#lemairoe

The war is over.

Gene doesn’t believe it. Some days he’s sure he’ll be back in a cold foxhole, that all this mountainous beauty is a mirage.

Yet, he wakes to sun-filled mornings, warm, the call for a medic far away. He tries to enjoy this peace, the hunger of the past fading bit by bit. Laughing with his fellow soldiers is easy now, he takes up their offers for a drink or sharing a smoke.

But when the night settles back in, Gene’s thoughts drift back to Bastogne. To Reneé.

In such a short amount of time, their bond grew, transformed, a feeling Gene never thought possible. The silence shared between them spoke volumes and her touch has never left his soul.

Crawling back into the memories is a hollow ache, a wish for what could have been, but forgetting Reneé is a more terrifying thought and Gene lets his mind take him back to those cold days of the war.

~~~

His movements are stilted, repetitive.

Wood goes there, shrapnel in another pile. When yet another soldier is on death’s door, Gene is running into the church.

Reneé and Augusta stick by his side, other medics slip in as well. They’ve saved a few soldiers today, but the less lucky are too numerous to count.

Gene tries to wipe the blood off his hands, but they’re stained, reminding him of his failures. He walks the lines of makeshift beds, blank as unfocused eyes look back at him while others cry out in endless agony.

He can’t even offer them a touch of morphine to ease the pain. Anger crawls along his skin, despair has wrapped around his heart. Screams echo in Gene’s ears and he stumbles out of the church, hoping the cold air will stop his frantic mind.

There’s a few soldiers still cleaning and Gene walks over to help, despite his thoughts telling him he’s of little use. The soldiers barely acknowledge his presence, they hand plank after plank along a line, making just enough space for Gene to edge in. The silence is pervasive, but the pattern eases Gene’s racing heart.

Gene works until his fingers are numb, he doesn’t dare let his mind drift. The winter day nips at his skin, his eyes start to water, but still he carries on. Time doesn’t exist, Gene ignores the setting sun until someone grabs his arm. Taking a long needed breath, Gene comes back to himself, though he’s slow to remember his surroundings.

Reneé’s touch is warm and she opens Gene’s hands, using a rag to dab at the fresh cuts that litter his palms. A few red beads dot along deeper lines but Reneé is dutiful in her care.

“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard,” she tells Gene, wrapping torn sheets around his injuries.

A response is far from Gene’s mind. He glances up to meet Reneé’s eyes and his heart twists at the understanding that looks back at him. When Gene is all bandaged up, Reneé places a hand on his face, her shoulders drop ever so slightly.

“Come inside. Before you have to go back.”

Without protest, Gene follows her into the church. She weaves them effortlessly through soldiers, rubble, until she reaches a small alcove. From a kettle she pours coffee into a chipped teacup and hands it to Gene.

As if accepting a precious heirloom, Gene cradles the cup before taking a small sip. The liquid is scalding, but Gene doesn’t complain. It warms the path down to his stomach and the dilapidated walls surrounding them are a barrier to the outside world.

Gene shivers, the cold and his scrapes catching up to him. Had Reneé not come by, Gene wonders if he would’ve worked himself to exhaustion. The thought isn’t exactly unwanted. If he could wake up tomorrow away from the battlefields, he wouldn’t complain.

Signing up for the war wasn’t a question. He was ready to serve and sacrifice, to fight to the bitter end. He didn’t balk when he was made a medic, but as the days pass, he wants to know if killing a nameless face is easier. Too many names rattle around in his mind, those he could have saved if he just had enough supplies. If he even knew what to do.

He takes another sip of coffee, staring into a pile of crumbling brick. Footsteps approach and Gene blinks at the sight of Reneé coming back into the room, her hands tucked under her arms. He hadn’t even heard her leave.

“They’re heading out,” she says. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

Gene gives a small shake of his head, the slightest shrug. As much as he wants to see Reneé, he doesn’t want to bring her another wounded soldier.

Gingerly, she takes the cup from him, laying her palms flat against Gene’s bruised knuckles. The two are not so quick to pull away from each other, both their gazes stuck on the tender embrace. The cup is set to the side, then Reneé examines Gene’s hands one last time.

“Stay warm, Eugene,” Reneé voices her prayer. “Stay safe.”

Gene nods, his heart echoing the same sentiments. Before he can do much else, the call for him comes and he sighs when their hands drop. He doesn’t expect Reneé to come along, but her footsteps follow him all the way through the church.

Gene thinks to glance behind, many times, yet he never does. With all the unknowns the war brings, if there’s something, someone he can believe in besides his men, Reneé jumps to the forefront.

Just before he hops into the jeep, Gene pauses. He looks back at Reneé despite an almost primal fear telling him if he stares too long, she’ll disappear.

Clear as day, Reneé stands just beyond the fallen entrance of the church, arms still wrapped around her body. Questions sit in her eyes, there’s a small hope on the edges so rarely found in all of this madness

Gene musters his best smile and when Reneé nods, he finds the courage to get into the jeep.

~~~

Gene’s emotions sneak up on him like a hunter lying in wait.

At first, he passes it off as nerves, the way this war crowds into every corner of his mind. When the feeling doesn’t fade, that’s when Gene begins to worry.

There’s not a time or a place for that in all of this destruction and chaos. If anything, his struggles will only increase tenfold. He holds himself at a distance from his own men for a reason.

So, when he sees Reneé, Gene does his damnedest to keep it cordial, avoids lingering around her. If Reneé notices, she doesn’t make a fuss. She has her own concerns of helping soldier after soldier. In a way, it’s a relief that neither acknowledges the space that ebbs and flows between them. Gene doesn’t know where he’d start, what the point would be.

They’re sitting outside, away from the others when the cracks start to show. Despite the bitter air, they savor this company, the silence that settles between them. Gene notes how often Reneé twists the hem of her apron, the constant wiping though there is no more to be washed away.

Gene doesn’t think as he reaches out, takes one of Reneé’s hands into his own. She doesn’t pull away, but there is a sudden stiffness and Gene blushes at his mistake. He starts to let go, until Reneé lays a hand on top of their joined ones.

“Even in all of this,” she muses.

Gene swallows, dares to meet Reneé’s eyes. What looks back is fondness, then her stare wavers. Out of sadness or acceptance, Gene does not know. Perhaps, it is both.

Reneé does her best to scoot closer to Gene, their knees knocking together. In another time, Gene is already thinking of flowers to buy her, where in Bayou Chene he’d take her first. Instead, they’re surrounded by smoke and ash, savoring what little happiness they can find. Gene fights back his tears, his resentment. Yet, without the war, he would not be here, knowing what it’s like to love Reneé.

“I will not ask you to make a promise,” Reneé starts, voice just above a whisper. “I am thankful to know you, Eugene.”

Gene nods, stares at his hand in Reneé’s. If he could, he’d take her out of here, get them both on a boat back to the States. Then again, that’s a fool’s errand. He would not even dream of asking her to leave her home, and his men need him. To abandon all of it would be outlandish, worth a court martial and then some.

Gene does his best to keep his fears at bay and appreciate this time with Reneé. They are alive, they are able to embrace and hold tight to what is dear.

It has to be enough, but the jaws of reality clamp down and Gene isn’t sure what he believes in anymore.

~~~

Seeing Reneé isn’t a habit.

In fact, Gene is thankful he hasn’t had to bring someone into town for a few days now. The only reason he heads in is on Winters’ insistence and Gene can’t argue with his commanding officer.

When he arrives at the church, he tends to Smokey and holds his hand though he knows too much has changed. They say he’ll be moved out soon, but it’s not soon enough.

The bombs echo around them, every second is a gift, yet unspeakable horrors lie in wait. Gene’s heart is torn between his men and the nurses, a growing need to keep them all safe, but an agony knowing there’s only so much he can do.

Gene supposes he could talk to Smokey, to sort out his mind, but he never has been good at speaking of the matters of the heart–let alone Smokey having to contemplate his own future if he makes it out of this hell.

So lost in his own thoughts, Gene doesn’t notice the grunt from Smokey, but then the man clears his throat.

Gene panics, mind already racing, but then the world comes to a stop. Sitting on Smokey’s chest is an orange cat. The poor thing is skin and bones but it nestles on top of Smokey, tucking its legs underneath its body. Its purring is loud, eyes closing and all Gene and Smokey can do is exchange a look.

“Well, at least someone’s happy,” Smokey huffs, but the faintest smile traces along his mouth.

A little bit of warmth sprouts inside Gene and he slowly gets to his feet.

“Coffee?” he asks Smokey while one eye stays on the cat.

“Might as well,” Smokey murmurs.

Gene nods, makes his way through the collapsed halls and piles of wood. It’s easy to find the coffee, even easier to find Reneé. Exhaustion covers every inch of her face but the moment she catches Gene, a transformation occurs.

A smile grows, her hardened stare begins to soften. Not that Gene wouldn’t find her beautiful at her worst. To be graced by her presence alone has meant more than Gene can begin to express.

“Coffee,” Gene says, then shakes his head.

He knows how to talk. Reneé deserves more than a one word conversation.

“Here,” Reneé hands a full cup, unbothered by Gene’s stilted awkwardness.

She has another cup ready to go and she leads Gene back to Smokey. How she manages to read his mind again and again, Gene hasn’t the faintest idea, but perhaps one of these days, he’ll ask her.

A coo leaves Reneé when they make it back to Smokey, she comes over to pet the cat. Setting the cup of coffee to the side, Reneé also brushes Smokey’s hair away from his forehead, holds a hand against it.

“Feeling alright,” Smokey tells her. “Got another one of your nurses checking up on me.”

Reneé’s smile blossoms and she helps Smokey drink from the cup. Somehow, the cat doesn’t mind being jostled around, it sticks as close to Smokey’s chest as it can.

“Do you have a name picked out?” Reneé looks from Smokey to Gene and back again.

Both Gene and Smokey glance at each other for the answer, a small laugh leaving Reneé when the silence lasts for a little too long.

“I’ll give it to Gene,” Smokey volunteers him much to Gene’s chagrin. “How about a good Cajun name?”

Gene’s mind goes blank, especially with three pairs of eyes on him. The cat blinks expectantly and Gene scrambles to remember something from home.

“Ambroise,” Gene blurts out, thinking of the old man who lived just down the road.

As if satisfied, the cat stretches its paws out towards Smokey’s face and lays its head down on its arms.

Reneé repeats the name, gives Smokey another sip of coffee. “If you need me to take the cat away…”

“Nah,” Smokey attempts to shake his head. “It’s nice.”

When Reneé looks at Gene, he feels a spark in his chest. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he doesn’t drop the expression. For just a little while, they’ve found a bit of happiness and with this newfound calmness, Reneé remains in their company.

When Smokey drifts off, it’s then Reneé stands, giving the cat one last pet before she inches closer to Gene.

“Do you think he’ll walk again?” Reneé asks, voice low.

Gene gives a helpless shrug, his medical knowledge nowhere near what Smokey needs.

“I suppose alive is better than dead,” Reneé sighs. “The cat will be good for him. I’ll make sure it’s fed.”

There’s a slight worry, a question if an animal can be taken care of at a time like this. Then again, if a cat can’t survive, what chances do his men have? Gene’s concern must be evident on his face because Reneé takes hold of his arm with a firm, comforting touch.

“You are doing more than enough,” she tells him, making Gene meet her gaze.

Gene wants to believe her, but the lives he’s lost haunt his dreams, his mistakes drive stakes into his heart. In an attempt to push his darkness down, Gene reaches out, strokes a bent knuckle against Reneé’s cheek.

“You…,” Gene swallows, trying to find his voice. “We’re lucky to have you.”

He winces, his words lackluster at best. To his relief, Reneé does not mock him, though he’s sure she never would anyway. She takes his hand, holds it close, and though her skin is cold, Gene hasn’t felt this warm in some time.

“I should get back,” Gene murmurs.

Already he’s spent too much time in town, away from the foxholes. He’s not the only medic, but to put it all on Spina while he’s gone isn’t fair.

Reneé nods her understanding and in a heavy silence, they make their way outside of the church. The jeep is already running but just before Gene can walk towards it, something wraps in between his calves.

He looks down to see Ambroise, the cat, weaving between his legs, a small meow leaving it as it looks up at Gene.

Reneé gives a small giggle, picks up the cat and her smile grows as it tries to paw at Gene.

“He wants to go with you,” she holds the cat so it can put both its paws on Gene’s shoulder.

The corner of Gene’s mouth quirks and he gives the cat a pet, scratches under its chin.

“You gotta stay here,” Gene tells Ambroise. “Keep an eye on Reneé and Smokey.”

The cat meows again and Gene gives it a final pet before heading to the jeep. As the vehicle pulls away, Gene watches Reneé, his smile unstoppable. Reneé has taken one of the cat’s paws in her hand, making it wave goodbye to Gene. The scene takes Gene back to Louisiana, when he left his family, and a heavy ache surrounds him

Had he known this would be the last time seeing Reneé, Gene would’ve stayed until the artillery began to fall. He would’ve done all he could to keep her safe.

However, fate is not so kind and Gene can only be thankful for the time he did have, the memories that will forever stay in his heart.

~~~

Gene is surprised when his request is granted.

He expected questioning, some resistance, but soon enough he’s traveling across Austria, back into the war-torn cities that have become a blur.

After a few days of travel, Gene’s transportation rolls up to the barren town, houses caved in, the rubble ever pervasive.

Except now there’s a mix of locals and soldiers, all doing what they can to clean up what the war wrought on them. Gene passes by one group after another, his feet leading him to what he knows so well.

The church is nothing more than a fragment, the memories unknown except to a precious few. Gene swallows around the lump in his throat, his hand reaching into his pocket. He still has the other half of the scarf, the frayed edges reminding him of what he lost, what he gained.

A few people bustle to and fro, but then from behind a large pile, a figure appears and Gene’s heart stops.

The blonde hair, the bun with stray hair wisping away, the tender eyes that hold the weight of the world. It can’t be. A strangled noise leaves Gene and this catches her attention.

Reneé stares and Gene is sure it’s a mirage. The seconds tick by, then Reneé races over, arms thrown about Gene’s shoulders. Frozen in place, Gene struggles to believe, his mind trying to figure out where the trick is.

Ever so slowly, he wraps his arms around her and a shuddered breath leaves him. Reneé is alive. She’s breathing, warm, real. The first tear slips out and Gene hugs her so tight, intent on never letting go.

Their embrace is slow to end, but when it does, Gene rests his forehead against hers without thought.

“I thought—your scarf—,” he starts, unable to collect himself.

“I went back for Ambroise,” Reneé smiles through her tears. “Silly little cat.”

“Ambroise,” Gene thinks of that scrawny orange thing, so inconsequential yet a prominent marker in his hectic life.

Reneé lights up and she takes Gene’s hand, tugging him towards a makeshift shelter. Lifting the flap, Reneé presents Ambroise to Gene, the cat curled up on a rations crate. There’s not a rib to be seen, the orange lump twice as big as when Gene first met it.

At the noise, Ambroise wakes itself up, yawns and stretches before hopping off the crate. The cat trots over to Gene, rubs up against his legs, already purring.

Gene chokes around a sob, he kneels down to pet the cat. After everything, Ambroise, Reneé, they’re alive and well. This is a miracle, some faraway dream, but Gene does not wake up. The touch on his arm, the hug around his neck, all of it is real. He tries to calm his crying but it’s endless now, relief, love, his emotions pour out one after another.

Reneé kisses his cheek and Gene’s heart lifts, the two of them softly laughing as they try to wipe at each other’s tears. Ambroise joins in, butting its head against Gene’s chin, then Reneé’s face.