A/N: So, I attempted to get this chapter out on July 4th and, naturally, I'm twenty-two minutes late (according to my clock anyway). And if you ask, yes, that's what's taken so long. I was waiting for the Fourth of July. (Sue me?) Several other installments have already been written though, so it'll be smoother sailing from here. Lyrics by Oasis and George M. Cohan
I don't own Band of Brothers.

XI. Stop Crying Your Heart Out

'Cause all of the stars
Are fading away
Just try not to worry
You'll see them some day
Take what you need
And be on your way
And stop crying your heart out

The word "paralyzed" bounced around in Cora's head as she sat on top of the jeep, holding tight to the bottle of plasma and stroking Smokey's hair. She knew he couldn't feel his legs. In fact, she was partially sitting on them. As he looked up at her with a once playful pair of eyes, Cora smiled her infectious smile and twirled a dark lock around her finger.

"You're going to be okay," she mouthed over the noise of the engine and the wind.

He simply nodded and let his eyes slip shut. In that moment, Cora was glad he couldn't feel anything. The ride to the field hospital would have been a lot worse for him if he had. The bumps that they had hit along the way almost sent her flying a few times and the plasma nearly slipped out of her hand at least twice. Of course, anything was better than being in between her soldiers and the Kraut tanks, despite the fact that it was where she belonged.

Time and time again, she was asked if there was anything in the world that she would die for. Cora always joked and told the inquirer either a good cup of coffee or a good dance partner, but the truth was that she'd die for anyone of them, any single one of her boys that were in the thick of things. She'd even take a bullet for one of the replacements if it had ever come to that. She was proud of them, proud of their stamina and their grit. Not one man that she served with – except for Foxhole Norman – was a coward. It was perhaps the only good thing that had ever come from Sobel's training. Each member of Easy Company had been taught to face an adversary head on, to go full speed ahead without blinking. Even as they shouted in pain, courage and strength still blazed in their eyes. Yes, she'd easily die for them.

Cora called out to the men waiting outside the field hospital when the jeep pulled up. She held on tight to the plasma as Eugene helped the soldiers ease Smokey off the front of the vehicle. Her eyes popped wide open as they headed inside, initially shocked by the look of the place. Men caked in blood lay everywhere; women sat by their bedsides with tears streaming down their dirty faces; nurses and doctors ran to and fro, ignoring the cries and the sobs. Booze bottles were being passed around amongst the men to ease their pain and their bandages were made from the bed sheets. This was worse than Holland in Cora's eyes… and it made her chest ache.

"Jones!" the man holding Smokey's feet called out.

A medic, his face twisted into a solemn frown, hurried towards them. He pushed aside the bottles and syringes on the empty table and instructed the men to place the wounded man on it. Cora continued to hold onto the plasma, not wanting to leave her friend's side just yet. The medic patted Smokey down, searching for his tag.

"Where's his tag? What's wrong with him?" he snapped at a sickly pale Roe.

Eugene blinked three or four times before answering. Even in the warming and luminous glow of the candles, he didn't look well. Something tore at Cora, almost ripped her at the seams when she saw him like that. Roe swayed a little as his mouth formed the words. Perhaps it was the smell of death and illness that made them both dizzy.

"What?" came the reply from the frustrated medic.

"He's paralyzed," Roe responded louder. "He can't feel a thing."

Cora handed the plasma off to a nurse as Roe began to wander away from the scene, his eyes resting on another medic performing a prayer over a corpse. She pulled "Jones" slightly out of earshot.

"Take the attitude down a notch, pal. We're all going through hell. It's called compassion. In this line of work, you really ought to have some," she said coldly, the words sharp and deliberately hostile.

As she walked away, she took Eugene by the arm and began to lead him out, away from the sadness and the heartache. Before they got very far, a French accent called his name out. They both turned to see a woman with fair features, not much older than Cora, wiping her hands clean. Concern swept over her face, but it was heaviest in her eyes. Cora knew how she felt and bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop any tears from flowing.

"Are you… Are you alright?" she asked.

She was gone before he could answer, running to wherever her name was being called from. Eugene looked down the aisle after her. Cora simply watched the exchange. She had never seen that look in her friend's eyes before, although she had recognized it in others'. He was smitten with this woman, possibly loved her. A smile rose to her face as she touched his shoulder.

"Come on, lover boy. Let's get back to the line."

&&&&&

December 25, 1944

Cora typically welcomed Christmas Day with open arms. There was an enchantment in the air on Christmas that wasn't present the rest of the year, a certain magic that infected every household, no matter the religion. The city was usually filled with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar, and every soul was bright with hope and joy. Cora would always leave the apartment early on those mornings and drive downtown. She'd park somewhere and simply walk around Manhattan, taking in all the sights and sounds and brilliance of the dawn. For those few hours, all seemed right with world.

But as Cora listened to the Germans sing "Silent Night" and her friends' voices in the foxhole next to her, those memories were all she had to keep her from breaking down. Luz was asleep on her shoulder and her legs were numb from sitting in the same position for so long. Harry Welsh had been hit and Dick had sent Eugene off the line again. Their last decent meal had been weeks ago and death always seemed to be just minutes away. Soon. It's coming soon. The end is near.

"Hi," a voice said from above.

Cora looked up slowly to find Dick balanced on the balls of his feet next to her. The tip of his nose was a cherry red and his cheeks had lost all color. His eyes, though, were still a bright blue that, even in the darkness, she found comfort in.

"Hi," she sighed in return. "They don't take breaks on holidays, do they?"

"No, I guess not."

"I mean, first they torture us with that serenade and then they try to kill us. The Germans really are the most persistent group of people I've ever seen," Cora joked, though her tone lacked its normal joie de vivre.

Dick smiled at her a little and readjusted his helmet. His gaze stretched over the other foxholes for a moment before returning to Cora. "Are you okay?"

"Why is everyone always asking me that question? I'm supposed to be asking you all, not the other way around. You boys have enough to worry about."

Dick shook his head. He was too cold and too tired to start the same conversation with her over the way she buried her emotions. The middle of the Ardennes was not the place for them to get into the psychological reasons behind her use of humor to deflect the truth or her general avoidance of personal issues. But it still ate at him.

He hated the way that she just shoved things away, simply blew everything off. She would make jokes, shrug her shoulders, claim resignation, but all of her little actions were just mechanisms to cope. She teased, she flirted, and she avoided the problems of her life. Cora left delicate, emotional matters unfinished and let the loose ends of her life blow in wind. There was an apathetic air about her that sighed, "So what?" and "Who cares?" but Dick knew that, deep down inside, she cared. She cared more than anyone in the world, yet she was so obsessed with how people viewed her and the reputation she had to uphold with the world that she refused to let anyone all of the way in. They saw a side of her that was bold and intense, flirtatious and charming… a side that was all woman with the strength of ten thousand men. But behind those dark blue eyes was a little girl who was insecure, afraid of rejection, and wanting nothing more than to be protected.

"Of course, Cora. Merry Christmas."

&&&&&

The Battle of the Bulge had broken the soul of every soldier, medic, and civilian that witnessed it. Each man, woman, and child discovered what it meant to have a breaking point, whether it be because of the cold, the death, or the constant bombardment from explosives. Cora's came after Bill and Joe Toye got hit.

The shelling, like all of the others, began unexpectedly. Lipton's voice roared over the explosions as they all scurried, like rabbits, for cover. The trees snapped in half and the snow cleared. The Fourth of July saw less firepower. Tommy get your gun, get your gun, get your gun. The debris fell down around them, branches and shrapnel falling like a fatal rain. Take it on the run, on the run, on the run.

Cora buried herself closer to Babe, who had spouted the line, "Location, location, location," to her earlier while she helped him dig his foxhole. Hear them calling you and me, every son of liberty. She yanked her helmet down so tight on her head, she worried that she would end up looking like a cartoon with a hole ripped through the top. Hurry right away, don't delay, go today. Cora hadn't prayed in months (in years, maybe), but at the moment that her life flashed before her eyes, God was on her lips faster than any man had ever been. Make your daddy glad to have had such a lad. In her mind, she could see her father's smiling face, the blue eyes that he had passed on to her glistening with an undeniable pride on that dock in Brooklyn. Tell your sweetheart not to pine, to be proud her boy's in line. She saw Sobel's eyes, in a trance, the first time they met and so bewildered the last time she saw them. Over there, over there. She could remember distinctly the expression on the face of every single member of Easy Company when they were introduced to her. Some gaped after her, confused and transfixed. Others rolled their eyes, sure that she'd never make it very far. And, of course, there was Dick, who watched her with a certain curiosity and anticipation. Send the word, send the word over there.

"Duck!" Babe yelled as a tree started toppling over.

Cora watched, open-mouthed, as the pine got closer and closer. She could feel the blood trickling down her face from where the branches had hit her and hear Babe panting against her neck. That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming. Cora ground her teeth together as her pushed her bare hands against the rough bark, hoping to move the tree before it crushed them. The thing wouldn't budge. The drums rum-tumming everywhere.

Suddenly, everything was still. Babe turned his face toward Cora's for a moment. "You okay?"

Cora nodded, her face on fire. She could hear Lipton, though he sounded so muffled and far away. Babe started then to call out for help. He stretched an arm out of an opening in the branches, trying his best to make himself visible. His other arm was positioned on one side of Cora's head and his lower body was on top of hers. Cora laughed a little at the situation, which came out as more of a snort, and wiggled her way out from underneath him. So prepare, say a prayer.

"Lip!" she called. "Lipton!"

Three other voices were heard on the other side of the tree and Cora could see the three other figures from between the pine needles. Send the word, send the word to beware. The light broke through as one part of the tree was yanked away and their rescuers became visible. Lipton grabbed Babe by the forearms and pulled him away from the damaged foxhole first, then handed him off to Skip Muck. He crouched down again and found Cora, her face scratched and bloodied. We'll be over, we're coming over.

"How bad is it, Lip?"

"You're still a dish, Cora. A real dish," he said, pulling her from debris.

She staggered out and dusted herself off, laughing again. "Nothing a little lipstick—"

"Incoming!"

And we won't come back 'till it's over, over there.

&&&&&

"MEDIC!"

Cora knew it was Buck. There was no question. She'd know that voice any time, any place, anywhere. She crouched down low and ran, fast as her legs would carry her.

"I'm coming. I'm coming." She said in a whisper. No one else could hear it.

She reached him quickly; Shifty's hole hadn't been far from him. Cora wished, though, that she had given herself time to mentally prepare… just in case. But she hadn't given herself any time at all and the scene she was met with left several deep scars on her heart.

Across a snowy clearing stood Lt. Buck Compton, one of Easy Company's best leaders since Winters. His helmet had tumbled from his fingertips and was left, discarded, on the ground; a full head of blonde hair, too pallid to be of this world, was bobbing in the shock of the blasts. In fact, his whole body, stocky and masculine, swayed with the wind and the settling snow. Buck's eyes, once stunning and clear, were glazed over and almost without sight. Everyone was sure that he had left a little bit of himself back in Holland. Cora was sure that whatever he had remaining was gone.

"She's done with me," Buck said to Cora.

"She's a fucking moron."

Buck sighed. "No, she's just…"

"She's just the biggest idiot on the planet. What, she couldn't hold out a little while longer? You're fighting for your damn country! You're one of the best! You're… you're Buck Compton!"

He knew she was right, but he refused to agree. As much as he wanted to hate the woman smiling back at him in that little picture, he just couldn't do it.

"Cora, she knows all of that. It doesn't matter."

She stared at him incredulously and threw her hands up in the air, aggravated. "Doesn't matter? Jesus Christ, Buck, you're definitely a much better person than I am. She doesn't deserve you."

"And what do I deserve, Cora? Because if you could tell me, that would be great. I don't have the slightest idea anymore."

Cora took his hands in hers. "You deserve a woman who'll stick around when times get rough and when you need her the most. Someone who'll be strong for you just like you're strong for her… always."

He looked at her, finally noticing the shape of her lips. "That's not true… I don't deserve you."

"I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about more than just some consolation prize."

"Best consolation prize I've ever gotten…"

The smell of blood hit Cora's nose… the warmth rising from the icy forest floor. In a tangled red mess in the middle of the clearing were the mangled bodies of Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye. A trail of blood was left behind where Bill tried to pull Joe to safety, a plan of action that had cost him more than he bargained for.

Cora couldn't move, couldn't think. She called for Eugene, for backup, for help. Listen, Gonorrhea… She rushed toward them and gathered Bill in her arms. Joe, hon, you keep coming back for more and I don't understand why. The tears stung the open gashes they streamed down her face and onto his. Oh, Bill, what am I gonna do with you? She didn't even hear Eugene's footsteps crunch in the snow.

"Cora, quit the waterworks, will ya?" the Philadelphia accent said.

"Damn, what does a guy have to do to get killed around here?" Joe groaned.

Their jump wings gleamed silver in the dim light of the pub. "Here's to living to fight another day…"