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For the first time in four years, Babe felt hope. He wasn’t sure if all the German champagne had been a way to celebrate that, or to drown the sad truth of it, but either way, it had been a success. He spent the evening without worry, without so much as a backward glance, laughing with friends—brothers. At long last they could reap the product of their suffering. With a final exhale of relief for a breath held since before the jump on D-Day, the boys popped champagne and bet German loot like they owned the whole damn continent. It was in all this that Babe felt his heart swell with hope, felt his cheeks burn with a smile held too long, and, of course, felt the dizzy rush of one drink too many. It was also in all of this that he ended up stumbling home on the arm of Doc Roe, smiling into the neckline of a man who smelled too sweet for the war.
“Hey,” He mumbled, but Gene just shook his head with a smile and continued to haul him back to the hotel. He tried to get his attention by lifting his head, but only managed to press his face even tighter against the man’s neck. Oh well. “Hey.”
Gene stopped and looked down at him. “Yeah, Heffron?”
“Oh,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Back to that again, are we?”
Gene just laughed. “You are drunk, Private.” Despite his own set of drinks, the medic’s words were still enunciated with purpose and—thankfully, Babe might add—accented with a drawl.
“Why you always so formal like that?”
“Where I’m from, it’s called bein’ a gentleman.”
“Oh?” Babe straightened up to look him in the eye. “That what you are? A gentleman?”
Shocking Babe to his core, Gene blushed. “C’mon,” he mumbled, grabbing the soldier again and pushing him towards the door of the hotel.
He stood behind Babe to watch his balance on the stairs, but took his hands from his hips as soon as it was clear he would be okay. Because Babe was extremely tipsy, and because he was a touch emotional, and because he was in fucking Austria, he made the stupid decision that he liked being touched by Doc Roe, and so tripped himself on the stairs. Hands returned to his hips as Gene steadied him, slipping an arm around his middle.
“You alright?” Gene asked, eyebrows pulled together with concern. Babe looked at him stupidly for a moment, mildly surprised at both himself and Gene.
“Yeah, Doc.” He said softly. “I’m alright.”
The arms supporting him set him up straight and guided him into his room. It was a nice place—nicer than anything Babe had ever known before. The lower ranking men took the smaller rooms, but they still got rooms alone which was pretty much a fucking miracle in itself. Still, it was lonely. Babe thought it would be nice to have the space, but the first night all he did was stare at the ceiling, starting for his rifle at every small sound. As if on cue for Babe’s misery, Gene sighed.
“Well, I should go.”
“What?” He turned so fast he almost lost his balance for real, but he pressed his legs against the back of the bed to steady himself. Gene fidgeted in the doorway, looking quiet, and tired, and—though Babe tried not to think it—handsome.
“You oughta get some sleep.”
“If you were a real gentleman you wouldn’t abandon a guy who’s just invited you into his room.” He internally winced at his own choice of words, but either way it worked. Gene stepped into the room.
“Didn’t know it was an invitation.” He mumbled, then wandered to the window, letting the door fall shut behind him. He stared for a while. “You can see the sea.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s just the mountains from my room.”
“You rather the sea?”
Gene shrugged. “Grew up with water, not mountains.”
“Do you… do you miss home?”
It was a moment before he answered, and suddenly the world became even quieter than it had been before; hushing itself for Gene’s words alone. “I don’t know.” He had an honest rawness in his tone.
Babe stepped over to stand just behind him, looking out over his shoulder at the dark water. Then, as if there was some unseen force dragging the words from his gut, he said, “Sometimes at night I think the water will swallow us all. I can’t look at it.”
Gene turned his head to him, watched closely as Babe’s eyes became an unfocused stare out of the window. “Let’s get rid of it, then.” Without taking his eyes off Babe, he reached out and pulled the curtain across, obscuring the sea from view. Babe blinked oddly, then turned his head to the medic. They were very close. Too close. All of the sudden he remembered hearing Jackson screaming in that basement, then the terrible silence that followed. Gene had stumbled back from the boy’s body in a shock of defeat, and he had looked right at Babe. There were a million things he could of done, places he could have looked, things he could of said—but he just looked at Babe. He was looking at Babe now.
Babe leaned in and pressed their lips together. He could feel Gene’s surprise, feel his eyebrows raise and lips freeze—but then they moved against his and Babe was shoving him back against a small table. Gene’s hand flew back to catch himself, and he knocked over one of their tin regulation cups. Babe went to pause—mostly because he thought Gene would; that he would get nervous, maybe have to think about this all before he gave too much of himself away. Instead, Gene’s hands came up to his face and gripped his chin, pulling them together again. He kisses like he talks, Babe thought; slow and wet and hard. If Babe wasn’t drunk before, he was now. Drunk on a lapping tongue and the sweet smell of Doc-fucking-Roe.
To be honest, he had more expected himself to be holding the reigns in this situation, but instead he fucking whimpered into Gene’s mouth like a goddamn virgin and let him manhandle him onto the bed. Once he sat he found he didn’t like them being, even for a moment, and he grabbed the medic’s belt and yanked him down on top of him. Gene’s kisses wandered from his mouth to his jawline, and finally down his neck where, just at the junction to his shoulder, he could feel the telltale sting of a hickey.
“Fuck,” he heard himself whisper, and Gene pressed his nose along Babe’s jawline as he came back up to look at him.
“Uh,” Gene paused, blushing again goddamn him. “Is this alright?”
Babe stared at him in total bewilderment for about thirty seconds before he burst out laughing. “You really are a fucking gentleman, aren’t you?”
Confirming his point, Gene’s eyes fluttered down, abashed, and he gave a shy smile. “Sorry.”
“Oh no, it’s fine by me—“ He dropped his voice low and slow in imitation, “darlin’”
“Actually,” Gene said, adjusting himself by practically crawling into Babe’s lap. He leaned low to his ear. “It’s cher.”