Only a Paper Moon [ Band of Brothers ] 3

Chapter Fifteen

February 9, 1946

Alice woke to the sun on her face. Somehow it felt golden, which she couldn't explain beyond just knowing it to be true. It warmed her, her cheeks flushing even as she avoided opening her eyes. Nix was definitely still asleep; she could feel his arm across her abdomen, her head against his cheek, the steady rise of his chest. For a moment, she just breathed. 

When at last she opened her eyes, Alice couldn't help but just smile up at the ceiling. Her ceiling. Their ceiling. For years, Alice had searched for three things always just out of reach; home, family, belonging. She'd found them each separately, but never as one. And she'd lost them. Every time, something had made her lose them.

She'd lost that sense of belonging with her countries. She'd lost home and family in the bar in Paris. She'd regained a sense of belonging and family in Easy, but it had taken years. And even then, home had felt just out of reach, like she could brush it with her fingertips, but no matter how hard she strained to reach home, it eluded her. Certain people had been echoes of home; George, Bill, Harry, Dick. Each of them, they'd been a part of home, but never home itself.

And then she'd found Nix. Alice shifted slightly in the bed, trying not to cause the mattress to spring too much. But she wanted to see him. She wanted to see the way his hair got all messy every night in bed no matter how much he tried to keep it presentable. She wanted to see the peace in his face when he slept, untouched by the war and the politics and the stress of life in New Jersey. She wanted to see the way his steady breathing moved the sheets.

Though his right arm was over her, his left had gotten scrunched up near his chest and face. On her side now, she could reach it. But she didn't want to wake him. Instead, Alice closed her eyes again, took a breath, and put her own hand to her chest, touching the skin beneath the tank top she'd put on the previous night. Somehow, being able to feel the steady beating of her own heart helped calm her nerves. Gene had suggested it in his letter after her birthday. 

She always tried to avoid touching the scar tissue from the bullet she'd taken in the Alps. Years later, it still felt different to the rest of the skin, an indent with an unnatural smoothness in parts, and roughness in others. Imperfection. She didn't mind the imperfection itself, but the memories it conjured up, memories of stakeouts and sniper rifles and blood pouring out of herself and her victims, they were uncomfortable on the best of days, and traumatizing on the worst.

The firm pressure of her hand against her skin steadied. Her chilly hand became warmer, matching the temperature of her core, and she just took another deep breath through her nose. The steady beat continued beneath her palm. It felt a bit like peace, an echo of peace.

It reminded Alice that she was alive. Not just alive, but moving forward. She'd found a home, a belonging, a family. Not just an echo, but a firm melody. Alice couldn't help the small smile at her analogy. A melody. A duet.

A duet. Her smile widened at the thought. Today was the day. Paperwork was done, waiting time was done. Nix knew a guy in Princeton, a friend of his, a judge who said he'd get them in for the legal wedding ceremony. Dick would witness. Then they'd be married. She'd get to leave behind the memories and pain of Klein, and take on a potentially new pain in Nixon. But at least it'd be a true duet, and not some sort of operatic aria.

Her eyes closed again. She let her hand fall from her chest back to the mattress and pillow, where she accidentally hit Nix's own. She could feel him stiffen in the mattress. She pretended to sleep, hoping he wouldn't worry about getting up. It was still early. Definitely still early for him, at least.

Alice found she enjoyed mornings. She enjoyed them more since they'd entered Austria, when mornings meant quiet peace, simplicity. Nix called her crazy. Alice called herself lucky.