Band of Brothers Imagines

Wounds - Moe Alley x Reader

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Moe Alley was a man of little words. No one could ever work out whether it was shyness or restraint. But when Alley first met you in the melting heat of Georgia, he became even quieter than usual, blushing whenever you'd so much as look in his direction. Everyone knew he liked you, but no one knew you liked him back until you marched right up to him in a quaint little pub in Aldbourne and kissed him, sick of waiting for him to make the first move. You'd been together ever since, through D-Day, Holland, and the horrors of Bastogne. Now the war was finally getting closer to its end and the two of you, along with the rest of Easy, were stationed in Haguenau.

The day after the patrol that had robbed Eugene Jackson's mama of her baby boy, you were walking along the river side. The downtime was pleasant, but it was impossible to enjoy the walk. The mud squelched under your tattered boots, the air was freezing, and the bombed-out houses served to remind you of the lives destroyed across the world by the war. You were jerked out of your thoughts by a sharp pain in your ankle. You'd gotten through one of the biggest days of warfare unscathed, you'd survived the disaster of Operation Market Garden unscathed, and you'd even come out of that hellish Belgian forest unscathed. And yet you'd been hit in the ankle by a sniper from the German side of the river in this ruined French town. You dropped to the ground, but the sniper didn't bother making a second attempt, so you crawled around the corner, before pulling yourself up.

"Y/N," you heard a soft Louisianan accent behind you and knew instantly it was Roe. "Let me take a look at that," he gently wrapped his arm around you, helping you hobble into the relative safety and comfort of a nearby building, and sitting you down on a rickety old chair.

"It's just a ricochet," Gene explained, as he gently examined and cleaned your wound. "Try and keep off it as much as possible."

"Thanks Gene," you replied softly, lapsing into silence as he finished his ministrations. "You won't, ah, you won't mention this to Moe, will you? Please don't, he'll only worry and it's nothing serious."

"No I won't mention it, as long as you promise to take care of yourself," Gene looked up at your face, giving you his signature small, shy smile.

"Sure thing, Doc."

///

Hiding such a wound from Alley was easier said than done. You couldn't walk properly without support, only hobble, and your muddy sock was drenched in blood. But you managed it somehow, the thought of the sadness and fear in his eyes if he knew about your wound enough to spur you on to hide it.

However, Alley was far from stupid. Being a man of few words allowed him to have sharp observational skills, especially when it came to you and your wellbeing. You didn't crawl into his bunk with him at night anymore and you were far more subdued than usual, not to mention your daily chats with Roe.

Four days after your injury, Alley walked in on you inspecting your wound. You'd told him you were going to use the latrine, wanting some uninterrupted time to check up on how your wound was healing. As soon as he saw your injured ankle, Moe's eyes darkened and concern flooded through him. He rushed towards you, kneeling in front of you.

"What happened? Why didn't you tell me? Is it serious? You know I'd have helped you?" Moe's entrance had startled you, and his rush of questions ignited pangs of regret in you. Of course you should've told him! The hurt in his eyes was worse than it would've been had you just told him straight out the day you were hit.

"It's nothing serious, Doc said it's a ricochet," you mumbled, eyes focusing on anything other than your boyfriend in front of you.

"Baby why didn't you tell me? I don't want you to feel you have to keep things from me," the hurt was still very present in his gentle voice, his eyes glassy with tears.

"I'm sorry James, I just didn't want you to worry, I knew that it'd upset you. I thought about how I felt when you were hit in Holland and I couldn't bear you to feel like that," you explained, tears rolling down your face at the flashbacks you were having of seeing him bloodied and injured.

"Hey, it's okay, don't cry," he began to tenderly wipe away your tears with his calloused thumbs. "I'm gonna make sure neither of us gets hurt again. Not long now then the war will be over and we can live the rest of our lives in peace."

"But I wanted to be like Smokey with his little collection of Purple Hearts," you managed a small smile, Moe's words providing you comfort.

"Don't even joke about it," despite his words, Moe flashed you one of his rare grins, the smile making his deep eyes glow as he gazed at you. He leaned up and as his chapped lips met yours, your worry drained away, knowing you'd get through the rest of the war together.