Women of War - A Band of Brothers Story

Perfect Storm

A/N: Hey guys. Phew, this chapter is a tough one... I was sorely tempted to shove in some sort of fluffy, cute and lighthearted flashback, but ultimately, I felt that it would be inappropriate at this point. So, brace yourselves, because poor Mia can't catch a break.

Speirs was restless.

For a man of action like himself, being unable to do much while Lipton suffered from full-blown pneumonia had been aggravating. Combined with his frustration at the upper brass forcing his men into a high-risk prisoner snatch and his growing worry for Mia, who looked worse now than even during the Battle of the Bulge, his temper was short and his patience worn to the point of inexistence.

It didn't go unnoticed. Winters, bless the man, had conducted the briefing for the patrol and didn't push for the outstanding paperwork since they both knew it was very far down on Speirs' priority list. Nixon gave him a knowing, understanding look and offered none of his trademark sarcastic quips.

Standing in the doorway, Speirs took in the scene without disturbing it.

Mia was curled loosely in the armchair, the position somehow managing to appear comfortable and uncomfortable at once. One leg dangled over the armrest, the other was bent and half-tucked underneath. She had her face turned towards the back of the chair, features relaxed in sleep. Her hair, by now dry, had regained some of its chaotic nature, adding to her young appearance.

Lipton was jerked from his sleep by a violent coughing fit. Mia's eyes snapped open and before Speirs had taken even one step towards the bed, she was by Lip's side, calmly going through the routine of helping him sit up and get rid of the phlegm clotting his lungs.

Once his coughing stopped, she took his temperature and coaxed some tea into him, the cup ready on the nightstand.

"You're getting better, Lip", she said with a little smile.

He acknowledged it with a winded "Whatever you say, Doc" and sagged back into the pillows, eyelids already on half-mast again.

He was back asleep before long and Mia returned to her chair after sneaking the heater under his blanket. In a testament to her exhaustion, she didn't notice Speirs' presence even though he made no effort to hide. She pulled her knees up, adjusted the blanket and curled in on herself to ride out a bout of rattling coughs that made him wince in sympathy.

With a heavy sigh, the brunette leaned against the backrest, closing her eyes. She muttered something under her breath in German, shifted a bit and tugged the blanket higher. Within a minute, she was out like a light.

Speirs quietly turned away. A conversation from years ago rang in his ears as he walked down the corridor.

"They're exhausted."

"And you aren't?"

"What does it matter? I'm a medic, it's my job to look after them. I can worry about myself later."

Problem was that even after everybody else had been tended to, Mia was extremely hesitant to ask for help. She could take care of herself, there was no doubt about that, but she was also the person who smiled and insisted she was fine while blood poured down her face.

Speirs dismissed his musings. He had several more pressing matters to deal with and Mia was finally getting the sleep she desperately needed, so there was nothing more he could do for now.

***

When the patrol snuck down to the river after midnight, the barest sliver of a moon sparing just enough light to see the person in front of them, Haguenau was blanketed in tension. The machine gunners of 2nd battalion were in position, watching, waiting, hoping. Of those that were neither on the patrol nor on covering fire nor on guard duty, scarcely anybody found sleep.