentally slapped herself. "Shit. I knew I forgot something! Do you think third battalion would have anything? Or maybe they're just as strapped for provisions as we are?"
"Well, I tried to find 'em, but I lost my way," Eugene said. The bandage spun between his fingers.
"Did you see them?" Cora asked.
There was no question as to whom she meant. All of those dead, frozen soldiers; blanketed by powdery snow. Eugene nodded and glanced down at the ground.
"We're not like the rest of them, you know. The death, it hits us differently." Cora paused. "There's nothing we can do about it, though. Que sera sera… what will be will be. We were put in this place for a reason, right? There's a explanation for why you're there and I'm here, right?"
Eugene arched an eyebrow at his boss. "I… I don't know, Capt'n."
"I'm rambling again?"
"Just a bit, but you're edgy about something. I can tell."
"Edgy, vexed… I always have this sick feeling in my gut that tells me something's going to go wrong. Sometimes it's just too much strong coffee on an empty stomach, but other times…" Her words hung heavy in the air, like smoke from a house fire. Eugene could taste the grief and the heat of them on his tongue.
He had never seen Cora so stricken before, her eyes so sharp and hard. The sparkle that he had remembered seeing the first time they'd met had died out. Ever since Captain Winters was removed as CO of Easy, the only light left in her blue orbs was faked. Her faced twinkled and shined with a brightness that the moon envied, but it was nothing like it used to be. And it was that glow about her that he admired, that uncanny ability of hers to wash all the anger away. Now, she tried a bit too hard and she knew that it was beginning to show.
"You're a great man for putting up with me, Eugene. I feel blessed to have known you," Cora said with a grin, gripping his hands. Her fingertips were surprisingly warm.
She leaned in toward him and kissed his cold cheek, lips lingering on the soft skin longer than they should have. The corners of his mouth pulled up into a smile. As she walked away, the snow crunched underneath her, a sound that echoed like drums… banging, banging in the night.
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Cora was in the middle of a conversation with Bill when the shelling began. War was funny that way, one minute words were flying and then the mortars were. Eugene and Cora set off from their prospective holes the minute they heard the call for a medic, one a little quicker than the other. Eugene kept low, dodging the occasional tree branch. He was physically stronger than Cora was and far more graceful. She envied him for that; she had gone down at least three times before getting anywhere near the soldier. Her skills were starting to slip as the ice chilled her bones. Sparks flew everywhere as she ran, falling and getting back up again. Her heart pounded in her chest and everything appeared brighter than before. Tiny branches hit her helmet as her feet moved faster and faster, the voice of one her wounded brethren ringing in her ears.
Just as he appeared visible, the Earth seemed to slip from underneath her. Cora's thin ankle twisted midair and a subtle pop sounded. A pain, a fire, tore threw every fabric of her body as she crashed to the ground. It was gone. The ligaments in her knee had finally ripped and the kneecap was out of its proper place. Tears involuntarily streamed down her cheeks. One would assume that having a bullet in the thigh would hurt more, but not for Cora. Flat on her back, she reached down as far as she could to gently touch her left knee. Cora inhaled sharply and, with a deep breath, hit her fist against the bone. She let out a shriek as it went back. Eugene was nearby… she could hear him, the Cajun drawl addressing her somewhere in the dark.
"I'm comin'…"
But before she felt those thin fingers on her, she was encased by a pair of familiar arms. There was a soft scent of Dutch Pennsylvania that hit Cora like a head upon a down pillow. The pain didn't matter anymore; it didn't even seem to be there. The only thing that Cora knew at that moment was a farm boy with red hair who had saved her yet again.
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Walking was not an option for Cora after the mortars had stopped and she had been stowed away safely in George Luz's foxhole. It was out of the sight of Sink, Dike, McAuliffe, or any other officer that would be against having an injured medic, particularly one that was female. Winters mumbled something to Roe about the field hospital in the town. The two men, both concerned for her well being, nodded and agreed. Cora quickly objected, with the same argument from Holland. Dick and Eugene stared at each other for a moment. "Only problem is she's gotta be some place where she doesn't have to move around a whole lot," the other medic said. The stress was starting to break him.
"I'll look after her," Dick said before turning to Cora. "You'll stay with me."
Something gnawed at Cora's insides when he announced it. If it were any other soldier, she doubted that she would have been upset, but since Paris, things were a tad rocky between the captains. She noticed more when he would look at her, seeing that there was something strange lurking just beneath the surface of his eyes. As Eugene wrapped up her knee in tight bandage, Cora acted as though her attitude was one of feminine defiance. She claimed that she didn't need so much looking after, that she'd heal in a few weeks, that she was perfectly comfortable with Luz. Too bad I know you better, Cora Larson.
Carefully and gently, Cora was transported from one foxhole to another in Dick's arms. She clung to his neck like a damsel in distress would, wincing at the pains in her leg. Her placed her down softly on a green blanket that was laid out for her. A hot helmet full of coffee was waiting for her, courtesy of Nixon.
"It's an extra special brew for an extra special lady," he beamed before digging through his pockets for a cigarette.
"Spiked with Vat 69?" Cora asked.
Nixon nodded. She took a quick sip and knew that before the last drop in the cup was gone, she'd be completely sauced. The scent of nicotine wafted through the chilly air and settled deep in Cora's nostrils. She needed a fix. As if he had read her mind, Nixon tossed his pack to her. He winked as her gaze rose to meet his.
"You're too good to me, Lew," she said, pulling out a silver lighter from Paris.
"Now, aren't you sorry you ever called me a creep?" he teased, sitting down on the edge of the hole.
She looked at him dead-on and smiled. "Not for a second."
Nixon laughed gruffly. He reached a hand out and mussed Cora's hair playfully before sauntering away, flask in hand. Cora took another swig of coffee and contorted her face as the liquid passed her tongue. This better do its job. In the distance, she could hear her boys talking and laughing, digging in and cleaning their guns. She could hear Bill complaining about his condition, something that she yelled at him earlier for. "Well, ya putz, what do you expect when you're getting your kicks with cheap broads? I swear, only a fathead like you would get a venereal disease in the middle of a goddamned war!"
A pain flew through her leg as she shifted her weight… the healing was going to take longer than she expected.
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"Shit!" Cora cursed, unable to change the bandage on her leg.
She had been fighting with the damn thing for hours and had been losing every step of the way. Dick had heard the battle ranging from the tent where he and Nixon were discussing the placement of the line. Doc Roe had gone into town, leaving Spina all alone to deal with things. When he offered to help, Cora declined, mostly because she refused to give into the feeling of incompetence that would overcome her if she had accepted. Dick, on the other hand, knew her too well. Cora would die before she'd ask for assistance with anything.
He excused himself from Nixon's presence before heading over to the foxhole. Lew watched his best friend rush to the aid of the woman, a disgruntled look on his face. Nearly all the men had gawked at Cora the minute she stepped into Camp Toccoa, even Nix was guilty of that, but none had carried a torch like Dick had. Nixon reminded him constantly of Cora's history, of her capricious nature, but nothing fazed the man. Since Paris, though, something had changed. Something in Cora had changed. Her eyes glistened with a hint of admiration when she looked at Dick, an allusion to something that was deeper than twisted flirtation. Nixon shook his head… Crazy kids.
Dick stood over her for a moment, watching the struggle. He climbed down next to her in the hole, his hands quickly covering her own. "Let me," he whispered.
She pulled back and watched as he slowly rolled her pant leg up to better access the fabric. His cold fingers touched her skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn that a smile had crossed his face. There was a tenderness to the way he touched her that made her blush. The heat flushed her cheeks a bright red that she quickly wished away.
"Maybe you should have been a medic, Dick. You're not too bad, actually."
As he tied off the fabric, his eyes met hers. Her stomach fluttered nervously, but she never looked away. "No, I'll leave that to you," he said before sliding the uniform back down.
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The cold ripped through Cora like it never had before. She had lived through some of the coldest winters, but those years had never prepared her for this. It was painful to move, but Cora did it, turning instinctively into Dick and pressing her frozen body closer to his. She hadn't thought about it until afterwards, and by then, it was too late. His entire body tensed as she pushed against him in her desperate search for heat, and then slowly relaxed while he wrapped his arms around her.
There was something natural about the way her body fit against his. All of her curves complemented his hollows comfortably and there was no awkwardness to the way his limbs enveloped her. Peace fell over the two and warmth radiated from the tiny space between their bodies outward toward the sides of the foxhole. The troubles of the world melted away as her breathing steadied, hot against his chest and neck. Cora drifted indolently off into sleep, positive that the feeling of Dick's lips upon her hair was nothing more than a dream.
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