Challenges
Titel: Challenges
Challenge: Eine Herausforderung
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe, Babe Heffron,
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Das muss eine der längsten Obsessionen meines Fan-Daseins sein… Fortsetzung zu dem hier.
“I’m pretty sure this garden is trying to murder me.”
Challenges
Gene frowns as he swings the back door open and shut a few times. It is moving considerably smoother than before, but the bottom left corner is still scraping over the cobble stones. He kneels down to take another look at the lower hinge when he hears steps coming up the path.
“I’m pretty sure this garden is trying to murder me”, Babe’s voice says from behind.
Gene throws a look over his shoulder and barely manages to stifle a laugh. Babe looks like he just picked a fight with the garden and lost. There are streaks of dirt in his face and his work clothes are covered in bits of leaves, and there’s even a small twig caught in his messy red hair. He’s just about to ask him whether he rolled around in their future vegetable patch when his eyes catch on the blistered skin on his hand and forearm.
He puts the screwdriver down and gets to his feet. “What did you do?” he asks with a frown as he takes Babe’s hand in his to carefully examine the damage. Babe hisses at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.
“I was ripping out the weeds near the fence and one of them fought back!” he complains in his usual overdramatic way.
Gene swallows down an exasperated groan. “Babe, it’s covered in nettles back there, you gotta wear gloves.”
Babe looks at him like that idea didn’t even occur to him, probably because it didn’t. Then he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.” The way he stands there, with his outstretched hand and his head down like a scolded kid, is far more endearing than it has any right to be.
Gene just shakes his head. “Let’s get you inside.”
The inside of the house barely looks any better than the garden, too much work is still left to be done. The floors have to be scrubbed, the windows cleaned in what has to be the first time this century, doors have to be adjusted, the attic cleared of mice, and furniture has to be fixed or replaced. Still they brought their stuff over last wek since this leaves them more time available to work, and they are content to sleep on the floor since the bed, threatening to come apart under the weight of even one fully grown man, let alone two, had been the first thing to go. And with the weather the way it is, with a clear sky but the air cool enough for work, they have focused on the garden first.
“Sit”, Gene says in what Babe internally calls his medic voice, and Babe settles down on one of the creaky chairs while Gene gets his med kit, grabs a bucket of water (running water is a luxury they can’t yet enjoy) and cuts the leaves of a plant on the window sill before he joins him at the table. “Alright, I gotta clean it first, this is gonna hurt.”
Babe sighs. “Don’t it always?” Still he winces as Gene runs a wet cloth over the reddish skin, even though he knows he’s trying to be as careful as possible. “They prepare you for nettles before Normandy?” he asks as a way to distract himself.
Gene shakes his head. “Nah, my grandmother taught me this.”
Babe studies his face for a moment. His expression is serious, the space between his eyebrows knitted in concentration. It’s a look he’s seen often, one Gene affords everything he’s working on, be it a skewed door or a broken bone, no matter how serious. Babe thinks he’ll never get tired of looking at it. “She taught you a lot, didn’t she?”
“Some.” Babe watches curiously as Gene cuts the leaves open, which immediately start leaking a clear fluid. “Aloe Vera”, Gene says when he notices his look. “It’s got a cooling effect, helps with burns, too.”
Babe raises his eyebrows. “You telling me all those plants you brought do something?”
Gene shrugs. “Most of ‘em.”
“Wow.” Getting all of them here had been a pain in the ass, but retrospectively Babe is grateful. He vows that in the future he will not be quite as negligent in watering them. Hell, if this works, he might even sing them a song, don’t people always say that this helps them growing? Though with a singing voice that Bill has dubbed ‘the worst in South Philly’, once threatening to either shoot Babe or himself to put them out of their misery, maybe this would be a bad idea.
He doesn’t even notice that he has started scratching at the injured skin until Gene pulls his hand away and clicks his tongue in a chastising way. “Don’t scratch, you’re gonna make it worse, alright?”
Babe just groans at that. He watches as Gene places the sliced leaves onto his hand and forearm and starts securing them with a bandage. The juice from the leaves actually feels cool on his skin and eases the itching.
“You can say it, you know?” he says after a moment.
Gene glances up. “What?”
“How stupid I am. That I don’t know what I’m doing.” It’s mostly said in jest, but there’s just enough truth to it to be painful. He has a tendency to get himself in trouble, his Ma was right about that (and honestly he doesn’t know how he survived the war either). Mostly it works out fine, but lately he can’t help feeling like a burden, especially when Gene seems to know so much more about the things they’re working on than he does. The only thing he can remember being good at is firing a Browning machine gun, and really, what good does that do anyone in civilian life?
Gene of course doesn’t say anything, because he’s a decent person, he just shakes his head, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I know you’re thinking it!” Babe says a bit exasperated.
Gene rolls his eyes. “Fine. You’re an idiot sometimes.” This is really not what Babe expected to hear, and it must show on his face. Luckily for him, Gene continues: “But you’re my idiot and I love you.”
He can feel the smile spreading over his face almost all the way to his ears. “I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“I really hope not”, Gene mumbles as he pulls the bandage tight. “There you go, all set. You should leave it like this for a couple of hours.”
Babe sits up and checks out the bandage. “You know, you should do this professionally.” When Gene looks at him, he adds hurriedly: “I mean, you’re good at this. Really good. Like, I understand if you don’t ever wanna see something bad ever again, but you could do, you know, light stuff? Like rashes or sprained ankles. People would love you.”
Gene gets up and starts clearing the table. “Think people would come for that all the way out here?”
Babe nods. “Hell yes, they would. - Also, it’s got a certain appeal, don’t you think? We’ll hang some herbs from the ceiling and it will look just right for a traiteur.”
Gene stops in the middle of his movements, hands on the table, and for a moment Babe fears that he’s pressed the issue too much. Finally he says: “I thought about it. But I’m also afraid.”
Babe struggles to find the right thing to say, but in the end he just settles on: “I know.”
Then he steps up to Gene and puts an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. For a moment they stand like this, neither of them saying anything, just breathing each other in, reveling in the fact that they’re here, alive and together.
Then Gene takes a step back, meets his gaze and says: “I’ll think about it.”
Babe smiles at him. “Yeah?”
Gene sighs. “Yeah.” Then he gives him a slight nudge with his fingers. “And now find some gloves or I’m not letting you outside again.”
Challenge: Eine Herausforderung
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe, Babe Heffron,
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Das muss eine der längsten Obsessionen meines Fan-Daseins sein… Fortsetzung zu dem hier.
“I’m pretty sure this garden is trying to murder me.”
Challenges
Gene frowns as he swings the back door open and shut a few times. It is moving considerably smoother than before, but the bottom left corner is still scraping over the cobble stones. He kneels down to take another look at the lower hinge when he hears steps coming up the path.
“I’m pretty sure this garden is trying to murder me”, Babe’s voice says from behind.
Gene throws a look over his shoulder and barely manages to stifle a laugh. Babe looks like he just picked a fight with the garden and lost. There are streaks of dirt in his face and his work clothes are covered in bits of leaves, and there’s even a small twig caught in his messy red hair. He’s just about to ask him whether he rolled around in their future vegetable patch when his eyes catch on the blistered skin on his hand and forearm.
He puts the screwdriver down and gets to his feet. “What did you do?” he asks with a frown as he takes Babe’s hand in his to carefully examine the damage. Babe hisses at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.
“I was ripping out the weeds near the fence and one of them fought back!” he complains in his usual overdramatic way.
Gene swallows down an exasperated groan. “Babe, it’s covered in nettles back there, you gotta wear gloves.”
Babe looks at him like that idea didn’t even occur to him, probably because it didn’t. Then he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.” The way he stands there, with his outstretched hand and his head down like a scolded kid, is far more endearing than it has any right to be.
Gene just shakes his head. “Let’s get you inside.”
The inside of the house barely looks any better than the garden, too much work is still left to be done. The floors have to be scrubbed, the windows cleaned in what has to be the first time this century, doors have to be adjusted, the attic cleared of mice, and furniture has to be fixed or replaced. Still they brought their stuff over last wek since this leaves them more time available to work, and they are content to sleep on the floor since the bed, threatening to come apart under the weight of even one fully grown man, let alone two, had been the first thing to go. And with the weather the way it is, with a clear sky but the air cool enough for work, they have focused on the garden first.
“Sit”, Gene says in what Babe internally calls his medic voice, and Babe settles down on one of the creaky chairs while Gene gets his med kit, grabs a bucket of water (running water is a luxury they can’t yet enjoy) and cuts the leaves of a plant on the window sill before he joins him at the table. “Alright, I gotta clean it first, this is gonna hurt.”
Babe sighs. “Don’t it always?” Still he winces as Gene runs a wet cloth over the reddish skin, even though he knows he’s trying to be as careful as possible. “They prepare you for nettles before Normandy?” he asks as a way to distract himself.
Gene shakes his head. “Nah, my grandmother taught me this.”
Babe studies his face for a moment. His expression is serious, the space between his eyebrows knitted in concentration. It’s a look he’s seen often, one Gene affords everything he’s working on, be it a skewed door or a broken bone, no matter how serious. Babe thinks he’ll never get tired of looking at it. “She taught you a lot, didn’t she?”
“Some.” Babe watches curiously as Gene cuts the leaves open, which immediately start leaking a clear fluid. “Aloe Vera”, Gene says when he notices his look. “It’s got a cooling effect, helps with burns, too.”
Babe raises his eyebrows. “You telling me all those plants you brought do something?”
Gene shrugs. “Most of ‘em.”
“Wow.” Getting all of them here had been a pain in the ass, but retrospectively Babe is grateful. He vows that in the future he will not be quite as negligent in watering them. Hell, if this works, he might even sing them a song, don’t people always say that this helps them growing? Though with a singing voice that Bill has dubbed ‘the worst in South Philly’, once threatening to either shoot Babe or himself to put them out of their misery, maybe this would be a bad idea.
He doesn’t even notice that he has started scratching at the injured skin until Gene pulls his hand away and clicks his tongue in a chastising way. “Don’t scratch, you’re gonna make it worse, alright?”
Babe just groans at that. He watches as Gene places the sliced leaves onto his hand and forearm and starts securing them with a bandage. The juice from the leaves actually feels cool on his skin and eases the itching.
“You can say it, you know?” he says after a moment.
Gene glances up. “What?”
“How stupid I am. That I don’t know what I’m doing.” It’s mostly said in jest, but there’s just enough truth to it to be painful. He has a tendency to get himself in trouble, his Ma was right about that (and honestly he doesn’t know how he survived the war either). Mostly it works out fine, but lately he can’t help feeling like a burden, especially when Gene seems to know so much more about the things they’re working on than he does. The only thing he can remember being good at is firing a Browning machine gun, and really, what good does that do anyone in civilian life?
Gene of course doesn’t say anything, because he’s a decent person, he just shakes his head, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I know you’re thinking it!” Babe says a bit exasperated.
Gene rolls his eyes. “Fine. You’re an idiot sometimes.” This is really not what Babe expected to hear, and it must show on his face. Luckily for him, Gene continues: “But you’re my idiot and I love you.”
He can feel the smile spreading over his face almost all the way to his ears. “I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“I really hope not”, Gene mumbles as he pulls the bandage tight. “There you go, all set. You should leave it like this for a couple of hours.”
Babe sits up and checks out the bandage. “You know, you should do this professionally.” When Gene looks at him, he adds hurriedly: “I mean, you’re good at this. Really good. Like, I understand if you don’t ever wanna see something bad ever again, but you could do, you know, light stuff? Like rashes or sprained ankles. People would love you.”
Gene gets up and starts clearing the table. “Think people would come for that all the way out here?”
Babe nods. “Hell yes, they would. - Also, it’s got a certain appeal, don’t you think? We’ll hang some herbs from the ceiling and it will look just right for a traiteur.”
Gene stops in the middle of his movements, hands on the table, and for a moment Babe fears that he’s pressed the issue too much. Finally he says: “I thought about it. But I’m also afraid.”
Babe struggles to find the right thing to say, but in the end he just settles on: “I know.”
Then he steps up to Gene and puts an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. For a moment they stand like this, neither of them saying anything, just breathing each other in, reveling in the fact that they’re here, alive and together.
Then Gene takes a step back, meets his gaze and says: “I’ll think about it.”
Babe smiles at him. “Yeah?”
Gene sighs. “Yeah.” Then he gives him a slight nudge with his fingers. “And now find some gloves or I’m not letting you outside again.”