Every Spark (5/5)
Title: Every Spark (5/5)
Author: Krista or smilesawakeyou
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Pairing/characters: Babe/Doc Roe (for real this time)
Rating: R for language and… other things
Disclaimer: I didn’t invent this show and I don’t propose to own it. Even if I did and you sued, all you would get is a shitty computer and my broken dreams. Anyway, I don’t so please leave me be. Also, this is meant to be based off of the characters of the HBO show, not the actual men themselves. So yeah... don't pitchfork me. Especially for this chapter. Oh God.
Author's Notes: Sorry for taking so long to get this one out. I sat on it for a while, forgot about it, remembered it, and then continued to sit on it. Anyway, there’s ACTUAL action in this chapter and, hopefully, a sense of resolution. Thanks to everyone who has been awesome about commenting, especially mutantjules because she’s my personal cheerleader and annakovsky for encouraging me to post it in the first place.
Length: 3894
Summary: Four times Babe Heffron and Eugene Roe almost collide and one time they do.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Every Spark
(5/5)
When Babe collapses into bed that night in Berchtesgaden, he’s exhausted but wired and it takes more than a few minutes for his muscles to relax enough for him to lie down comfortably. He falls into a restless stupor, his mind not shutting up after what’s happened that evening.
Fucking replacements.
“How in the hell,” Luz had asked him after Speirs had stormed out, leaving the bloody replacement responsible for Grant sitting in a chair unshot, “did guy like that get let in the fucking army?”
Fuck if Babe knows. It might be desperation or just plain recklessness that’s landing these sorts of guys in the army now but it’s not just them - everyone is restless and ornery and, Jesus Christ, they all either wanna fight or go home. Babe doesn’t see what the hurry is; they’re getting their first rest in God knows how long in a place that belongs on a fucking postcard and once they’re home… he doesn’t like to think on it too hard. Getting jobs. Explaining or avoiding explaining all they’ve seen to family and friends. Shit, even Web has a hard time understanding just what the hell they’ve gone through and he was only away for a few months. It all seems like things are moving too fast and, Goddamnit, now there’s Grant and Babe just doesn’t want to fucking think anymore.
He doesn’t even realize he’s asleep until the edge of his bed dips and he wakes with a start. In a moment of blind instinct, he grabs for his rifle before realizing it’s halfway across the room and he’s not in some foxhole in Belgium. He’s in a warm bed in fucking Austria and Babe wonders if sheets and warmth will ever stop feeling like a foreign commodity.
When his eyes finally adjust, he sees who it is sitting on the edge of his bed, jacket off and a simple white wifebeater standing out in the darkness. There’s blood splashed across it.
“Gene?” He can feel the trembling through the mattress. “Gene, you okay? Has Grant…?”
“Nah. Surgeon was right… looks like he’ll pull through. God knows in what state, but he’ll live.” Gene’s voice is steady but the whole rest of him is shaking and Babe watches as he searches his pockets for the string Babe knows is in his missing jacket. Upon realizing the search is pointless, Gene’s jaw clenches and he drops his head into his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. Babe stays where he is, feeling unsure of what to do. He hasn’t seen Gene this shook up since Hagenau. Even in Landsberg, Gene had been… well, Babe doesn’t like to think about Landsberg. Not ever.
“Gene, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Heffron,” Gene sighs, sounding exasperated with himself. Babe knows it’s a lie but he doesn’t press it for the moment. Gene lifts his head and shuts his eyes. “Don’t know why I even came in here, waking you up… what time is it?”
Babe squints around the room but can’t find a clock anywhere. “No clue. Must be late though.” He glances at the empty beds around him. “Where are the rest of the guys?”
Gene rubs his two index fingers against his temples like he has a headache. “Out and about, gallivanting and probably getting themselves killed, I expect.” His voice is low and dark. “Fucking alcohol.”
Gene doesn’t curse all that much, save the occasional hell and damn and, for the army, that’s pretty tame. He’s no Winters by any means, but there’s still a good amount of restraint in what Gene says. Babe tries to discern what could be the source of the bitterness in Gene’s voice. Even in his darker moments, Gene tends to simply retreat into himself, not talking to anybody until he finally comes and finds Babe again. But this feels different - there’s an edge to him that’s not normally there when he’s angry or when he’s sad. Even when he yells at someone, he doesn’t sound like this.
“Gene,” he starts, getting up into a sitting position. The sheet pools around his lap and he feels the mattress shudder again. “Gene, seriously, what’s wrong?” There’s a long enough pause that Babe thinks Gene didn’t hear him but then he looks away.
“Well, hell Babe,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing except Babe realizes that the catching gasps actually sound more like sobs. He sets an unsure hand on Gene’s shoulder. “Fuck.” He shakes his head before looking up at him. His face is dry. “This shit’s supposed to be over.” He lets out a grunt. “Putain de merde,” he mutters before scrubbing a hand over his face.
Babe can’t think of anything to say - instead he just rubs his thumb in comforting circles on Gene’s clavicle and frowns as he feels the other man continue to shake. “It is over,” he says. Gene just gives him a look. “For the most part, anyway,” he amends. He keeps his hand in place, fingers slowly flexing in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.
“It ain’t never over,” Gene breathes, his eyes going shut. “And there ain’t nothing I can do about it.”
“Hey,” Babe says, trying to sound encouraging as he shakes the shoulder under his hand. This isn’t like Gene. Gene’s the one who tells men with their legs blown off that everything’s gonna be okay and soothes terrified soldiers inches from death. “Sure there is. I mean, hell Gene, you’re a great medic and even once we’re done you could be a damned good surgeon if you went to school for it! I mean, shit, you got more experience now than half the fucking doctors I’ve ever seen, so when we get home, you could just…”
But then Gene is shaking his head and looking away, that old shuttered look coming into his eyes as he bites his lip. His gaze lands nowhere and Babe realizes he’s said something wrong. “No,” Gene says softly. “No.” He pauses, swallowing. “I never really got what she meant before.” His voice has gone reverential and Babe has no guess as to who Gene is referring to. “I thought I did, but I didn’t. She said she never wanted to help a wounded man again. I get it now. Or maybe I’ve gotten it for a while now. I don’t know.”
Babe, feeling compelled to just understand and actually fucking help Gene for once - Gene who has helped all of them, saved all of them more than they can count and who is as tortured now as any of them have been - gets out of the bed and crouches in front of his friend, tilting his head to meet Gene’s eyes.
“Gene… who’re you talking about?” he asks, voice quiet.
Gene’s eyes cut away. “Renee.” He breathes it like he does his prayers and Babe feels like there’s a thousand untold things in that one name. “She was a nurse. In Bastogne.” Babe’s no genius but he can guess at what it means when Gene doesn’t elaborate. Suddenly the memory of a blue cloth tied around his hand comes to mind and Babe realizes a possible answer to a former mystery. “She was…” Gene trails off, blinking as he tries to formulate the words. He doesn’t seem to be able to, so he just shakes his head. “But I get what she meant now.” Gene squeezes his eyes shut and seems to go deep into himself, talking as if Babe’s not there at all. “There ain’t nothing you can do in the end. Janovec, Grant… they’re just the proof of that. You can’t save nobody… all you can do is stave off the inevitable. I thought it’d be better once we were off the line but it’s not. It just feels worse.”
Feeling a swell of emotion so strong it nearly knocks him over - it’s full of protectiveness and anger and just ache that Gene doesn’t see what he’s done that’s so evident to everyone else, at seeing Gene fracturing apart in a way that reminds him too much of Buck - he places his hand on Gene’s knee and grips it hard. Gene doesn’t look at him; he just looks down, his brow furrowed. He can’t let this be how Gene breaks. It’s just stupid and unfair because he’s held out for so fucking long and, Goddamit, he could kill that replacement himself for this alone.
“That ain’t true,” Babe says, his voice hushed and earnest, trying to convey the feelings swirling in him. “That sure as shit ain’t true. You… well, hell, Gene. You’ve done more to help people than anyone I’ve ever known.” He furrows his brow, trying to come up with the right words. “You’re… you’re like a fucking Superman and there ain’t nobody who doesn’t see it. ‘Cept you.” Gene continues to look away, his breath shallow and his hands clenched at his sides. So Babe releases his knee and lets out a humorless chuckle as he rubs his eyes before letting his gaze fall to the dusty floorboards next to his bed. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Gene. You…” He feels a rush of embarrassment but pushes through it, knowing Gene needs to hear it. “You saved me. Sure, Spina was there too, and Guarnere and the other guys, but you… throughout all this… you saved me. You. Not nobody else.” He sighs as his momentum finally runs out, his eyes still on the ground. He readies himself to get to his feet and get back in bed when he glances up to find Gene’s eyes on him. And what he sees there stops him in his tracks.
The dark eyes that regard him are staring him down, boring into him so he swallows hard, feeling his face heat up in the presence of the fierce hunger that lies in Gene’s gaze. That crinkle forms in his friend’s brow again as his breathing becomes shallower. Babe, breathing through his nose as if the wind has been knocked out of him, blinks back, feeling like his tongue has grown too large for his mouth and his stomach is trying to crawl out of his ears. They just sit like that for a moment, neither of them moving until the intensity of Gene’s stare lessens and he searches Babe’s face. Babe doesn’t miss it when his eyes linger on his mouth as he licks his lips.
Babe feels like he should say something, do something, because Gene just looks so desperate and fuck, this is crazy, so so crazy. It’s like a déjà-vu of Hagenau and of that bed in Landsberg only worse this time because the thrumming burning feeling that fills his chest is far more intense. But he shakes the panic off and instead lays a trembling hand back on Gene’s knee, his eyes darting to it before landing back on the other man’s face, the intention not that of comfort this time. Or maybe it is. Babe doesn’t even fucking know.
Gene, his eyes flicking across Babe’s face as if to try to read any register of revulsion, gives Babe a slight nod which encourages him to sit more upright, bringing him face-level with Gene. Babe lets out a shaky breath as Gene hesitantly brings up a steady hand to lie on the side of his neck until it slides up, his thumb brushing Babe’s cheekbone. His eyes slipping closed, Babe tries not to focus on how his blood is racing through his veins and the air is pounding around him - he only focuses on Gene’s hands as the other grips him by the shoulder.
Gene lets out a small breath and Babe reopens his eyes to find Gene staring at him with that same enrapt intention as he does whenever he’s trying to heal someone, his eyes focused. Only this time it’s aimed on Babe and he can see that there’s no small amount of fear evident there as well.
“I…” Gene starts to say, his gaze dropping once more to Babe’s mouth.
Babe just nods, his hand reaching up to fist Gene’s shirt as the other slides up his thigh. He doesn’t know what in the hell he’s doing because, Jesus, this is moving fast, but he knows he wants this so he inhales sharply and yanks Gene forward, crushing their mouths together. It’s inelegant and kind of nuts but he does it anyway, pressing forward with more confidence than he actually feels. Gene lets out a hard breath through his nose, the hand holding Babe’s face dropping to his other shoulder as he pulls Babe closer, kissing him as fiercely as he seems to do most things he actually gives half a damn about. Babe can’t really breathe as Gene opens his mouth against him, letting out an indistinct growl as Babe tries to gain purchase on the bed, his hands scrambling against Gene, simultaneously trying to push him onto the bed yet stay as close as possible.
Finally they topple over and Babe finds himself nearly straddling the other man as they continue to kiss, their tongues meeting as they both let out a groan. Now, unlike some of the other men, Babe hasn’t really given way to any true fraternization since going off to war so it’s been ages since he last touched someone. It feels more like forever when Gene shifts, sending one of Babe’s knees falling between his legs and his forming erection to rub against Gene’s thigh.
“Fuck,” he gasps, unlatching his mouth from Gene’s for a second to pant against his neck. “Fucking fuck.” It’s then that he feels Gene’s hot length pressing against his hip and, Jesus, Babe doesn’t even know how the hell this works when there are two dicks involved - truth be told, he’d only recently gotten used to doing it the normal way - but he feels himself get harder at the sensation. Gene is panting against his ear and when Babe steals a glance at his face, his eyes are screwed shut.
“Jesus, Babe,” he mutters, their hips rocking against each other the tiniest bit, “I just… I want…”
Babe feels his head swim because Gene’s voice has gotten very, very low and it sends a jolt through his body.
“Okay,” he says breathlessly, nodding as he runs his hands against Gene’s sides, “okay.” With that, he kisses him again, fingers skittering under Gene’s shirt and balling its hem into his fist.
They continue to rock against each other until Gene lets out a frustrated groan and pulls back, his eyes opening to lock with Babe’s. Hands drifting up, his fingertips ghost over Babe’s cheekbones and he feels something crack in his chest at the look Gene’s giving him. His friend swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I just…” he glances down between them. “I… can I?” He sounds desperate and it takes Babe a minute to understand what he’s talking about.
Oh.
Oh.
Babe can only nod and somehow Gene is a magician because he flips them so he’s on top, his smaller form looming huge as he hovers over Babe. With that, he leans forward to kiss him again, his hand drifting down Babe’s chest until it lands on his belt. Tugging, Babe feels it go free and the sound of the zipper going down is deafening. Then Gene is spitting into his hand and running his fingers over Babe’s cock and, fucking hell, he feels the world vibrate in that moment, his eyes screwing shut as he takes a series of shallow breaths.
“Shit,” he gasps, his hands going up to grip Gene by the shoulders. “Your shirt,” he grunts, “needs to come off. Now.”
So Gene lets him go for a moment and sits up to yank it off, letting Babe pull the bloodied material off over his head. He runs his hands down the other man’s chest as he leans forward again, kissing Babe hard on the mouth as his hand goes back between them. Babe’s pretty sure he’s flying out of his skin, coming apart at the seams as he gasps and groans against Gene’s mouth, his hands touching every inch of Gene he can get to, his breathing becoming ragged.
“I, um,” Babe gasps, “I need to… oh God…” His hands start to scramble at the front of Gene’s pants and he seems to get the point, letting go of Babe momentarily in order to get his own fly down as Babe slips his hand into his boxers. It feels strange and backwards and like he’s jacking off a mirror image or something except it’s not like that at all because it’s Gene and he’s groaning and moving above him and doing crazy shit with his hands.
“So long,” Gene says, his voice quiet and strained, “so long, Babe, j'ai besoin de toi, mon coeur; je brûle de te revoir…” Babe feels his breathing speed up as the French spills into his ear because, fuck, he always thought girls with French accents were sexy but this is unexpected and just unfair.
“Oh God,” is all he can say in response. He would feel stupid only Gene nods and kisses him, smiling against his mouth until they both start gasping so hard that he has to pull away. His head falls to Babe’s shoulder, teeth scraping against Babe’s collarbone and his hair pressed against his cheek as he continues to moan half-formed sentences in French, Babe’s name caught in the middle every once in a while. Babe’s losing it, he can feel it; one of Gene’s hands reaches up his shirt to brush calloused fingertips across his nipples, making him shudder all over.
“Fuck, Gene, fuck…”
He wants to say something else, something that’s burning to come out but he can’t quite do it, can’t quite take the risk of saying it. He doesn’t even know what “it” is, but it’s there, on the tip of his tongue. Instead he presses a kiss into Gene’s hair, the hand that’s not stroking him reaching up to grip the back of his neck.
“Babe,” Gene gasps, “je pense tout le temps à toi, je t'aime, mon coeur est à toi…”
Babe thinks he might know some of the words but then Gene twists his wrist a final time while simultaneously biting down where his neck meets his shoulder and the white heat bursts through his veins, making him strain upwards as the world rushes around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says in a steady mantra as Gene continues to move above him, his own gasping reaching a crescendo until he stops, jerking before dropping onto his elbows over Babe.
They lie there silently for a moment, Babe feeling like he might actually pass out as his chest heaves against Gene’s. The waves of pleasure start to dissipate as Babe’s breathing slows.
Gene sits up a little and grabs his discarded and bloodied shirt, frowning at it and running a hand through his hair. Without a word and while remaining half on top of Babe, he uses the shirt to wipe both of them off as best he can. His touch is soft and gentle and the little crease that forms on his brow as he tends to Babe makes him feel the crack in his chest open all the more. Shutting his eyes, Babe waits for the crushing weight he can’t name to pass as Gene lays his head back on his chest. Breathing in the cool air of the room seems to help, making the crack seem less huge as his hand finds its way into Gene’s hair. It’s as soft as he remembers.
“Well,” Babe finally says when he thinks he can speak again, breaking the silence. Gene doesn’t move. “I certainly wish we’d started doing that in Bastogne.” He feels Gene’s head shift until he’s looking up at him quizzically. Babe’s heartbeat starts to thump when he realizes their faces are still inches apart and that maybe he’s going to get to kiss Gene again. Instead he shrugs and offers Gene a look. “It would have been a good way to keep warm.”
Gene’s face splits into a smile that he buries into Babe’s still-clothed chest, his chuckles vibrating through Babe’s body. All Babe can do is grin like an idiot up at the ceiling, the crushing weight disappearing completely as he begins to feel off his head with euphoria. That euphoria dissolves slightly when Gene slides off of him to get up.
“Gonna lock the door,” Gene explains when he notices how Babe tenses. “I don’t really feel like sleeping on the floor and God knows I ain’t taking Luz or Malarky’s beds.”
Babe fights the blooming happiness upon realizing that Gene’s implying he’s going to share the bed with him. “Well, wait, where are they gonna sleep then?”
Gene returns to the bed, shirtless and his fly undone and his hair a mess and as he feels a surge of arousal at the sight, Babe realizes he’s pretty much fucked. Not that he minds exactly. Gene shrugs, oblivious to it all. That somehow causes Babe’s interest to peak even more, making him wonder just how long he’s been the oblivious one.
“Don’t know. It’s their own damn fault for acting like a pack of idiots.” Babe doesn’t hear any trace of the bitterness in his voice anymore so he smiles, yanking at Gene’s arm until he plunks down on the bed. They sit there, shyness taking over for a moment until Babe takes Gene’s hand and guides him to lie beside him.
“You know,” he says, his voice muffled and he presses his face into Gene’s shoulder. Gene remains on his back, his head tilted so he can look at Babe as Babe’s arm drapes across his bare chest. “If I knew this was the best way to get you out of your moods, I would’ve done it ages ago.”
Gene frowns. “I don’t have moods.” But then he just chuckles again, shaking his head. Then he’s tugging on Babe’s chin, untucking his face from where it had been nestled into his shoulder. “Babe?” He’s giving Babe that look again, the one that makes his stomach churn.
“Yeah?”
“We…” He glances away for a moment before crinkling his forehead. “We okay?”
Babe doesn’t know what to say to that - how the fuck should he know? Apparently he’s a queer now and he’s pretty damn sure that’s not allowed in the military but he can’t really be bothered to care. After all they’ve seen, after all they’ve been through… Besides all that, he’s happy. He at least knows that. So he just gives Gene a small smile and nods, hoping Gene will understand. He seems to because with that, he finds Gene pressing into him and giving him a gentle kiss, lingering before pulling back to lean his forehead against Babe’s.
“Good,” Gene says. “Good.”
When Babe falls asleep that night, his dreams are quiet; the nothing that fills his slumber is safe and warm and he unconsciously smiles into the arm wrapped around him, breathing into black hair and losing himself in the dark.
…At least he does, until at about 6 in the morning there’s a pounding on the door demanding to know just why in the hell George Luz has been locked out of his own fucking room, Goddamit!
But for now, Babe sleeps.
The End
Endnote: So that’s it! Again, I hope the tone doesn’t seem too uneven. I’m not 100% happy with it but I rarely am so yeah. Also, the French was courtesy of a few sites I used for research so, uh, I swear it makes sense. Maybe. If not, blame said websites :) Feel free to look up translations or ask me what they are if you so wish. And thanks SO MUCH to everyone who has read/reviewed this. I have appreciated it greatly.
Author: Krista or smilesawakeyou
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Pairing/characters: Babe/Doc Roe (for real this time)
Rating: R for language and… other things
Disclaimer: I didn’t invent this show and I don’t propose to own it. Even if I did and you sued, all you would get is a shitty computer and my broken dreams. Anyway, I don’t so please leave me be. Also, this is meant to be based off of the characters of the HBO show, not the actual men themselves. So yeah... don't pitchfork me. Especially for this chapter. Oh God.
Author's Notes: Sorry for taking so long to get this one out. I sat on it for a while, forgot about it, remembered it, and then continued to sit on it. Anyway, there’s ACTUAL action in this chapter and, hopefully, a sense of resolution. Thanks to everyone who has been awesome about commenting, especially mutantjules because she’s my personal cheerleader and annakovsky for encouraging me to post it in the first place.
Length: 3894
Summary: Four times Babe Heffron and Eugene Roe almost collide and one time they do.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Every Spark
(5/5)
When Babe collapses into bed that night in Berchtesgaden, he’s exhausted but wired and it takes more than a few minutes for his muscles to relax enough for him to lie down comfortably. He falls into a restless stupor, his mind not shutting up after what’s happened that evening.
Fucking replacements.
“How in the hell,” Luz had asked him after Speirs had stormed out, leaving the bloody replacement responsible for Grant sitting in a chair unshot, “did guy like that get let in the fucking army?”
Fuck if Babe knows. It might be desperation or just plain recklessness that’s landing these sorts of guys in the army now but it’s not just them - everyone is restless and ornery and, Jesus Christ, they all either wanna fight or go home. Babe doesn’t see what the hurry is; they’re getting their first rest in God knows how long in a place that belongs on a fucking postcard and once they’re home… he doesn’t like to think on it too hard. Getting jobs. Explaining or avoiding explaining all they’ve seen to family and friends. Shit, even Web has a hard time understanding just what the hell they’ve gone through and he was only away for a few months. It all seems like things are moving too fast and, Goddamnit, now there’s Grant and Babe just doesn’t want to fucking think anymore.
He doesn’t even realize he’s asleep until the edge of his bed dips and he wakes with a start. In a moment of blind instinct, he grabs for his rifle before realizing it’s halfway across the room and he’s not in some foxhole in Belgium. He’s in a warm bed in fucking Austria and Babe wonders if sheets and warmth will ever stop feeling like a foreign commodity.
When his eyes finally adjust, he sees who it is sitting on the edge of his bed, jacket off and a simple white wifebeater standing out in the darkness. There’s blood splashed across it.
“Gene?” He can feel the trembling through the mattress. “Gene, you okay? Has Grant…?”
“Nah. Surgeon was right… looks like he’ll pull through. God knows in what state, but he’ll live.” Gene’s voice is steady but the whole rest of him is shaking and Babe watches as he searches his pockets for the string Babe knows is in his missing jacket. Upon realizing the search is pointless, Gene’s jaw clenches and he drops his head into his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. Babe stays where he is, feeling unsure of what to do. He hasn’t seen Gene this shook up since Hagenau. Even in Landsberg, Gene had been… well, Babe doesn’t like to think about Landsberg. Not ever.
“Gene, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Heffron,” Gene sighs, sounding exasperated with himself. Babe knows it’s a lie but he doesn’t press it for the moment. Gene lifts his head and shuts his eyes. “Don’t know why I even came in here, waking you up… what time is it?”
Babe squints around the room but can’t find a clock anywhere. “No clue. Must be late though.” He glances at the empty beds around him. “Where are the rest of the guys?”
Gene rubs his two index fingers against his temples like he has a headache. “Out and about, gallivanting and probably getting themselves killed, I expect.” His voice is low and dark. “Fucking alcohol.”
Gene doesn’t curse all that much, save the occasional hell and damn and, for the army, that’s pretty tame. He’s no Winters by any means, but there’s still a good amount of restraint in what Gene says. Babe tries to discern what could be the source of the bitterness in Gene’s voice. Even in his darker moments, Gene tends to simply retreat into himself, not talking to anybody until he finally comes and finds Babe again. But this feels different - there’s an edge to him that’s not normally there when he’s angry or when he’s sad. Even when he yells at someone, he doesn’t sound like this.
“Gene,” he starts, getting up into a sitting position. The sheet pools around his lap and he feels the mattress shudder again. “Gene, seriously, what’s wrong?” There’s a long enough pause that Babe thinks Gene didn’t hear him but then he looks away.
“Well, hell Babe,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing except Babe realizes that the catching gasps actually sound more like sobs. He sets an unsure hand on Gene’s shoulder. “Fuck.” He shakes his head before looking up at him. His face is dry. “This shit’s supposed to be over.” He lets out a grunt. “Putain de merde,” he mutters before scrubbing a hand over his face.
Babe can’t think of anything to say - instead he just rubs his thumb in comforting circles on Gene’s clavicle and frowns as he feels the other man continue to shake. “It is over,” he says. Gene just gives him a look. “For the most part, anyway,” he amends. He keeps his hand in place, fingers slowly flexing in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.
“It ain’t never over,” Gene breathes, his eyes going shut. “And there ain’t nothing I can do about it.”
“Hey,” Babe says, trying to sound encouraging as he shakes the shoulder under his hand. This isn’t like Gene. Gene’s the one who tells men with their legs blown off that everything’s gonna be okay and soothes terrified soldiers inches from death. “Sure there is. I mean, hell Gene, you’re a great medic and even once we’re done you could be a damned good surgeon if you went to school for it! I mean, shit, you got more experience now than half the fucking doctors I’ve ever seen, so when we get home, you could just…”
But then Gene is shaking his head and looking away, that old shuttered look coming into his eyes as he bites his lip. His gaze lands nowhere and Babe realizes he’s said something wrong. “No,” Gene says softly. “No.” He pauses, swallowing. “I never really got what she meant before.” His voice has gone reverential and Babe has no guess as to who Gene is referring to. “I thought I did, but I didn’t. She said she never wanted to help a wounded man again. I get it now. Or maybe I’ve gotten it for a while now. I don’t know.”
Babe, feeling compelled to just understand and actually fucking help Gene for once - Gene who has helped all of them, saved all of them more than they can count and who is as tortured now as any of them have been - gets out of the bed and crouches in front of his friend, tilting his head to meet Gene’s eyes.
“Gene… who’re you talking about?” he asks, voice quiet.
Gene’s eyes cut away. “Renee.” He breathes it like he does his prayers and Babe feels like there’s a thousand untold things in that one name. “She was a nurse. In Bastogne.” Babe’s no genius but he can guess at what it means when Gene doesn’t elaborate. Suddenly the memory of a blue cloth tied around his hand comes to mind and Babe realizes a possible answer to a former mystery. “She was…” Gene trails off, blinking as he tries to formulate the words. He doesn’t seem to be able to, so he just shakes his head. “But I get what she meant now.” Gene squeezes his eyes shut and seems to go deep into himself, talking as if Babe’s not there at all. “There ain’t nothing you can do in the end. Janovec, Grant… they’re just the proof of that. You can’t save nobody… all you can do is stave off the inevitable. I thought it’d be better once we were off the line but it’s not. It just feels worse.”
Feeling a swell of emotion so strong it nearly knocks him over - it’s full of protectiveness and anger and just ache that Gene doesn’t see what he’s done that’s so evident to everyone else, at seeing Gene fracturing apart in a way that reminds him too much of Buck - he places his hand on Gene’s knee and grips it hard. Gene doesn’t look at him; he just looks down, his brow furrowed. He can’t let this be how Gene breaks. It’s just stupid and unfair because he’s held out for so fucking long and, Goddamit, he could kill that replacement himself for this alone.
“That ain’t true,” Babe says, his voice hushed and earnest, trying to convey the feelings swirling in him. “That sure as shit ain’t true. You… well, hell, Gene. You’ve done more to help people than anyone I’ve ever known.” He furrows his brow, trying to come up with the right words. “You’re… you’re like a fucking Superman and there ain’t nobody who doesn’t see it. ‘Cept you.” Gene continues to look away, his breath shallow and his hands clenched at his sides. So Babe releases his knee and lets out a humorless chuckle as he rubs his eyes before letting his gaze fall to the dusty floorboards next to his bed. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Gene. You…” He feels a rush of embarrassment but pushes through it, knowing Gene needs to hear it. “You saved me. Sure, Spina was there too, and Guarnere and the other guys, but you… throughout all this… you saved me. You. Not nobody else.” He sighs as his momentum finally runs out, his eyes still on the ground. He readies himself to get to his feet and get back in bed when he glances up to find Gene’s eyes on him. And what he sees there stops him in his tracks.
The dark eyes that regard him are staring him down, boring into him so he swallows hard, feeling his face heat up in the presence of the fierce hunger that lies in Gene’s gaze. That crinkle forms in his friend’s brow again as his breathing becomes shallower. Babe, breathing through his nose as if the wind has been knocked out of him, blinks back, feeling like his tongue has grown too large for his mouth and his stomach is trying to crawl out of his ears. They just sit like that for a moment, neither of them moving until the intensity of Gene’s stare lessens and he searches Babe’s face. Babe doesn’t miss it when his eyes linger on his mouth as he licks his lips.
Babe feels like he should say something, do something, because Gene just looks so desperate and fuck, this is crazy, so so crazy. It’s like a déjà-vu of Hagenau and of that bed in Landsberg only worse this time because the thrumming burning feeling that fills his chest is far more intense. But he shakes the panic off and instead lays a trembling hand back on Gene’s knee, his eyes darting to it before landing back on the other man’s face, the intention not that of comfort this time. Or maybe it is. Babe doesn’t even fucking know.
Gene, his eyes flicking across Babe’s face as if to try to read any register of revulsion, gives Babe a slight nod which encourages him to sit more upright, bringing him face-level with Gene. Babe lets out a shaky breath as Gene hesitantly brings up a steady hand to lie on the side of his neck until it slides up, his thumb brushing Babe’s cheekbone. His eyes slipping closed, Babe tries not to focus on how his blood is racing through his veins and the air is pounding around him - he only focuses on Gene’s hands as the other grips him by the shoulder.
Gene lets out a small breath and Babe reopens his eyes to find Gene staring at him with that same enrapt intention as he does whenever he’s trying to heal someone, his eyes focused. Only this time it’s aimed on Babe and he can see that there’s no small amount of fear evident there as well.
“I…” Gene starts to say, his gaze dropping once more to Babe’s mouth.
Babe just nods, his hand reaching up to fist Gene’s shirt as the other slides up his thigh. He doesn’t know what in the hell he’s doing because, Jesus, this is moving fast, but he knows he wants this so he inhales sharply and yanks Gene forward, crushing their mouths together. It’s inelegant and kind of nuts but he does it anyway, pressing forward with more confidence than he actually feels. Gene lets out a hard breath through his nose, the hand holding Babe’s face dropping to his other shoulder as he pulls Babe closer, kissing him as fiercely as he seems to do most things he actually gives half a damn about. Babe can’t really breathe as Gene opens his mouth against him, letting out an indistinct growl as Babe tries to gain purchase on the bed, his hands scrambling against Gene, simultaneously trying to push him onto the bed yet stay as close as possible.
Finally they topple over and Babe finds himself nearly straddling the other man as they continue to kiss, their tongues meeting as they both let out a groan. Now, unlike some of the other men, Babe hasn’t really given way to any true fraternization since going off to war so it’s been ages since he last touched someone. It feels more like forever when Gene shifts, sending one of Babe’s knees falling between his legs and his forming erection to rub against Gene’s thigh.
“Fuck,” he gasps, unlatching his mouth from Gene’s for a second to pant against his neck. “Fucking fuck.” It’s then that he feels Gene’s hot length pressing against his hip and, Jesus, Babe doesn’t even know how the hell this works when there are two dicks involved - truth be told, he’d only recently gotten used to doing it the normal way - but he feels himself get harder at the sensation. Gene is panting against his ear and when Babe steals a glance at his face, his eyes are screwed shut.
“Jesus, Babe,” he mutters, their hips rocking against each other the tiniest bit, “I just… I want…”
Babe feels his head swim because Gene’s voice has gotten very, very low and it sends a jolt through his body.
“Okay,” he says breathlessly, nodding as he runs his hands against Gene’s sides, “okay.” With that, he kisses him again, fingers skittering under Gene’s shirt and balling its hem into his fist.
They continue to rock against each other until Gene lets out a frustrated groan and pulls back, his eyes opening to lock with Babe’s. Hands drifting up, his fingertips ghost over Babe’s cheekbones and he feels something crack in his chest at the look Gene’s giving him. His friend swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I just…” he glances down between them. “I… can I?” He sounds desperate and it takes Babe a minute to understand what he’s talking about.
Oh.
Oh.
Babe can only nod and somehow Gene is a magician because he flips them so he’s on top, his smaller form looming huge as he hovers over Babe. With that, he leans forward to kiss him again, his hand drifting down Babe’s chest until it lands on his belt. Tugging, Babe feels it go free and the sound of the zipper going down is deafening. Then Gene is spitting into his hand and running his fingers over Babe’s cock and, fucking hell, he feels the world vibrate in that moment, his eyes screwing shut as he takes a series of shallow breaths.
“Shit,” he gasps, his hands going up to grip Gene by the shoulders. “Your shirt,” he grunts, “needs to come off. Now.”
So Gene lets him go for a moment and sits up to yank it off, letting Babe pull the bloodied material off over his head. He runs his hands down the other man’s chest as he leans forward again, kissing Babe hard on the mouth as his hand goes back between them. Babe’s pretty sure he’s flying out of his skin, coming apart at the seams as he gasps and groans against Gene’s mouth, his hands touching every inch of Gene he can get to, his breathing becoming ragged.
“I, um,” Babe gasps, “I need to… oh God…” His hands start to scramble at the front of Gene’s pants and he seems to get the point, letting go of Babe momentarily in order to get his own fly down as Babe slips his hand into his boxers. It feels strange and backwards and like he’s jacking off a mirror image or something except it’s not like that at all because it’s Gene and he’s groaning and moving above him and doing crazy shit with his hands.
“So long,” Gene says, his voice quiet and strained, “so long, Babe, j'ai besoin de toi, mon coeur; je brûle de te revoir…” Babe feels his breathing speed up as the French spills into his ear because, fuck, he always thought girls with French accents were sexy but this is unexpected and just unfair.
“Oh God,” is all he can say in response. He would feel stupid only Gene nods and kisses him, smiling against his mouth until they both start gasping so hard that he has to pull away. His head falls to Babe’s shoulder, teeth scraping against Babe’s collarbone and his hair pressed against his cheek as he continues to moan half-formed sentences in French, Babe’s name caught in the middle every once in a while. Babe’s losing it, he can feel it; one of Gene’s hands reaches up his shirt to brush calloused fingertips across his nipples, making him shudder all over.
“Fuck, Gene, fuck…”
He wants to say something else, something that’s burning to come out but he can’t quite do it, can’t quite take the risk of saying it. He doesn’t even know what “it” is, but it’s there, on the tip of his tongue. Instead he presses a kiss into Gene’s hair, the hand that’s not stroking him reaching up to grip the back of his neck.
“Babe,” Gene gasps, “je pense tout le temps à toi, je t'aime, mon coeur est à toi…”
Babe thinks he might know some of the words but then Gene twists his wrist a final time while simultaneously biting down where his neck meets his shoulder and the white heat bursts through his veins, making him strain upwards as the world rushes around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says in a steady mantra as Gene continues to move above him, his own gasping reaching a crescendo until he stops, jerking before dropping onto his elbows over Babe.
They lie there silently for a moment, Babe feeling like he might actually pass out as his chest heaves against Gene’s. The waves of pleasure start to dissipate as Babe’s breathing slows.
Gene sits up a little and grabs his discarded and bloodied shirt, frowning at it and running a hand through his hair. Without a word and while remaining half on top of Babe, he uses the shirt to wipe both of them off as best he can. His touch is soft and gentle and the little crease that forms on his brow as he tends to Babe makes him feel the crack in his chest open all the more. Shutting his eyes, Babe waits for the crushing weight he can’t name to pass as Gene lays his head back on his chest. Breathing in the cool air of the room seems to help, making the crack seem less huge as his hand finds its way into Gene’s hair. It’s as soft as he remembers.
“Well,” Babe finally says when he thinks he can speak again, breaking the silence. Gene doesn’t move. “I certainly wish we’d started doing that in Bastogne.” He feels Gene’s head shift until he’s looking up at him quizzically. Babe’s heartbeat starts to thump when he realizes their faces are still inches apart and that maybe he’s going to get to kiss Gene again. Instead he shrugs and offers Gene a look. “It would have been a good way to keep warm.”
Gene’s face splits into a smile that he buries into Babe’s still-clothed chest, his chuckles vibrating through Babe’s body. All Babe can do is grin like an idiot up at the ceiling, the crushing weight disappearing completely as he begins to feel off his head with euphoria. That euphoria dissolves slightly when Gene slides off of him to get up.
“Gonna lock the door,” Gene explains when he notices how Babe tenses. “I don’t really feel like sleeping on the floor and God knows I ain’t taking Luz or Malarky’s beds.”
Babe fights the blooming happiness upon realizing that Gene’s implying he’s going to share the bed with him. “Well, wait, where are they gonna sleep then?”
Gene returns to the bed, shirtless and his fly undone and his hair a mess and as he feels a surge of arousal at the sight, Babe realizes he’s pretty much fucked. Not that he minds exactly. Gene shrugs, oblivious to it all. That somehow causes Babe’s interest to peak even more, making him wonder just how long he’s been the oblivious one.
“Don’t know. It’s their own damn fault for acting like a pack of idiots.” Babe doesn’t hear any trace of the bitterness in his voice anymore so he smiles, yanking at Gene’s arm until he plunks down on the bed. They sit there, shyness taking over for a moment until Babe takes Gene’s hand and guides him to lie beside him.
“You know,” he says, his voice muffled and he presses his face into Gene’s shoulder. Gene remains on his back, his head tilted so he can look at Babe as Babe’s arm drapes across his bare chest. “If I knew this was the best way to get you out of your moods, I would’ve done it ages ago.”
Gene frowns. “I don’t have moods.” But then he just chuckles again, shaking his head. Then he’s tugging on Babe’s chin, untucking his face from where it had been nestled into his shoulder. “Babe?” He’s giving Babe that look again, the one that makes his stomach churn.
“Yeah?”
“We…” He glances away for a moment before crinkling his forehead. “We okay?”
Babe doesn’t know what to say to that - how the fuck should he know? Apparently he’s a queer now and he’s pretty damn sure that’s not allowed in the military but he can’t really be bothered to care. After all they’ve seen, after all they’ve been through… Besides all that, he’s happy. He at least knows that. So he just gives Gene a small smile and nods, hoping Gene will understand. He seems to because with that, he finds Gene pressing into him and giving him a gentle kiss, lingering before pulling back to lean his forehead against Babe’s.
“Good,” Gene says. “Good.”
When Babe falls asleep that night, his dreams are quiet; the nothing that fills his slumber is safe and warm and he unconsciously smiles into the arm wrapped around him, breathing into black hair and losing himself in the dark.
…At least he does, until at about 6 in the morning there’s a pounding on the door demanding to know just why in the hell George Luz has been locked out of his own fucking room, Goddamit!
But for now, Babe sleeps.
The End
Endnote: So that’s it! Again, I hope the tone doesn’t seem too uneven. I’m not 100% happy with it but I rarely am so yeah. Also, the French was courtesy of a few sites I used for research so, uh, I swear it makes sense. Maybe. If not, blame said websites :) Feel free to look up translations or ask me what they are if you so wish. And thanks SO MUCH to everyone who has read/reviewed this. I have appreciated it greatly.