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The cold of Bastogne had long since settled into the bones of Easy company. Everywhere Babe visited was filled with the misty mutterings of complaints and grievances from the other guys and unfortunately he found himself agreeing with all of them. It also seemed like coffee was constantly on brew somewhere, so much so that Babe was surprised it wasn’t another thing they were running low on at this point. Thank god they weren’t though, if something else got added to the hot pile of shit Easy company was already in, Babe thinks he’d have gotten an eye-witness account of that ‘battle fatigue’ other soldiers had been whispering about.
People always talked about forests like The Ardennes being peaceful and serene. A real nice spot to take a gal for a picnic and listen to the birds chirp. Even if it was still snowy too, you could have a flirtatious snowball fight where afterwards you’d be forced to run home and take all your clothes off to dry by the fireplace and well… You could see where that would lead.
Except there was no fire, no birds and no gals to be seen anywhere within a few miles or so. The only noises that rang out in the forest were the hacking coughs of sick soldiers and the screaming shells of bullets and mortars.
Babe was tired of it. He was sick (literally, he’d also been hacking his damn lungs up along with the rest of the guys) and he was exhausted.
Constant dread had sunk deep into his gut that any second could be his last. That out of nowhere, a mortar would rain down from the sky, quick and silent, and Babe would cease to exist all at once.
Since Julian it had taken a turn for the worse and Babe didn’t know how much more he could take. He’d seen some of the ways people had started checking out—mentally that was. Moments where Babe would be talking to one of them and look over only to see their eyes glazed over and their mouth slack, like they were somewhere else entirely.
It had been particularly bad with Doc Roe.
Babe doesn’t know when he started picking Gene out of the crowd of dark green uniforms covered in dirt and blood. Maybe it was when he stubbornly refused to call Babe by the name everyone else called him. Or when he tried briefly to console Babe alongside Spina after Julian had been left behind for the krauts to strip.
His uniqueness and his role made him stand out, but his personality did the exact opposite.
Gene seemed to try his best to melt into the background of things, only appearing briefly when the cry for a medic erupted into the air and then he’d dart back into the distance somewhere. Point was, he was easy to miss sometimes. But when you chose to take notice like Babe did, he was a pretty interesting guy.
His accent for one thing was one of the most unique sounds Babe had ever heard, and he’d been to half of fucking Europe at this point. It was like water on smooth rock the way it bended and pitched in all the right ways. The warm timbre of his voice complimented it so well that Babe swore he could just listen to him talk for hours. If only he said more than five words at a time.
Another thing was that he didn’t eat much. Babe had gotten him a nice hot cup of beans or two since they'd gotten here and he never saw Gene take more than two bites before Babe looked back to find the cup discarded and still steaming. They were all too skinny for their own good, but Babe was scared to find out how much more this applied to Gene if they ever got anywhere warm enough to start shedding layers.
He wanted to confront the Doc about it but ironically it wasn’t really his job, it was Gene’s. That didn’t stop Babe from worrying though. Again, it was that look in Gene’s eyes he got sometimes—that haunted, distant look that left Babe furrowing his brow and wondering if he should just say something god dammit before Gene faded away like snow on warm skin.
Jesus, Babe needed other things to think about. Obsessing over one of your company’s combat medics was a new low. The issue was when he wasn’t thinking about Gene, Babe was thinking about being cold or the next barrage of mortars or Julian choking silently as blood oozed down his face, his eyes pleading for Babe to help him.
He’d take being creepy over being more fucked up in the head, thank you.
Besides, he wasn’t looking at the Doc like that . Like—like the way he would with a dame across a dance hall floor. Checking her out and desperately trying to catch her eye so that he could ask her to dance.
Maybe being around so many men all the time was starting to take its toll. That seemed like a safe way to think about it.
-❅-
When Gene sliced open the palm of Babe’s hand, he didn’t blame him. Sure it hurt—like hell actually, but he knew it was an accident. It was also Gene.
Later, when the throbbing of the cut had lessened to a dull ache and Babe was starting to see shadows that may or may not have been moving across the German line, Gene came back. He slipped into the foxhole while Babe was pin-pointed on one particular shadow and he didn’t wanna lose it.
“Everything ok?” He could hear Gene rumble softly next to him. For some reason a bitter feeling crept into his skin despite his affinity to Gene’s voice. Was anyone really ok at this point? He was fucking freezing, his hand hurt and he was here losing his mind over German hallucinations.
“Babe?” Gene said, sounding more concerned. Babe decided right then to simmer his annoyance down. The Doc didn’t deserve it. Nobody did at this point.
“Yeah,” he responded while trying to rub at the itch in his nose.
“Hey,” Gene then grabbed his hand. It was cold, like everyone else's, but the sudden skin to skin contact broke Babe out of his trance. “How’d you do that?”
Babe dragged his gaze down their hands, almost to see if it was real. Then slowly looked up at Gene.
“You did that,” he replied. Which came out meaner than he meant to. He regretted it pretty fast because Gene’s face scrunched up with so much concern and distress that Babe had to look away purely from the guilt.
“I’ll fix it up,” he said. Immediately Babe could hear the telltale sounds of him rummaging through his musette bag.
It took a bit longer than usual, which gave Babe enough time to realize Gene hadn’t called him Heffron or freaking Edward this time. He felt a strange giddiness at that. He wished he had been paying more attention to the way he had said it. It would have made a nice mental recording for later—during quiet, lonely moments.
“Hey, Gene.” he already felt himself smiling. “You called me Babe.”
“I did? When?” This seemed to be news to Gene, which Babe almost found charming.
“Just now,” Babe clarified.
Gene looked up and studied Babe’s face for a second. Eyes crinkled and mouth open, trying to recall if he really had done that or if Babe was just having a laugh. Babe watched him say the name again.
“Babe,” Gene spoke slowly, testing the waters. Eyes looking right at him while Babe was busy watching the motion of Gene’s lips say each letter of his name. He couldn’t help but notice how chapped they were. The way the corners of his mouth stuck together from the cold. He'd probably have nice lips if they weren’t like that. Maybe he already did. Babe had only spared a few glances here and there.
“Guess I did.” Gene finally said, his mouth quivering upwards. Just almost a smile, but close enough that it made Babe titter with amazement.
Riding on the high of seeing Gene happy, Babe parroted his gravelly ‘Babe’ hoping to get a full smile this time. It didn’t, but it got the next best thing, an exasperated ‘Heffron, watch the goddamn line,” which pulled a high pitched guffaw out of Babe.
They sat in silence for a little while, shoulder to shoulder. Gene methodically wrapping some blue fabric around Babe’s hand. He was clearly taking his time now that the morning was quiet and slow. There probably wouldn’t be another shellacking for a little bit—or at least Babe hoped.
When Gene finished, he tied it up with a quick tug and dropped his hands. Most of the warmth went away with them but the fabric helped. Babe gave the makeshift bandage a once-over and nodded with approval.
“I should get cut more often. Got a free glove for my troubles,” he wiggled his fingers for effect. “Don’t suppose I could get a matching set, huh?”
“Your other hand cold?” Gene asked with that worried frown again. As if every member of Easy weren’t on the verge of frostbite.
Babe rolled his eyes. “Doc, everyone’s hands are cold.”
“I can try and fix it.” Because it always came down to Gene trying to fix people. Everyone’s issues were his issues, but his were nobody’s.
“Gene, really, I’m ok. I was just kiddin’.” But Gene was already reaching for his other hand. He cupped it the way you would a baby bird and brought it up to his mouth.
For one childish second, Babe thought he was gonna kiss it. Like the way his Ma would when he was real little and got a scratch from playing too rough with the neighborhood kids.
Gene didn’t kiss it though—obviously. Instead, he took a deep breath and blew hot air into the palm of Babe’s hand. His face was calm and concentrated, like nothing else at all mattered in this moment except the well being of Babe’s hand. Like they were the only two people in this entire forest.
The whole thing had Babe’s gaze stuck on Gene. Watching his every breath—the way he would squeeze Babe’s hand and rub his thumbs along the fingers to get the blood flowing.
It was definitely working. Maybe a little too well. Babe didn’t think he was supposed to feel heat rising in his cheeks and the tip of his ears. Jesus, his whole face must have been red by now. Probably matched the color of his hair too—without the dirt and grime at least.
Tender was the perfect word to describe the whole thing. Way too goddamn tender. The itch to pull his hand away was increasing each second. Along with some snide remark to go with it—that Gene wasn’t his Ma and that he could look after his own frozen hands thank you.
Then Gene looked over at him. He didn’t even say anything—verbally that was. His eyebrows were raised and hopeful as if to ask ‘Is this working? Do you feel better?’ and Babe could swear his own mouth was curving up at the sides.
For a second, Babe thought back to that quiet conversation he had overheard between Gene and Spina. It was a little muddled in his memory since he had been busy counting sheep and all, but he remembered bits and pieces. Gene had talked about people who healed others. ‘Traiteurs’ he called them. Apparently they used their hands to take away all the pain and discomfort from the people they touched. Babe had thought it was a bit weird. Some down-south cultural thing he would never really grasp. But now he felt like he was beginning to understand it.
Just a bit.
Babe swallowed thickly. “Think you cured me Doc,” he managed to say. “My hand might be warm enough to heat up some coffee all on its own now.”
At that, Gene did smile. A real genuine smile. It was a small thing, not unusual for his quiet nature, but Babe could swear the whole world gained a bit more color in that moment. He could practically see the dancehall lights cascade across Gene’s face. Finally catching the man’s eye across the room and walking over to him in confidence.
“Heffron?” Gene asked after Babe had gone silent staring at his face. “Babe?”
“Yeah?” Babe answered. Clearly distracted.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he paused, “Hey Gene.”
“...What?” Gene gave him a look.
“You know how to dance?”
Gene gave him yet another look. He didn’t seem to approve of the weird subject change but wasn’t the type to pry or comment about it.
“Can’t say that I do.” Gene’s eyes searched Babe’s face for any prediction of why he was spouting this nonsense all of a sudden but couldn’t seem to find any answer.
“Not even a little?” Babe pressed.
“Not one bit.”
“I could teach you,” Babe mumbled. He imagined the two of them dancing together—slowly. A lull in the fighting and duties they both had for a chance to steal away with each other. A dancehall was probably not realistic for where they were, so he thought of an old, crumbled building instead. There wouldn’t be any lights except for the moon shining through a gaping hole in the ceiling. Babe wouldn't be able to see much but the pale sheen of Gene’s face as they held each other close. Everything would be right in the world; perfect.
Perfect but wrong. Christ, it always circled back to it being wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and of course the wrong damn gender.
Babe’s face soured and he finally took his eyes off Gene, returning both hands back to his own lap.
“Nevermind. Just messin’ with you,” he exhaled misty and cold. He should be watching the line anyway.
A minute passed in total silence. Babe was kind of curious as to where all the animals who lived in the forest had moved to since the military was busy using it to get blown to pieces.
“...So you ain’t gonna teach me to dance?” Gene was still looking at him, but something in his face had softened. Babe only saw it out of the corner of his eye but it still made him blink twice.
“What, like, right now?” Babe turned his head sharply.
“No, Heffron.” Gene squinted with such incredulity that Babe snorted out loud. “Now ain’t the best time I think.”
“I dunno, Doc. ‘Tis the season and all. Maybe the Krauts would enjoy a little show.”
Gene didn’t respond to that one. Instead he rolled his eyes with a fond grin that had Babe feeling light-headed.
For a few moments Babe just looked at Gene. It was one of the most tranquil moments he’d had since joining easy company. So much so that he didn’t realize he was still smiling himself, or that Gene was looking right back at him. There was a strange expression on his face, like he was anticipating something but didn’t know whether to be hopeful or nervous about it.
When nothing happened and the world continued to turn as it always did, Gene’s shoulders sagged and he blew out a puff of warm air.
Confused, Babe just pursed his lips before letting out a jaw cracking yawn. Then he turned his head back towards the front line.
“Christ, what I wouldn't give for a bed right now. Maybe some hot cocoa—a glass of warm milk. I ain’t picky,” Babe complained bleary eyed. The sun was sparkling off the snow at this point, only making him squint harder. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the exhaustion pulsing through his skull but it was a useless fight he’d been losing for days. He felt something roll down his face—a weary tear no doubt showing just how tired he was. He went to wipe it away but Gene beat him to it.
His touch was light and quick. A simple swipe of his thumb across Babe’s cheek which had him going rigid from head to toe. Babe opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. Slowly, he peaked over at Gene who was studying his face with a determined expression.
“C’mere, Heffron,” he said, but Babe wasn’t sure what he meant. They were already shoulder to shoulder. How much closer could they get? Then Gene wrapped a gentle hand around his helmet and brought him down to lay on his shoulder. It was a bit awkward with their helmets knocking together and all. Gene didn’t seem to care if it was a disagreeable position for him so long as Babe was comfortable, which he was.
Babe could feel his heart thundering in his chest and he knew distantly that he should say something or ask about it.
Ask what Gene was doing— why he was doing it.
Ask Ii he felt the same way Babe did about him despite the fact that he denied it with his whole heart and soul. Because—because Babe was terrified, dammit. They were in a war for god’s sake. There were other things to worry about—to be scared about. Yet one of Babe’s biggest fears during all of this was someone calling him out on being a—
“You should get some shut-eye,” Gene interrupted his thoughts. “Few minutes won’t hurt nobody.”
Babe swallowed thickly, letting his body relax with a shiver.
“We’re supposed to— to be watching the line, Gene.” He muttered. Scared and raspy; his voice wavering.
“I’m watchin’ it,” Gene simply said.
“What if you fall asleep too? They’ll have both our heads.” For multiple reasons.
“I won’t.” Deep down Babe knew that was probably true. He trusted Gene. He just didn’t trust where they were.
“But—”
“Babe.”
“...Fine,” Babe squeezed his eyes shut. “You’ll wake me up if anything—”
“I will.”
“...M’kay,” Babe replied. Finally staying quiet this time. Eventually, he did fall asleep. The sun had long since risen and Babe dreamed that someone whispered kind things into his ear and kissed the top of his helmet.
When he woke up not even thirty minutes later, Eugene was gone and the ache he’d been feeling had dissipated just enough to get him through the next few days. But hey, at least he was thinking that far ahead now.