Humanity of the Broken [ Band of Brothers ] 2

THIRTEEN

Sleep never came. Alice sat there for hours, her back against the frozen ground of the foxhole. But no matter how long she lay there, sleep eluded her. The only light she saw would be the flame of her smooth, silver lighter which she flipped it open to attempt some meager warmth.

Sleep never came, but her tears never stopped. They'd slowed, sometimes reduced to tiny sniffles as she clutched at her blanket and hugged the corner of her hole. Sometimes they came out in sobs that she had to stifle against her scarf. When that happened, not only did she have to contend with the tears, but her cough as well. It came randomly, sometimes when she least expected it, ripping through her body much worse than before. She blamed the tears.

Alice didn't know what time it was when someone moved the tarp over her foxhole. Lit by one of the lights the CP kept on at all hours, she saw Nixon looking in. By this point, she'd fallen back into silent tears.

He looked at her closely. She figured she was quite a sight; eyes red and puffy, arms folded across herself for warmth and security, hair almost certainly plastered to her cheeks, and dirt covering every inch of bare skin. Her trembling came from either the cold or her turmoil, which she didn't know. Perhaps both. But she knew she must've looked horrible.

Nixon raised his flask and flashed it her way. It glinted in the light. "Is this bedroom free?"

Alice didn't respond right away. But when Nixon flinched away at a particularly strong gust of wind. She sighed. "As long as you pay rent."

"That's what the whiskey's for."

A moment later, after rustling the tarp a bit more, he slid down into the foxhole. A bit of dirt got kicked up, flakes of mud from the treads of his boots. Nixon huffed as he settled next to her. Immediately the presence of another human in the foxhole raised the temperature. Without even thinking, she moved closer to get as much warmth as possible.

Neither spoke. Neither could, and neither needed to. Alice did accept the metal flask, though. She unscrewed it and downed a long drink of whiskey. It stung her throat. Somehow, though, it brought comfort. After screwing the top back on, she passed it back over.

"Doc said-"

"Stop." Alice shook her head. Her hands started trembling again. She took the flask back and took another drink. "Talk about something else." The last bit came out as more of a whine than she'd intended. When he took the flask, she just put her head in her hands and arms on her knees. "Pick anything else."

Nixon didn't object. Instead, he took a drink himself. "Ok. Would you rather have a dog, or a cat?"

"Both." 

The speed at which she responded surprised both of them. Trigger's face entered her thoughts. She missed his fur, which had been somehow both coarse and soft. She missed his steady heartbeat against her body. She missed his large brown eyes and wet nose. She missed his bark. She missed his warmth. 

Before she could stop herself, Alice's face scrunched up from unshed tears. Her hands went to cover her face as best she could. Even as she desperately stifled her crying, staying as quiet as she could in the foxhole, her body shook with sobs.

When Nixon pulled her into a hug, she couldn't control it anymore. Alice wept. She could taste the salt from her tears as they rolled down her face and wet her lips. At first she could smell the Vat 69 that Nixon took a drink of, but the more she cried the less she could. But she could feel the warmth of being near him, and that brought her comfort. It didn't take her long to fall asleep.

Nixon didn't. Even confident she'd drifted off, he could still feel her shivers between struggled breaths. But her heart beat had calmed. Her head rested on his chest, arms folded in on herself near her face. He could only see her hair. It didn't surprise him, but for the first time he realized just dull and nearly caramel-brown her usually golden blonde hair had become. Knotted, tangled strands stuck out at odd angles.