The Spirit of the Corps » Band of Brothers

45: That Bit More Spirited

With those she held dearest all gathered together, smiling and laughing and throwing arms around each other just because they could, Charlie felt her heart grow ten sizes. This, she knew, would be a memory she locked away for a rainy day. This would be what she turned to when the world felt so bleak she couldn't understand what worth there was in fighting for it anymore, when she couldn't remember what it had been like to live outside of combat.

As Skip spun her under his arm as they danced to the upbeat swing song Boo was playing on the record player, Charlie tipped her head back and laughed brightly into the blue of the sky. These were the kind of moments that made life worth living, the kind of moments that made her so determined to save the men who came to her with the life draining out of them.

She would hold onto this. Through it all, she would make sure to remember this night and its joy and how she felt for the first time in her life that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

When the dance ended Charlie carried on laughing, and when Skip bowed to her gallantly she dropped into a curtsey. It wasn't nearly as graceful as what her mother would have liked, but her mother wasn't here, and she didn't care. Incidentally, neither did Skip.

Charlie felt that she had spent the whole night so far dancing. First had been Alton, then Malarkey, then Bill - who had insisted, because he hadn't yet gotten to dance to her despite all the times they'd been out together - and then Skip. She decided she was finished dancing, at least for a little while, and followed him off of the small patch of grass which had somehow become a makeshift dance floor. When she came to a stop, she found herself standing beside Floyd, who was also seeking respite from dancing after Boo had made him dance with her.

Wordlessly, he offered Charlie the bottle of wine he was sipping from, and when she looked up into his face he was grinning. Charlie took it and took a long gulp, her throat dry from exertion, then coughed as it went down, which made Floyd laugh. 

"How come your boyfriend's not here?" he asked at length, after she'd handed the bottle back and he'd taken his own swig from it.

"He's not my boyfriend," Charlie said, sending him a warning glare with no actual heat behind it. "And because I didn't feel like inviting him. I wanted to have fun with my friends, not worry about whether I was saying or doing the right thing to make him like me."

Floyd's eyebrows pinched together at this. "Freckles, he already likes you. There ain't a single thing you could do to make him change his mind."

"How do you know that?" she wondered, taking the bottle back from him and drinking from it. It was red wine, which she much preferred to white, though already she could feel it sending tingles to her extremities, putting a levity in her head. "Are you an expert on men now as well as women?"

Floyd rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I know because you're you, and you're impossible to dislike."

"You say that as if we were immediately best friends," Charlie pointed out, turning to him. "If I remember correctly, we didn't get along at first."

"And if I remember correctly, that's because you thought I was being a dick to you when actually I was just joking."

Charlie scoffed, shuffling on her feet as she searched for an adequate response. "Well, how was I supposed to know you were joking?!"

Floyd tilted his head back and laughed. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Freckles, I'm just explaining."

Sighing, Charlie passed him back the bottle. "I still think the 'Freckles' nickname wasn't always so good-natured."

Indulgently, Floyd rolled his eyes. "Think whatever you want, Freckles."

She wore a self-satisfied grin at him letting her win the debate. "I will, thank you very much."