Promptoberfest 2025

The ambush is quick and sudden, blinding and brutal.

An explosion goes off at the front of the patrol, screams already rising and dying in the space of a second, and Odilia's sprinting without a second thought, ignoring the gunfire that opens up in the aftermath of the mine. Men fire on them from the buildings. Someone calls her name but she ignores it, ducking and weaving to get to the explosion site. Someone could still be alive, someone could need help. Her fingers close around the strap of her satchel as she grinds her teeth together, diving under rubble as another explosion goes off.

This time, it triggers a series of smaller explosions, all along the street. Odilia pauses in her mad dash, eyes widening as she follows the smoke clouds, the shrapnel that bursts from them. A few soldiers go down, some with cries and others silently, but that's not what catches Odilia's attention. No, it's Cassie, the girl's body jerking as the shrapnel cuts through her skin, slicing her open, and instantly she collapses, convulsing and skin pulsing.

An unearthly howl tears from the younger woman, cutting clear across the carnage and piercing Odilia's ears even over a block away. Bright red fur blooms from her pulsating skin in splotches, and somewhere else on the street comes another howl, this one deeper but still just as pained.

Will.

They're targeting the werewolves.

Odilia's blood runs cold and she forces herself up, tries to pinpoint the best way to get to either Cassie or Pierson. She knows shifts can be triggered by the moon, by stress, but whatever the Germans have is new. Is it reacting with stress and forcing shifts against their will? God, that can't be safe or painless — and what if they go feral? There'll be just as big a chance of friendly casualties as enemy ones.

Dust and debris kick up into the air as a bullet slams into cobblestone mere inches from Odilia's hand. She jerks it back and close to her body, burying her other hand into her satchel, feeling for her vials and pouches even as she stumbles back for more cover. Just a stray bullet, maybe, or a ricochet, she's got to find the wolves so she can—

A bullet slams into the center of her helmet. Odilia's head snaps back, neck twinging, and stars burst across her vision, nausea mixing with the hot pain as she collapses to the ground, a sharp cry spilling from her lips. For a second, she's limp, sprawled on the ground, blinking furiously to try and clear her vision. A hand lifts to quickly poke and prod at her head, gut twisting as she prepares herself for a gruesome mess, but the bullet never pierced her helmet. There's not even any bleeding from the impact, she'll just have one hell of a nasty bruise later, a possible concussion.

Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, Odilia's vision finally begins to clear. Her head swims as she moves but she ignores it, knowing she can't stay here. Despite the bright red cross band on her sleeve identifying her as a medic, someone's targeted her. Maybe it's not just the werewolves they're after. What would be the best way to cripple a platoon? Go after the officers, the werewolves, the medics. They've got two of the three so far, fuck, are Turner and Brooks okay? Have they been targeted as well?

"Melangell? Where are you, it's time to get ready!"

Eve shouldn't be surprised to find the hare wrestling with Zuss's coyote, and she huffs out an amused laugh when she finds them. Melangell is furiously kicking at Cane's side, clearly holding back but acting as if she isn't, and Cane is laying on the ground, lazily pawing and pushing at the hare whenever she kicks too hard, flipping her over and rolling to face her as they continue their play fight.

Eve squats next to them and Cane immediately abandons Melangell, rolling onto his back and grinning up at Eve, whining and pawing at the air. She rolls her eyes and lowers a hand, rubbing his stomach, and his tail thumps and swishes happily against the ground.

"You are such a pathetic baby," she teases, but Cane's too happy receiving pets to complain. Melangell gets onto all fours, snorting unhappily at the lack of attention. A large eye stares down at Cane as her huge ears swivel, and Eve doesn't have to guess who she's listening for. Eve sighs, thumping Cane's side with her hand twice before standing.

"Alright, Mel, we gotta head out," she says, adjusting the strap of her rifle over her shoulder. "The rest of the squad's waiting."

The hare stomps the ground, stubborn as ever. Cane rolls onto his stomach, tongue lolling out over his lips as he watches Melangell. Both of them turn as footsteps catch their attention and Eve lifts her head, posture softening as she smiles at who's coming.

"Are you givin' Eve trouble again?"

Zuss's teasing tone makes Eve's lips quirk up even higher. Melangell, the little traitor, is gone in an instant, hopping in circles and doing jumps in the air around Zuss. The man laughs, bending down to rub his knuckles against the top of Melangell's head, the hare pausing just long enough in her zoomies to allow the touch.

"You guys heading out too?" Eve asks as Zuss straightens, and he nods, jaw tensing as he frowns.

"Still wish you were with us," he gripes, and Eve shrugs a shoulder.

"Third platoon had a high casual list last week," she says. "Haven't recovered, and you know how pushy the brass is being about clearing this damn forest."

Zuss's frown only deepens. "Couldn't they have picked some other squad?"

"Will you relax? If you keep scowling like that, your face'll stay like that."

Eve leans forward and goes to pinch his cheek. Zuss goes to smack her hand away, at the last second twisting his hand to intertwine with hers and tug her closer to him. Eve laughs, squeezing his hand as she stumbles forward, and he breaks, smiling now.

"Promise you'll be careful?" he asks, smile starting to fall as he becomes serious again. Eve's face softens.

"Always, Robbie," she answers quietly. "You be careful, too, okay?"

Zuss winks. "Oh, of course, angel. 'Sides, I'm gonna have this beast with me — the Germans are gonna fall back in terror once they see her."

Melangell takes it seriously, stomping her hind legs furiously on the ground, nostrils flaring. Eve shakes her head with a grin, not surprised that the hare is deciding to go with Zuss. The damn animals had been so insistent for months to get them together, and now that they won, they're constantly switching with each other if Zuss and Eve aren't on missions together.

"You're stuck with me today, Cane," Eve sighs dramatically, letting go of Zuss's hand and stepping back. The coyote kicks out at Eve's leg as he stands with a groan, and then he's rubbing his head and shoulders against her legs.

"Lucky bastard," Zuss teases, grinning, as if Cane isn't his literal soul. Practically an extension of Zuss, it's as if Zuss himself will still be with Eve. Eve rolls her eyes at his semantics, reaching down to scratch the coyote behind his ears.

"You guys still trading?"

They both look up at Aiello's voice, annoyance flickering over Zuss's face. He, Stiles, and Aiello are all walking past, on their way to meet with Turner, Pierson, and whoever else they're with.

"Give it a rest, Aiello," Stiles groans, his tawny little burrowing owl peeking over at them from his shoulder.

"They're bonded," Daniels drawls out. "This is nothin' new. You know it ain't uncommon for animals of bonded pairs to switch 'nd go with the other."

Aiello sneers. "Yeah, but this ain't just goin' to work or shopping or whatever. This is war, in case you forgot. Hell of a thing, bein' responsible for someone else's soul in the middle of all this shit."

Eve's jaw clenches at the look Aiello sends Zuss's way, the message clear. Zuss's soul animal being a predator means he can take care of himself more than Eve's prey animal, in the eyes of the others. It's not the first time someone's brought up the difference, insinuated that Melangell is a liability for Zuss in combat.

Zuss's cheeks color, clearly pissed, and he opens his mouth to snap back at the New Yorker, but Aiello turns away to face Daniels as he continues.

"Besides, I don't know why you're so okay with it. You'd trade with your gal and bring her animal out in this shit? Wait, have you even read that letter yet?"

The three men instantly dissolve into arguing as they keep moving. Zuss is still staring daggers into Aiello's back and, not for the first time, guilt twists in Eve's gut.

"You sure you're okay with Melangell?" she asks quietly. Zuss's head snaps around to face her, frowning with that familiar irritation she's used to. It's an old argument, one they've had several times, but Eve still can't shake it. She's not ashamed of Melangell, never, but it's hard to ignore the fact that she is just a hare. She can't protect or attack like most of the other animals. Hell, even Stiles' owl can just fly out of reach and out of sight if things get too heavy, but Melangell?

"Angel," Zuss says, tone short. "We've been over this."

"I know, I just…"

Cane presses against the back of her legs firmly.

"Evie, I like having Mel with me," Zuss insists, firm as always. "Don't listen to Aiello, he's an idiot."

Eve still doesn't feel better, but she lets it go. "Well, we can agree on that."

Zuss grins. "There we go. I'll see you later, okay?"

Before Eve can respond, Zuss steps forward, lips pressing against her cheek. He's already walking away before she even realizes what's happened, inhaling sharply, and then her cheeks are flaming.

"Zuss!" she scolds, but she's smiling as she presses a hand to her cheek. He just laughs as he walks away, Melangell hopping alongside him happily, zigzagging behind him as he goes. They may have finally gotten together, but the military is clear that they will transfer Eve if command thinks they're a problem. Luckily, Turner's their lieutenant, so they don't have to worry too much about completely hiding, but still. Eve isn't used to open physical affection, even though she absolutely melts every time Zuss gives it.

She still can't believe it, not really. Melangell and Cane had been annoyingly persistent in getting the two of them to be friends in basics, and even after they were extremely close, but Eve had lived in denial for entirely too long.

And now…now it's wonderful, and amazing, and absolutely terrifying. Zuss's coyote trots alongside Eve, tongue lolling out and seemingly without a care in the world. Aiello's words ring in Eve's ears. Hell of a thing, being responsible for someone else's soul. She loves Cane but she can't deny how petrified she is whenever he stubbornly decides to tag along with her, the fear that this will be the time she can't protect him.

Red –

    Red, take the shot!

“Archangel to Dogwood White 2/7-!” The radio crackled to life, the panic nearly knocking the air from their lungs. “Reroute to South quad 2 immediately! Evac Convoy is taking effective fire!”

They were moving before the transmission finished, Stiles scrambling to pull the gear back into place as Turner barked orders. The squad was rushing, a heavy weight building in their chest as the transmission continued to shout coordinates and codes. Aiello cursed under his breath, fingers curling around his rifle in a white knuckled grip before he started running. The Nazis were targeting medics now –

Just like they’d done in Marigny.

“Who has eyes on Pierson?” Turned shouted, brows furrowing as he hovered at the doorway, a curse of his own building when he was met only with confusion.

They couldn’t afford to look for the Sergeant.

Red felt something twist beneath his ribs, a malignant fear carving a space for itself in his chest. A pit opening up in his stomach as fear coiled around his throat. There was something unsettling in the way Turner looked at him. Something flickered behind his eyes, a flash of something Red wasn’t sure he’d ever associate with the steadfast Lieutenant. Worry. Fear.

Suddenly Red was 13 again, hands shaking as he struggled to pull the slide back. Fingers grasping desperately for the bullet as the sound of snapping jaws and rattling growls echoed around him. Paul’s voice cutting through the panic. Calm – too calm – as the wolf’s teeth dug deeper. Nails scraping and tearing, copper spraying as the creature shook its head.

It was happening again –

“Should someone look for him-?” It was Stiles’ uncertainty that ripped Red from his thoughts, gaze snapping to the back of Turner’s head as they raced forward.

“There’s no time!” Turner countered without glancing back. “Hurry up! Double time!”

They were cutting through alleys and abandoned buildings. They were too loud, heavy footsteps echoing off broken walls as they bolted towards the smoke in the distance. Red’s vision tunneled, tendons popping as his fingers curled even tighter around his rifle. His lungs burned, throat raw as words snagged at the back of his teeth. Prayers he was afraid to voice in fear the war would take something else from him –

“Where the fuck is he?” Aiello muttered under his breath, a scowl turning towards Stiles at the confused look. “Been dealing with his bullshit for months and the one time we need him, Pierson’s fuckin’ missing.”

He tried to latch onto Aiello’s anger. He had to focus. On Aiello, on Turner. On the way the smoke glowed orange over the crumbling buildings. Anything but the sound of screams slowly rolling through the abandoned streets.

“Shut up and keep moving!” Turner barked, “Six blocks left-.”

Red was going to be sick –

Was it better that he wasn’t there to see? His stomach soured at the thought. Images of Isabella scrambling away from the ambush flashing behind his eyes. He couldn’t picture her face – had he ever seen her scared? Images of Paul bubbled to the surface. Blood splattered across his cheeks, eyes unseeing as Isabella packed the wound with unsteady hands. Words tumbling from her lips with a panicked tilt, the scent of copper filling his lungs –

“Oh God-.”

Reality was worse than his fears.

"It's not as bad as it looks, angel. Promise."

Eve glances up at him, unimpressed, before looking back down at his cut knuckles. She's already taped the cuts on his face — two on his left cheekbone, one across the bridge of his nose — and checked out his ribs, worried for any cracks or fractures, but they passed inspection. So here she is, gently dabbing at his knuckles, bloody and raw, with a wet cloth as she cleans them. Exhausted and in pain, Zuss still preens at the fact that Eve is holding his hands, even if it's just to take care of his wounds. Her hands are soft and steady, secure, firmly tugging his hands one way or another to make the angle easier for her.

"I'm sorry, which one of us was a nurse for almost two years?" Eve retorts, pursing her lips. "Really? Tackling a guy and getting into a fistfight? Remember what happened the last time you tried to get down and dirty? I believe Red had to drag your ass off the beach because of a nasty little hole in your stomach."

"Hey, c'mon, angel," Zuss says, half a dramatic whine. "My gun jammed, and I had to do something! And I'm fine, clearly. You should see the other guy."

He wiggles his eyebrows and Eve rolls her eyes. Despite her play at being annoyed, her lips quirk up and her face softens.

"I did," she reminds him. "Are you sure you're not hurt anywhere else?"

Eve begins to wind a bandage around one of his hands, tight and secure against his knuckles. The movement is rhythmic and sure, as if she's done it thousands of times. Stormy blue flickers up to meet his soft green, concern and worry sparking.

"I'm sure, Eve," Zuss lies, and he grins at her for good measure. His stomach twists — lying to Eve feels so wrong, even more so at the fact she doesn't doubt him at all, face softening with relief as she finishes the wrap and starts on his other hand.

The bite on his shoulder, right above his right collarbone, throbs at the lie. Still, he's not going to say anything about it. It stopped bleeding soon after the fight, and it's not worth the fuss. Eve will probably insist on poking and prodding and cleaning and wrapping it, and the others will surely tease him to hell and back about it. God, he doesn't even want to think about what shit Aiello will come up with if he finds out the soldier bit Zuss in their fight before Zuss finally got the upper-hand and stabbed him.

There's a small part of him that almost gives in, tells Eve about the bite, but the relaxed slope of her shoulders stops him, the ease in her face. She's always so tense and worried, and she's just calmed down. Zuss is not going to get her all worked up over something ridiculous like a bite. Besides, he took medics training. He can take care of this himself.

Eve finishes the second wrap, but she doesn't let go of his hands. She gives them a gentle squeeze, and those blue eyes lift up to meet his gaze again. Zuss's breath catches in his throat and he just stares. How did he get so lucky to know Eve, to have her as one of his best friends?

"I'm glad you're okay," Eve says quietly, and she gives a wry grin. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I just…I'm really glad you're okay."

Zuss can't help but smile back at her, squeezing her hands back and ignoring the sharp twinges of pain that zip through his tender knuckles.

May 6th, 1944 Allied FOB, England

Curious eyes watched as the newest batch of rookies marched through the parade grounds, a small group of COs barking at their heels. The familiar string of orders shouted over the dull roar of conversation from the rest of the battalions already settled into their posts. It felt like every day there was a steady stream of buses shuttling new bodies through the gates, nervous eyes glancing around at the unfamiliar faces staring back at them. The sharp increase in troops only meant one thing –

The invasion would be happening soon.

Command hadn’t said anything, or at least, not that their COs had confirmed. Daniels wasn’t surprised, even if the details had been passed down to the Platoon level, he wasn’t in a position to hear about it. He’d barely been out of basic for a week before they were herded onto the carriers and shipped off to Europe. It felt like they barely trusted him to clean his rifle without supervision – there’s no way they’d give him any intel on the invasion.

“That’s the fifth one today.” Stiles muttered, idly rolling his mug between his palms. “What’re the odds we’re shipping out soon? Maybe we’ll meet the new COs today?”

“Dunno.” Zussman mused, lips pressing together as he glanced back towards the marching teams. “Sullivan didn’t say anythin’ to me.”

“Just as long as it’s not that one.” Daniels grunted under his breath, bright eyes tracking one of the taller Sergeants as he moved through the crowd.

“Careful what you wish for.” Stiles mumbled, grimace stretching across his face as the man stopped in front of Sullivan. “You just had to open your mouth…”

Daniels scoffed, tension winding across his shoulders as the Sergeant’s gaze settled on them. Even from across the parade grounds the eyeshine was unmistakable. He wasn’t human. It was a conscious fight to keep his hackles from rising at the scrutinizing look, a dull chill washing over him until he felt a growl threatening to build in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, he’d met hundreds – thousands – of shifters since enlisting. Most of the 1st Infantry Division were Shifter Battalions, none of the men and women had been a problem.

But this one was different.

There was something about the man that had his instincts buzzing warily.

It didn’t make sense.

“Yeah… That’s Sergeant Pierson.” Aiello drawled lazily, snapping Daniels out of spiraling thoughts. “Best to stay out of his way if you can.”

“Worse than that bear shifter from the 107th?” Stiles questioned uneasily, wincing at the memory of gnashing teeth and grueling drills.

“Oh yeah.” Aiello laughed. “He’s not a shifter though, Sarge is a werewolf. Most officers in the Battalion are.”

Werewolf.

Daniels’s brows furrowed deeper, frown pulling at his lips. He’d met a handful of werewolves in Texas, but this was the first one that had his hackles rising. He remembered his father’s stories, werewolves were unpredictable. They were either brilliant tacticians and great assets to the platoon – or they were liabilities.

He resisted the urge to make a face as the sergeant started towards them, gaze narrowing when the man moved with predatory efficenct. A deep scowl carved across his features, gold rimmed eyes flickering between the four of them. Posture unbothered by the small group even as Daniels felt the animal shift beneath his ribs, low growl echoing at the back of his skull.

“You four,” Pierson spoke up, each syllable like gravel scraping across his teeth. “You should be at Parade 3. Move your asses.”

Inhaling slowly the Texan prayed that, despite appearances, the man’s abrasive personality wasn’t a sign of things to come.

Unfortunately for Daniels, he wasn’t a religious man.

It’s a long road to the Rhine.

July 15th 1944 Outskirts of Marigny, France

“Jesus.” Daniels bit under his breath, lips curling into a scowl when the Sergeant stepped out of earshot. “What’s his fuckin’ problem? He’s non-goddamn-stop.”

Pierson had been at the back of their necks since they broke out of Normandy. A constant presence pushing them at every opportunity. If they weren’t on mission, they were alternating patrols. It was never ending. Turner intervened, sometimes. Intercepting the Sergeant and redirecting the man’s focus. But it wasn’t enough, Daniels was beginning to wonder if they’d survive Pierson long enough to even see the German border.

At the rate they were going they’d be dead in the ground long before the Nazis had the chance to put them there.

“He’s been like this since Kasserine.” Aiello shrugged, pointedly ignoring the glare the Texan sent his way. “Like I told you, just stay out of his way ‘n he’ll move onto something else.”

“You sayin’ there was a time when he wasn’t such a miserable bastard?” Daniels muttered, glare turning to Jacobs when the man scoffed bitterly from the other side of the fire.

“Yeah.” Aiello confirmed, absentmindedly rolling his shoulders to alleviate the tension building along his spine. “Pierson was one of the better ones, used to be almost as patient as Turner, if you can believe that.”

They didn’t believe him. And Aiello couldn’t blame them, if he hadn’t known Pierson before the Tunisian campaign, he wouldn’t have believed it either. The Pierson that had led them into the valley might as well have been a completely different person. Levelheaded, patient. Unshakable under fire, both on mission and on Post. There were only a handful of werewolves that handled conflict better, and they just had more experience.

But that was before Kasserine.

“Yeah. Sure.” Stiles deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Is there a bridge you’re gonna try and sell us next?”

“Fuck off, I’m not lyin’.” Aiello snorted, pulling a cigarette from the pack. “I said he was like that before Kasserine. Just be happy he’s not shifting feral during the Full Moons anymore-.”

“Can you fuckin’ blame him?” Jacobs interrupted sharply, the tone catching the rookies off guard, wide eyes all snapping towards him. “He lost Eloise in the Pass; in case you forgot.”

Daniels froze, an uneasy feeling sparking beneath his ribs. Wide eyes slowly turning to find the same look staring back at him from Zussman and Stiles. He didn’t recognize the name, but he knew the tone. Knew the implication. At first, he didn’t believe it, it was next to impossible to picture Pierson as anything but the constant threat looming just outside their peripheral. Harder still to picture anyone willing to put up with him let alone –

“And they never found her body.” Jacobs continued, jaw clenching as he swallowed back the venom building at the back of his throat. “Most wolves don’t recover from that. Frankly, it’s surprising he’s still here at all.”

Continue Reading

They didn’t know how many they’d lost since leaving the beaches – they’d lost count.

Still, Turner’s absence felt heavier in the aftermath of the failed attack on the guns. Aiello didn’t need to ask what happened when the rest of the platoon descended the hill. It was written across everyone’s faces, grief and anguish hooking deep until it carved a path down to the bone. Anything their broken expressions didn’t say – Daniels did.

Loudly.

Stiles and Zussman fought to keep the private separated from Pierson, the latter going so far as to cover the younger man’s mouth to prevent the venom from flying. The Sergeant, for his part, chose to ignore it. If it were anyone else it could’ve been considered a mercy, a subtle opportunity to allow younger man to grieve without the risk of a court-martial. But it was Pierson, and Pierson had made it abundantly clear since the beginning he didn’t concern himself with the wellbeing of his Platoon.

Truthfully, Aiello had been expecting something like this since they stepped off the boat in Normandy. Kasserine had set his expectations, and despite arguments to the contrary, Aiello knew it was only a matter of time before Pierson got someone else killed. He just hadn’t thought it would be Turner of all people, but he wasn’t necessarily surprised. Then there was the sick part of him that was also relieved. Not that the Lieutenant had been Pierson’s latest victim, but that it hadn’t been her.

It was an intrusive thought. An involuntary flicker of relief that was quickly overshadowed by guilt. He’d never admit it aloud; never verbally acknowledge the silent prayer he’d made when he didn’t spot her amongst the rest of the bodies descending the hill. It had started as a quiet fear, the nagging worry that settled beneath his ribs after Kasserine. It bloomed into something darker after he’d been shot at the base of the hill, a panicked desperation caught at the back of his teeth when she’d bolted after the rest of the platoon.

Turner’s death sat heavily in his chest, but it was impossible to deny the breath of relief when Stiles confirmed she wasn’t one of the casualties. He felt like he was back in Tunisia, pacing through the medical tents searching for anyone that had survived the valley. Anxieties building with each row of unfamiliar faces until he spotted her hunched over in a corner. Rough blanket wrapped around her shoulders while a nurse wound bandages around her arm.

No one else made it out.

Continue Reading

Robbie inhales deeply, rich earth filling his nose and lungs. A cough stirs in his throat but he forces it back down, wiping his clammy palms on his pants. Daniels gives him an optimistic smile and Robbie tries to mirror it, but his grin falls flat, lips tugging back down. Stiles and Aiello are ahead, arguing about the directions or something, which is unnecessary because Pierson knows the way, is leading them up ahead without looking back.

"Christ, is that another hill? We're lost —"

"I doubt we're lost, you know she's talked about living in the mountains before —"

"Yeah, but when was the last time we saw a person, or even a house or building?"

Stiles huffs out an irritated breath, adjusting the strap of his bag.

"This ain't like the city, Aiello," Daniels pipes up. "Back home in Texas, sometimes ya go miles without seein' anythin'."

"Yeah, farmboy, but does Texas have this many damn hills?" Aiello gripes back.

"Again," Stiles intones, "we are in the mountains. There are hills, and valleys. What isn't making sense to you?"

"Hey, College, c'mere—"

"The deli is up ahead."

Pierson's gruff voice silences the bickering. Robbie's breath stutters in his throat and he flexes his hands, craning his neck. There, further along the dirt road, is a building, at least two stories tall, weathered but well taken care of. Luna perks up at Robbie's side, as if she knows who's here, who they're here for.

But will she want to see them?

Robbie lifts his hands and fiddles with the strap of his bag. No one's heard from her. He supposes he can understand that, because why would she…? It makes sense, after everything, that she wouldn't write to any of them, but Pierson…

It's different for Pierson. Pierson had written to her and heard nothing back, and he's the only one that Eve remembers. The rest of them?

Robbie's heart speeds up with nerves and he takes another shaky breath. He's not ready. Not ready for Eve to see him, to see what remains after everything the Nazis did to him. Not ready to confirm what he's been told, not ready to have to confront the fact that Eve really did lose her memories.

That night flashes in his mind again as they approach the deli. Eve's body, strewn across the pavement, so deathly still. The dark blood surrounding her head, thick and fast and way too much. He remembers how desperately he had tried to get to her, how close the German had been to shooting her…

He remembers in the weeks after his rescue, the way the others had that look in their eyes. How he had nearly spiraled when he realized Eve wasn't there with the squad, terrified that his worst fears had come to life. How relieved he had been when they had rushed to assure him that Eve was definitely alive, how the relief had faded when Pierson told him she was back home in the states. If she had gone home, it had to be bad, be serious.

"If you're not going home, I'm not going home."

He blinks, coming back to himself as they step into the deli. Daniels sends him a concerned glance that Robbie pointedly ignores, instead focusing on the two women near the counter. The taller one — and good God, she's tall — eyes them with uncertainty, straightening. The shorter woman purses her lips behind the counter.

"Passing through?" the shorter woman asks. They probably don't get a lot of visitors in this small mountain town.

"Not passing through," Pierson answers, stepping forward. Robbie looks back at the taller woman, who's focused now on Pierson, frowning slightly as if she's trying to place him. There's something familiar about the slope of her nose, the look in her eyes.

"We're looking for someone, actually," he continues, and the tall woman puts it together immediately, stiffening. Robbie makes his own connection, one hand lowering to bury into Luna's thick fur as his nerves only grow.

South Carolina June 1943

It never took her long to remember why she hated attending events with Jackson and McCarthy.

Within minutes of arriving they were being herded in opposite directions. It was bad enough that someone somewhere up the chain had decided the event was mandatory – but they’d toted her out like a show dog. She wasn’t a doctor; she was a publicity stunt. It wasn’t enough that some of the politicians were talking about Pearl Harbor and Kasserine like the survivors weren’t mere feet away – they were building a fundraising platform off it. Expecting veterans and doctors alike to shake hands with donors and their families as if they hadn’t just spent an hour listening to someone who had never seen battle retell some of their worst memories.

When she’d received the letter, she’d tried to ignore it.

She might’ve gotten away with it too – if Jackson hadn’t decided to corner her in her office. Any hope of observing from the sidelines had been dashed by an Admiral. The expectation was clear, smile and shake hands with donors. Nod along with the presentations and officials. Her place on the team was a novelty – something a handful of senators were all too happy to show off to prospective nursing candidates. Anything to get more bodies into the service and more boots ready as they turned their sights to Europe. They never mentioned the blood and broken bones – they couldn’t risk telling real stories. It didn’t fit the narrative.

“Of course, I’d have been there if I could, was disqualified over an old football injury…” The man continued, forcefully dragging Isabella from her thoughts. “So, I help the fight from here…”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, fingers idly tapping against the rim of her glass. He wasn’t the first person to bring up the reasons why they couldn’t deploy. Justifications and excuses tumbling from their lips as if they felt like they needed to explain it to her. Somewhere in the back of her head she wondered if Jackson or McCarthy got the same responses, part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

She blinked owlishly as a wall of green stepped between them, the familiar clipped tone drawing her attention to the side of Pierson’s face as he addressed the man in front of her. A dull excuse rolling off his tongue before he turned his frame towards her, back now to the sputtering man. Isabella rolled her eyes, biting back the scoff as Pierson made a show of offering his arm. Leading her back to a table where Turner and McCarthy were already standing without a backwards glance to the man. Pointedly ignoring the amused look staring up at him as they walked.

With the other officers around her the evening went uninterrupted. Most of the other guests opted not to try and insert themselves into the conversation, the few who tried quickly moving on when Pierson and Jackson addressed them. They waited for the first round of attendees to leave before making their own get away, quickly slipping out of the ballroom before the Brass noticed their retreat.

“I don’t think I’ve seen such a breathtaking display of bullshit since I graduated.” Isabella mumbled, absentmindedly rubbing the back of her neck as they stepped into the open air.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Turner shrugged, pointedly ignoring the echoing scoff from the other two. “I’m just saying, it could’ve been worse. All things considered, it wasn’t bad. The food was pretty good.”

Their appearance at the event was one of the few positives of the evening. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep the polite mask in place while Jackson and McCarthy were pulled in other directions if she didn’t have the added buffer.

“Just because it wasn’t that bad, doesn’t mean it was good.” Isabella countered dryly, rolling her eyes. “Fundraisers like this are one of the reasons why I didn’t look for work in civilian hospitals.”

“And here I thought it was your bedside manner.” Pierson grunted, smirk stretching across his lips when her elbow knocked into his side. “My point stands.”

“My bedside manner is fine.” She quipped, “You’re just a terrible patient-.”

“Lieutenant Turner!” The group stilled, attention drifting back to the building where a corporal was jogging towards them. “Captain Russo! Good, you haven’t left yet-.”

“Good for who?” Isabella questioned under her breath, ignoring the look Turner shot her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, you two are needed back in Conference room 1.” The man announced, skidding to a halt a few feet from them. “They want to brief on the troops arriving tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long.”

Isabella shook her head slowly as Jackson waved them off, a quiet curse muttered under his breath as the corporal saluted before jogging back into the building. Turner sighed slowly, hand dragging down the side of his face as he glanced towards the sky.

“You had to say it could’ve been worse.” Isabella snorted, raising her hands slowly when Turner turned to glare at her. “What? It’s not like they won’t see y’all in 10 hours. I doubt there’s anything they’re gonna say that couldn’t wait.”

“I’m sure they could use a physicians input.” Turner countered dryly.

“That’s why Jack is here.” She shrugged. “They just wanted me for the photos; I’m not cleared to attend the briefings.”

The men snorted, Turner heaving another sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, it shouldn’t take too long, supposedly.” Jackson spoke up, scratching at the back of his neck. “D’you two want to head back to the barracks or do you want to wait around and we’ll head to the diner later? There’s a park that’s not too far. It’s no Coney Island but they got enough to do.”

“Suppose we could waste an hour.” Isabella shrugged, tossing a curious glance towards Pierson. She nodded when he shrugged back, attention returning to the other officers. “We’ll give it an hour. Try not to ask too many questions – you know how Becker likes the sound of his own voice.”

“Jesus, Bella.” Jackson muttered, “Don’t jinx us anymore than Turner did.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She waved him off. “If you end up takin’ two hours we’re going without you.”

“It’s one of the tallest Ferris Wheels on the East Coast!” The operator grinned, “Only one bigger is in Chicago!”

Isabella resisted the urge to smirk at the enthusiastic shout. His overexcited confidence reminded her of Red – specifically whenever he attempted to pressure her or Paul into taking one of the tractors out after Emmet had told him no. Glancing over at Pierson she snickered quietly – the man looked anything but amused at the prospect. Skeptical eyes passing over the operator’s head to the towering wheel above them.

“What’s with that look?” She questioned. “Can’t be heights, I’ve watched you repel from buildings taller than that.”

“That’s not the same thing.” He huffed dryly. “I barely trust Walker’s Engineers to keep the trucks going, I’m not about to trust some kid fresh outta school to keep that running.”

“C’mon, it’s better than Coney Island.” She drawled, voice taking a sarcastic edge before she huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Do you want to go on the Ferris Wheel, Daniels?” She rolled her eyes at the mocking tone, knocking her shoulder into his arm with a quiet scoff.

“Just for that tone – yes, yes I think I do, Pierson.” She quipped, stepping off the curb towards the ride. “Guess you’ll be on your own for the next ten minutes. Think you can manage that?”

Pierson snorted, hand scratching at the back of his neck irritably before he followed after her. Scowl settling into place when she shot him an amused look, lips curling upwards into the familiar lopsided smirk. He grumbled something under his breath as they approached, rolling his eyes when the operator jumped into another spiel as he walked them to one of the cabins. Happily rattling off the different facts about the park before closing the door behind them with a wide smile.

“You look like you just found out you’ve got two weeks of KP.” Isabella snorted, knuckles resting against her cheek as she leaned against the side. “It’s probably not any taller than the command center on the carriers.”

“I’m not surprised you know that.” He deadpanned, leaning back in the seat with his arms folded across his chest.

The musical break’s winding down, all instruments except the piano falling silent with a little run, and they’re much closer than before.  Robbie hasn’t let go of Eve's hand at all, but his other arm is now curled around her waist, his hand pressing softly into the small of her back to keep her close.  Her other arm is up around his shoulder now, her hand resting at the nape of his neck, and her fingers long to reach up, run through his hair.

And she’s still looking at him, at his face, because she can’t tear herself away now.  They’re so close their noses are almost touching, and as Robbie starts to whisper the next line, Eve can’t help but glance down at his lips.

“It’s just the thought of you…”

Is it her imagination, or is he pulling her even closer?  Is it just wishful thinking, or is he glancing at her lips too?  With every word he whispers, she feels his breath on her lips, and her whole body is alive like never before.  Can he hear how hard her heart is pounding?

“The very thought of you…”

Eve’s breath catches.  Is he going to kiss her?  Good thing he’s holding her so tight, she probably will swoon and go into a dead faint right here, in some shadowed alley in a ruined German city.

“My…”

His nose brushes hers.  Her eyes flutter shut.  This has to be a dream.

"Love."

Robbie's hand lets go of hers, his warm palm resting along her jaw, angling her face, cradling her. Eve's breathing hitches at the delicate touch, and then his lips are on hers, soft and slow, and Eve's right — she does almost immediately swoon.

Robert Zussman's kissing her.

Her knees go weak and her free hand reaches up, fingers sliding through the short hair on the back of Robbie's head. Her other arm tightens its hold across his shoulders as she presses herself closer to him, trying to steady herself as she kisses him back.

It's…it's amazing. Fantastic. There's no fireworks, or mind-melting dizziness, there's just Robbie. Robbie and his soft touch, the taste of sour beer on his tongue, the way his fingers begin to slide into her hair. The way everything just feels perfect, so wonderfully right.

Robbie's arm curls tighter around her waist, and when he pulls back for just a second, their noses still touching, Eve sucking in a greedy little gasp of air, he whispers her name, low and needy, and Eve's a fucking goner, a whimper escaping her lips as he kisses her again.

She doesn't know what it is — if it's just the natural progression, or her whimper, or the way her fingers pull on his hair just so — but Robbie kisses her harder, hungry, and she's not even aware he's backed her up until her back thumps against the wall of the alley. Eve doesn't care, trying to kiss him back just as intensely, her focus scattering as his nails scratch her scalp.

"God, Robbie—"

It's almost a moan, breathy and desperate, and Robbie's reaction is instantaneous, another hoarse whisper of her name leaving his lips. His hand in her hair slides to fully envelop the back of her head, lifting her head off the wall and angling her face to deepen the next kiss. Eve just clings to him, her fingers twisting in the collar of his jacket, burying in his short hair.