Chapter Text
“First Sergeant!”
A few heads turned at the call, then turned back to their own groups, men too busy minding their own business or carrying on conversations of their own to watch Sergeant Malarkey make his way down the line of men coming off the trucks at the direction of their NCOs. The half-melted snow and thick mud was making going difficult, but Malarkey kept on anyway, brushing a gloved hand against his red nose.
“Anyone see Lipton?” he asked a nearby group. Babe straightened up a little from the supplies he was helping to unpack, shaking his head.
“No, sarge.”
Malarkey swore under his breath and kept walking. Babe watched him go, frowning at the voice that drifted back to him. “Goddamn First…”
“What’s he up to?” Babe wondered aloud, but then he turned back to what he’d been doing, deciding if he was supposed to know what was happening—he’d hear about it eventually.
Malarkey finally reached a group with more familiar faces—no replacements here, thank god, he was getting so sick of looking at their fresh faces—and brushed a hand against his nose again as he came to a halt near them.
“Anyone see Lipton?” he repeated.
In the process of getting his rifle squad over to their new quarters, Sergeant Bull Randleman stopped and shook his head.
“Not around here.” He rumbled. “You need him you’re better off checking out the new CP. He and Johnny were headed over there the last time I saw them. Supposed to be on the next street over. Can’t miss it—it’s the building with most of its walls.” He added deadpan.
“Huh. That’ll be different.” Malarkey started down the street, then stopped to glance over his shoulder at Bull. “You hear the news?”
“What news?”
“Finally have a company commander assigned to us again.”
Bull stared at him. “A company commander?” He repeated slowly. “Now hold on, you don’t mean—?”
“You want to see it yourself, better come along.”
Ordering his squad onward, Bull easily caught up to Malarkey, expression skeptical. “I thought he was still in that hospital back in England?”
“Everyone was in a hospital back in England at some point,” Malarkey pointed out. He rubbed his nose again and tugged his coat a little tighter even though the action was as useless as hoping for summer to hit early. One of his boots slid in the mud and he grabbed onto Bull’s arm to steady himself, mouth twisting into an unpleasant frown.
Bull helped right him and patted him on the back. “Gonna break your leg. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised about his coming back and all—when Luz got back he said when he left the guy was back to his old self. But after that last time I saw him I never would’ve figured he’d come back. Thought for sure he’d be going Stateside.”
“Thought he’d be in a mental asylum,” his fellow sergeant muttered. And who knew, before the war was out, a lot of them might find themselves there. Pleasant thoughts, as always, seemed to plague him these days. “That the building?” he asked, gesturing to a nearby one that appeared to have activity around it.
Bull grunted an affirmative. “When’s he arriving?”
“I don’t know. News was late by the time it reached me. Captain Winters told me he could already be on his way here. Who do you think’ll be more happy to see him; Lipton or his uncle?”
Bull frowned thoughtfully. “Lip. Luz didn’t say much when he got back but I got the feeling being stuck in the same hospital as the Lieutenant just about got him fed up with the fellow.”
Malarkey didn’t answer him, though he had the feeling that Bull was probably right in his assessment. Luz usually didn’t like to give straight answers if he could help it, but he certainly hadn’t seemed thrilled about his time in the hospital. The moment he’d come back, he’d dodged all their questions, bristled at every joke, and been downright miserable about the whole thing. It was as if he hadn’t enjoyed himself at all. And who would have? Nobody in their right mind. The sergeant opened the door leading into the newest residence that’d been claimed as the company’s CP, on the lookout for—
“Lipton.”
Already fielding a storm of messengers from HQ, a wan faced Lipton looked up at the sound of his name. “What’s up, boy? You know where your platoon is bunking already? Bull, your guys set up?”
Bull rumbled an affirmative.
“Yeah. They’re set.” They should be anyway, because Malarkey didn’t want to deal with the headache of getting them in order if they weren’t. Just looking at Lipton’s sorry face was already making him feel sick. He debated on asking whether or not the first sergeant was feeling all right, and then decided nobody was so the question was moot, and switched onto a more interesting topic instead. “News just came in from the captain. You want to hear it now or after you finish—this?”
“Captain Winters?” Lipton paused in flipping through a sheaf of papers, brow creasing. “Are we moving again?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Thank god nothing like that. “Just wanted me to pass along a message about a change in leadership.” The sergeant paused, making sure Lipton was paying close attention. “We have a new company commander on his way here.”
Despite being relieved that the burden of command would shift to different shoulders, Lipton’s frown deepened. His too long acquaintance with Foxhole Norman forever making him distrustful of new officers.
“Did the captain say who it was?” He asked warily.
“Sure. Experienced officer, fought since D-Day. A real cold-blooded one.” Malarkey considered dragging it out longer, just to see Lipton’s face, then decided to take pity on him. “Relax, sarge, it’s—”
The door suddenly opened again, bringing a cold gust of wind swirling into the room. Malarkey turning automatically to see who it was. The sergeant didn’t even look fazed. “Oh. He’s here.”
Lipton stared.
“Lieutenant Speirs. Good to see you again, sir.” Bull said with a salute.
Even given Luz’s brief description of Speirs upon the sergeant’s return to Easy, nobody hadn’t expected the officer to look so—well, normal. Normal for Speirs, that was. Of course, the dark-haired man looked much leaner and paler than before, but that wasn’t unusual for someone out of the hospital, and given what had put him in there to begin with, it was even understandable. The clothes he wore weren’t new and the scarf around his neck had seen better days, suggesting they were the ones he’d escaped—left—the hospital in, a definite sign he’d not waited in some reprocessing group before making his way back to Easy.
Upon entering he’d pulled off his helmet, and Malarkey’s eyes instantly jumped to his temple where the ugly gash had been, but there no bandage to speak of—only a faintly visible scar that was mostly hidden under dark hair. But all in all, clothes and scars aside—Lieutenant Speirs was looking remarkably like his old self.
He saluted Bull back automatically as he tucked his helmet under an arm, and glanced at Malarkey only briefly before his eyes went immediately to Lipton. He looked almost like he was on the verge of smiling.
“First Sergeant—”
The sound of his CO’s voice finally made it hit home that he wasn’t hallucinating and Lipton didn’t catch whatever else Speirs said as he brushed past Malarkey and Bull in order to tug the surprised man into a hug.
“Tough son of a bitch. I knew you’d be back.” Lipton pulled back and grinned at him, hands resting briefly on his shoulders as if making sure he was actually there before he dropped them back to his sides. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Speirs blinked, expression momentarily frozen, the movement from Lipton not one he’d expected at all—but gradually his tense posture relaxed, and to the other NCOs’ surprise, he did smile, in a warm, very un-Speirs like way, and clasped a hand briefly on Lipton’s shoulder.
“I’m glad to be back, First Sergeant,” he said earnestly, and then his hand dropped immediately back to his side. “Now,” he said, tone becoming more professional. “They said this is the new the CP. Where’s everything set up?”
“I’ll show you, sir. Got a room already with the makings of an office—your office now, sir.” Lipton added with more cheerfulness than he’d had all week. He glanced at the messengers and then back at Speirs, lopsided smile still in place. “The way the paperwork is already starting to pile up it’s a good thing too, sir.”
“Paperwork,” Speirs repeated, what good humor he had fading immediately. He in no way shared Lipton’s good mood when it came to the administrative side of his duty—even though the idea of sitting there filling out form after form and looking at document after document became somewhat more bearable when he thought of having the first sergeant nearby to help. “All right. Let’s see it.”
As Lipton lead Speirs over to one of the rooms off to the side of the foyer they were currently in, Bull glanced over at Malarkey.
“Seems all right. Funny. He didn’t even get much of a scar.”
“Head wounds don’t have to look like anything on the outside to mess around the inside,” Malarkey pointed out. Personally, he’d withhold judgement on how good the lieutenant was doing until it’d passed a few days. “I’ll bet there’s probably more we can’t see under his hair, anyway.”
“Captain Winters okayed him being put back, that’s good enough for me.” Bull stated as though reading Malarkey’s mind. “Least now Lip might be able to get rest. He starts looking any worse, Roe is going be all over him.”
“Huh. Yeah.” Malarkey didn’t want to get involved in any of that when it went down—medics were already difficult to argue with and Roe? Lipton would be better off just shipping himself back to England now before it came to it. But knowing him, he’d hang on, stubborn as ever. “Come on. I’m going to find Luz and tell him his favorite nephew’s back.”
Bull shook his head and followed Malarkey outside and back into the cold. “He sure will like that.” He said dryly. “Be lucky if he doesn’t break your nose.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Malarkey said with a shake of his head, once more readjusting his coat as they fell into step. “He’s got to be a good role model now, remember?”
Bull just shook his head again, unconvinced. But since someone had to be around to break up the inevitable fight, he didn’t say anything else and just kept right on walking.
Back in the CP, Lipton had finished showing Speirs around and had briefed him on their latest orders before getting him situated in his new office and wrangling the latest flood of messengers. With arms filled with various papers and forms and reports, he absently filed the paperwork into three separate stacks and gravely handed Speirs a new pen.
“Sir. These are priority, these just need a signature, and these need to be read and signed.” Lipton told him helpfully as he set down the last remaining paperwork on top of the desk opposite Speirs’. “We’ll have it done in no time, sir.”
Speirs didn’t answer him immediately. He looked from the first pile, then to the second, and then to the third, mouth pursing and then evening out as he pulled the nearest one closer. It could be worse, he had to remind himself as far as paperwork was concerned. If they could get all of those out of the way there could be time to look around the place to see if everything had already been loot—scavenged. Perused. To see if the area had been thoroughly…perused.
“You’ve been doing this while I was away, First Sergeant?” he asked, glancing up at Lipton and then back down at the paper he was supposed to be signing.
“Not on my own, sir. What with the officer shortage, all the sergeants have been lending a hand whenever possible.” And if Lipton often told them to get some rest or chow instead, that was just because they needed it more than pushing a pen around for a few hours. The paperwork still got done. It was fine. He coughed and rubbed at his nose. “That was before we were told we’d be here awhile. Backdated paperwork from HQ is already starting to catch us up.” He gestured tiredly to the neat piles of paperwork. “This is just the start, sir.”
“…The start,” Speirs repeated. He rubbed his head. Of course. “You’d better sit down, First Sergeant. I don’t want to lose you before we even begin.”
Obviously, Lipton’s poor condition had not gone unnoticed by the lieutenant, but he wasn’t going to send him away while there was still so much to do. And moreover—he liked having him nearby, for whatever reason, and if Lipton already looked as if he wanted to stay around, why not let him?
Lipton straightened up a bit from where he’d subconsciously leaned against the desk to take some of the weight from his aching joints.
“Don’t worry about me, sir.” It was just a cold, he’d be all right. He couldn’t afford not to be. Everywhere he looked guys were walking on the edge, they’d been going too long and the only thing that would help would be to be pulled from the front. And since that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon, not that Lipton didn’t pray that it would regardless, the least he could do was make sure everything ran smoothly and no one man had to carry the burden alone. “You just get yourself settled in, I’ll go and see what guys I can pull to help field the messengers. Unless there was anything else you needed, sir?”
“…No, I don’t—wait.” Speirs glanced around the area, seeing no obvious radio set up. “Make sure there’s a radioman here so we don’t send men back and forth to deliver any messages.”
Lipton nodded and smiled. “I’ll get Luz, sir—”
“No,” Speirs snapped. Something shifted in his expression, though impassiveness soon covered up whatever it had been. He turned his gaze away from Lipton, focusing intently on the paperwork he still had yet to sign, though his pen was close to leaving a blotch on the page. “We just got in new replacements, including a radioman. He can use the experience.”
Lipton’s smile had dropped at the change in Speirs’ tone and now he looked at him uncertainly.
“Yessir.” He paused. “You get sick of Luz in the hospital?” He joked lightly.
“I don’t remember the hospital,” the lieutenant said shortly without looking up. He moved onto the next page to sign, stopping in mid-sign when he realized he was on the wrong line, but then he kept going because it was too late to change it now.
Lipton never really thought given the severity of the Lieutenant’s head wound that he would remember everything that had happened after his head injury, but from how he’d greeted him, he thought maybe some of it had stuck. But if he didn’t then that accounted for his sudden coldness towards the man that had been his lifeline in his forgotten hospital stay. The Lieutenant probably didn’t want to remember either and Lipton couldn’t blame him. He’d just have to remember to try and keep the two men out of each other’s way.
Too bad, from the letters it had seemed like they had gotten close, Luz really taking his role of ‘Uncle Luz’ to heart.
“…Can’t be easy, missing that time, sir.” He said carefully, not sure if Speirs would appreciate his concern—or how he was ignoring his complete lack of interest in the subject. “I still have yours and Luz’s letters if you’d like to read them sometime. Help fill in some of the gaps—”
Speirs stilled and finally looked up. “You—you what?”
“The letters you two sent me. From the hospital.” Lipton added, confused when Speirs continued to stare at him with some unreadable expression on his face. “Sir?”
“I—you…”
“Sir!” The sudden arrival of a messenger interrupted whatever it was the lieutenant was going to say.
Lipton frowned and looked at the messenger, glancing past his shoulder to the steady stream of messengers starting into the foyer, the cold draft from the front doors being constantly opened making him shiver and pull his jacket tighter. He nodded to the folded papers in the messenger’s hand.
“That priority, soldier?” He questioned, already falling back into his old habit of running interference for his CO.
“Yes, sir, straight from Captain Winters—”
“I’ll take it,” Speirs said. “You’d better get those soldiers, First Sergeant.”
“Yessir.” Lipton passed Winters’ messenger and gave out a few terse instructions to the messengers waiting to wait for his return unless it was priority in which case they could go directly to the Lieutenant. As he left the building and wiped at his nose, eyes catching on some soldiers across the way who looked like they could do with a few hours neck deep in clerical work, he wondered again about Speirs and his odd reaction to his mention of the letters.
He was still trying to puzzle it out when he broke into a brief coughing fit not even ten feet from the CP. Goddamn cold, he thought sniffling miserable for a moment before he pulled himself back together and ignored the raw feeling in his throat.
He had work to do.