cocoa
Title: cocoa
Author: silenceguardian
Rating: Pg-13
Characters/Pairings: babe/roe
Summary: There's only one place where Roe can be warm.
Wordcount: ~500
Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers and I mean no disrespect.
Notes or Warnings: i hope you guys like this next little ficlet, i really enjoy writing babe/roe, hehe. i'd really like to write something for somebody if they'd like, i'll write anything! (:
There’s always this inescapable cold. Every day he feels it in his bones, weighing him down from what he wants to accomplish. It wills him to instead curl up on his ratty old armchair in the corner of his empty apartment with every ridiculous cashmere blanket he’d bought to try and thwart this seeping chill. But, no matter the season, no matter the time, the invisible snow clings to his skeleton like it’s desperate to be remembered.
Roe ceases to forget, and supposes he never will.
He lives off of the government’s checks and eerily real coffee that he desperately wishes could taste like the bland pseudo-blend he would receive in that forest. He lives with the charity money and the real fake coffee in this one room on the wrong side of this wrong city in the state that lacks the home he used to find in it. The floor in his house protests any and all movement, something he finds himself thanking God for, the acknowledging creaks and moans signal any disturbance beyond his shell of blankets.
He never cries unless it is a rare day when he’s under the cashmere and he smells the blood. The blood, its metallic stench, and he almost feels the viscous liquid flow through his fingertips. Tears overwhelm him then.
Cold isn’t all he can recall, but it’s a large part. Cold and snow and trees and blood and Edward.
He remembers shaking breaths that smelled faintly of chocolate. Remembers the accented lilt of the chocolate voice, more prominent and cheerful up until the day the exhales carried cocoa.
The armchair creaks when he gets up, bare feet padding their way to the phone on their own accord. Roe finds himself dialing numbers he memorized months ago.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice answers.
“Yes, um, is Edward Heffron there?” Words simply tumble out.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Eugene Roe, ma’am, I uh was over there with Edward.” He doesn’t mean to say over there but he can’t form his lips around war.
“Oh Eugene, I’m sorry he’s not here right now, I’ll tell him you called though.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Heffron.”
He hangs up even before he can give her his telephone number because the cold claims his insides again.
-
The day when the phone rings is a rare day, Roe’s almost too caught up in his misery to answer it.
“Gene?”
“Edward, is that you?”
“Damn it Doc, how many times have I told you to call me Babe?”
“I guess it is, then.” The small laugh he holds from his voice is foreign, but not unpleasant.
“I’m comin’ to see ya, Gene. Tell me where you live.”
He tells him and then puts the phone down, drowning in the alien warmth he possesses in his body now.
-
Roe counts almost three seconds of staring at Edward on his doorstep before the other envelopes him in his arms.
He thinks he hears a quiet mantra of “Gene, Gene, Gene” for almost ten seconds before surprisingly smooth lips catch his own.
He may be in the wrong side of this wrong city, hell, in this backwards damn country but he is home and even his toes get caught up in the ambient heat.
Author: silenceguardian
Rating: Pg-13
Characters/Pairings: babe/roe
Summary: There's only one place where Roe can be warm.
Wordcount: ~500
Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers and I mean no disrespect.
Notes or Warnings: i hope you guys like this next little ficlet, i really enjoy writing babe/roe, hehe. i'd really like to write something for somebody if they'd like, i'll write anything! (:
There’s always this inescapable cold. Every day he feels it in his bones, weighing him down from what he wants to accomplish. It wills him to instead curl up on his ratty old armchair in the corner of his empty apartment with every ridiculous cashmere blanket he’d bought to try and thwart this seeping chill. But, no matter the season, no matter the time, the invisible snow clings to his skeleton like it’s desperate to be remembered.
Roe ceases to forget, and supposes he never will.
He lives off of the government’s checks and eerily real coffee that he desperately wishes could taste like the bland pseudo-blend he would receive in that forest. He lives with the charity money and the real fake coffee in this one room on the wrong side of this wrong city in the state that lacks the home he used to find in it. The floor in his house protests any and all movement, something he finds himself thanking God for, the acknowledging creaks and moans signal any disturbance beyond his shell of blankets.
He never cries unless it is a rare day when he’s under the cashmere and he smells the blood. The blood, its metallic stench, and he almost feels the viscous liquid flow through his fingertips. Tears overwhelm him then.
Cold isn’t all he can recall, but it’s a large part. Cold and snow and trees and blood and Edward.
He remembers shaking breaths that smelled faintly of chocolate. Remembers the accented lilt of the chocolate voice, more prominent and cheerful up until the day the exhales carried cocoa.
The armchair creaks when he gets up, bare feet padding their way to the phone on their own accord. Roe finds himself dialing numbers he memorized months ago.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice answers.
“Yes, um, is Edward Heffron there?” Words simply tumble out.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Eugene Roe, ma’am, I uh was over there with Edward.” He doesn’t mean to say over there but he can’t form his lips around war.
“Oh Eugene, I’m sorry he’s not here right now, I’ll tell him you called though.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Heffron.”
He hangs up even before he can give her his telephone number because the cold claims his insides again.
-
The day when the phone rings is a rare day, Roe’s almost too caught up in his misery to answer it.
“Gene?”
“Edward, is that you?”
“Damn it Doc, how many times have I told you to call me Babe?”
“I guess it is, then.” The small laugh he holds from his voice is foreign, but not unpleasant.
“I’m comin’ to see ya, Gene. Tell me where you live.”
He tells him and then puts the phone down, drowning in the alien warmth he possesses in his body now.
-
Roe counts almost three seconds of staring at Edward on his doorstep before the other envelopes him in his arms.
He thinks he hears a quiet mantra of “Gene, Gene, Gene” for almost ten seconds before surprisingly smooth lips catch his own.
He may be in the wrong side of this wrong city, hell, in this backwards damn country but he is home and even his toes get caught up in the ambient heat.