A soldier lays on the table, he's paler than normal and just barely alive. Anna and a medic are frantically at work trying to save his life. He's Daniel the medic, the one who would often ask Marguerite out for coffee, though she'd never say yes he'd ask anyways. She stands there holding his hand, because he asked her too. She should be with Anna and the other medic trying to save his life. But instead she holds onto the pale hands of Daniel, telling him he'll be alright, that he'll survive this. She knows that he doesn't believe her, and quite frankly she doesn't believe herself either. He's losing so much blood, from what she can see, but she tries to believe that he really will live through this. She speaks to him quickly and softly in French so that only he can hear her. She knows that he probably doesn't understand her, but she hope it comforts him anyway.
"Miss Blythe," his voice is so quiet that she has to strain her ears to hear him, "if I live through this whole ordeal, will you do the honor of marrying me?"
It's not as if a soldier hasn't asked her this before, of course she usually had no idea who the man lying on the table was, but it was a common occurrence for a man on the verge of death to ask for marriage, or to request that a letter be sent out, or that amends with other soldiers be made on their behalf. But none of this made any of this doing business easier.
"Of course I'll marry you Daniel, I'd love to be the next Mrs. O'Callaghan."
He smiles at her for a brief second. In that second she can see what he might have been like prior to the war. He was probably as dashing, popular boy back in his hometown. He probably played a lot of sports and hoped to have a nice respectable job after the war.
From the corner of her eye she can see that Anna's stitching him up. And with that she knows that there's a glimmer of hope that he will live, and she's oddly happy about this. She had always tried so hard not to invest too much emotion into the soldiers, but at the prospect of this particular man living she's almost thrilled.
"You know Miss Blythe, just because you said that I refuse to die, I'm gonna make sure I live to see the day that I get to marry you."
She doesn't respond, instead she simply offers him a small smile. She wants him to live through this entire ordeal, to be able to lead a normal life after the war, but then again deep down on the inside she hopes this for every single soldier.
But he doesn't last, with wounds like that they never do. The cold grip of death comes for him after their bastardized version of surgery, when Renee comes chasing after her, telling her that she couldn't stop the bleeding, that the stitches had ripped open while he was sleeping.
"He called your name Rite," Renee says in a soft voice, "I'm so sorry, I know you liked him best out of all of them."
Marguerite says nothing though, she turns back to the soldier whose bandages she's been changing. She shakes her head a little and begins to sing a song under her breath. It's a song her mother used to sing to her and her brother. It reminds her of more innocent times. Times when there were nor troubles in life. When no one she knew died, when the worst thing that could happen was having to go to school in the fall.
She doesn't even muster the ability to cry. He's just like the rest of them, he's nothing special to her at all.
And her day progresses. She discharges one of the soldiers, for nothing was truly wrong with him the war just got to be a bit much she assumes. And another soldier comes in. He's got a strange accent and talks a bit too much for anyone's liking but he keeps the spirits of the other soldiers up. He tells crude jokes and does impressions of what she assumes are the superiors of the men. He's not injured, or at least not to her knowledge but he's there.
"So ma'am I've been sent by the great Doc Roe." He says to her as she finishes checking on the last of the patients, "told me to 'get the hell off of the front line for a minute and find some goddamn boots for Toye' and naturally I took the opportunity and her I am asking you for boots, and hell why you're at it you got anything for a radio?"
She gave him a side glance, "we don't have any boots, well not new ones anyway."
He gave her a toothy grin, "Miss we've gone to hell and back, I really don't think ol' Joe Toye is gonna mind some used boots there."
"Luz, don't talk to the nurses like that." It's that same familiar deep voice, and sure enough Eugene Roe is walking through from one of the rooms.
"Well Doc, it's been awhile since I've been around a woman, I start to forget my manners after awhile. I apologize deeply ma'am, but do you have anything for a radio?"
She shakes her head, "I can't say that we do."
"Well damn, the only good things about this place are the pretty faces and the hot chow." He winks at her when he says this and a light blush graces her cheeks. She looks over to Eugene who's blushing more than she is.
"Luz, go down and go get some coffee or something," Eugene mumbles giving Luz a small push away from Marguerite.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Luz says with a toothy grin before turning towards her, "until next time madam."
He bows slightly before walking away. His footfalls are loud and for a moment fills the silence left between Marguerite and Eugene.
Eugene shifts his weight and awkwardly clears his throat, "He was driving the lieutenant up a wall so the lieutenant asked me to take him with me to Bastogne for a bit so he could get a break. I'm sorry if he was disturbing the peace, or if he offended you or something."
She almost smiles at him, almost. "No, he was fine, he brightened the mood in here a bit."
They lapse into another silence, and it's an uncomfortable one. He looks as though he wants to say something to her, as if to ask a question. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again quickly.
The silence between them is deafening.
"So, what size boots?" she says carefully.
"A- uh nine, I believe."
She nods. She should have known, all of these soldier wear the same size in nearly everything. Of course there's the anomalies who are larger or smaller than the average soldier, but generally they're all the same size, same manner of speaking, same everything. None of them are really any different, or at least they don't seem so different.
She grabs a crate to put things in. First go the boots, then some bandages, sulfa powder, morphine, needle and thread, a chocolate bar or two. Basic things that he would need to heal and help. When she turns back to hand him the crate he has a perplexed look on his face.
"Miss Blythe, I don't want to impose."
"Call me Marguerite," she says in an almost harsh tone that catches her off guard for a second. "Anyways, there was a drop yesterday. We have more than enough supplies, and I know that out on the line you all have close to nothing. I'm sure we'll survive until the next drop."
It's silent again, and she can feel the weight Eugene's gaze, a gaze that she can't quiet return so instead she stares the the bloody medic bandage on his arm.
"Well then I should be on my way before George Luz comes on back here for one of you nurses, but thank you Miss Marguerite, I'm in your debt for this."
His calloused hand grazes hers as he takes the crate from her. His touch makes her body go rigid and cause blush to rise up her neck. She pulls her hand away quickly and shakes her head as if saying no problem before watching him leave. As soon as he's well our of an earshot she lets out a long sigh and relaxes some, and goes to find something to busy herself with.
She hates Bastogne and all of the things it is doing to her.