The Spirit of the Corps » Band of Brothers

50: What Kind of An Idea

When Charlie woke up the next morning, for a moment she forgot what had happened. For a moment she wondered why she was sitting curled up in Floyd's lap, her hands gripping tightly onto the front of his fatigues, while the rest of the company slept in tents a little way away. For a moment, she smiled as she watched Floyd sleep, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and the softness of his face, his head resting back against the trunk of the tree behind him and his hands resting gentle but firm on the small of her back.

And then she remembered.

All at once, her heart plummeted and her stomach flipped. The aching behind her eyes returned with a vengeance, as did the tightness in her throat. And the way she was sitting with Floyd, the way she'd spent the night with him, felt all wrong.

It had been a lapse in judgement to let herself seek comfort from him. He'd been there and he'd been so kind and warm and gentle, his brown eyes so soft, his arms so safe, but she shouldn't have let herself cling to him like that. It would only cause her trouble. What kind of an idea was it to rely on a man who spent every night he could in a different woman's bed? A man who Mabs had already told her was only sweet with his friends and when he wanted something, who treated the women he charmed like they were interchangeable and laughed about it with his friends afterwards.

What kind of an idea was it to fall into that man's arms when the one she'd promised her heart to was gone?

Charlie untangled herself from Floyd and pushed to her feet. She hated how she missed the loss of his warmth instantly.

He stirred, mumbled something sleepily, but she didn't stay to watch him wake. Turning on her heel, Charlie marched herself back to the field hospital and threw herself down in front of the basin of water Autumn had been using to clean bandages the previous night. Abandoned to the tragedy of the loss of PFC Robert Van Klinken, the water had turned murky, a shade of burgundy closer to brown than red, and Charlie set her jaw as she took it outside and tipped it out, then returned it to its original place full of clear, clean water.

It was Autumn who was on shift. The two of them had been paired together for the final shift last night, leaving Boo and Mabs to the early morning one. Boo and Mabs must have been back in the tent already, sleeping. Charlie regretted to think how much of both of her shifts she'd missed in the midst of her turmoil.

But it was quiet, at least. The wounded all slept, even as light began to spill in through the gap in the entryway and birds began to chirp. Even as Charlie scrubbed the bandages left aside from yesterday so hard they might have set alight if they weren't soaking wet.

"Charlie," Autumn called softly from across the tent. She was standing at the foot of one of the men's beds, his file in her hands and the pages flicked back as she searched it for something. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at Charlie, her frown deep set when Charlie met her eyes. "You alright?"

Charlie couldn't tell whether or not she knew what had happened. The thought of having to tell her, of having to say it out loud, sent bile creeping up the back of her throat.

With a tight nod, Charlie turned back to the bandages and kept scrubbing them clean.

"Trucks are coming to pick up the wounded in half an hour," Autumn said. When Charlie looked up at her she found her eyebrows still drawn together in concern and her mouth still pinched in a frown.

Charlie nodded. "That's good."

"We should start getting them ready to leave."

Something to do. That was good. A distraction that wouldn't leave her hands rubbed red raw.

Charlie went from bed to bed, checking wounds and changing bandages where necessary. Robert wasn't here anymore but Charlie didn't ask where he'd been taken. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and avoided looking at his bed as she passed it and went to the next man along.