A/N: Filler-ish chapter. Took me a while to pump this one out. I'm not fully satisfied with it, but I never usually am. ("And the worst critic award goes to...") Enjoy another lengthy one!
Don't own Band of Brothers.
Music/Lyrics by: The Radio Dept. and Rodgers & Hammerstein

XVI. I Don't Like It Like This

I can't calm down at all
Panic is what panic feels like
Can't we just stay silent?
Speaking now seems far too violent

My dearest Artemis, the letter began. Cora ran her fingertips along the words printed in her father's messy handwriting and smiled at the nickname her father had given her long ago. Greek goddess of the wilderness, the hunt, dawn, and frost; daughter of Zeus; twin of Apollo; the representation of the feminine energies and potentials… and a virgin. Cora hadn't lived up to the latter aspect.

Louise just recently left for her basic training for the WAC. You would be so proud of your little sister, as are we all! Even your mother, surprisingly. Augustine asked for you the other day. She's growing so big. It's hard to believe she'll be six years old next month. I remember when you were that age… she's not much tamer. Margaret just gave birth last week to another healthy baby boy, whom she named Henry. He has his mother's eyes, but I can see his aunt's spirit there already. He's bound to be a handful.

In other, less joyful, news, Emily is now a widow. Jonathan was killed somewhere in Italy, but the specifics are unknown to me. She has moved back in with your mother and I for the time being. Her children have been staying in the room you shared with Victoria (who is now engaged to some writer she met in California). Em is still trying to find a way to explain to Susan and Jeffrey that their father isn't returning, but hasn't been able to do it quite yet. Your mother wants you to ask God to provide her with the strength to get through this misfortune.

Cora prayed right then and there.

Your mother is doing well and has taken up experimenting with food again, much to all of our chagrin. I, too, am doing fine and have recovered from that cold. The business is booming again. It seems people are much more interested in buying books again. (Thank God!) We all love and miss you terribly, and pray daily for your safe return.

Continue living for the moment. With love, your proud father.

P.S. Forgive that Winters fellow. He sounds like a nice young man.

She looked over the last line of the letter over and over again. "Damn."

&&&&&

Cora stood at the counter in the mailroom and wrote back home to her father. Since Easy had gotten to Germany, she spent most of her time either writing letters (some of which she never sent) or volunteering at the aid stations in the area; while the men were off fraternizing with the local broads, looting the businesses and homes, or gambling. Of course, her foolish pride and New Yorker tenacity kept her from doing the one thing she truly wanted to do… or, the one person she truly wanted to do.

Vest emerged from the back room with an armful of disassembled boxes, hoping that one of them would fit Captain Speirs' new loot. He wasn't sure if anything was going to be left when the Krauts finally returned to their homes after Easy Company had swept through. He hadn't been this busy in months. To make matters worse, Cora had been hanging around, making him nervous. Ever since he had gone on the patrol in her place, he was wary of her. For the entire month of February, she had glared at him and terrified him into submission like a beaten dog. Since then, she had apologized, but he still had the urge to duck away from her… just in case.

"Oh, Vest, would you happen to have an envelope lying around somewhere? And a stamp?" Cora asked, her tone cheery.

"S-Sure, Captain," he replied.

Cora stuffed the letter into the envelope, sealed it, and addressed it to her childhood home. She licked the stamp and placed it carefully in the corner before handing it over to Vest. He took it from her quickly and put it into the "out" pile before returning to his box assembly.

"Vest, when was the last time I apologized?"

He paused, thinking. "Last Tuesday, Captain."

"That long ago? Well, then, I'm sorry again for acting like such a cunt," she said, not bothering to notice the strange looks she received from several enlisted men that had entered.

"Already forgiven, Captain. By the way, there's one more letter here for you. I guess I missed it the first time I sorted through these."

He handed her a thick white envelope. Her name was written in a cursive that she hadn't seen in almost a year… Cora struggled for air.

She stuffed the letter in her pocket as Nixon burst through the door, as if it were some deep, dirty secret that no one was allowed to know about. He barely acknowledged her presence as she stood guiltily in the corner. Nix had been searching for his VAT 69 all throughout Sturzelburg without much luck. Cora even had the sneaking suspicion that the broken glass at a local store had been caused by none other than Easy's alcoholic. She thought it odd, though, that he was so particular about the whiskey he drank. Most alcoholics that she had known often picked their poison, so to speak, and stuck to it, but they were not willing to suffer through a dry spell if there was another booze available. She could even remember one instance when a boyfriend drank a bottle of cooking sherry (and ended up making a pass at a cross-dresser) because it was the only thing left to consume other than his cologne, which he had also considered.

"You know, Nix, I might have some left in that one bottle you gave me a while back," Cora said after Private Janovec had announced that Easy had one hour before they were once again on the move.

"Do you really?" he asked, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

Cora felt the letter jab into her side. She ignored it and nodded. Nixon followed her out, down the street and around the corner to where she was staying. They entered the dark house, flipping light switches as they went.

"I guess it's a good thing I already have everything packed up. After all, an hour in Army time is more like thirty minutes," she said, opening the door to her room.

"Yeah, they're screwy. So, do you have it or don't you?"

Cora picked up her barrack bag and started rifling through it. After removing half of the contents, she found the whiskey and handed it off to Nixon. He hurriedly thanked her and ran back to his own room on the other side of the street. She stared blankly at the doorway, imagining Nixon as a cartoon character and the puff of smoke he would have left behind.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a black rectangular box with a piece of paper tied to it on the dresser. Cora picked it up and removed the ribbon and the note.

Cora, I heard that all women enjoy jewelry… even fiercely independent ones. With love (and apologies), Dick

Cora removed the top of the box to reveal a gold bracelet with a single black pearl hanging from it. Her mouth dropped open as she picked it up and she could feel her skin tingle where the thin chain touched. Without thinking about what accepting the trinket would mean to Dick, she pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and clasped the bracelet around her wrist. Don't sigh and gaze at me. She held her arm up to admire the way it looked against her skin, the way the pearl swung freely. Her lips morphed into a broad smile as she cradled the gem between her fingers. Your sighs are so like mine.

But then she remembered the true meaning behind the gift. Cora had never denied the fact that she was always more likely to see another's point of view if that other person happened to dangle something shiny in front of her, but had she really become so easily persuaded by jewelry? Your eyes mustn't glow like mine. Perhaps she had been a bit ridiculous… People will say we're in love.

"Captain Larson, we're moving out," a voice called from the hallway.

Cora pushed her sleeve back down and tucked the bracelet inside. She stuffed the note in her bag and piled the rest of the spilled contents on top of it before slinging it over her shoulder. The corner of the letter jabbed into her side, as if to say, "Read me! Read me!" But she chose to ignore it.

"Coming!"

&&&&&

"You up for that kind of responsibility, Cora?"

Cora threw her head back in a hearty laugh. "What? Being married to you, Lieb? Honey, that's a walk in the park! You, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to handle all of this," she said, motioning to herself.

Every member of the company dreamt of what they do after the war. Some imagined returning to the States, welcomed by their women, to start families. Others just fantasized about spending time without the threat of death looming overhead. But, like mirages in the desert heat, visions of apple pie and familiar, warm beds shimmered before them, only to disappear as they traveled on.

"What'll you do, Cora?" Liebgott asked as he lit a Camel cigarette.

She took a long drag of her own as the pearl pressed against her inner wrist. Don't start collecting things. Her eyes flicked toward the head of the long procession of trucks and jeeps where she was sure Dick was. Give me my rose and my glove.

"I'm not sure. I might go back to New York, probably try to get a job in a hospital," she said, trying to seem nonchalant.

"You're not going to get married?" Webster chimed in.

Cora smirked at him. "You know, for an intellectual, you sure are close-minded."

"That's not what I meant! I just… well, you and Major Winters… oh, never mind."

She knew the speculation, the rumors. The Fates had a plan for the Captain and the Major and it was meant to be as epic and sweeping as a Hollywood motion picture. Everyone knew it… and yet Cora refused to be apart of it. Every time she would go to forgive him that moment in Haguenau would replay in her mind, dance in her head until she was almost nauseous with grief. And she hid it, kept it locked away, so no one would know. Sweetheart, they're suspecting things. To the men in the company and in the battalion, there was an aura about her that was almost supernatural. She had to keep it that way.

"Major Winters thinks too little of me. I don't take that lightly… ever." People will say we're in love.

The letter prodded at her like a thorn. It felt as though it were tearing through her clothes and leaving deep gashes on her skin. Read me. Read me. Read me. There was no way for her to tell it to shut up.

&&&&&

They had ordered the Germans out of their homes. Not a single American felt guilty. They had slept in dirt for too long and been without the basic necessities for even longer. A few of the families even had dinner on the table… it was almost an invitation.

Nixon has been given the task to allocate the rooms amongst the officers. He and Harry shared an apartment, a spacious little place, and just across the hall, he found a tiny one bedroom flat. It was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and it was here that he placed Dick and Cora.

"You dirty rat! Nix, you've got until the count of 'one' to get another place for one of us or I'm gonna to cut you open and toss your limp body down the stairs!"

"There are no more, Cora," he said coolly, blowing smoke in her face in the process.

"Did I also mention that I'm going to throw your intestines out the fucking window and into the street?"

Nixon grinned. "No, dear, you hadn't, but thank you for informing me."

Cora turned quickly on her heels and headed back into the flat, furious. She started rummaging through the icebox, through the pantry and the cupboards, through the fruit bowl. She eventually sunk her teeth into a fresh apple and ripped the flesh from the fruit. Dick shot Nixon a frustrated look, a look that signified a goodbye. He thought, for certain, that he was going to die in there.

The juice from the apple ran down Cora's chin as she devoured it. Dick watched her mutely when she wasn't looking and thought that she seemed almost satanic, almost capable of tearing a person apart in the same manner. She was practically feral.

"So, I'll take the sofa," Dick said after a long spell of stillness.

Cora pivoted slowly to look him straight in the face. Her eyes burned red with insomnia and caffeine deprivation. "No, Major. That wouldn't be very befitting of your rank," she said, her tone condescending.

"It also wouldn't be very gentlemanly. You can take the bed, Captain."

They both paused and simply stared at each other, blinking occasionally.

"I'd rather not."

"Fine, have it your way. Just keep being impossible, Cora, but I guarantee you'll be really lonely because of it."

Cora rolled her eyes and wiped her face clean on a kitchen towel. "Wanna bet money on that?"

"'I'd rather not.'"

&&&&&

Dick sat at the small kitchen table, only made for two. He fiddled with another apple that he found, debating whether or not to eat it and pondering Cora's willpower. That afternoon in Haguenau hadn't stopped repeating for him and each time he remembered it, he could vividly see the hurt that had lingered beneath the blue eyes he dreamt of. He couldn't quite find the right words to tell her.

She sat across from him, playing Solitaire with a worn deck of cards that she had bought in London and humming along to the Pachelbel Canon that came floating from the radio. Her fingers flew through the pile, first searching for the aces before proceeding haphazardly. Within minutes, she was shuffling the deck and laying out another game. Her movements were fluid, entrancing. Dick watched her hands as they moved. A flash of the first time he came into contact with those hands sparked before him… a memory of soft, ivory skin and long, elegant fingers; cherry red nails and sterling silver rings. Even then she was cool to the touch, icy and warm at the same time.

"What are you staring at, Dick?" she said, continuing casually with her game.

He broke from his reverie and shined the apple on his sleeve. "I wasn't staring."

Cora sighed lightly. "Sure, you weren't staring. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe this is all just a dream and we're all actually in our own beds, in our own homes, sleeping. Maybe this whole war is an illusion."

"Cora, why can't you ever talk like a normal person?" he said before taking a bite of the fruit.

She scoffed. "Tell me something, Dick, when was the last time you met a normal person?"

"Never, I guess."

"Exactly what I thought."

Cora neatly packed the cards into an organized pile and slid them back in the box, all in perfect time to "On the Beautiful Blue Danube," which had begun playing. She stood and flitted around to the tune. She stopped at her where her jacket was strewn across the sofa and the letter had partially fallen out. Slowly, Cora picked it up and sank down onto the cushions. She simply stared at the envelope, making a mental pro-con list in her head about opening it. Her heart swelled with the violins and woodwinds and thudded along with the bass instruments that crackled in. She had completely forgotten that Dick was in the room until he spoke.

"Where did you learn all of these songs, Cora?"

"My Pop. That's all he played in his bookstore. He wasn't a big fan of jazz, really, but he knew classical composers like you wouldn't believe. He was practically an expert. I was probably ten when I learned to waltz. I think it was the only time he considered me his little princess."

Dick took another bite from the apple. "Is that from him? The letter?"

"Yeah," she lied. "Yeah, it's from him."

Cora slipped her index finger beneath the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Another song came on, a serenade that she recognized from Mozart. She took the papers from their sheath and smoothed them out on her lap. She bit back a sob as she read the first line.

Cora Leigh, it's been a long time…

&&&&&

Dick stumbled out from the bedroom in the middle of the night, unable to sleep as usual, to find the lights in the living room on. He walked in, expecting to find Cora sitting upright, possibly playing cards or reading. But when he found her, she was still in her uniform, boots on, asleep on the couch with the letter scattered across her chest. Her one arm dangled off the side of the couch, hand brushing the wooden floor. The other arm was rested on her stomach, rising and falling with the motion of her diaphragm. Dick's mouth curved into a smile as he watched her sleep, her mouth partially open and her hair disheveled. Her face was covered in dried tears, which had left dull streaks of black mascara down her cheeks. Cora had never looked more vulnerable to him before, even though he had seen her at her worst more times than he could count anymore.

Dick noticed her wrist then and the trinket that hung upon it. He wasn't sure what it meant. He could feel his stomach flip inside him. Perhaps I haven't lost her after all. He lifted the pages away from her, pushed them into a tidy stack, and reached to set them down on the coffee table… that was, until he caught sight of the opening line.

Cora Leigh, it's been a long time…

Cora Leigh. Only one person in the world had ever called her that… Sobel.