Carley

John Brady:

Brady and Pregnancy Headcanons

Clair de Lune Baby Drabble

John Brady Dilf Drabble

JB w/a girlfriend who gets turned on by his strict attitude

Fights with John Brady + Makeups

Brady with a handsy lady

Brady dating a woman on base

Brady when he's injured

Brady with a woman easily turned on

Brady being involved in your hobbies

Jealous Brady

Brady w/a secret admirer

The Snow Stork

The Garden Stork

Car Sex With Brady

Domestic John Brady

John Brady & Serious Arguments

Brady Being Turned On by Angry S/O

How John Brady asks you to be his girl

Brady when his S/O gets injured

Brady and a religiously interested S/O

Going Dancing With John Brady

Brady and an out of wedlock pregnancy

Brady’s first time

When You Make the first Move

John Brady & Brat Taming

Brady w/DeMarco's Sister

Brady and a Breeding Kink

Gale Cleven:

Pregnancy and Domestic Headcanons with Gale

Kitchen Sex w/Gale

Being Gale's first

Domestic Gale Cleven

Gale Cleven & Spankings

Bucky Egan:

Bucky coming home to you wearing his jacket

Bucky being involved in your hobbies

Bucky w/an anxious SO

Bucky and a reader with a panic attack

Bucky and a physically insecure reader

Domestic Bucky Headcanons

Bucky as a brat tamer

Robert Rosenthal:

Rosie is Clearly Wendy Material

Rosie & Brat Taming

Rosie & Kisses/Affection

Rosie and a weekend away

Rosie and teasing

Being Rosie’s First

Domestic Rosie

Rosie and his authority kink

Rosie and massages

Rosie Being Teased

Rosie with a tipsy/giggly/touchy girl

Rosie's handsy lady

Rosie When He's Sick

Rosie & A Jazz Club Singer

Rosie & A English Girl

Rosie & Cuddling

Rosie after a long day

Rosie and a rough day

Ken Lemmons:

Ken Lemmons and his wife

Ken Lemmons and an S/O w/high libido

Jack Kidd:

General Relationship Headcanons

Everett Blakely:

General Relationship Headcanons

James Douglass:

General Relationship Headcanons

Douglass & Blakely:

Throuple Headcanons

Hambone Hamilton:

General Relationship Headcanons

Hambone and Dirty Talk

Harry Crosby:

General Relationship Headcanons

Bubbles:

General Headcanons

Charles Cruikshank:

General Headcanons

Curt Biddick:

Falling in Love With a Nurse

General MOTA Headcanons:

MOTA Men W/a Single Mom

MOTA men + hobbies

MOTA men w/ a shy and anxious S/O

MOTA Men when their S/O tries a new style

MOTA Men when their S/O tries a new style part 2

MOTA Men & The RAF Pilot Incident

MOTA Men & Spicy Letters

MOTA Men As Dads

Married Life W/Lemmons & Hambone

MOTA Men & Pregnancy

MOTA Men & Infertility

MOTA Men & Infertility Part 2

MOTA Men Taking Care of You When You're Sick

MOTA Men Taking Care of You When You're Sick Part 2

MOTA Men When Their S/O Has A Tattoo

MOTA Men w/a tomboy S/O

MOTA Headcanons in the Modern Age

MOTA Men w/Relationship Issues

MOTA Men w/A Girl Who Lost Her Eye

MOTA Men on the day of their child's birth

1-Ever heard of write what you know? I’d like for you to use your brain cells and look up Rebecca Yarros’s height. Just for fun. Now come back here. I am a writer. I have written exactly ONE tall FMC in my 20+ fanfictions and original stories over a whole-ass decade. Just one. Because for me, my experience is being short. How short am I, you ask? 5’2. Sometimes 5’1 when my posture is shitty. I see NOTHING. Tall people rule the world and it’s an unfortunate truth. 🤷🏻‍♀️ unfortunately, we live in a world with other people. So your 5’5 or 5’8 ass doesn’t get to exclusively claim all female characters in books should be that height. If you’re mad, be mad at a woman YOUR height or a man YOUR height that refuses to write a tall girl 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’m NOT petite though. I’m a thick chronically ill woman and that brings me to point 2.

BUT caRLeY it’s not EXPLICIT that she’s chronically ill 2-Shut the f up. Please. Go and google what illness the author Rebecca Yarros has. Then understand that the REAL WORLD scientists that discovered Ehlers Danlos Syndrome are (GASP) from Earth?? And not from?? A fictional world?? That doesn’t have?? Modern medicine?? So OBVIOUSLY the terms are not going to be the same here. DUH. It’s basic writing world-building. 💅💅💅💅 now go back and read the book. She wraps her joints. Violet’s bones are brittle. She bruises easily. She’s called weak because in a world where chronic illness is not recognized as anything OTHER than weakness, this is what she’s working with.

But CarLeY!! What exactly qualifies you to talk about this illness huh? You don’t have it!! 3- Correct. I do not. I am, however, A CHRONICALLY ILL woman. And ALSO, the only person in my family to not have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Let me explain—my ENTIRE family sans me and dear old dad, are HEDS people. So I’ve been seeing double jointedness, flexibility, splits, and hyperextending of muscles since the time I was a little tot. Some examples:

One time, my sister and I decided we were going to play catch. With a rock. We were 5 and 3 respectively, it’s not one of my better oldest child moments. I threw it. She caught it with her head. IT LEFT A PERMANENT BRUISE. Another time, my sister did a cartwheel in our dining room. Her leg brushed against our dinner table. Which was only slightly sharp on the edge, as table edges are. If I had touched it or bumped into it, well OUCH, but whatever. My sister? Flayed her leg open. FLAYED. Skin hanging, tissue visible, blood gushing. So I’d say that as someone who grew up around this illness, I SEE it way more than people who had never heard of it. Now here’s the thing—Violet was training to be a SCRIBE. You wanna know the physical qualifications of that?? Breathing ✅. She wasn’t training to be strong or physically capable. My mom was an athlete growing up who did dance. My sister is lovingly referred to as the macho-man of our family because she can lift my body weight any day of the week ON TOP of being a flexible and strong dancing queen. My brother was a tight end in football all through high school who endured multiple lacerations from getting CLEATED. HEDS at its finest. So NO, Violet who has never trained her body or tried to make it strong is (gasp SHOCKINGLY) not going to be strong. She’s starting at ground 0 with NO MUSCLE MASS. It takes time to get built and to get strong.

but CarLEY!! Her experience isn’t my experience!! 4- You mean to tell me. That your experience. As a tall woman. Or an average height woman. In the modern world. With medicine. And diagnostic tests available to you. Is not the same. As a fantasy book. With dragons. And a war college. And a short woman. Who didn’t train at all for this life path.

I’m SHOCKED. It’s almost like….chronic illness. Is. Individual??? Like, my experience with PCOS/PMOS and endometriosis is not going to be Sally or Karen’s experience with it? And we can experience different symptoms? And different timelines of highs and lows? ALSO, Rebecca Yarros has said that she is NOT trying to shoehorn every HEDS/EDS experience into one character. That’s literally. Not. Possible. She is doing what books do best. Giving people three things—

A mirror to see themselves within.

A window by which to see an experience that the reader has not had before.

A sliding door that creates empathy for those that have not experienced these things but are now seeking to understand more.

but CarLEY—Violet should have problems with sex!!

5. Um. No. Just no. Unless Violet is out here HYPEREXTENDING HER HIPS, there’s no reason that sex is bad. Chronically ill people have sex. Chronically ill people can have kinky sex. And chronically ill people can reproduce. Get over it. In fact, half of the scenes are possible BECAUSE Violet has HEDS and is hypermobile and flexible. Ask any chronically ill person you know. Unless of course, you’re arguing with me, a stranger on the internet, because you DONT know anyone with chronic illness.

What you take away from the books are up to you. Just PLEASE, for the love of every written text before the internet was invented, USE MEDIA LITERACY and actually read instead of complaining online and being bitchy. Like, you have agency. You know that, right? You don’t have to read the book if you don’t like it. AND ALSO, if Violet’s experience as a short chronically ill woman and FMC upsets you that much, go read something else.

Don’t be ableist. Don’t be rude. It’s not that hard. XOXO,

Chapter Text

The truth was a painful, funny, fickle thing.  Mostly because for Winnie Allen, she had never been so inclined to tell the truth about much, especially not when it came to her own life and the pain and trauma that she had received at the hands of none other than her father.  It was a complicated thing. 

Mostly because people who asked had historically not had her best interests in mind. 

Mostly because people who she told were not people that she probably should have told those things too. 

Mostly because the truth sat like a weed in her lungs, choking her out and twisting thorns into every syllable she tried to make.  

Mostly because the thought of telling her brothers, after everything she had done to keep them from the horrific truth of the matter, it meant disrupting the illusion that Winnie had her shit under control.  Had things together.  That she was the person that had held them all together.  

The thought of the truth made shame curl like a scarlet letter across her forehead and chest—and though it did not leave a visible mark on the person that she was, she couldn’t help the thought that every single person would be able to see what it meant on the inside.  That she was dirty.  That she was wrong.  That she was damaged. 

And those were things that Winnie had spent an entire lifetime trying to keep from becoming a reality or realization for her brothers. 

They still looked at her like she held the stars and the moon up. 

And that meant the world to Winnie.  She did not have the world. She did not have much.  But she had the way that they looked at her.  See, her brothers were not the same as Ron.  See, her brothers shared blood with the monster under their beds—they had been alongside her the entire time that it was happening and hadn’t known a thing. 

And unlike Ron, whose first priority was Winnie—strange as it still seemed to her—her brothers would gladly give any amount of time in jail to make her father suffer and rot for the things that he had done to her.  

Her brothers would, in fact, throw away their lives and their futures for a past that was set in stone and had already happened. 

And Winnie could not stomach the thought of such a thing happening on her watch. 

There were nights, long nights after horrific shifts and experiences, where Winnie had wanted nothing more than to sit down and sob to her brothers and tell them what had occurred.  And every time that it had happened, Winnie had shouldered every bit of the pain she was experiencing.  Held it back. 

The other truth of the matter?  Dalton was her father.  He may not have been much of a father to the boys, but Winnie remembered.  She wished to God that she didn’t.  That she couldn’t remember how much he had been her entire world as a little girl.  Wished that she didn’t remember how much he had adored her and loved her and given her all of the things that he had never had.  

But she did.  She remembered it. 

It still made her sick.  Because how could the monster that he had become ever be reconciled in her mind with the hero that he had been to her as a child?

But that was then. 

Now her brothers were grown men, all of them.  Her brothers were soldiers.  They had seen and done things that would make blood curdle and that no one else but those who had been through the same bloodshed could understand.  

So maybe just maybe, she could let the truth slip out.  She could admit the things that had been slowly poisoning her for the better part of two decades. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie sat, knees tucked up to her chest, in the living room of the house.  She was nursing a hot chocolate that Nixon had lovingly poured some alcohol into—he had mumbled something about her needing the drink if she was going to be talking about the past. 

Fair enough. 

Around her sat all of her brothers.  

Richie was leaned all the way forward, hand over his mouth as he considered the situation thoughtfully. “Why was that piece of shit here?  A handout?” 

“He’s not getting one if that’s what he’s here for!” Nate snapped. 

“He’s dying,” Winnie replied very quietly, holding onto her mug tightly. 

All at once, silence fell amongst the Allen siblings.  Dalton Allen.  Dying.  It seemed to be an act of divine providence, they were all sure.  He had lived far longer than any of them had thought that he would.  He should have kicked the bucket years ago, especially with how little regard he had for his own life and his liver. 

“Are you sure that he doesn’t want money?” Joshua asked wearily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“Lungs sounded wet.  The alcohol has probably ruined them.  My guess is that he wouldn’t have longer than a month,” Winnie explained.  She had seen many men die from alcohol, especially in the hospitals. 

“Good,” Robbie mumbled.  Everyone turned to look at him.  “Oh you can’t say that you all disagree,” he said, fingers twitching against his legs.  “There’s no love lost here.  And he crashed Roo’s dinner.  He’s getting exactly what he deserves.” 

That was a fair and accurate statement.  Winnie knew that there was not a bit of love lost between any of them and Dalton.  And her brothers didn’t know the half of it. 

“Did he make a scene?” Charlie asked softly, looking at Winnie with wide eyes. 

Winnie gave a tight nod.  “That's why I wanted to talk to you all.  I just…don’t want you hearing things from other people rather than me.” 

All at once, the room seemed to sober even more.  

“Hey,” Richie finally murmured, looking at her intently.  “You don’t need to tell us anything that you don’t want us to know.  It’s up to you.” 

“It’s just,” Winnie sucked in a breath.  “I just feel, like, it’s been sitting in my chest for so long, crushing me, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.” 

“Up to you, Roo,” Nate murmured quietly. 

And so out it all came.  In chunks.  In pieces.  In painful mumbles.  In Winnie’s voice cracking and in hot shame.  Less eloquent and put together than when Winnie had divulged information to Ron in Austria.  Because this was a different audience.  This was a different context.  This was more painful. 

She couldn’t bear to see their faces when she spoke.  She stared at her mug the entire time. 

And strangely, her brothers, so fierce and passionate and outspoken, were silent the entire time. 

They listened.  They didn’t speak.  

And when it was done, when Winnie finally lifted her head, she realized that she had made them all cry.  And not just cry, but sob.  Grown men, tough men, men who had been through trenches and been prisoners of war, who had undergone grueling training and torture—and she had brought them to tears. 

Guilt bloomed in her chest like a garden and Winnie had half a mind to flee the scene. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—” Winnie sucked in a sharp breath.  “I shouldn’t have told you all of that—”

And then Charlie had stumbled forward and flung his arms around her.  And Winnie had felt something crack in her chest.  Like a dam that had been holding for too long, it was going to start coming out and it would never stop. 

It didn’t stop until all of them were tangled in embraces on the floor and sobbing equally. 

And when her brothers murmured that they loved her, that she was not to blame for what had happened, Winnie had felt something loosen in her chest.  They didn’t rush out the door to kill Dalton.  They didn’t get passionately angry or try to avenge what had happened.  They just sat with her.  

They told her that they loved her. 

And they told her that they were sorry that she had sat with that pain for so long.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie sat in her bed, letting Ron dry the ends of her damp hair.  She had cried for a while when she came home.  He had told her that a shower would help her feel a bit better.  She had to give it to him, he knew exactly what would make her feel better and was very good at reading her. 

So here she sat, letting him gently towel out the ends of her hair.  “And they took it okay?” He murmured softly. 

“As well as anyone could.  They’re all accounted for downstairs.  Poppy and Alex have them on a short leash tonight so they don’t get arrested before the wedding,” she murmured. 

Ron gave a hum and then reached for her brush, gently dragging it through her hair.  “Sounds like we all had similar plans.” 

“It’s a good thing the womenfolk know how to handle you men,” Winnie replied in soft amusement.  She paused for a moment.  “You don’t have to do that, you know.” 

“Brush your hair?” He snorted, continuing his motions of combing through it.  “It’s a small thing, and I like to do it.  Please?” 

“Alright,” she murmured, leaning into his arms.  “If you insist.” 

He pressed a kiss to her jaw, sucking lightly on it.  “I do, in fact.” 

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, Captain.” 

Ron gave a playful light tug on a strand of her hair. “Careful, that’ll cost you, Doctor.” 

“Oh I’m counting on it,” she grinned. 

He pressed another kiss to her cheek, then considered her hair.  “Braid?” 

“Sure.” Ron carefully began to weave the hair together.  “You know, it’s nice being awake when you braid it,” she murmured softly.  “You’re pretty good at it.” 

The only sign that her words even got to him at all was the faint bobbing of his throat as he glanced at her.  “Well I’ve had practice and I intend to continue practicing on you,” he insisted in a pointed tone. 

“You are more than welcome to.” 

A comfortable silence fell between the two of them.  Winnie glanced down at the ring on her finger with a soft smile on her face.  It was the first time since seeing Dalton that she felt relaxed at all. 

He tied the hair off and then gently caught her chin with his hand, turning her head slightly.  Ron pressed a soft kiss to her lips and Winnie inhaled it like he was oxygen.  She gently reached up, pulling him closer to her. She deepened the kiss and pulled him down.  “I love you,” Winnie murmured softly.  “Thank you for not going war-crimes Speirs on Dalton.” 

At that, he smiled against her lips.  “Of course, honey,” he murmured.  “You got some energy left in you after all of today?” 

“I’m a little tired, but I’d much rather be tired with you,” Winnie murmured, tracing over his cheekbone gently. 

A soft grin appeared on Ron’s face and he lowered her back onto her pillows.  “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she grinned, nipping at his lip gently. 

“Now, now, my pretty girl,” He chided. “That’s a challenge and I won’t have it.” 

“Too bad.” 

He grinned and slid down her body, starting to softly tug off her sleep-shorts.  “Well I’ll have to meet your challenge.” 

“You most certainly should.  You look hungry.” 

He snorted.  “You’re much cheekier than I thought you’d be.” 

“Get used to it, Mr. Speirs.” 

Chapter Text

New York was the place where things happened.  New York was the place where dreams came true.  New York was a glistening beautiful city full of wonder.  New York was also very dirty, and Gracie Spaatz had not been prepared for that particular piece of information. 

They had pulled into the Harbor just the day prior, her and her mother and her sisters, and one John Brady—who had been convinced by her father to ride along with them and make sure that the girls arrived safely back in the United States.  Gracie was ever so glad that her father was a lenient man, for she didn’t know how she would have gotten away with it all otherwise.  

Tatty said that it was how she should have known that she was their father’s favorite, but Gracie had never seen it that way in the first place.

Even if General Spaatz never would have allowed it for the others. 

Her father had paid for all of them to stay in a hotel in New York, just until he could get there in a few days.  Grace had been particularly keen about the entire thing, practically pink with excitement.  She liked hotels, she liked people waiting on her, she liked fancy things, and nice places. 

She also liked not being too far from Johnny and knowing exactly where his room was. 

Not that her sisters were going to tattle on her for that particular piece of information. She’d been through enough and her sisters seemed merciful enough to let it go. 

Though, in all fairness, Grace wasn’t doing anything scandalous beyond being in her fianceé’s room without a chaperone.  It was terribly old fashioned in Grace’s opinion, especially given that Johnny was a nice man who loved God more than he loved her most days (on days where she was being scandalous anyway). 

Nothing was going to happen, nothing at all. 

So there Grace sat, sipping on some wine that she had stolen from her mother’s room, lounging on Johnny’s bed and reviewing magazines like they were her official war-documents.  “Ugh, there’s hardly anything in season that I like.” 

Johnny glanced over at her.  He had been in the middle of writing a letter to his parents.  See, they were pulling a wedding together ever so quickly and things needed to be all ready to go at the soonest convenience.  “Well that’s probably because the season is more focused on the end of the war,” He pointed out gently. 

She gave him a look, sticking her tongue out at him.  “Well I know that, Johnny.  I don’t live under a rock.” 

“I’m aware.  You’d probably prefer to live in a flower if you could.” 

“Would if I could.” 

“You’ve proven my point.” 

“Do you think if I ask Daddy, he’ll give me some poor chap’s parachute?” 

“So long as the poor chap isn’t engaged himself,” Johnny snorted. 

“Fair enough,” she gave a nod.  

It was common nowadays for men to send home their parachutes to fianceés and would-be-wives so that they could have a material to make their wedding dress out of.  While Grace wasn’t entirely fond of the entire idea, it was better than not having a dress at all and having to scrounge one of her dancing dresses for a wedding. 

“I want lots of flowers,” Gracie decided, setting the magazine down. 

“You’ll get them.” 

“As many as I want?” 

“I mean, that’s up to your father.” 

Right, the man bankrolling her wedding.  Her father, who loved and adored her so much that if she cried over the flowers, she’d probably get as many as her little heart desired.  “Right,” she huffed.  “I’ll just think about dead puppies and then I’ll go and beseech him for the flowers.” 

Johnny blinked, then set down his pen, fully turning to face her.  “That is maybe one of the strangest things you’ve ever said.” 

“But also what gets me to cry on cue.  How else could I do it, Johnny?” She asked in a puzzled tone. 

“Have you ever used that on me?” 

“No.  Well, maybe for the math.  But the math did genuinely make me cry,” Grace defended her actions. 

“No math for you, honey.” 

Chapter Text

Dalton Allen was a lot of things.  An old soldier.  A traumatized man.  A shitty excuse for a father.  A drunk.  A widower.  A man who never learned to deal with the grief that lived inside of his lungs, eating him away just as steadily as the drinks he consumed.  He was a problem.  He was a monster.  He was a pathetic excuse for a human.  He was a failure. 

And somewhere in the twisted and broken shards of his mind, he remembered being a father. 

He remembered when his wife, God rest her soul, had told him that they were expecting.  He remembered breaking down and clinging to her skirts because someone like him could not be a father.  Someone as broken as he was. 

Back then, he lived perpetually in a state of trauma and panic.  He’d wake up in a cold-sweat and think he was back in those trenches.  On the line.  He was convinced that the trenches and the smoke and the dirt were going to eat him whole. 

But she had just smiled.  She had told him that he would be a fine father. 

And for the first little bit, she had been correct. 

He had held a steady job.  He had slowed the drinking.  He had pulled himself from the memory of trenches and he had shown up.  He had smiled.  Gotten his wife flowers. He had show up at the hospital the day that his daughter was born. 

A daughter. 

The moment that he had held her for the first time, he knew.  He knew that he was going to damage her beyond repair because he was broken on the inside.  But this was his flesh and blood.  His little girl.  And he was going to keep the wolf inside him at bay. 

He didn’t touch a drop of liquor.  

He never dropped her.  He held her carefully, as if she were the most precious thing in his life.  And she was. She was a happy little thing, his Winnie.  Always smiling.  But those eyes of hers, those damned eyes—he had always felt, even from the first day in the hospital—that she could see right into his very soul. 

That she could see the dark marks upon his soul that were never going to go away.  

Dalton would sing to her sometimes.  To try and keep the darkness at bay.  And every time that he felt the urge to drink something to wash the panic back down his throat, he would go and he would hold his daughter. 

When she was two, then came Richie.  Named for his father that had died on the boat ride over to America.  The father that he had barely known.  Richie was a solemn little thing.  The mistake had been with a co-worker of his—to share a drink in honor of his son’s birth. 

One turned into two.  Two turned into three.  And soon Dalton Allen was no longer sober.  His mistake had been a few weeks after Richie’s birth.  He had come home, so out of his mind drunk, and he had taken his wife to bed. She was still healing from giving birth to Richie.   She didn’t speak to him for most of the year.  9 months later, they had Robbie. 

Three children under three had his wife run ragged.  But he hadn’t touched another drop of liquor since the shameful night that they had conceived Robbie.  Hadn’t touched his wife, either.  He had spent his time doting on the children.  Tried to make up for the awful evil thing he had done. 

They had determined to stay together as a family.  She had somehow found it within her to forgive him.  And every time that little Winnie called him Daddy, he had felt his soul sing.  Maybe Winnie was his redemption. Richie and Robbie though, they were sullied in his mind.  The damage that he had done.  The mistakes that he had made.  It wasn’t their fault. But Winnie was his girl. 

A year and a half after Robbie came a High-School reunion that resulted in Nathan. Winnie was practically the miniature mother-duckling, walking around with the boys like she ruled the roost.  

Dalton stayed away from drinking.  And he played with the children.  Taught the boys baseball. Tried to be present. 

Another year and a half later came Joshua—a result from their anniversary.  No more children.  They couldn’t financially handle it.  It was strained as it was.  Dalton came home more and more tired these days.  

Then it happened again. 

And Dalton Allen lost his wife in childbirth.  He couldn’t look at the baby.  Didn’t care if it lived or died, because his wife was now gone and dead and it was that thing’s fault. His little Winnie though, she had held onto the baby, declared that it’s name was Charlie, and that she would take care of it. 

She was a good girl.  She took care of things.  She took care of things, and he lost himself to drinking.  The grief was like a tidal wave, pushing him under the current and killing him slowly.  And the more he drank, the more violent he got.  The more violent he got, the more Winnie got in the way.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt his little girl. 

But when he sobered enough to realize what he had done, he drank more to try and drown out the mistake he had made. 

By 11, she was pulling him out of bars.  She still looked at him like he could be her father though, like those eyes believed that he was worth it all.  When she was fourteen, though, his little redemption became the sole reason he gave up on living altogether.  He had pulled himself together long enough to try and be a father. 

But he had made another damned mistake—lost all of the money.  And he had nothing to offer the people he owed.  Nothing but a daughter with her mother’s face.  Nothing but a daughter that he loved more than he wanted to live.  

After he took her to that brothel and she came out of it, there was nothing in her eyes.  A hollowed out thing that he recognized every single time that he looked in the mirror.  That evening, he tried to shoot himself.  In his drunken stupor, he had missed.  Had nearly shot one of the boys. 

It was no surprise that Winnie had kicked him out of his own house over and over and over again.  He watched his daughter work herself to the bone to make sure his children had enough to eat.  Had enough to survive. He watched his daughter sell herself in marriage to a rich man that would only hollow her out from the inside some more. 

And when he came to the house, having heard of her divorce, wanting to apologize and wanting nothing more than to try and explain himself in some way—she had nearly shot him.  She had the fire that their family needed.  

Winnie was the father and the mother that they all needed. 

So Dalton had been homeless, hoping to drink himself to death during the war.  It didn’t work.  He would get put up in homes by the police.  He would get put up in prisons and then let out.  He couldn’t bear to make an attempt again.  There was no honor in that.  And there was no honor left in him. 

Now though, his lungs would fill with liquid.  Every cough was wet.  And he wanted nothing more than the comfort of his wife.  But she was dead.  And so, Dalton Allen slunk to where he had heard that his daughter was getting married again.  Because she had his wife’s face.  And there were moments, he had seen them, where Winnie would look at him as though he were her father again. And not some monster hiding under her bed to destroy her life. 

And if he was going to die, he wanted to do so comfortably. 

She owed him that. 

Didn’t she?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the sound of glass shattering that had done it.  Had successfully silenced the entire room—most flinched.  Some froze in place and didn’t move an inch.  But when the glass shattered, everyone was on edge. 

And Winnie peered through the crowd to the back of the room, where the sound had come from.  

Her heart clenched in her chest and she felt like she was going to vomit.  Had he really shown up?  Had he really had the gall to come here and be here? Standing there at the back of the hall was Dalton Allen.  For a moment, Winnie didn’t say a single word.  

“Winnie?” 

She nearly flinched at the sound of her name and she glanced up, looking at Ron.  “I—it’s—I have to—” she mumbled out, rising from her seat as the music picked up again.  She made her way through the crowd and towards the back of the room.  She would send him on his way and he would be gone.  Easier said than done, especially given that the last time that she had seen her father, she had sent him on his way under threat of a gun. 

And there he was, right there at the back.  Half-slumped on a table and eyes hazy looking.  He reeked of piss and alcohol, though Winnie truthfully couldn’t tell which was the stronger scent. 

Her brothers hadn’t noticed him yet and she was praying that they wouldn’t notice him at all. 

The last thing she wanted was a scene at her dinner party.  

“What are you doing here?” Winnie asked in a low voice, keeping her distance from him as she approached. 

Dalton lifted his head—eyes bloodshot and red.  “Winnnieee,” he slurred, taking a step towards her. 

Almost immediately, Winnie took a step back.  “You’re not welcome here,” she insisted quietly.  “You need to go.” 

All at once, Dalton’s features seemed to harden.  “Now Winnifred, don’t be such a nasty little bitch.  I’m your father.  Can’t a father congratulate his daughter on her wedding?” 

The words rang around wildly in Winnie’s head, stinging more than she thought that he had the ability to cause.  “You didn’t on the first one,” she pointed out venomously. 

“He was weak.” 

“So are you.” 

Dalton just gave a weak laugh.  “Honey, you’ve got more bite on you than a cornered dog.” 

Honey stung just as much as any other nickname he had given her.  

“I’m serious.  You need to leave,” Winnie replied sternly, a scowl pulling at the edges of her facial features.  

“You gonna make me?” 

“I seem to remember pointing a gun just fine at you.” 

“I seem to remember you missing.  ‘Sides, you don’t—” he hiccuped.  “You don’t have a gun here.” 

True enough.  

“Then what do you want?  We both know it’s not to offer congratulations.” 

He was silent for a long moment, studying her.  “I’m dying.” 

“Good.” 

He barked out a loud laugh at that, drawing attention from several members of Easy Company.  “You don’t mean that, little girl.” 

“You’ll find that I very much do.” 

“I want to die comfortably.  You owe me.  I need somewhere to die.  Shouldn’t a man die with his family?” 

“You don’t have one,” Winnie stated in a hiss.  “Now go.  You’ve overstayed a welcome that doesn’t exist.” 

She turned to leave and he grabbed her roughly by the wrist.  “Not so fast, little girl,” he snarled out. Without hesitation, Winnie slammed her fist into his face and there was a satisfying CRUNCH.  He bellowed at the sensation, blood gushing from his nose.  “You—you little bitch—” 

Almost immediately, chairs slid across the floor and in seconds, half of Easy Company had gathered around the situation.  The very thing that Winnie wanted to avoid.  Her brothers were nowhere to be seen and Winnie wasn’t quite sure where they had gone—she vaguely remembered Poppy and Alex insisting that they decorate the truck for Winnie, so maybe they were outside. 

Ron reached her in record time, followed by Nixon and Winters. Others gathered around too, and Ron just reached for her hand, looking at the bruise beginning to form on the knuckle.  His gaze searched hers for a moment and Winnie tore her gaze away from him and back onto her father. 

“I said to leave,” Winnie insisted firmly. 

“You owe me, little girl!” Dalton snarled out, blood splattering on the ground.  “I’m still your father!” 

Almost as if lightning had struck, several men in the room seemed to stiffen like lightning was running down their spines. 

“Your father?” Ron murmured. 

Winnie didn’t answer him.  “What exactly do you think I owe you?” She demanded coolly.  “As far as I’m concerned, you were a sperm donor.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Get out, or they will make you.” 

They, being most of Easy Company, naturally. 

Dalton gave a jagged laugh that cut through the air violently.  “No.  For keeping your secret.  From your brothers.” Winnie felt her blood curdle and turn to ice right there in her veins and she visibly stiffened.  “Oh?  Not so tough now, are you?” 

“You need to go—” Winnie started.  From the crowd, Shifty and Talbert seemed to materialize, grabbing either side of Dalton’s arms. 

“No!  NO!  I kept your secret, you whore!  I didn’t tell them where I took you and that you worked off that fucking bill for me—that you were nothing more than a little whore, sleeping your way through that brothel to keep them out of a home and I will not be disrespected—”

Before Winnie could say anything at all, Richard Winters had stepped forward and had promptly slammed his own fist into Dalton’s face.  Winnie flinched violently, eyes wide—and Ron grabbed her as things got chaotic. 

“Captain Speirs, what do you want us to do with this piece of shit?” Liebgott piped up, hauling Dalton to his feet. 

“Get that piece of shit out of here.  Now.” Ron’s voice was a voice of steel, something that was so cold that Winnie might have been frightened by it, if it were not on her behalf.  He tugged her away as the men of Easy Company disposed of her father, throwing him outside into the snow. 

At the other end of the hall, Winnie’s brothers and Alex and Poppy returned inside, eyes going wide at the sight of everything.  But Winnie felt nothing but a hot and heavy sense of shame bubbling and boiling in her chest.  She didn’t need more people knowing what her father had done to her.  What her father had ruined when she was just a girl. 

And now they did. 

Her brothers might not. 

But Easy Company did. 

But then someone was cupping her face very delicately and Winnie blinked a few times.  “Your breath stinks like Vat-69,” she mumbled out quietly to Nixon.  Ron’s hand was still on her back gently, but Nixon was the one kneeling in front of her, holding her face. 

“Oh there’s that cold sass,” Nixon breathed out in slight relief.  “You’re okay, Win.  You’re just fine.” 

“He’s not gonna bother you again,” Ron promised gently. 

Winters had returned, holding out some ice for her and clutching some at his own hand.  Winnie just looked up at him.  “You…punched a man.” 

“I punched a monster who deserved it,” Winters corrected softly.  “And to be fair, you did it first.  I just followed your lead.” 

“Probably better you than Speirs,” Nixon mumbled, glancing over at Ron. 

“Well I’d likely have killed him myself,” Ron murmured very quietly.  “But that wasn’t what Winnie needed.” He glanced down at Winnie, gently running a hand through her hair.  “You okay?” 

She couldn’t even force a smile on her face.  She just shook her head.  “I just…I want him dead so badly.  Does that make me a bad person?” 

“No,” Came the unified reply of all three of them. 

“Do you want me to grab your brothers?” Ron asked gently.  

Winnie gave a very slow nod.  “I think…that would be best.  Yes.  Thank you.” 

He disappeared over to grab her brothers and for a moment, Winnie was just left sitting there with Winters and Nixon.  “You know,” Nixon said very quietly.  “You’re a good woman, Winnie.  And a better man than most of us here.” 

She nearly snorted, eyes pricking with tears.  “Oh shut up.” 

“It’s a wonder that you’re the person that you are,” Winters agreed very softly.  “Maybe you ought to leave Georgia.” 

Leave her father, they meant. 

“Maybe I should come and bother you both,” Winnie cracked a small smile.  “It’s been a point of discussion between Ron and I.” 

“Finally, that’s the best news I’ve heard all night!” Nixon exclaimed. 

And when Speirs returned with her brothers, Winnie knew that she was going to have to tell them.  If not now, when?  The truth always came out.  Even when she didn’t want it to.  They’d get a restraining order.  They’d let him die on his own.  And they would be their own family.  

Chapter Text

They had rented a dance-hall to be able to accommodate the sheer number of people coming to the wedding.  Although this was not the wedding itself, Winnie had figured that they would enjoy the merriment of a wedding beforehand much more than during the actual reception, when all she and Ron would want to do is leave. 

It seemed practical, after all. 

Her brothers, Poppy, and Alex had decorated the place up to the nines.  There were warm lights and somehow, Alex had gotten ahold of various floral arrangements that weren’t specifically just for Christmas.  It was warm inside, with lanterns and food and drink.  Winnie had even ensured that there was some Vat-69 for Lew and so that he would be content. 

Even Liebgott and Roe had helped out, making sure the place was entirely perfect. 

When Winnie had first arrived, dressed in a nice navy dress and looking at the place, she wasn’t sure she felt adequate enough for something quite this nice.  It was beautiful.  It was grand.  It was everything that she was sure that she wasn’t. 

Ron, seeming to sense this sort of thing, pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “Stop worrying.” 

“Oh easier said than done,” she replied warmly. 

His thumb brushed over her cheek, where Alex and Poppy had so lovingly tended to the mark, hiding it from sight with makeup.  “Well I’m here to worry for you.” 

“Fine,” she grinned warmly.  “Is everything the way you were hoping for?” 

“Well you’re here, you’re smiling, so yeah.” 

She beamed.  “You really are a romantic under all that gruff.” 

“At this rate, my reputation will be ruined before 7:30.” 

“Too bad.” 

“You’re lucky I love you.” 

“You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I know,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the crown of her hair.  “Now come on.  Relax a little, honey.” 

And relax she did, at least for the next little bit before everyone arrived. He got her a drink and set their things up at a table as her brothers arrived, now appropriately dressed for the event.  Richie arrived with Alex on his arm, who looked delightful in a pale blue dress and had a warm smile on her face. Poppy had shown up on Nate’s arm, a bright Christmas red dress that matched right down to the shade of her lipstick.  And it suspiciously also had stained some of the scruff on Nate’s jaw.  

Then the band had arrived.  Charlie had insisted that a live band was the way to go and was the way to encourage dancing for any special ladies that were coming as plus ones for the men of Easy Company.  The one person Winnie concretely knew of was Kitty, Harry’s blushing bride.  

Kitty almost seemed larger than life, a concept rather than a person at this point. 

Still, Winnie directed the musicians to set everything up and went over the counting once again.  Liebgott and Roe arrived next, parcels in hand.  They set up an area for presents, though Winnie argued that they didn’t need any wedding gifts. 

Roe and Lieb had given her the biggest stink eye that she had ever seen.  “It’s a wedding, not a funeral, Roo,” Roe exclaimed firmly, setting down the parcel firmly. 

“Fine, fine,” Winnie rolled her eyes.  

It’s just that in Winnie’s opinion, she had been given dozens of things that she hadn’t needed in her first wedding.  Lavish gifts that were shallow and she had ended up selling to help pay through the divorce.  It had been a mess in the first place.  But then again, she did trust that Easy Company would be practical, if nothing else. 

Soon, it was five minutes till the party was supposed to begin. 

Winnie stood near the door as Ron set down her purse at their table. Just as he had disappeared to set that down for her, Dick Winters had arrived on the scene.  He looked sharp, still in uniform, and with an easy smile on his face. 

“Dick!” Winnie exclaimed brightly. 

“Winnie,” he replied warmly.  He reached forward and embraced her with all of the affection that only a brother could give to a sister.  He looked her over, smile still clear on his face.  “Well would you look at you?” 

“Oh stop,” she grinned.  “I’m glad you’re here.  Cordial as ever and early.” 

“Am I the first here?” Dick asked, raising a brow. 

“Oh, as if you’re surprised.  And no, not technically.  I kidnapped Roe and Liebgott on a little adventure to get closure for Reba and Eileen last week, so they’re here.  And so is—” she started. 

Just then, Speirs appeared at her side. 

“Ah, Speirs, good to see you,” Dick exclaimed, taking him by the forearm warmly.  “I should’ve guessed you’d beat me here,” he remarked, glancing around the dance-hall.  “Now where is this groom of yours, Winnie?  I want to meet him—” 

Winnie gave a soft cough and leaned into Ron’s shoulder.  Speirs gave a somewhat smug grin at Dick, then pressed a kiss to Winnie’s head. 

For a moment, Dick just stared blankly at the two of them.  “Oh,” he finally said.  “Oh!” He exclaimed.  “Oh this is great!” He added warmly.  “I’m very happy for the two of you!” He glanced around.  “Does Nix know?” 

“Nix figured it out when I spent five minutes on a phone call with him to ask if he would walk me down the aisle,” Winnie laughed. 

“Of course he did.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie wasn’t surprised at all by the various reactions of Easy Company.  Harry Welsh arrived with Kitty on his arm, their own wedding set to happen on the 29th.  He had eyes the size of saucers as he glanced between Winnie and Speirs.  Kitty had simply leaned forward with a soft laugh.  “He was half-convinced that this was all an elaborate ploy to throw a party for us because there was no way you were going to be getting married.” 

“Fair enough,” Winnie grinned.  She had then directed them to the drink table. 

Next through the door had been Lewis Nixon, who naturally looked disgruntled by the entire thing.  After bear-hugging Winnie and giving her a kiss on the cheek, he glanced between her and Speirs for a solid minute. 

“Lew?” Winnie finally voiced. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No.  This is just weird.” 

And then he headed straight for the Vat-69. Winnie hadn’t been surprised by that, and neither had Speirs.  Webster had shown up next, talking about some random things that Winnie hadn’t really paid all that much attention to. 

After him, the next to arrive was Luz, who caught Winnie and Speirs in a liplock, and gave a large gasp that echoed throughout the dance-hall.  “WHAT?!  WHY AM I THE LAST TO KNOW?!” He demanded dramatically.  

“Because if you were the first to know, everyone would know by evening,” Speirs replied pointedly. 

“You’re not wrong, but-but still!” Luz exclaimed, shaking his head at them.  

Others trickled in as the music cued up.  Winnie and Ron got in at least one good dance, shocking everyone in the dance-hall.  Not that Winnie could dance, they had all guessed that she could.  The real shock came from the fact that Speirs was willing to dance and seemed to not only be good at it, but also enjoyed it. 

The song had no sooner finished than Winnie found herself getting tapped on the shoulder.  She glanced behind her, nearly letting out a squeal.  “Mind if I cut in?” Buck Compton questioned warmly. 

“Oh absolutely!” Winnie replied for Speirs, a grin on her face. 

“Wow, I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Buck drawled, giving her a spin.  “Though I gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming,” he said, gesturing over at Speirs, who had walked off to the edge of the dance-floor, a slight grumble on his face at having his soon-to-be-wife stolen from him.  

“To be fair, I think we’ve both seen each other at our lowest,” Winnie said gently.  “I’m glad you made it.  It wouldn’t have been a party without you.  I made sure to set up a dart-board just for you and Luz, in case you wanted to scam some more guys.” 

“A woman after my own heart,” he grinned widely. 

“Oh I do my best.” 

The next person of note that gave a hoot and a holler, a whole whistle at the fact that it was Winnie and Speirs getting married was none other than Bill Guarnere.  He hobbled in with Frannie at his side, prosthetic leg finally having been properly placed.  At the sight in front of him, Winnie having returned to Speirs’s side, and him cupping her face tenderly, he just stared for a solid minute. 

“OH YOU gotta be SHITTIN ME!” Bill exclaimed, shaking his head at them.  

Other reactions were similar—though Joe Toye seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away, for some reason.  Talbert hadn’t shut up since arriving, and Shifty had beamed like a little kid at Christmas.  Martin, on the other hand, had kept a deadpan expression—in clear disbelief of the whole situation. 

Perconte had been solidly confused, taking a seat in confusion.  And Bull?  Well he had just given a grin, tilted his head at the two of them, and said, “Well I’ll be damned.” 

All in all, the reactions had been exactly what Winnie had expected.  She had been utterly pleased with the entire turnout, all of her favorite people in the world in one room. 

Before the night could get too hectic and raucous, because certainly it would get that way with Easy Company all under one roof, Winnie found herself snuck outside by Speirs for a moment.  The moment that they were outside, she had given a small giggle, a permanent grin seemingly on her face. 

“You’re looking at me funny,” she accused, looking at Ron with adoration. 

“Well my best girl’s got this pretty grin on her face.  She’s unusually giggly,” he said, tracing over her cheekbones softly.  

“Well she’s very excited to marry you,” she pointed out softly. “And very happy that everyone is here.” 

A soft grin covered his features.  “I’m glad you’re happy, honey.” 

“And you?” 

“Me?  I’m having a great time,” he promised her.  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then glanced up, quirking an eyebrow.  “Mistetoe.  I’m afraid I’m obligated to follow societal standards on this one.” 

“Oh of course, Captain,” Winnie grinned.  “Far be it from me to make you disregard a societal standard.” 

He grinned and leaned down, pressed a kiss to the corner of her ear.  Then to her brow.  Her eyelids.  The tip of her nose.  Her jaw.  Her chin.  Her throat.  Then the corner of her mouth.  “How am I doing?” 

“I think you’re missing the mark a little,” she admitted breathlessly, eyelashes fluttering as she glanced up at him. 

“My apologies,” he murmured, then brushed his lips over hers. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie now sat at the table, snacking on food and listening to stories.  She was relaxed and happy and everything was perfect. 

Then, Speirs had risen to his feet and given a nod over at Robbie.  Robbie had dashed to the back of the room and Winnie just gave Ron a quizzical look.  Before she could get a clear answer, Speirs had tapped on his glass, gathering the attention of Easy Company, who all went dead quiet very quickly. 

She supposed that Sparky still struck the fear of God into them. 

“I wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight, and for making the trip here for the wedding,” Ron said in an unusually warm tone.  “I know that it means a lot to Winnie, and it means a lot to me too. I suppose we just hadn’t gotten enough of you all in the trenches.” 

A few laughs spilled through the crowd at that. 

“I know that we have a reception still to get through. But I have something for Winnie that I wanted to give tonight.  See, I’m not a very sentimental man.” 

“WE KNOW!” Luz shouted from the back. 

Winnie gave a small grin at that.  

“But I know value when I see it.  And when I saw the good Doctor break a nose from Dog Company, I knew that she had fire in her bones.  That she was made of steel.  And that’s got value to me.  She continued to surprise me, and proved to be one of the most valuable people I’ve ever known in my life.  See, to me, she’s precious.  Priceless.” 

At that, Winnie had to blink back tears.  Just where was he going with this? 

Robbie returned, a case in hand and Winnie narrowed her gaze.  “But she doesn’t always see the value of things.  And so when we found things to take back with us, and she turned down bringing home a Stradivarius, I knew I couldn’t let that stand.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh you didn’t,” she breathed out. 

“Oh he definitely DID!” Nixon had dropped his glass, eyes wide at the sight of the violin case. 

“Naturally, I made sure that the most precious and priceless person in my life would have an equally priceless thing for herself,” he said, taking the case from Robbie, and then placing it in front of Winnie.  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.  “I love you.” 

Winnie beamed, then yanked him down into a kiss.  

The room burst into all sorts of whoops and hollers and applause.  And if she had been paying attention to the doors at the back of the dance-hall, she would have noticed that someone had just slipped in. 

Dalton Allen. 

Chapter Text

It was late evening when Winnie finally pulled up to the Allen Family home.  The lights were on and it was quiet.  For now, anyway.  Liebgott eyed the house up ahead with a squinty eye.  “So that’s the house, huh?” 

“Not where I grew up, but yeah.” 

“Jeez, full house, huh?” Liebgott mumbled, noting the other cars around the house. 

“Well I think that’s because Speirs’s family arrived yesterday,” Winnie gave a slight wince. 

“His family arrived yesterday and your first meeting with them is gonna be with your cheek all swollen like that?” Roe asked, clear distaste for the situation on his face. 

“Do I have another option?” Winnie deadpanned. 

“Well sure, you could come stay in a hotel with us,” Roe pointed out. 

“Nah, she’s definitely already slept with the groom—OW!” Liebgott snarked, catching a stray hand from Winnie to the back of the head. 

“Shut up,” she insisted firmly.  

Before he could retort to that, the lights in the house flooded out into the night as the Allen Clan spilled out of the house, descending on the truck, with Speirs not too far behind them.  “Oh God,” Roe mumbled, eyes wide at the sight.  

Winnie didn’t even get a chance to open her own door.  Speirs was there in an instant, weaving his way expertly through her brothers before they could even get to her.  “Oh hello,” she breathed out warmly, lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Gentlemen,” Speirs gave a nod at Roe and Liebgott.  

Then he scooped Winnie up over his shoulder and she gave a slight squeal of surprise. “Ron—” 

“You look dead on your feet, honey.  No circus monkeys tonight, just rest,” he insisted.  

Winnie just happened to catch sight of the dumbfounded look on Liebgott and Roe’s faces, mirrored by the same expression on her younger brothers’ faces.  She couldn’t help but give a half-wave and a weary grin as Speirs marched her right back in the house, past his family, and up the stairs and into her room.

The moment that they were alone and the door was shut, he set her down and cupped her face gently, eyes zeroing in on the cut on her cheek.  “What happened here?” He murmured softly, thumb brushing over it gently.

“Eileen’s mother.  They’ve been…struggling since Eileen’s passing.” 

His face grew stony at the words.  “Dare I ask about Liebgott’s nose?” 

“Trust me, he took the brunt of it from her father,” Winnie retorted, smoothing over his hands, which were still cupping her face. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hairline.  

“Missed you too,” Winnie gave a weary smile.  

He brought her into a gentle hug and Winnie leaned into his hug, wrapping her arms around his middle.  “Did my brothers bug the hell out of you?” 

“Only a little.  No worse than Easy Company does,” Ron snorted. He glanced down at her, rubbing a hand gently through her hair.  “You have a good adventure?” 

“Well I kidnapped Liebgott and Roe, so I’d say so,” she cracked a smile. 

“You’re much more trouble than I thought you were,” he grinned. 

“Is that a bad thing?” She questioned cheekily. 

“No,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow.  “Definitely not.  But you look stiff.” 

“I am.” 

“Bath?” 

“That would be much appreciated.” Before she could even protest, he had scooped her up again and taken her into the bathroom, setting the water to hot.  

“Arms up,” he commanded. 

She couldn’t help the weary grin that she gave him as she lifted her arms up.  “So bossy,” she murmured. 

He slipped the sweater from her shoulders, depositing it on the counter.  Speirs gave her a crooked grin, taking her chin softly so she was looking up at him fully. “You’ve never complained before.” 

“That’s because you were my CO before.” 

His hands slid down to her pants, carefully unbuttoning them and helping her out of them.  Winnie, if she was being entirely truthful, couldn’t complain about the treatment one bit.  She was too weary from the countless hours driving and from the emotional tension that she had experienced for the past few days to complain about being self-sufficient. 

Speirs gently helped her into the tub.  He doused her hair with water and reached for the soap.  “You don’t have to—” Winnie started bashfully. 

“But I want to.” 

“But—” 

He gave her a look.  “You really gonna argue with me about this, honey?” 

She was silent for a moment.  “No.  I don’t think I will.” 

“Smart,” he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.  He began to lather the soap in, watching as her shoulders slowly deflated.  There was a soft whining on the other side of the door and Winnie glanced up.  “Toccoa has been restless since you left,” Speirs murmured in response, giving her a half-smile.  “We should negotiate to get the dog a dog-bed.” 

“Fair enough,” Winnie cracked a smile. “You should just get in the tub too.  There’s room.” 

His gaze darkened.  “Alright.  Scoot over.” 

Winnie slipped forward as Speirs quickly stripped out of his clothes, climbing into the tub behind her. His hands strayed to her waist, pulling her close.  One hand rested over her stomach, and the other gently ran through her hair.  She immediately relaxed into his grip, closing her eyes. 

“What I would’ve given for a bath last December.” 

He didn’t say anything in response to that, just pressed a kiss to her eyelashes.  “You’re stiff, honey.” 

“My hips.  Pelvic instability, I think,” she murmured.  “They’re all sorts of messed up from last year.” 

Speirs just reached down, beginning to massage her hips in the hot water.  “Worse in the cold?” 

She gave a nod.  “I think so.  I just need to take it easy, I guess.” 

“Not something you’re familiar with.” 

She snorted softly.  “Don’t I know it.” 

“Well you got me now,” he murmured into her hair, fingers moving over her stiff hips like water.  “Does this feel a little better?” 

“Mhm,” she murmured, glancing up at him with sheer affection.  “God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Probably get into lots of trouble.” 

“Probably very true.” 

And then Winnie tugged him into a kiss. The water sloshed as he adjusted his grip on her, tugging her into his lap. 

“If you two flood the bathroom, I’m not responsible!” Nate yelled from the hallway, hearing the water spill out. 

“GO AWAY!” Winnie insisted. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, Winnie sat with her brothers all around the living room, having successfully kicked everyone out after she had met Speirs’s family.  They were lovely, his sisters adored her, his mother was the nicest person that Winnie had ever met, and his father was someone that Winnie could confidently say that she genuinely liked. 

Winnie had a shortage of father figures that she genuinely liked. 

Now though, now Winnie was sitting with her brothers, a rare glass of wine in hand, and playing cards with her brothers.  “I like him,” Robbie said, glancing over at her.  “The man worships the ground you walk on.” 

Her cheeks pinked slightly, so she took a sip of her wine.  “Well I’m glad you like him.  Are you all of the same opinion?” Winnie questioned curiously. 

Richie nudged her shoulder.  “Of course we are.” 

She relaxed slightly at their words.  Nate just studied her for a long minute.  “You know what, Poppy was right.  You do seem lighter.  Is it that you got laid?” 

She smacked him in the face with a pillow.  “Nathan Allen, that is not something that you ask your older sister!” She exclaimed with a huff.

“So, question,” Charlie said, raising his hand. 

Winnie turned to face him.  “Yeah?” 

“Well Rosie and DeMarco are traveling down to Florida for some conference thing, and I was wondering if they could stop by.  After the wedding?  You’re not gonna be here anyway, and I just thought it would be good to see them.” 

“Sure,” Winnie shrugged. “You checked with everyone else?” 

“Oh yeah, we’re set,” Joshua gave a nod. 

“Just no more imaginary baseball games,” Winnie said, glancing over at Nate. 

Nate gave an innocent shrug.  “It kept Bucky and I entertained.” 

“We don’t need the neighbors thinking we’re crazy.” 

“No,” Richie agreed.  “They already think we’re all going to hell or something.” 

Winnie cackled, stretching her legs out on the couch.  “They can leave us the hell alone,” she insisted. 

“Well I’m gonna propose a toast, since you didn’t let us do that shit at your last wedding,” Richie said, pouring another glass for himself and raising it half-heartedly in Winnie’s direction.  “We’re really happy for you, Roo.  It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you.  I’m glad you found Ron.  And I’m glad he makes you happy.  To you, Roo.” 

“To Roo!” They all exclaimed, raising their glasses to her. 

Winnie grinned widely, looking around at them.  “To raising hell,” she said, raising her glass. 

Richie groaned.  “I forgot about this shit,” he mumbled.  “And being from the wrong side of the tracks,” he corrected himself, raising his glass. 

“To making a name for ourselves,” Robbie added. 

“And biting back,” Nate grinned. 

“To the hand that never fed us,” Joshua rolled his eyes. 

“And to being an Allen,” Charlie beamed happily. 

They all took a sip of their drinks and Winnie grinned.  “I love you all very much.” 

“Don’t get sentimental on us,” Nate insisted stubbornly. 

“Or what?” She demanded.  “I’m getting married, you have to put up with it and how relaxed I am now.” 

Chapter Text

Grace had done a 180 shift overnight.  No, she hadn’t up and decided to be how she used to be before everything had happened.  But she had put away the Bible.  She had put away the nurse’s uniform.  And she had done her hair.  She had put on a light application of makeup.  And the next morning at breakfast, she had smiled brightly and given a flirtatious little wave to everyone. 

It had freaked the hell out of Kidd, who thought he was living in a nightmare.  Crosby and Rosie had taken her aside and checked to make sure that she was feeling okay.  The answer, to which, she had replied that she felt fresh and free.  They had laughed at that. 

Whatever the case, the change in Grace Spaatz was noticeable.  And that change, it seemed to reinvigorate every single person on the damn base.  

When asked, of course, why she was acting in the way that she was, Brady had appeared on her arm and had pressed a kiss to her cheek.  Case closed, very quickly. 

Tatty had been laughing over it for nearly a whole minute before she had excused herself to the bathroom, where she could fully enjoy the meltdown that most people on the base were having. 

So here was Grace Spaatz, sitting next to John Brady during breakfast, hand on his thigh, eating her mushy breakfast with a pleasant smile.  Meatball snuggled at her feet, and she conversed easily and lightly with all of the men.  Including none other than Bucky Egan.  

“So Saint Grace is back?” Bucky questioned, glancing over at her. 

She gave him a look, quirking a brow.  “Well I’ve given up my plans of being a nun.” 

“Hey, Brady,” Bucky said, turning to face him, and promptly kicking him in the shins. 

“What?” John questioned in a deadpan. 

“The Lord does hear my prayers. Hear that? He’s so graciously redirected Grace to you.  God bless, and Merry Christmas,” Bucky exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder with an abundance of enthusiasm. 

“That’s sacrilegious," came the united reply from both Grace and John. 

At that, DeMarco promptly dropped his spoon, staring at her with his jaw slightly ajar.  “You know the meaning of that word?” 

“I like English, of course I know the meaning of the word.” 

“Hmm, I see.  Let me rephrase: you care about the context and meaning of that word?” DeMarco rephrased. 

Grace gave a shrug and glanced over at Rosie.  “Rosie said that giving people respect also means respecting their beliefs.  If it’s important to Johnny, then it’s important to me.  I can’t promise I’ll be great at it—I still think the most interesting chapter in the Bible is Songs of Solomon, but I understand the concept, and I shall be striving to achieve respect.” 

One could almost hear the crickets chirping with the way that she phrased that entire thing. 

Bucky just squinted at her.  “So instead of a ‘come to Jesus epiphany,’ you had a ‘come to respect people epiphany’?” 

“Essentially.” 

“Well I for one,” Gale chimed in, giving Bucky a sharp look. “Am glad to hear it.  You’ve changed a lot,” he praised Grace with a warm smile. 

“Why thank you,” Grace beamed.  “But I shan’t be apologizing for the photos I sent to the Stalag,” she added innocently.  “Which Hambone very kindly let me know were a source of inspiration.  I shall take it as the most sincere of compliments that you men will never give to me.” 

Brady just put his head in his hands and let out a groan. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Brady had never felt hand sweat as much as he did at the moment.  Not when he first went up in the plane as a pilot.  Not when he first kissed a girl, back in High School.  And not when he had his first Communion.  But this was not any of those circumstances. 

No, at the moment, he was going on hour four of waiting outside General Spaatz’s office. 

The General was a busy man, with loads of responsibilities, especially given everything that had happened recently.  General Spaatz had just returned from being abroad in Germany during the surrender, and had been the one to interrogate Herman Göring when they had found him trying to make an escape. 

Needless to say, General Spaatz was in high esteem at the moment, and so sparing even a few minutes for a lowly pilot like himself was out of the question.  That being said, John Brady wasn’t surprised when it was a long wait.  

Grace was ever so proud of her father for all of his hard work during the war.  Everyone was grateful to him for everything he had done. 

But John Brady felt like he was going to throw up.  He just about wished that he had a cigarette to get through the wait.  His knees were going up and down like a machine gun trigger, bouncing up and down without stop.  He sucked in a breath and glanced down the hall of the office—still empty. 

Just then, the door to the office opened and another man stepped out, exiting down the hall at a brisk pace.  He waited patiently, and then General Spaatz appeared in the hallway, poking his head out.  Almost immediately, John straightened up and saluted at attention.  “General Spaatz, sir.” 

General Spaatz just gave a tired groan, shaking his head and rubbing at the bridge of his nose wearily.  “At ease, son.  Just get in here.” 

John crinkled his nose and went to easement, following him inside the office.  The General gestured that he should sit down across from him.  John obliged, taking a seat and looking at him expectantly. 

General Spaatz just raised a brow.  “This is about Gracie.” 

“Uh, yes sir.” 

“Uh is not a good start, Brady.” 

“You know my name?” 

“My daughter never shut up about you and it was the happiest I’ve ever seen her,” General Spaatz gave a weary breath.  “And then all of that…shit happened.  I don’t think that it would have happened if she had you in her life.  You’re a…good influence on her.  Or so I’m told.  By Jack Kidd.  And Major Crosby and Major Rosenthal.” 

Brady blinked.  Kidd and Crosby made enough sense, but Rosie barely knew him—did he really praise him in front of the General just because of Grace? 

“Your daughter is very important to me, sir.” 

Spaatz straightened up, giving him a look.  “You didn’t fool around with her?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Yes, I know that.  Get on with it.” 

John gave a nod.  “It’s just that…I want to take care of her, sir.  Grace is the best thing in my life.  I don’t think I would have survived in the Stalag if I wasn’t getting her letters.” 

“And you didn’t get all of them anyway,” Spaatz mumbled. 

“True.  My point though, sir, is that I’d very much like permission to propose to her.  I don’t mean to upset anyone.  I respect her very much.” 

Spaatz just leveled his gaze at him. “You know, I have half a mind to say no to you, given what she’s been through lately.  But just an hour ago, Tatty called me and gave me a stern talking to.  You ever have a stern talking to from Tatty?” 

“No, sir.  I’ve tried to avoid needing such conversations.” 

Spaatz gave an amused grunt.  “Then you’re a wiser man than I.  She told me that Grace was back to being herself and I have you to thank for that.  So my answer is very simple.  I love my daughter very much.  She’s gentle.  And she’s sweet.  Naive at times.  But strong inside.  And you make her happy.  So yes.” 

John Brady blinked for a moment, almost not expecting it to be that easy.  “I—” 

“Oh no, I’m not done.  See, my daughter is one of the best things in my life.  She’s an angel.  My little angel, to be specific.  And if anything happens to her, or makes her upset, or if you dishonor her in some way, I will fuck you up, son.  Do you understand?” 

“Yes?” 

“Was that a question.” 

“No, sir.  Yes, I understand, sir.” 

“That’s better.  When you get married, you can drop the sir.  She’ll be annoyed, and so will the missus.” 

“Understood, sir.” 

“Great.  Now get the hell outta my office and go propose to my daughter so I can figure out how big of a check I’m going to need to give her for the wedding.” 

He grinned.  “Fair enough, sir.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grace found herself being blindfolded by Poppy and taken out to one of the fields.  “Dare I even ask?” Grace questioned, a grin clear on her face. 

“No you shan’t,” Poppy insisted with a giggle, leading her to a stop.  “Now hold still for a second,” she insisted, settling something soft in her hair.  She untied the blindfold softly and then dashed away before anyone could stop her. 

Grace blinked for a few seconds, taking in the peach, rose, soft orange, and violet streaked skies.  The sunset was painted across the sky in streaks, and there John was, standing a few feet from her, a paper in hand, and holding onto a bouquet of flowers, freshly picked wildflowers to be exact. 

“What’s all this?” Grace breathed out.  She smelled roses and when she placed a hand on her head, she realized that Poppy had made her a flower crown. 

“Just…give me a second,” John insisted warmly and somewhat shyly.  It was boyishly charming, in a way. 

“Alright.” 

“I just…” he stepped forward and handed her the flowers.  “I’ve thought a lot about you and us.  And as I’ve tried to think about what would best encapsulate our relationship, and best describe how I feel, it’s fitting to have this done through poetry.” 

“Poetry?” Her eyes softened warmly.  

“I did a little extra reading.” 

“You charmer,” she beamed. 

“Your sister mentioned that you liked Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  So…here goes nothing: 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for right; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death.” 

Brady folded the paper into his pocket and he took a step forward, taking her hand in his.  “I’ve known you for years.  I don’t think I fell in love with you until I got to know you by letter.  No pretenses.  No facades.  Just you and I, in our souls.  And I love the person that you are.  I love you.” 

“I…love you too,” she breathed out warmly, eyes glittering with adoration. 

“So,” he knelt down in front of her, and pulled out a ring that he had procured just a few days earlier.  “Will you marry me?” 

“Johnny Brady,” she breathed out.  “Yes.  I’ll marry you.” 

Chapter Text

May, 1945

Grace hadn’t meant to start the day by reading Tennyson.  She had fully intended on reading the Bible.  But Grace couldn’t help the fact that she was at a particularly dry chapter of Numbers and couldn’t be bothered to attempt another read-through.  Maybe it was the fact that she and Brady were finally on good terms again. 

Maybe it was the way that the base felt electric. It felt as though the tides were about to turn and things were about to go really beyond well. 

But for whatever reason, Grace sat down in the flowers, in a field not too far from the nurses barracks, and she read Tennyson.  The Charge of the Light Brigade was a piece that her grandfather had entirely memorized.  When she was a little girl, she remembered sitting atop his lap and him reciting it to her, all whilst her grandmother fed her sweets. 

It was such a nostalgic and sweet memory, that Grace couldn’t help but revisit the poem. 

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of hell, 

All that was left of them, 

  Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade? 

O the wild charge they made!

    All the world wondered. 

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade, 

    Noble six hundred!

Grace mused on the words over and over again.  She had been too young to understand why her grandfather had wept at such words from the poet.  She had been too young to understand honouring someone in a real way, or fighting through the jaws of death to survive something horrendous. 

And while Grace hadn’t been on a battlefield, she felt, in some small way, that she understood. 

It was about perseverance. 

It was a mistake. 

A brave one. 

A tragic one. 

Certainly preventable for any number of reasons. 

The boys in the skies felt a lot like that.  Suicidal heroes who flew too close to the sun in an effort to liberate the grip of the shadow on the world.  

Grace had no sooner tucked away her poetry book when footsteps sounded behind her.  The sight that she saw had her pausing in confusion slightly.  Crosby was somehow outrunning Rosie, though he looked as though he was going to vomit, Rosie was running behind him with a frantic expression on his face, and Kidd looked exasperated as he chased after the two of them. 

“What on earth—” Grace started, face contorted in confusion. 

Crosby skidded to a stop in the field.  “It’s—it’s—” He choked out. 

Rosie slipped into him and the two of them went tumbling into the grass and flowers.  Grace remained unimpressed, piquing a brow as Kidd slowed to a jog and a stop in front of her.  “What is it?” She questioned. To be quite frank, she wasn’t sure that she even wanted to know. 

“It’s Michael,” Kidd explained, giving Crosby a hand up from the flowers. 

Grace’s spine straightened as though she had been struck by lightning.  “What about him?” She asked very carefully, lowering her gaze back into the flowers.  

“He—he got fired,” Crosby blurted out. 

“Some hoighty-toighty donor to the college heard about what happened and threatened to withdraw their funding entirely if he wasn’t removed immediately,” Rosie added, getting to his feet.  “No clue who, but apparently he got sacked yesterday.” 

Grace was still for a long moment, fingers tracing over the poppy stems.  “Really?” She asked in a small voice, looking up at them with wide eyes. 

“Yes, really,” Kidd said in a gentler tone. 

“We thought you’d want to know,” Crosby added helpfully. 

Rosie just studied Grace for a minute.  “You okay?” 

She nodded very quickly, a smile spreading across her features.  “Better than okay, actually.  That’s the best news that I’ve heard for weeks.” 

“Good,” Rosie beamed, slinging an arm around her.  “Now come on.  There’s supposed to be a radio broadcast starting soon and I don’t think you’re gonna want to miss it.” 

Grace let them tug her up from her position in the flowers and followed them back to the base.  Crosby headed back into command, and Grace made her way back into the nurses barracks, finding Tatty, Helen, Poppy, and Laura all sitting in a circle around a radio.  “What’s this all about—” Grace started. 

“Shh!” Tatty insisted quickly.  “It’s starting!” 

The radioman began the broadcast rather quickly.  “Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m., at General Eisenhower’s Headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Dönitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command.” 

Helen and Tatty each gripped one of Grace’s hands and the women listened closely as the radioman continued the life-changing announcement. 

“Hostilities will officially end at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday the 8th of May. But in the interest of saving lives, the ceasefire began yesterday to be sounded all along the front and our dear Channel Islands.” 

The moment that the announcement ended, loud cheers filled the air, mixed with cries of relief and happiness.  Tatty grabbed Grace and pressed a large kiss to her cheek.  “It’s over!  It’s really over!  We’re gonna go home!” Tatty exclaimed in an exuberant tone, tears filling her eyes as she spoke. 

Grace couldn’t help the grin that was plastered on her face for the first time in months.  “I can’t….I can’t believe it,” she murmured.  She didn’t even bother to wipe off the lipstick stain that Tatty had left on her cheek—she was too excited about the turn of events to truthfully even care very much at this particular point. 

Outside, the camp was going wild with talks of a celebration for that evening, cheers, embraces, and everyone being relatively excited about the end of the war. It was all going to be worth it.  It all had been worth it—

They were going to go home. 

Home felt like something very abstract to Grace Spaatz at this particular moment of her life.  How to explain that she was no longer the little girl who had left the United States and no longer felt particularly rosy-eyed looking through those rose-tinted glasses and that she felt jaded?  Home would not feel like home, not ever again. 

Because Grace Spaatz was no longer ditzy Gracie Spaatz. 

But maybe, 

Just maybe, 

She still wanted John Brady.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The band played loud and proud that evening in the mess-hall, the biggest party that Thorpe Abbotts had ever seen.  It was the most food, the most music, and the most laughter that Grace had seen in the entirety of her time there.  Everybody dressed up in their blues and in nice dresses, drinking and laughing. 

Brady even played music. 

But Grace, for all of her longing and her wanting and her yearning, could not find it within her to dress up and go to a party of all things.  Had Evie been here, the woman would have done her makeup, dried her tears, and insisted that she go sheerly to spite Michael. 

But Evie was not here. 

It was just Grace. 

And Grace could not muster the energy needed to put on a dress, to feel pretty and whole again, to go out and be around people that would want to dance and touch her and laugh with her.  

The thought made her nauseous. 

In fact, Grace vomited up the contents of the dinner in the toilet at the soonest convenience, pale and sickly as she returned to the nurses barracks to rest for the evening.  Poppy had caught sight of her, immediately looking concerned.  “Oh hon, are you sick?” Poppy questioned, leaning over and feeling Grace’s forehead. 

“I just don’t wanna be around people tonight,” Grace sniffled, sitting down on the cot. 

“Well I could—” 

“Go and have some fun.  For me?” 

Poppy looked rather uneasy about the entire thing, but she gave a nod.  “If you’re sure,” she said.  She waited another minute, as if expecting Grace to change her mind about the entire thing.  When Grace didn’t, she headed off to the party. 

It was over an hour before Grace even decided to venture somewhat close to the mess-hall, electing to sit down on a porch outside and just listen to the sounds of the party happening inside.  The music was nice and perfectly suited for dancing.  It was something Grace wished that she felt comfortable enough to do. 

But she didn’t. 

So she sat there, knees tucked up to her chest, wearing her plainest dress and just watching the fireworks go off in the sky in honor of the party. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

Grace gave a half-smile, glancing over at Brady.  “Hi,” she replied softly.  

“Mind if I sit?” 

“I’d say that it’s a free country, but we actually won our independence from them a long time ago—but free continent thanks to winning the war sounds better,” Grace cracked a small joke. 

He grinned at that and took a seat next to her.  “Funny.” 

“Well I wasn’t really trying very hard.” 

“That’s not like you.” 

“It’s not,” she agreed softly.  “Crazy day, huh?” 

“That’s one way to put it,” he gave a nod, looking up at the fireworks.  “So…are you heading back home soon?” 

She shrugged.  “I suppose that’s up to my father and what the military has him do.” Grace paused for a moment, simply watching everything light up above her.  “If I’m being super honest, I’m not sure I know what I want to do anymore.  Or what I want.  I don’t really feel the same.” 

“Makes sense.” 

“What about you?” She questioned, nudging him with her foot gently.  “What are you gonna do?” 

“Go back home.  Teach, I think.  I liked that a lot,” Brady admitted.  “My folks said that they’d been eying this place for me.  Nice house.  Fence.  Room for a garden, you know, if I wanted to have one,” he added softly at the end. 

She glanced over at him.  “You should plant something pretty,” she blurted. 

“There she is.” 

“Who?” 

“My Gracie.” 

Her heart stopped in her chest and she just stared at him for a long time.  “You mean that. When you say that.  You mean that,” she mumbled to herself, realization slowly sinking in.  

“Yeah.  Yeah I do.” 

Grace glanced back at the sky, feeling like it was hard to breathe.  Her chest felt tight and it was easier to look away from him then look into those damnably beautiful eyes.  But as she looked up at the sky, she felt a pinkie finger brush against hers and she glanced back at him.  

“I think,” Grace started very carefully.  “That I don’t mind when you call me that,” she murmured quietly. 

“I think,” Brady murmured.  “I wouldn’t know what to plant in that garden.  Maybe you should help me with it?” 

She gave a small smile and then let her gaze drift to her lap.  “There might be a lot of pink.” 

“I can work with that.” 

“And if I told you that….that I still…want you too?  Can you work with being very slow and very patient with me?”

He gently hooked his hand under her chin and tilted her face up so they were looking at each other properly.  “I think I can do that.” 

“Well that’s good,” she murmured.  “Because I still really like you, John Brady.” 

“You mean you fancy me.  Etcetera?” He offered, echoing her words from when she first admitted that she had liked him. 

At that, she grinned.  “Yeah.” 

Chapter Text

Winnie had only been to Savannah a number of times.  When she was little, she remembered her mother’s family living down there.  They used to drive down and visit for the holidays, but then the Spanish Flu had hit and any family members that they had were wiped out in that singular year.  Winnie had only been 3 years old. 

The other number of times that she had visited Savannah had been once in High School, for some school track event that she had done.  And the other time had been for a ridiculously high-end tea-party of sorts with her ex’s family—

She had hated every minute of it and not a single person had spoken to her for a full forty-five minutes. 

Needless to say, Savannah wasn’t a place that Winnie was well acquainted with.  And she assumed that this next visit wasn’t going to be one that she necessarily felt inclined to remember for the rest of her days either. 

After all, this wasn’t some socialite event.  

This was about Eileen. 

This was about the fact that Winnie and Liebgott knew too much about the entire thing and that Winnie felt entirely responsible for what had happened. 

The drive felt heavier, in a way that visiting Reba’s family had not.  

The only reason Winnie could think up in her mind for such a feeling was the fact that Eileen had been pregnant when everything happened.  There had been an innocent life that Liebgott and Eileen had created together, something that had never gotten a real chance at life or at anything else, and it had been taken away before Eileen really got to love it, or Liebgott even knew. 

Perhaps that made it somewhat crueller. 

Perhaps what made it somewhat crueller was remembering that Liebgott had crashed a jeep in the hopes of joining Eileen and nearly got put on a psychiatric hold, had Winnie not intervened with the outcome of everything in Austria. 

The situation, needless to say, was fragile, at best. 

Roe had insisted on tagging along, if for nothing else other than moral support.  The fact of the matter was that he would have been perfectly content getting dropped off in Buford and being with the Allen Family, but he wanted to be there for both Liebgott and for Winnie.  So he had elected that he would wait at a diner down the street from Eileen’s house, and when they were done, they could come pick him up. 

It was sweet, really. 

Eileen’s house sat perfectly surrounded by winter rosebushes and had American flags hanging in the windows.  

Immortalization that would never get to go away. 

Winnie was suddenly very struck by the fact that Eileen’s older brother had died at Pearl Harbor.  Had been in those ships when they had sunk and gone beneath the waves—and their family had never received a proper closure for that. 

And then Eileen had died in Europe.  And yes, her body had eventually been brought home.  But how does a family get over losing two children in the same war?  Eileen was supposed to be protected, as a nurse. She wasn’t supposed to be as close to the fighting.  There was no reason why she should have been in the danger that she had been in. 

“Hey, you still good?” Liebgott mumbled, nudging Winnie’s arm as they stood on the street and were silently preparing to approach the house. 

“Not really.  You?” 

A long beat of silence. “Nope.” 

“Well shit,” Winnie mumbled out.  “This is gonna be rough.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Let’s do it, then. Together.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You horrible BITCH—”

“Get out of my house!” 

“You bastard, you bastard, it’s your fault—”

Winnie’s cheek was still stinging from Eileen’s mother and her nails.  She clutched at her cheek, just sitting emptily in the truck and staring blankly ahead.  Liebgott was clutching his nose, head tilted up.  It wasn’t broken, at least, Winnie hadn’t thought that it was.  

Everything had been a blur. 

When they had first arrived, wanting to pay respects and talk with Eileen’s family, it had just been Eileen’s older sister at home.  She had been gracious, holding her own little two-year-old on her lap and talking with them softly about Eileen and how much she missed her little sister.  Winnie couldn’t imagine being an older sister and losing one of her kids. 

She should’ve done more, she knew that. 

But then Eileen’s parents had come home. 

Eileen’s mother had recognized Winnie’s name almost immediately.  And she had grabbed Winnie by the hair and tried to throw her out of the house.  Joe had tried to get the woman’s hands off of Winnie, and that was when Eileen’s very drunk father had thrown a punch at his nose, knocking him into the snow. 

Winnie had been slapped across the face by the time she freed her scalp of the woman’s fingers. 

Now the two of them were sitting in her truck, listening to the sound of silence and wanting to drown in it.  Winnie wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but Eileen’s parents being as volatile as they were wasn’t something that she had imagined.  Then again, she only knew Eileen.  And Eileen was all sunshine and moonbeams in her smiles. 

From what Winnie remembered, Eileen’s family hadn’t been like this before. 

Which meant that they were like this because Eileen had died. 

Because Eileen had died on her watch. 

Because Winnie had failed her friends. 

Winnie hardly remembered driving to the diner to go and get Roe.  She did remember, however, the expletive exclamation that he had let slip as he got into the truck and started assessing the two of them.  He immediately moved past Joe, getting into the middle of the truck so he could better move between the two of them. 

“My God, what happened?” Roe demanded, whipping out a napkin from the diner and pinching Joe’s bloody nose together. 

“They got aggressive with Winnie—” Liebgott started in a nasally tone. 

“And then when he tried to get her mother off of me, Eileen’s dad punched him in the nose and knocked him into the snow,” Winnie explained miserably. 

Roe just looked between the two of them in bewilderment. “They—what?” 

“They took things much worse than Reba’s family,” Winnie mumbled out as Roe finally moved over to her.  

“Winnie,” Roe deadpanned.  “Hand.  Now.” 

She grit her teeth and removed her hand from her stinging cheek and Roe immediately darkened at the sight of a nasty welt across her cheek.  He mumbled something under his breath and inspected it for a minute.  “Well?” Winnie mumbled. 

“No stitches.  But it’s gotta be cleaned.  Gimme a minute,” he insisted, then clambered back out of the truck and into the diner.  He was only in there for a minute or two before he returned with a soaked napkin in some alcohol, pressing it onto her cheek and making her squeak at the sensation.  “Stop fidgetin’,” He insisted pointedly. 

“You’re such a mother hen.” 

“So are you,” Roe retorted.  He looked between Liebgott and Winnie for a minute, face tense and clearly distraught.  “You gotta get married in three days and you’re gonna have a hell of a mark on your cheek.” 

Winnie huffed.  “It’s fine—” 

“You say that, but we both know that Speirs is gonna lose his shit,” Liebgott mumbled, wiping the dried blood off of his nose. 

Probably true.  

Winnie couldn’t even argue with that.  

She just sat back against the seat of her truck, staring at the steering wheel and clutching it tightly.  “Okay.  You’re right,” she murmured.  “I…I screwed up bringing us here.  Joe, I’m sorry—” 

“What the hell are you sorry for?” Liebgott demanded sharply.  “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.  They don’t know what happened to you.  They don’t know what happened to us.  They were just…they were just defendin’ their daughter in the way that they thought was best.  They’re hurting and how they choose to take it out has nothin’ to do with us and everything to do with how they’re feelin’ on the inside.” 

Both Roe and Winnie blinked.  That was remarkably insightful for Liebgott, who had been so full of anger. 

Winnie watched as Liebgott got out of the truck, and she scrambled out of her own door—following after him, with Roe hot on her heels.  “Lieb—” 

“No, no—” Liebgott waved at her.  “We’re all angry on the inside, right?” He demanded, nearly yelling.  “These things don’t go away.” 

“Liebgott—” Roe started. 

“No!  I’m glad that you got closure for Reba, she was a damn nice lady,” Liebgott snapped.  “But I don’t get to have closure over Eileen or my kid!  I don’t get to put things to bed nicely.  How’s that for fucking fair?  None of it is fair and I am sick of it!” 

Before he could do anything else, Winnie just moved forward, forcing him into a hug.  Any erratic anger that had been spilling out of him seemed to bleed out of him in a moment.  Slowly, the two of them sank down into the frosty grass and Winnie just gently took his face in her hands. 

“It’s not fair,” she replied very quietly.  “None of it has ever been fair.  But you didn’t do anything wrong.  Neither of us did.” 

“I know, I know,” Liebgott sobbed out quietly.  

Something warm covered the two of them and when Winnie glanced up, Roe was crouched down near them.  He had located a blanket in the back of the truck, where they had kept their things.  “You two are bat-shit crazy, doin’ this in this weather,” Roe mumbled, shaking his head at them.  “But God help me, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

Both Winnie and Roe cracked a faint smile.  “We’re glad,” Winnie insisted, tugging him into the hug.  

Chapter Text

Life on base was slow now.  It was quiet.  It was peaceful.  It was slow.  And it was everything that Grace had really needed.  Before, she had felt so shallow and young, and she had needed something new every day. The heaviness that had settled so deeply into her bones, she was sure that she had divots there, it was slowly starting to dissipate. 

Maybe it was the fact that Brady was respecting the fact that she could only stomach being friends for right now. 

Maybe it was the fact that seemingly overnight, every soldier that had been giving her the cold shoulder and disgruntled looks over what she had done to Brady, was now leaving her be. 

Maybe it was the fact that Rosie had prepared her defense so wonderfully well, that Grace had felt a modicum of peace. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Grace had finally plucked up the courage needed to call both Edith and Lois.  She had choked out what had happened and they had been livid on her behalf.  They had sworn that if she ended up in court, then they would be there by her side and there to support her.  

Support meant a lot more now that she had experienced life without it. 

Her trio of mother hens had relaxed ever so slightly, now that Bucky wasn’t being a Major-Ass, and now that Brady had gotten his little chihuahua attack dog under control.  Not something that Grace had foreseen herself ever calling Bucky Egan, but certainly something applicable to how he had acted towards her. 

He had apologized, quite clumsily, the other night.  In front of everyone.  At dinner. 

And so the Saint Grace comments disappeared overnight. 

It was a relief, if she was being entirely honest. 

Now, Grace sat in the field, surrounded by flowers of varying colorful shades, a pen in hand.  She looked at the letter in front of her.  She wasn’t sure bothering Evie was the best idea, but she felt like she needed to tell Evie what had happened. 

Dear Evie. 

I’m sure you’re wondering why you haven’t heard from me recently.  Or maybe you’ve been too busy with everything to notice.  I would understand if that’s the case.  I know you’re probably busy fixing things up as this war drags to an end.  Whatever the case, I felt that I should let you know what has occurred. 

I dropped out of college.  Not for modeling.  Not for the movies.  Not for any man or shallow girlish matter.  But rather, something happened to me.  There was a professor, one Michael Paige—who intercepted my letters to my Johnny, and vice versa.  He played me for a fool, both on the stage and in the classroom.  I thought I could trust him. 

I could not. 

This man did something to me.  Something that scared me.  Something that hurt me.  The sort of thing that you warned me about, a long time ago. 

I had help.  I made it back to my father.  There’s going to be a whole court case about it.  There was a baby.  And then there wasn’t.  I did some things that I’m still trying to work through and process.  I don’t know if I’m a good person because of what I did, but I know that I’m alive and I’m trying to want to stay that way. 

I suppose I should tell you that this is the reason why I haven’t written to you in months.  That this is my flimsy excuse for ignoring the letters that you sent me.  But I have no excuse except my own self-shame.  You wouldn’t believe this of me, but I decided to become a nun.  I don’t know if it will stick.  It probably won’t.  Everyone keeps telling me that I would be a shit nun and I’m quite inclined to agree with them. 

I don’t like makeup or frills or pretty things anymore.  Well, I do like pretty things.  I just don’t trust them to not leave me scarred.  I think it’s what you’d refer to as jaded, but I’m not sure.  I quite miss you.  I don’t know if you’re back in London.  But if you are, I’d love to see you at some point.  

I’ve thought about you a lot.  Wow—I just realized that I’ve started nearly every paragraph with the word I.  I think that means I’m quite selfish.  But I really have thought about you. I’ve thought about how I should have been a better friend, shouldn’t have tried to distract you quite as hard, and should have just listened when you were feeling all that grief.  I get it now, in a different way. 

You’re my friend.  Maybe one of the best friends that I’ve ever had.  I should ever so enjoy to be two single ladies together in some city one day, spending time together and working through what we’ve been through. 

I’m praying for you.  I don’t find that phrase to be particularly consoling, but the good Father on base said that it’s something I should say when I care about people.  I’m sure I’ll understand it at some point. 

Please be safe.  Please keep trying.  Please stay yourself. 

All my love, 

Grace Spaatz

She stared at the letter and its lackluster selfishness.  

Grace had thought that she had changed quite a lot in the past few months.  But her writing still reflected that of a—well, for lack of a nicer term—brat.  

The only difference is that she was no longer an attention-seeking brat and an internal brat.  She didn’t wear makeup that drew attention to her face or her lips, and she didn’t wear clothes that invited glances at her décolletage or legs. She didn’t flirt with every man that she came into contact with and she didn’t want them staring at her anymore. 

Perhaps the little changes were enough. 

Maybe, just maybe. 

She set the letter down in her things, tucking it away and intending to send it later that week.  Grace carefully dressed in her uniform, finding her way out of the barracks and headed towards the hospital wing, where she had been dutifully promised monotony at its finest by counting and taking stock of supplies.  It should keep her busy for hours at a time. 

Grace found her way inside, coming face to face with Laura and Poppy, who brightened at the sight of her.  Laura was turning down hospital beds and sheets with an iron might, all tidy and neat to the nines.  Poppy was sewing a patch in one of the hospital sheets, giving her a wave as she entered. 

“Did you get your letter written?” Laura questioned, glancing over at Grace. 

“I did,” Grace replied, taking the clipboard that was needed and a pencil to work on the inventory. “Have you two been busy today?” 

Poppy nearly snorted and Laura shrugged. “About as busy as it gets around here these days,” Poppy retorted.  

“Which means not very busy at all,” Laura cut in. 

It was fair enough. The base had been slow at best, and downright boring at others.  Grace supposed that she should have been grateful for it, given the fact that so many people had died on the base, and so many others hadn’t ever returned to it in the first place. 

“Things seem to be going better,” Poppy offered gently. 

14

15

Grace paused her inventory of morphine, glancing over at Poppy.  “Well, I suppose so.  As fine as they can be. Rosie says that the case might get pushed out till the fall with everything going on.” 

“And how do you feel about that?” Laura asked, gaze sharply turning onto her as she tucked down a corner of one of the cots. 

That question prompted a shrug. “Well I’m glad I won’t have to testify or anything.  I don’t know that I could ever really be ready for that.  But if they keep waiting, the war could end, and I don’t really want to have to come back here just for that.” 

“That makes sense,” Laura nodded. 

“Tough luck, hon,” Poppy sympathized.  “When do you find out?” 

“Next week.” 

“Well that’s only a few days.” 

“Which could be a lot more,” Grace shrugged. “After he showed up here…I wasn’t sure what I would do.  But I did face him.  I suppose that shows courage on my part.” 

Laura snorted. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call pointing a gun at a man’s junk.” 

“I heard it was very heroic,” Poppy chided. “Bucky was regaling half of us with the tale.  You’re much braver than I would be in this situation.” 

“Well I heard he called it stupid,” Grace replied. 

“Brave, but stupid, actually,” Laura corrected, without even glancing up from her final cot.  “I think I’m inclined to agree.  You’re plenty brave.  You’ve got heart for days.” 

“And boobs for days!” Poppy cut in. 

Grace blinked.  “Thank you?” 

“That’s a compliment, so definitely a statement, not a question.” 

“Then thank you.” 

It only took an hour, and then Grace was finished with inventory.  She made her way over to the mess-hall, Laura and Poppy at her side.  She found her way to Tatty, snatching a treat from her sister, and then found her way to where Meatball was wagging his tail near DeMarco’s feet. 

“Meatball, I’ve brought you your weekly treat!” Grace exclaimed. 

Almost everyone stopped, staring at her with confusion in their gazes.  “Oh she does this weekly,” Laura said, waving off the information. 

Meanwhile, Meatball bounded forward, immediately swarming her legs and sniffing.  He whined obediently, tail wagging.  “Sit,” Grace insisted, giving the dog a look. 

“He’s not gonna—” DeMarco started. 

Meatball sat and DeMarco’s jaw fell open.  He had been trying to teach Meatball how to sit since he had gotten back from being a prisoner of war, to no avail.  The problem was that Meatball already knew how to sit, he just refused unless Grace was the one commanding it, or a treat of some sort was involved. 

“He—you—” 

“He’s a good doggo.  A slobbery one, but a good one,” Grace said, giving Meatball the treat and petting his fur happily. 

“Since when do you like dogs?” Brady piped up, having just arrived with his lunch and staring at the sight in front of him. 

“Meatball is an excellent therapy dog.  He’s great at making people feel better.  Isn’t that right, sweet boy?” Grace cooed to Meatball, who was happily sitting at her feet as she pet him. 

“He betrayed me for you?” DeMarco’s voice was a pitch higher. 

“Well yes, I trained him.  It’s all about the treats, you know,” Grace said with a nod.  “You should see if he can be trained to specifically help with nightmares and such.  I’m sure that he’d be great at it.” 

“Y-yeah.  That’s not a bad idea.  Since when have you had good ideas?” DeMarco blurted. 

Grace gave him the evil-eye.  “I’ve always had good ideas, you just thought I was an airheaded little slut, thank you.” 

“I didn’t—” DeMarco started, only to earn himself a sharp elbow and look from Brady.  

“Grace—” Brady started. 

“Oh don’t deny it.  I heard about Saint Grace.  And I assume that my trio of mother-hens has taken care of it?” She questioned. 

Just then, Crosby appeared at her elbow.  “Guilty as charged.” 

She beamed.  “I knew you were a good egg.” 

“That’s not what you said when he nearly threw up on your shoes,” Kidd called from his seat. 

“I said what I said!” She exclaimed hotly. 

“I suggest you plead the fifth instead,” Rosie suggested. 

Chapter Text

Stranded. 

In Ohio. 

Of all places. 

In a blizzard. 

The trio had been on their way back down to Georgia to hit Savannah and see Eileen’s family when a snowstorm had knocked out all of the major roads and left them stranded on the side of the road for half an hour.  

Winnie couldn’t handle the cold in any capacity—

None of them really could after Bastogne. 

But it was when her hips gave out from the cold when they were attempting to get the truck back on the road that Roe and Liebgott made the very wise and executively smart decision to find a motel and get the hell off of the road whilst the snow was coming down in deluges upon them.  They had each taken a different duty—

Roe had gotten Winnie into the motel room to rest. He had shoved Liebgott a slip of paper with the phone number for Winnie’s house in Georgia so that they could let them know what was going on. 

They were going to be late. 

And with the weather the way that it was, it would be a miracle if they made it back in time for the wedding. 

Winnie didn’t think she’d get any more miracles when it came to life. 

Her teeth were still chattering when Roe sat her down in the chair near the fire, tugging a blanket around her shoulders like a mother hen.  “If we start cuddlin’ like we’re in a foxhole again, you reckon I’ll get forgiven?” He joked. 

She gave him a look.  “Probably not.” A reluctant smile cracked across her features and Winnie just closed her eyes for a minute.  “Shoulda checked the weather reports.” 

“Probably true,” Roe agreed in half-amusement.  “Still, if we make it back in time, you’ll have a hell of a story to tell.” 

“I’ve got a lot of those, I just don’t have the energy to tell them or people I care to share those with.” 

Just then, the door to the motel room opened and Liebgott came stumbling in, face redder than a tomato and looking mortified.  “You—you—” He exclaimed, shutting the door so the cold didn’t seep in. 

“I what?” Winnie questioned, raising a brow. 

“You and our Captain?!” 

“Oh.  Did Speirs answer the phone?” 

“Yes!  And when he realized that it was me he was talkin’ to, he chuckled!  Chuckled!  I think he’s gonna kill us all for goin’ on a side-quest adventure that gets you frostbite before you ever get married!  What if your tits freeze off?” 

At that, Winnie chucked the pillow from the chair at his face.  It hit him squarely and Liebgott still just looked flustered.  

“What?!” He demanded.  “So it’s okay that you talk about us losing appendages such as our testicles during Bastogne but we can’t joke about that stuff here?” 

“No,” Winnie replied in amusement.  “Why do you look so shocked still?” 

“Because it’s SPEIRS!  My God, Roo!” Liebgott exclaimed, flopping onto the couch and covering his face with his hands.  He peeked out his eyes from between fingers.  “Did you know?” he asked in an accusatory manner, glaring at Roe. 

“Well I’ve got eyes, so yes.” 

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?!” 

“Since she took the bullet for him.  Damn idiotic move, is what that was.” 

Winnie shrugged.  “People do strange things for love.” 

Both Roe and Liebgott shared the same wrinkly nosed expression at her words.  Liebgott just let out a sigh and looked at her more fully.  “You really do like him?” 

“As if I’d marry a man for the second time in my life that I didn’t like,” Winnie snorted. 

“He drove all the way to the airfield to say goodbye,” Roe coughed into his fist. 

“HE DID?” Liebgott yelped, eyes wide.  “I wanna know more!” 

“Do you really?” Winnie deadpanned.  “Because I’m afraid that I’m not really that exciting.” 

“Well I know that, but this is exciting shit, Win!” 

“You shoulda seen my brother's faces when he just showed up, no context, and they didn’t even know that he existed.” 

“I’m sure you got a good kick outta that.” 

“I did, thank you.” 

“The rest of Easy Company is gonna have a blast,” Roe mumbled, shaking his head at the two of them.  “The Doctor and the Captain.  What a scandal, Doc.” 

“Well technically we waited until I was no longer under his command, so everything was above board.” 

“You mean you weren’t hooking up the entire time?” Liebgott blurted. 

“HA!  No.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire was crackling and Winnie was situated as well as she could be on the bed.  Her guilt and her pride had demanded that she not take the bed, but her lower back and her hips were another story.  Winnie had seen the signs in her own body of needing to slow the hell down, but she wasn’t a woman that was accustomed to being able to listen to her own body or having the luxury to slow down. 

She supposed she really could now. 

Ron would be furious if he knew just how bad she’d pushed with driving in this weather, she knew that. 

The cold had settled into her bones the morning that they had been driving, seeping in and curling around every bone and nerve until she felt like she was on fire. 

That fire would radiate down from the center of her lower back and into the nerves of her legs and thighs.  It seemed that her hips no longer wanted to quite hold their proper shape or stay where they were supposed to be. 

Betrayal from her body of the highest form. 

It was all to be expected, given what she had endured in Bastogne and in the war.  Still, it hurt.  The thought of using a cane or slowing down enough to need help all of the time was something that made her want to vomit up the contents of her stomach.  She would be damned if she started accepting help over something as menial and little as this. 

Roe though, he had other thoughts. 

He was curled up near her, writing in a journal and occasionally glancing in her direction.  Liebgott was sitting near the fire, chewing on tobacco and staring off into the flames.  

“Does this sorta thing happen often?” Roe questioned, finally setting down his pen. 

“What sorta thing?” Winnie asked flatly, narrowing her gaze at Roe. 

“Your—” he gestured vaguely at her lower body.  “Hips, and such.” 

“Not workin’ correctly?” Winnie surmised.  She gave a shrug and Liebgott glanced over at her.  “Truth be told, since what happened in Bastogne, everything down there has been real….fucked up.  It comes and it goes, depending on the weather and how hard I’m pushing myself.” 

“So you’re not driving for the rest of the trip,” Liebgott snorted. 

“It’s my truck—” 

“And I’m a literal driver, so for God’s sake, just shut up and let me drive it when we leave in the morning,” Liebgott insisted pointedly. 

“Only one man gets to drive the truck and it’s not you.” 

“Well Captain’s not here, Roo,” Roe pointed out quietly. 

“Yeah, I’m very aware of that.” 

Silence for a beat.  “You used to take longer climbing out of the truck.  I thought it was just stiffness. I shoulda been paying attention more,” Liebgott murmured. 

Winnie shook her head.  “I wouldn’t have let you see shit.  I barely let Roe see things.” 

Silence for another really long beat.  And then Liebgott slowly stood up, watching the fire.  His gaze seemed very haunted.  “Roe, you saw them. You saw them both, right?” He asked very quietly. 

Any sign of warmth in the room seemed to die down at Liebgott’s question.  Roe just gave a tight nod.  “Yeah, yeah I did.” 

Liebgott gave a tight nod.  “I’m sorry you saw that.  It’s taken me a long time to realize why Winnie didn’t let me see ‘Leen.  But I get it now.  I think.” 

Winnie gave him a tight and pained smile and gestured for him to come over to where she was sitting.  “Bring the cocoa, mein leibling.” 

He huffed. “Don’t call me that shit.” 

“Or what?  You’ll throw hands with the invalid woman?” She asked flatly. 

“No,” he rolled his eyes.  Still, he obediently brought over the cocoa for the three of them and settled onto the bed.  He was silent for a moment, just holding his mug tightly.  “Didn’t really picture you to go find love, Roo.” 

She snorted.  “True enough.  I suppose it found me.  I didn’t go looking for it.” 

“Well if I had to guess, you’re the last one in this room that I thought would be gettin’ married,” Liebgott pointed out. 

“I agree with that,” Roe nodded solemnly.  “But you seem….I dunno, lighter?” He said, tilting his head at her. 

“I feel lighter,” Winnie replied softly.  “Like I’ve got a direction beyond just my own for the first time in my life.” 

“How do you figure?” Roe questioned. 

“He’s my north star.  I don’t care where I end up, so long as he’s by my side.  I don’t care what he’s done, or how much blood stains our hands.  He’s mine.  And I’m his.  And I think I would find him in every life, somehow.  He said he was willing to wait for me.  I don’t know if I would ever find that sorta thing again.  Nor would I want to.” 

Silence for a long minute. 

“Oh God, he’s turned you into a sap,” Liebgott said, face twisted in discontent. 

She shrugged.  “I think I deserve it after the life that I’ve led.” 

“Well yeah, definitely,” Liebgott agreed.  “But it’s still weird.” 

“No it’s not.” 

“Yes it is,” Roe cut in solemnly.  “Very weird.  And I think everyone else is gonna think it’s weird too.”