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The soldier had told her his name. Tommy. It was rather English, and she could imagine what her father would say, had he been there with them. For some reason, he didn't like the English, and would definitely not agree with the fact that Lucille had helped save two of them. Though Maron's prejudice wasn't exactly surprising; there wasn't many people that he liked to begin with.
Lucille had noticed a differing accent. When Tommy spoke, she sometimes found it hard to understand the foreign language. She had good English, thanks to long hours of which were spent alone in her room, but she just couldn't pick it up.
"You have an accent." She stated, breaking the lengthy silence that had persisted.
While Dawson had quickly fallen back to sleep, Lucille had sat beside the more injured soldier, ready to tend to his own wounds. She decided to start with the smallest first: a small cut to his head. But Lucille knew she had to distract him, once she set eyes on the bloodied mess that had be made of his chest. Although he was lucky in the placement of the bullet, it was still a dirty wound, and would cause him pain.
The soldier chuckled after hearing what she had chosen to say, after such a long period left without speech. He nodded his head, while lifting him self so she could remove the shirt that had stuck itself into the bullet hole. He winced as she lightly pulled it from his chest. Her fingers must have been cold.
"Not exactly the normal one you're used to hearing?" He said. She could feel his eyes on her as she observed the wound, being careful to not get too close.
"I've never heard an English man speak before." She said.
"But you know English." He stated, but it was more in question, and Lucille nodded.
"I had a friend that taught me when I was young, and I read a lot to myself." Lucille continued to talk as she brought the cloth to his wound, attempting to keep his attention, where it obviously already was- herself.
"I enjoy English literature more, actually. Though my father would resent me saying that." She continued her sentence as she dabbed at the blood that had crusted around the bullet, gently removing it from his skin. He grunted, knowing that a harsher pain was to come.
"I'm not very good at reading." He said, through grunted teeth as she worked quickly to cause less pain. "I'm not that way inclined."
"Then what way are you inclined?" She asked, as she finally dropped the cloth to the floor, the white material stained red. Lucille brought a cup to his lips, helping him to sip the water before she would eventually remove the bullet.
"I'm good at business." He said, keeping his words short to maintain his strength.
"You have one at home?" She asked, and he half shook his head.
"My older brother had something like it at home. But he's not very good at it." He said.
"I'm going to remove the bullet." She whispered, and she leaned forward, holding herself above him with large, metal tweezers.
He nodded, allowing her to go ahead. She didn't need to hold her breath, as Lucille knew what she was doing. She bullet was removed surprisingly quickly, and Tommy was brave, letting out minor screeched and groans. As she pulled the bullet from his skin, she let him grip her arm, and as she placed the bloody instruments to the floor, she let him hold onto her hands, his breathing slowly again.
"Are you injured anywhere else?" She asked and, as she said so, her eyes fell upon his shoulder.
"My shoulder." It was twisted slightly, but he had worked upon it for so long that it had awkwardly settled out of place, yet close to normal. Purple bruises had begun to spread across his skin.
"Can we wait?" He breathed out.
"We have to do it now, if you want it to heal quickly." She explained, picking up the damp cloth and pressing it to his burning face. "There is a German inspection this evening and I need you all to be quiet."
"Alright, just do it quick." Tommy said, as he closed his eyes.
Lucille brought her hand to his shoulder, placing it around him. She helped him to breath out as she carefully but forcefully moved his shoulder back into place. He mowed loudly, his stomach curling as he gripped his lower arm. He looked up, his eyes blinking as he controlled the effects of the pain.
"Should I leave you to rest?" Lucille asked him as she sat back, giving him space.
"No." He said weakly, after finally opening his eyes. "I need some company."
She nodded, turning herself slowly so she sat beside him, her back leaning against the slanted roof of the loft. Tommy's eyes were droopy as he glanced over to her with a soft smile.
"This is your house?" He asked, and Lucille smiled back as she answered him.
"No. It's my fathers."
"You live with your husband?"
She could he was testing her, by the cheeky smirk that was swiped on his face. She blushed lightly. "No, I live here. My own home was bombed during the start of the war."
"But there's a husband?" He asked.
"Yes, there is. My husband is still fighting." She answered, the light smile still on her face.
"And you?" Lucille asked. "Is there a wife?"
"No, not for me." He said, his eyes finally closing, a blissfully calm expression on his face.
