LadyEnterprise - ThePatriette: Wow, thank you, I'm so glad that someone from Doc Roe's home state likes this story. Hope to hear from you again.

Cayendoenelolvido: I'm glad you think I captured Eugene's personality. Thanks for complementing my writing.

Afreakbynature: Crying, you say? Wow, I'm happy this moved you.

ZukiShi :refreshing... I'm gad you think so! That's what I was going for.

Lara: Well, here's that update!

nlgirl17: Thanking you, I was trying to capture the seriousness.

(oXo)

chapter 3:

Gisèle had to admit she took some pleasure in seeing how much her gift seemed to have stunned Soldat Roe; who for a while, had look as if he had seen all the world had to offer him. At least in the bad sense that is. For a brief moment, the young Américain gaped at her extended hand, open mouthed and disbelieving.

But he quickly gathered himself -in the way medics were always required to be able too -be it on the battlefield or off it. He set his gaze, and tried to pushed her hand, and the handkerchief, back to her.

"Sweetheart I can't except that," he told her, his voice soft, but firm in its refusal. "Its yours."

"I know that," Gisèle countered, unwilling to give up. A strange feeling of peacefully strength seemed to fill her, rising up from the centuries old stone around them. A strength that not only made the bleeding pain in her heart hurt a little less, but change it into a good pain, if their was such a thing. A healing pain.

It was a well know fact that sometimes to heal, to become stronger, one had to sometimes endure hurt. Like how heat could bring imperfections to the surface, so they could be shaved away.

"That's why I want you to have it -its not so great a lost Monsieur," she assured him when Roe looked doubtful, his brow furrowing. "I gave it as a gift in the first place...its only right that I give it as a cadeau once again. And to a person who is just as deserving."

She offered it again, this time taking the extra step of putting directly into the medic's hands, a cheerful splash of hopeful blue against the grime and dirt (at least, she hoped it was only dirt...) that still stained them.

"I...I hope you'll hear this many, many times," she told him gently, wringing her own hands shyly after they returned to her lap; and suddenly she was utterly aware of how faible they were -as white and paper-thin as flocons de neige. Renée's hands had been strong, in the same way that Roe's hands were strong...both physically speaking, to be able to hold back blood while wrapping a bandage...and metaphorically, to even have the neve to do it.

In some small way, she wanted to honor that -honor the both of them. "But I wish to be the first to say it. Thank you for what you done for us Soldat. You Américains are Bastogne's sauveteurs. You are heroes."

Roe swallowed at that, his pomme d'Adam moving up while his eyes looked down at the little cloth with an unreadable expression, twisting it in his slender fingers. Then he raised his eyes to met her own again -dark and silver blue.

"This was your sister's-" he started up again. But Gisèle only smiled, albit a little sadly. It still hurt -just because a wounded had been bandage didn't mean the pain had lessened. Perhaps it would always hurt...for the rest of her life...but now Gisèle was determined that it would be a healing pain.

"And I have a lifetime of things to remember her by at home," Gisèle answered. If my house hasn't been blown up that is...she added silently, remembering the reports of artillery falling on Bastonge. But she kept that to herself as it wouldn't help her case. Instead, she offered him her biggest smile. "Please Monsieur Roe, it is yours."

(oXo)

Eugene didn't know what to say. And even if he did, he wasn't sure he'd have the slightest clue how to say it. How to word it. How do you tell someone that in half a second without trying, she had suddenly embodied everything this damn war was being fought for?

"...Thank you," he finally said, when he got his mouth to movin'. Suddenly, he wished Luz or Randleman were here. Either one of them would have been better at this than him...but just as he thought that, inspiration hit. "But I like to give you something back," he added as he began to fish 'round his pocket, his lips twitching in a smile as he pictured her face when he showed the kid her treat.

At once, the little girl began gallantly shaking her head. "Non, non Monsieur, I do not need..."

But her voice died away with a little gasp as the thin bar of chocolate came out -one of the few Renée had given him in the short time he'd known the older girl. Immediately her eyes when as round as a harvest moon over the bayou -the light on the water showin' in her gaze. "Ohhh..."

Eugene offered a small smile as he handed it to her. "Chocolat, pour vous."

The kid held the chocolate almost reservedly in her grasp, small, bird like fingers running over it's sides as if the candy was a priceless relic, or a bar of gold. She held it up to her noise to sniff it...but then lowered it quickly to look at him for permission...or a blessing.

"Are you sure?"

Eugene nodded, and gave her a go-ahead motion with one hand, while the other tucked the handkerchief into his pocket -a uneven trade off, but a happy one, he supposed. "Absolutely."

The kid looked at him for one more moment...before she beamed. Eagerly, she began to peel the wrapping from the bar -and Eugene felt a bittersweet pain in his chest when he realized that she did it was the same motion and technique her sister had, tearing at the top, that he'd seen Renée do on the first day he'd meet the Nurse.

The only difference was that Renée had done it somberly, almost melancholy-like...as if somewhere inside of her, she was aware with every bite that she could be taking her last communion.

But the kid...she was almost giddy, like for now...the war was on pause, the worst was over, and things were alright now. Whether that was true or not, Eugene didn't know...but...he'd like to thing that the day was soon coming where he'd never have to treat a wounded man again, never see him bleed out from shrapnel or bullets, with his blood slicking his hands.

That sooner or later, Easy Company would be at last be free to leave the Butcher's shop behind. Eugene closed his eyes for a moment. From his thoughts to God's ears -Amen.

When the candy was fully unwrap, Gisèle beamed at him with joy that was both childlike...and far too old for her years.

"Merci," she told him. "Pour tout."

(oXo)

He left soon after that...wasn't much more to say, after all. He nodded politely to the Reverend Mother as she opened the door for him, and tried not to squirm at the sheer gratitude in her gaze. Roe felt unworthy of it. All he had tried to do was be decent to a colleague's and fellow sufferer's little sister...one of the many who he'd failed to help, at that. Nearly anyone would have done the same. How could he not do it?

And...he was glad he did. For some reason, that bittersweet pain of having survived Bastogne when so many others fellas hadn't...didn't hurt so badly, now. Oh, the pain was still there, a dull and constant ach that had formed on D-day plus...but now it was tempered by somin' softer... somin' that felt a lot like hope.

Hope that so many men hadn't given their lives for nothin'.

Roe exhaled slowly in the in dimly hallway, his footstep a little to loud to be entirely comfortable to his ears -he was still so use to have snow crush under his boots.

When he return to Easy, he made sure that he gave Lipton a gratefully nod -God knew he was the man who really deserved it- which the First Sargent duly acknowledge with one of his own...seeming happy to have a reason to look away from his task of making a register of how many men they still had.

The boys were spread out among the pews sleeping...or at least pretending to with their eyes wide open, burning holes into the ornate ceiling -Eugene could tell who was who.

After a moment's deliberation, he made his way over Babe was spewed out, undignified snores escaping his mouth, while the hand that had the other half of Renée's handkerchief tied around it resting besides his head.

With a sigh, Roe eased himself down besides his fellow soldier, sitting up right so he wouldn't take much space. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, ready to block out the world.

"...Hey," Babe's voice suddenly asked. "Doc?"

Or not.

Cracking one eye, Doc rub his face before turning his attention to his bunkmate.

"Your hand botherin' ya Babe?" he asked him seriously.

The south-philly redhead blew out a huff of air at the notation, wave say hand sharply through the air to dismiss it. "Na, just..." Here Babe seemed to pause some, licking his lips before he spoke. "That kid...she gonna be alright?"

Roe blinked, a little taken aback at how gravely the question was asked. But he nodded quickly all the same.

"Eh, yeah," he said, nodding confidently as the reality of that fact set in. "Yeah...she's gonna be just fine."

Babe's expression eased at that, and he wasted no time in setting in again. "Good..."

(oXo)

Couvent de la Mère Sainte Vierge - Janvier neuvième, 1945

Chère Renée...

You know, for the longest time, I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to keep addressing these entries to you. It might seem silly to some, since you are never going to read them...but in reality, nothing has changed, has it sister? You told me to write you a letter for every day I was away from you...and now that separation is merely longer...though some would say that it is now forever. But I don't believe that.

One day, I will tell you all that has happen after the war...how we lived, laughed, and died. So I'll keep writing, because I don't want to forget anything.

Your friend médecin Roe was a wonderful man. I'm so happy you got to know him. His chocolate was wonderful...and I think he'll remember you for the rest of his life. The Américains all left the next day...and not one of them complained as they moved out again -with barely a proper rest (if you can even call it that).

...Oh doux Jésus, I hope this war ends soon, for their shake, if nothing else...how much longer can it take for the Nazis to understand that finish?! Do we have to be like the Greeks of old, burning Troy to the ground before it gets through their thick skulks?! Their finished! Kaput! Does artillery have to fall on Berlin and their so very precocious monkey-Führer's head for them to understand this? (And I'm sorry to say, this thought doesn't trouble me much...lets see how they like it for a change). But people are still dying...I don't understand it. I don't understand anything anymore. Maybe I never did.

But I want to understand Renée. I want to understand what took your life. What is still taking these soldiers' lives.

I want to go home...Maman and Papa and Marguerite must be grieving -surely they know...but it's not safe yet, the sisters say.

But don't worry Renée...I'm far from grieving alone. The girls have been so tender to me these last few days...when they first came in for the night, Rachelle came over to my side and said nothing. She only hugged me...so very, very tightly...as if to say she was my sister now if I like. And basically, everyone seem to say this in so many words...Léa tells me jokes if she thinks I look too sad, and Agnès makes my bed for me if I forget (I didn't use to.) I have shared my chocolate with them. They were all so happy to have a sweet...it has been so long.

Oh what will we all do, once this war is indeed over...how do you pick of the threads of an old life from before the war, as though nothing happened? How do you go on...when so much of your heart is left behind? (I don't know who will have it worse...the people who have to stay...or the men who will have to take their memories home with them.) Can you do such a thing? To do so, I think, is to forget...to forget is to let it happen again, and then be surprised like a dummy when it does. This certain can not be. There is no going back. Only a remembrance.

I feel like all the good people are a patch of blue in the sky...like your handkerchief Renée. Tore and tattered. And all around us are storm clouds, closing in.

So what do you do? How do you endure, or dare to hope? I can't answer this...one must decide for themselves.

...But despite everything, I think people are still really good at heart...or even if their not, even the smallest acts of kindest from those who are, is more than enough to kept the majority of the storm clouds at bay, and make our blue patch a little stronger -far more effectively than guns and artillery ever could, reinforcing it even. That is why will we win, in the end. You have taught me this. My friends have taught me this. Médecin Roe of Easy Company has taught me this. I will never forget.

Until next time.

Yours, Gisèle

Finis

Well, it is done. How was it? I tried to strike a balance between Gisèle's new maturity and her youth. Sorry it too a while...but I wanted to get it right. Now, I think I'll write more Band of Brother's fics...so I want opinions what you might want.

A) a one-shot serious on true tales of E company? (I have books on them that I can use for stories) Show what the series didn't

B) A historical What if? story exploring a real life event at an Austrian castle battle, which logically E company could have been drawn into in real life, making their end-of-war not so peacefully.

Or C) ...A Forest Gump of E. Company story, exploring if the famous character had lived as a member of the ww2 generation in 101 airborne...and how those around him react to that. (It kindda funny, seeing how Tom Hanks produced Band of Brothers).