Fic: Fallschirmjäger
I suppose it was only a matter of time until I wrote Webgott. Got the plotbunny on the drive home on Friday; then it wrote itself that evening. Set in the early days at Toccoa.
Rating: PG.
Note: Thanks, mrdarcy_bunny, for proofing my German.
First fic I ever wrote on Teh Internets.
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"C'mon, Webster. I'll give you some of my chocolate if you say it right this time."
Webster cut Joe an incredulous look, squinting at the smiling man in the flickering Georgia shade under the oak tree. They'd been discussing variances in pronunciation for about ten minutes now, since Joe had seen Webster walking back from the mess hall and had asked if it were true that he spoke German. On Webster's part, it was a cautious, reserved discussion, the type that occurred between people who didn't speak together often. Before boundaries were set.
"Deine Schokolade ist vermutlich geschmolzen," Webster replied, looking at the cloudless sky over the pasture. The middle of his back pressed against the oak's trunk.
"Als wenn ich meine Schokolade würde schmelzen lassen," Joe retorted with a grin. His dark eyes were almost closed against the sunlight. "We just got out here. It hasn't melted yet," he added, shaking his head in amusement.
Then Joe picked up an acorn and threw it at Webster, who batted it away in irritation. He had decided from afar and from rumor that Joe was a quiet man with a seething undercurrent of hostility reflected in the sharpness of his features, and the playful mood the other man was in unnerved him. Webster looked off into the pine trees covering a hill on the other side of a small valley in the pasture.
"Say it again," Joe said, stretching out on the grassy slope and putting his hands behind his head. He faced the direction Webster faced, his lean form waiting but relaxed.
"Fallschirmjäger," Webster said, looking up at the green leaves.
Joe laughed. "You're thinkin' about it too much; you're sayin' it like you're tryin' too hard."
"You mean I'm over-enunciating?"
"Yeah, sure." Joe stood up and turned around to face him. He walked up the slope until he was close enough for them to whisper, should they feel the need to start whispering, and then he sat on his heels in the grass in front of Webster. He rested his elbows on his knees.
"Watch me say it."
Webster sat back slowly and carefully until his head hit the tree trunk.
Silently, he watched Joe's face as Joe said paratrooper in German. (Fallschirm meant parachute, and Jäger meant hunter.)
Joe was looking directly in his eyes; staring, almost, his expression serious now. He said the word again, more slowly. Webster watched his lips. When he was finished speaking, Joe nodded at him in a decided sort of way and then lit a cigarette.
Webster realized he hadn't been paying attention to the pronunciation lesson. He thought of how thoroughly he took notes at every lecture he'd ever attended, and felt a moment of despair.
He blinked.
"Fallschirmjäger," Webster repeated, staring right back at Joe.
Joe exhaled smoke out of the corner of his mouth in that way he had and shook his head. "I dunno, Web. There's somethin' weird about the way you're sayin' it. Maybe 'cause you learned it in school."
"I don't think I'm saying it incorrectly, Joe," Webster said, and gnawed his lower lip. They sat in silence for a while, each looking just past the other.
Joe suddenly shrugged, stood up, and stubbed out his cigarette. "I'll give you some anyway," he said, taking the chocolate bar out of his breast pocket. He unwrapped the end of it with his quick, lean fingers and broke off a piece. Webster could hardly hear the tiny snap of the chocolate breaking.
Joe handed him the chocolate, and their fingers touched briefly. He smiled absently at Webster again and turned to walk back down the slope and across the pasture, disturbing a small yellow butterfly as he went.
The chocolate had melted just a bit.
Rating: PG.
Note: Thanks, mrdarcy_bunny, for proofing my German.
First fic I ever wrote on Teh Internets.
-------
"C'mon, Webster. I'll give you some of my chocolate if you say it right this time."
Webster cut Joe an incredulous look, squinting at the smiling man in the flickering Georgia shade under the oak tree. They'd been discussing variances in pronunciation for about ten minutes now, since Joe had seen Webster walking back from the mess hall and had asked if it were true that he spoke German. On Webster's part, it was a cautious, reserved discussion, the type that occurred between people who didn't speak together often. Before boundaries were set.
"Deine Schokolade ist vermutlich geschmolzen," Webster replied, looking at the cloudless sky over the pasture. The middle of his back pressed against the oak's trunk.
"Als wenn ich meine Schokolade würde schmelzen lassen," Joe retorted with a grin. His dark eyes were almost closed against the sunlight. "We just got out here. It hasn't melted yet," he added, shaking his head in amusement.
Then Joe picked up an acorn and threw it at Webster, who batted it away in irritation. He had decided from afar and from rumor that Joe was a quiet man with a seething undercurrent of hostility reflected in the sharpness of his features, and the playful mood the other man was in unnerved him. Webster looked off into the pine trees covering a hill on the other side of a small valley in the pasture.
"Say it again," Joe said, stretching out on the grassy slope and putting his hands behind his head. He faced the direction Webster faced, his lean form waiting but relaxed.
"Fallschirmjäger," Webster said, looking up at the green leaves.
Joe laughed. "You're thinkin' about it too much; you're sayin' it like you're tryin' too hard."
"You mean I'm over-enunciating?"
"Yeah, sure." Joe stood up and turned around to face him. He walked up the slope until he was close enough for them to whisper, should they feel the need to start whispering, and then he sat on his heels in the grass in front of Webster. He rested his elbows on his knees.
"Watch me say it."
Webster sat back slowly and carefully until his head hit the tree trunk.
Silently, he watched Joe's face as Joe said paratrooper in German. (Fallschirm meant parachute, and Jäger meant hunter.)
Joe was looking directly in his eyes; staring, almost, his expression serious now. He said the word again, more slowly. Webster watched his lips. When he was finished speaking, Joe nodded at him in a decided sort of way and then lit a cigarette.
Webster realized he hadn't been paying attention to the pronunciation lesson. He thought of how thoroughly he took notes at every lecture he'd ever attended, and felt a moment of despair.
He blinked.
"Fallschirmjäger," Webster repeated, staring right back at Joe.
Joe exhaled smoke out of the corner of his mouth in that way he had and shook his head. "I dunno, Web. There's somethin' weird about the way you're sayin' it. Maybe 'cause you learned it in school."
"I don't think I'm saying it incorrectly, Joe," Webster said, and gnawed his lower lip. They sat in silence for a while, each looking just past the other.
Joe suddenly shrugged, stood up, and stubbed out his cigarette. "I'll give you some anyway," he said, taking the chocolate bar out of his breast pocket. He unwrapped the end of it with his quick, lean fingers and broke off a piece. Webster could hardly hear the tiny snap of the chocolate breaking.
Joe handed him the chocolate, and their fingers touched briefly. He smiled absently at Webster again and turned to walk back down the slope and across the pasture, disturbing a small yellow butterfly as he went.
The chocolate had melted just a bit.