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“Doc. Hey, Doc!” Malarkey’s hand shakes hard against Roe’s shoulder until the medic’s dark eyes shoot open with alarming speed, filled with an unnamable emotion but something Malarkey assumes falls somewhere between worrying who had been hit and panic at whether his own help would be enough.
“Sergeant Malarkey,” Eugene straightens in his empty-but-for-himself foxhole and pushes the procured blanket from his legs. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Doc. But, eh, truth is,” Malarkey gazes over his shoulder then back down into the foxhole before jumping down and slides in alongside the slim medic. “Truth is, Doc, we’re all more worried about you.” Malarkey’s voice comes out in a whisper with a cold puff of visible air, white cigarette-like swirls disappearing into the navy sky, stars all but hidden under a panel of fog that was making it’s way lower over the forest.
“Me?” Roe’s brows rise up sympathetically in his surprise at Malarkey’s words and when the man nods back at him, Roe is positive he might have blushed under the scrutiny if his cheeks weren’t already rose-tinted from the ice-cold air. “I’m fine.”
“Let Spina pick up more flack.” Malarkey pushes on insistently, “Let him rush the field, let him work his ass off for a day. You look sick, Doc, and we’re all kinda getting worried. Last thing we need is our star man in a hospital in Bastogne. Come back with me and Skip, have a hot meal and shoot the shit. Can’t be good for your skinny, Cajun ass sitting in this thing by yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Roe’s smooth purr of a voice comes out gently and convincingly enough for Malarkey to consider taking that as his final answer. “I like it here,” Roe continues and Malarkey watches his lips, barely opening as he pours silk-soft words from his tongue. “The stars are more visible because of the slight clearing of the trees and I’m central if you guys need help. And I’m doing fine, Malarkey, honest I am.” He nods, smiles that arched-brow-inclusive smile that is undefinable and swipes his tongue across his bottom lip.
“Here,” Malarkey twists, digging into his pocket and then straightens, chucking a packet of cigarettes at the medic. “George Luz has his uses when he’s not grabbing your ass.” he smirks, “We’re further back if you change your mind, between Liebgott and Perconte and just behind Nixon, ‘kay?”
“You got it,” Roe nods in response, “Thank you,” he waves the cigarette packet, containing three cigarettes, with appreciation and loyalty. Malarkey nods wordlessly and stands, climbing easily from the foxhole, “Sergeant Malarkey?” Roe calls and the other man freezes.
“Yeah?”
“Bah-ston,” Eugene’s mouth quirkes slightly as Malarkey pauses on the cliff of the foxhole, ready to disappear back into the night. “You Americans can’t pronounce a thing right.”