#bob fandom

Bois Jacques is hell. A very very cold hell. Nothing could truly combat the cold that seeps into everyone around me. Not even the plainish slop they feed us in an attempt at food. Or in the current case, cold, hard “pancakes”, or that’s what Domingus says they are.

Don pokes at his and calls after our ever so kind cook, “Joe these smell like my armpit!”

“At least your armpit is warm.” Skip grumbles from Malarkey’s side as he holds his pancake up for emphasis.

“You want syrup with that?” Domingus sasses back to him.

“Joe, be honest, what’s in these things anyway?” Don asks the retreating man.

“Nothing you won’t eat, Malarkey.” He replies.

“I won’t eat Malarkey.” Spina shoots back quickly causing us all grouped up to let out a chorus of laughs.

Julian brings back the topic of Babe and Spina’s run in with a German on their search for 3rd Battalion. “Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share, huh?”

This happens to hit my funny bone and I let out a snort leading to the rest of the men’s laughter to only further increase until Peacock comes around looking for Dike.

“Try battalion CP, sir.” I tell the man. The rest of us wait for him to walk away on his hunt for the company CO before we break our into giggles again.

“Try Paris.” Skip laughs.

“Try Hinkle.” Malarkey adds, only increasing our laughter and before I know it tears are pricking my eyes.

Spina begins his less than great German impression and I have to leave before I piss myself laughing.

I seem to run into a brick wall in my way back to my foxhole, tears of laughter still stinging my eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that (y/n/n).” A deep southern voice speaks from above me.

I take a look and send a smile at the blonde who’s got me held by the shoulders.

“You’re all good Bull, no harm done.” I tell him as I step out of his hold. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm done.” He repeats before walking away with a smile sent to me.

I continue to make my way back to my temporary home of a frozen foxhole. I look down to find none other than Joseph Liebgott.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the rageful Jew. I don’t think it’s any specific thing that made me so drawn to him but rather his whole entire being.

On the other hand he’s never shown any direct attraction to me. Sure nearly all the men of Easy have sent me a glance at least once but I don’t blame them, I’m one of the few women they’ve interacted with past a single night in around 2 years. But past a glance none of the boys have soberly tried anything.

Especially Joe. He’s not unfriendly to me but he’s never really gone out of his way to interact with me. Not until now.

He’s sitting alone in my foxhole, hands tucked under his armpits, gun leaning in the dirt next to him, and his eyes intensely trained on the line.

“Joe? Did you get lost?” I ask him with a small laugh.

“Uh?” He looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “Not lost, just looking for someone to talk to.”

“Luz’s hole is like 2 over that way.” I told him pointing in the direction of the jester’s own hiding place.

“Well good thing I wasn’t looking for George then, yeah?” He says with his trademark smirk. “I can leave if you’d like me to, though.”

"You're fine, but can I ask a question?" I asked as I began the short descent into the frozen foxhole.

"Shoot away (y/l/n)." The Californian told me, looking back at the line across the cold, white field.

"Why are you talking to me? I'm don't mean to be rude but you've never put any effort into having any interaction with me." I asked sitting across from him and stuffing my frozen hands into my jacket pockets.

"I'm just trying to be friendly. No time better than the present, right? Do you have a problem with that? I can leave if you need me to." Joe had begun to get a little defensive but that's hardly surprising when he'll jump at a chance to be upset, whether isn’t reasonable or not.

"Why now? There's hardly a point in making friends when fucking Babe and Spina barely just ran from a Kraut fucking foxhole so excuse my confusion at your extremely sudden olive branch when we're all about to be sent home either on a stretcher or in an enveloped as a piece of shitty metal with our names stamped into it!" I grabbed my dog tags and shook them for emphasis. It took all of my self control to not start yelling or crying, but I could feel the sting of unshed tears at my eyes. "We're all going to be blown to kingdom come by all of this damned artillery." I whisperd.

"Hey. That's not true. We've made it this far but look at us. Sitting in this frozen hell hole and you're alive, I'm alive, and so is Bull and George, Don, Babe, Doc, Skip, Penkala, Perco, and Buck and Lip." He began listing some of the guys we had been with for so long. "I know it's scary and there's not a single thing I can promise you to make anything seem ok, because I'm scared and I have no clue what's going to happen even 10 seconds from now but one thing I can tell you that might make you feel slightly better is that you've made it this far. You made it through Sobel's shitty personalty, Normandy, Carentan, and I know that if you have made it this far without a scratch then what can take you down? You’re what, one of nine kids back at home, you managed to talk and work your way into the airborne and then continue to be an absolute badass throughout boot camp and combat!” He took a break to really look at me and I took that as an opportunity to defend myself and my feelings.

“I’m really flattered but don’t you think I’ve been too lucky? I’ve come so far with nothing more than a bruise and I’m sure the next thing you know I’ll be blown to pieces! I don’t know why I thought I could do this, Joe! I’m fucking terrified and there’s no where to go!” I can feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes and in a sorry attempt to stop them I look to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”

“Hey, you can’t go thinking like that. You’re going to make it out of here alive. I need you to believe that because trust me when I say that you are the toughest damned woman I’ve ever met in my life.” He scooted closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

The tears couldn’t be held any longer and the dam broke, salty waves rolling down the sides of face into my hair line. A sob escaped my lips before I could muffle it with a fist that had been stuffed between my lips only seconds too late.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, (y/n), we’re all feeling it, you’re the only one brave enough to let anyone see it.”

I let out a scoff. ‘Brave’ is not the right word to use. “I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here crying, doing nothing to help anyone around me who has it worse. I’m a a medic for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be crying when I routinely see how bad I could have it.”

Joe had only pulled me closer and wrapped his other arm around me, essentially cradling my shaking form. “Don’t you see? That’s what makes you so brave, (y/n). You see all these men in so much pain and put yourself in harms way to make sure they get patched up and safe. You are completely allowed to be overwhelmed and scared and cold and any other feeling a person can have. Not one man here would blame you for being upset right now. They know that as long as you are safe so are they, because when shit goes down you’re always there to help us.” He was talking so softly and so gently that I couldn’t help but cry harder.

“Oh fuck.” I muttered , wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry Joe.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Doll.” He gave me an affectionate pat. “Just know that you are such a light in the dark here, and not one of the men in these woods would judge you right now.”

I gave him a weak smile and sniffed, wiping at my eyes and nose. “Thank you, Joe, really. I’m forever grateful.”

“Oh don’t mention it, just don’t go telling anyone that I give out cuddles, I can’t have my reputation ruined like that.” Joe snickered with his smirk and a pat to my side.

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you don’t go telling people I cry.” I tittered and wrapped my arm around his neck.

“Your secret is safe with me, (y/n).”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“It’s all about trust. I trust you, you trust me; that’s how this has to work, yeah?” I was nearly bumping noses with him and if I wanted to I could just lean in a little and kiss him. The thought quickly crosses my mind but part of me knows better.

Nora knew that her hair was ruined. She knew it when her French braid had turned into an indiscernible mass of frizz. She knew it when the braid got wet and shrank into a sopping bird’s nest, which then turned into a dry and brittle bird’s nest. She knew it when Luz and Lipton’s eyes flitted upwards whenever she took her helmet off.

Lipton had tried to say something— in his own way. Take care of yourself. Why don’t you visit Nixon and Winters’ tent? They’ve got more amenities over there.

He and Luz— her foxhole mates— had been whispering about her for days now, and she had a feeling it wasn’t just about her hair. She had been brushing off the men’s concerns left and right. She was sleeping in a foxhole. She’d be damned if she was the one worried about her hair. She was fine.

Then, the wrong man had made the wrong comment on the wrong day.

It was midday, and the men had all congregated near a low fire where Malarkey had whipped up a pot of beans to distribute for lunch. Nora had spent the day making house calls to different foxholes to check that the men were changing and airing out their socks in a rotation that would prevent trench foot.

“Here, Nora,” Guarnere greeted, handing her the tin cup of beans that he had just received from Malarkey. She nodded her thanks as he grabbed another for himself. Babe came up next to her, a pair of socks slung over his shoulder.

“I can’t tell if these are drying or just freezing,” he said, gesturing to the socks.

“As long as they aren’t on your feet…” Nora murmured around a mouthful of beans. “You could get them away from my food though.”

She said it with a tired but teasing tone, taking a step away from the younger man, and he scoffed. “Yeah, better step back anyway— I wouldn’t want your hair to start eating me.”

Nora’s posture tensed as she became suddenly very aware of herself. The men nearest them had gone quiet, noticing the change in her demeanor, and after taking a few more bites of her beans, she handed the tin cup off to Malarkey.

“I’ll be in my foxhole if anyone needs me — gonna try and catch some shut-eye in case there’s any shelling tonight.”

She excused herself and Luz, who had been happily chatting with Muck and Penkala, groaned.

“Jesus, Babe!” He griped. “You had to bring up the hair?”

“What?” Babe said, his eyes wide as he looked around at the disapproving faces of his companions. “She ribbed me, and I ribbed her back.”

He was met with a chorus of chiding from the other men as Luz went after Nora.

When Luz arrived at the foxhole, Nora was attempting to yank a comb through her matted locks.

“Woah, easy there,” he said, dropping into the hole next to her. She grunted with frustration as she tried to remove the lodged comb; her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Hey, Babe didn’t mean anything by that, you know,” he said, grimacing as he watched her.

“I know,” she said between greeted teeth. “I don’t care. It’s just hair.”

“Yeah,” Luz agreed, despite the fact that she very clearly did care.

She struggled with the mess for another minute before finally freeing the comb and taking in its broken teeth. Her face began to crumple, and Luz tensed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna have to cut it all off,” she said. Her voice had the tiniest waver to it, though he knew she was trying her hardest to hide it.

“What?” He scoffed. “You’re crazy! No one’s cutting it off.”

He gestured for her to turn her back to him, and he got on his knees behind her, assessing the damage. He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He prodded at it a bit. “This is—yeah, we can work with this.”

He held a beckoning hand over her shoulder, and she reluctantly surrendered the comb to him. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Luz said as he started picking at the mass with the comb’s remaining teeth. “We’ll get you sorted.”

“Thanks,” Nora replied, and he felt a pang in his chest when her voice came out small. “I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid,” said Luz. “What’s stupid is this comb.”

The two were quiet for a long while as Luz worked through the knots. He hoped he wasn’t doing more damage than help.

“Maybe I should just cut it off,” Nora whispered. “Braiding it to keep it out of the way is what got me into this mess.”

“Nope,” said Luz. “I promised that not a hair on your head would be harmed on my watch, and that includes…well, your hair.”

Nora laughed and sniffled. Her shoulders had relaxed considerably since he started. “How’s it going back there?”

Luz sat back on his heels to survey his work. “I think we’re gonna have to take it in stages.”

Three hours later, they were starting to see some progress, but not nearly as much as Luz had led Nora to hope. When his arms grew tired, Lipton, who had returned to the foxhole, took a shift with the new comb he had sourced.

Nora’s scalp was starting to feel tender, and she made a point not to look at the comb to make note of how much hair was coming out.

“It’s only because your hair’s so thick,” Luz assured her. “That’s a good thing.”

Nora winced as he pulled as a particularly difficult tangle at the top of the matted section. Joe Toye, who was passing by their foxhole on the way to watch the line with his rifle slung over his shoulder, made eye contact and tipped his chin in acknowledgement. Nora waved, cringing when she felt a particularly taut hair release from her scalp.

Toye slowed, lingering near the hole for a few moments wordlessly as he watched Luz work.

“Everything okay?” Nora asked, wondering if he needed medical attention. He glanced in the direction of the front line and back as if debating with himself. His tongue was pushed into his cheek in that perpetual expression of frustration he wore.

“Luz, the Germans would be gentler than that,” He groused.

“Hey, what do you want from me?” Luz said between clenched teeth as he placed the comb in his mouth and attempted to work the knot between his fingers instead. “I’m tryin’ here.”

“You gotta start at the bottom,” Toye said. Luz’s movements paused as he processed the instruction.

“Brush up?” He said. “How does that make sense, Joe?”

“No, you gotta—” Toye growled, glancing around before taking his rifle off his shoulder and propping it in the side of the foxhole. “Move over.”

Luz ceded to the man, moving to sit on the edge of the foxhole. Toye knelt behind Nora and took the comb from Luz with a glare. He started at the bottom of the matted section, picking at it in short, downward movements. “You still comb down, you just do it like this and work your way up.”

The relief was almost instantaneous, though Nora didn’t say anything out of respect for the comfort Luz had been trying to offer. Toye continued to work gently at her hair, and when Lipton returned to the foxhole to see that progress was finally being made, he offered to take Toye’s spot on the line while he worked.

After Nora’s original panic had passed, she continued to feel self-conscious about the attention that was being paid to her problem. She had dreaded the other men teasing her friends for “doing her hair,” even in good fun, but the company seemed to be united in sympathy for her struggle. That, and she suspected Toye’s eyes were daring them to say something.

Even Nixon and Winters came in to check on their progress when they heard about the effort. Nixon crouched in front of Nora and pulled out a bottle of hair tonic. “I don’t know if it’ll help with the detangling, but it should help with some of the damage.”

She thanked the Captain profusely as Luz took the bottle and began dousing her hair in it. Toye and Luz bickered over her head about the best way to distribute it into the matted section. When Toye needed to head back to the line, Luz took up his post again with a much gentler touch now that he had been shown some technique. Toye had uncomfortably brushed off her heartfelt thanks, and she made a mental note to source a pack of cigarettes for him instead.

It wasn’t long before Babe came along with his tail tucked between his legs. “Hey, Nora,” He said with a nervous chuckle. “Lookin’ good!”

“Relax, Heffron,” she said. “I’m not mad.”

His relief was palpable. “Oh, phew! Cause, you know I didn’t mean it. I was just razzing you.”

“I know,” said Nora.

“If you’re really sorry, why don’t you grab a comb,” Luz said, gesturing to the extra that Lipton had left laying on his pack. Babe did just that, plopping down next to Luz. The three of them chatted and laughed as the two men continued to chisel away at the loosening mass, and Nora, for the first time in weeks, felt more like herself.

After eight hours and several rotating shifts, Luz shoved at Nora’s back. Nora, who had been drifting to sleep sitting up, pitched forward and turned to look at him. “What? Shelling?”

“No, not shelling,” Luz said, smiling. “Watch this.”

He pulled her closer again and placed his comb at the crown of her head, dragging it from root to tip with no resistance. His face was open and anticipatory as he watched for her reaction.

Nora reached back to run her hand over the hair, gasping at how silky it felt. She had anticipated much worse for the end result. She laughed, her eyes tearing up with unshed tears of relief. “Luz, you’re my hero.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, waving a dismissive hand despite the proud glow on his face.

“I’m serious,” she said, refusing to let him brush this off. “I don’t know what I would do out here without you.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, swallowing. He glanced again at her hair, which she had now pulled over her shoulder to run her fingers through, and then back at her face. She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to say something serious, but true to his nature, he landed on a joke instead. “Want me to braid it for you now?”

She hadn’t even realized she'd reached for his hand until he gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. But she didn’t pull away, instead letting their fingers rest together, lightly intertwined.

In another life, she thought to herself. Maybe if things were different...

For a brief second, the spy allowed her mind to meander, imagining what it might be like to live in a world with no war, no Millicent, no familial pressure, a world where they could love each other out loud with nothing standing in their way.

But as Alix studied the subtle burgundy of her chipped nail polish, the ink blotches on Joe's fingertips brought her crashing back to earth.

That wasn't the world they lived in.

That wasn't a world she'd ever see.

The soft rasp of gravel in Joe’s voice brought her focus back. 

"That Larsson guy really threatened to kick you out 'cause you didn’t wanna kill a fuckin' kid?"

Alix nodded and she could hear a dangerous, razor-sharp edge enter his tone but it wasn't directed at her. 

"I'd like to meet the guy." 

It was a simple statement but the way Joe had said "meet" sounded an awful lot like "murder". 

"You wouldn't like him," Alix replied with a rueful grimace and Joe chuckled darkly and moved to crack his knuckles. 

"Yeah well, after me and him go a few rounds in the ring, I bet he wouldn't like me too much either." 

Alix turned her head away to hide her smile and there was another beat of silence between the pair before Joe spoke again. 

“Y'know that’s not all you are, right?” 

Alix's head jerked up in surprise before she could stop it. 

"What?" 

"A killer," the technician clarified and she could feel the physical shift of him rubbing the back of his neck, scruffing up his light brown hair. 

"I don't give a shit what he…what they told you. You're so much fuckin' more than that." 

Alix pressed her lips into a grimace. 

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But after a month of silence and then that letter…everything he said just rang hollow.

“You don’t know me," the spy mumbled defensively. “Not really.” 

If you did, you wouldn’t want me.

But Joe gently leaned his shoulder against hers again. 

"I do though," he replied, the light rasp in his voice contrasting with the softness of his tone. "Better than ya think." 

"Prove it then," Alix challenged as she crossed her arms and Joe tilted his head in thought, clearly pondering an opener. 

“'Kay, well, your favorite color is red–” 

Alix opened her mouth to correct him but Joe was quicker. 

“I know, I know, 'scarlet'…” He commented with exaggerated air quotes before adding wryly, “But it's the same thing, which is fuckin’ red.” 

“Is that all you’ve got?” the spy inquired cynically as she bit back a giggle at his dramatics.

“And you got a smart-ass comment for everything,” Joe teased before deftly tugging a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket.

“Want one?” 

Alix nodded eagerly, thanking him as she plucked one from the packaging but when the technician retrieved his Zippo, Alix hesitated. 

She knew better than to bring her face closer so he could give her a light. 

She would have to lean in close to his lips, almost as if… she shook her head, trying to banish the thought. 

His heart belongs to someone else, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be right.

Noticing her reluctance, Joe’s face seemed to fall, but he handed her the lighter anyway, his fingertips brushing ever so slightly against hers as he pressed the smooth metal into her grasp.

Alix tried to ignore the giddy sensation and focused on lighting her cigarette while he resumed his Herculean task.

"You never take your rosary off," he pointed out after a slow drag. “And you say you don’t believe it does anything but when you get nervous, you still bite your lip and reach for it anyway.” 

Did she really? The spy was impressed and a little intrigued but still tried her hardest to feign nonchalance for pride’s sake.

“Congratulations,” Alix remarked dryly. “You have eyes.” 

Joe cocked an eyebrow. 

“Shit, alright, tough crowd,” he quipped with a smirk. 

“Lemme think… You only drink Gin & Tonics now ‘cause ya went a little too hard on the vodka at some party once and spent the rest of the night upchucking into the bushes.”

Alix felt her cheeks beginning to flush, now wishing distinctly that she would evaporate on the spot. 

Had she really done that? She only hoped to God it hadn’t been in front of him.

But Joe seemed to take her silent mortification as skepticism because he added, “Muck told me." 

"That bastard," Alix muttered but there was no venom behind her words and Joe chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Go easy on the guy,” the Californian joked with a sheepish grin. “It was a while back. I just got a good memory, ‘specially when it comes to you, I guess.” 

Alix took a quick drag and wound a strand of her hair around finger absentmindedly, unsure of quite how to respond to his kindness.

“Well thank you… I think?” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Ziskeit,” Joe shrugged with an easy smile. 

“‘Cause I ain’t done."

He took a short drag, watching the smoke rise in spiraling plumes before giving her a sly look out of the corner of his sparkling brown eyes. 

“You left your window unlocked fer me when we were back in Aldbourne so I could get into your room without anybody seein' me–”

He chuckled and teasingly gave her a light nudge.

"--Not that it mattered anyway ‘cause you left me with so many fuckin' hickeys and scratches that our old CO said it looked like I’d been mauled by a fuckin’ bear.”

Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze to the ground, certain now that she was a brilliant shade of crimson. 

Joe haphazardly tossed his cigarette away before continuing, 

“You been trained in deception or whatever but when it comes to people close to ya, y'can’t lie for shit. Like right now–" 

He gently slid a finger under the spy’s chin and gently turned her to face him. 

“– Tell me you ain’t got feelings for me.”

Her eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“W-What?” she choked out, blinking in confusion as her heartbeat stuttering to a near-stop at his sudden proximity.

“Tell me you don't want me, Zees,” he insisted, the huskiness of his voice seeming to slow time and his gaze seemed to flit down to her lips before returning to her eyes.  

"'Cause I think you do."

It was a dare but behind his trademark cockiness was a current of desperation, his warm whiskey eyes pleading with her for the truth, whatever it might be. 

“Look, you want me outta your life for good, all you gotta do is say it: say you don’t want me and mean it. Yeah, ‘s gonna hurt like a bitch, I'm not gonna bullshit ya, but I gotta know, Zees. 'Cause right now...Me and you and Doc, I-"

His voice broke and he took a second before running his thumb lightly across her cheek, brushing away a tear. 

She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

The paratrooper set his jaw and when he spoke again, there was a quiet determination in his voice, as though he was forcing it under control.

"Zees, if I gotta love you from a distance, then that's just what I gotta do.”

Alix faltered, momentarily lost for words, her stunned expression mirrored in the glossy reflection of Joe’s dark eyes.

The words were on the tip of her tongue: 

I love you. I want you, only you. Always you.

But she knew she couldn’t say them, no matter how badly she wanted to.

It wouldn’t be fair– 

Not to Millicent, who was counting on her sweetheart to be faithful from an ocean away. 

Not to Gene, whose schoolboy crush seemed to be the only thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces some days.

And most importantly, not to Joe who deserved far better than a damaged girl who could never give him the peace his turbulent soul so desperately longed for.

Her chest ached helplessly, her pulse seeming to radiate through her upper body as though her heart was trying to force its way to him. 

“Joey, I-”

The thunderous roar of her name being called cut her off before she could get any further and her head swiveled immediately toward the sound. 

It was her case officer who burst into the clearing with a radio in one hand and a bag in the other, its red stripes designating it as an OSS burn bag. 

“Martinelli, grab your shit,” Nixon commanded, looking more alert than she'd seen him since Survival drills. “We’ve got to move now!” 

With a last apologetic glance in Joe’s direction, Alix sprang to her feet and hurriedly began stuffing her stack of comic books into her canvas bag before bolting off after her handler, who was already several strides ahead of her and showing no signs of stopping.

“Hey! Hey Nix!” she called after him, trying to provoke some sort of response but instead of his usual dramatics over her neglecting to address him properly, he ordered her to hand over her bag. 

Once she had, he began tearing through it like a madman, rifling through her comics and the letter from her aunt, pushing past her knives, garrote wire, and the vials of Prussic Acid neatly rolled into bandages. 

“What the hell– ?” Alix demanded just as he swiped her false documents from the side pocket and shoved them into his burn bag.

“Have you lost your mind?!" she hissed, trying to grab his arm to stop him. "I fucking need those!” 

"Not anymore you don't," Nixon reported, shrugging her off and lighting the Zippo. “You've been compromised.”  

"What, how?!" 

Alix felt her stomach lurch and she searched her handler’s face for the slightest trace of deception but found none.

"Madonna mia," she breathed as they both watched the burn bag begin to crackle, the terrifying reality sinking in. 

"How bad was the leak?"

"Bad," Nixon uttered, shaking his head. 

"Payce and De Luca were executed yesterday. Bouchard's been captured. Perrault's MIA. God only knows about the rest. I haven't heard."

They might've captured Jennie?!

Alix took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her racing thoughts and keep a cool head. 

"You'll have to lay low for awhile," Nixon stated, sounding almost apologetic as they watched her identity papers begin to disintegrate in the blaze. 

"Donovan's got a place you can go, an agency safehouse. I'll bring you updates when I can." 

"How many?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"How many of my covers have been compromised…?" 

The captain swallowed hard before responding, his voice coming out as brittle as broken bone.