Title: Experiments

Characters: Eugene Roe, George Luz [no slash]

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I don't own Band of Brothers, and no disrespect is meant towards the real people portrayed in the series or this fanfic.

He was a young boy again. His mouth watered as he gazed at the back of an elderly woman while she stirred the contents of a large pot on the stove, singing loudly to no one in particular. Whatever was cooking smelled very good. Sunlight was streaming in from a window, filling the whole room with a warm glow. He was sitting on a chair that was too high for him, and he kicked his legs impatiently as he waited for the woman to finish cooking the meal. He couldn't point out exactly when it happened, but all of a sudden the room was filled with people. Someone called out to him in French and when he turned to look at the face of the young woman, her features were vague. He soon realized that he couldn't recognize the faces of anyone in the room and yet—and he didn't know how he was aware of this—he knew they were his family. They sat down together and ate, talked and laughed. He felt relaxed and content in their company, even if he couldn't remember anything they ate or the topics of their conversations. His surroundings started to blur and shift the lights went out, the floor beneath him sank, and just before he slipped out of the room, spiraling into darkness, he looked up into the face of the elderly woman from earlier who was clearly smiling at him and recognized her.

Grand-mere?

He opened his eyes.

Blinking several times as he lifted his head from a table, he tried to make out all the blurred, dark figures around him. His vision adjusted to the darkness, and the figures came into focus. A stove and cabinets. Spread out in front of him were a few empty boxes and small piles of bandages and packets—he had been taking inventory of their medical supplies.

He yawned. He felt groggy and now his whole body ached from sleeping in the cold at the kitchen table. He was perfectly aware that there had been an actual bed waiting for him in warmer quarters, but he must have spaced out, closed his eyes for a few seconds… He shook his head, everything was so fuzzy.

I need coffee.

He scrambled in the dark, searching blindly for the coffee can that he shared with Spina. He could've sworn he had last seen it on the counter… He relaxed when his fingers brushed the cold metal of a familiar round tin. He screwed the lid off. It can't be. He held the tin up to the faint rays of moonlight shining through a grimy window. He swore under his breath. The reflection of his frowning face was scowling back at him—it was empty.

Fine. He stepped out into the street, gently closing the door to the aid station behind him. I'll get some more coffee later. He pulled his jacket tighter around him and slipped the coffee can into one of his pockets. He stamped his feet and breathed on his hands, fidgeted in the cold, hesitated, and then pulled out a cigarette and lighter. His hands were so numb that it took him several tries to light the precious cigarette. He started shivering less when he brought it to his lips and took a deep breath.

The world was quiet. A fog had settled over the town, the houses and shops across the street were all dark, and surprisingly, even the sound of distant gunfire that he had become so accustomed to had ceased for the moment. He sighed, cigarette smoke swirled into the air; it was neither a tense nor a heavy solemn kind of silence like what he had felt at times in Bastogne. It was almost—almost—peaceful. It was ironic, with the Germans stationed just across the river, but he couldn't help feeling at ease, smoking and just letting his mind wander during these odd hours of the day when the town was still sleeping. Maybe it was because there were no screams for a medic amidst blinding flashes of gunfire and explosions. Maybe it was because he wasn't trying to steady his hands, covered in another soldier's blood, as he treated someone lying in snow. Maybe it was because of your dream. He smiled. He couldn't remember all of it, but slowly, vague flashes of being somewhere like home and seeing his family resurfaced.

Home. The thought sparked both an ache and warmth that swelled in his chest. The remnants of his dream began to blend into childhood memories, moments spent playing outside, dragging his feet on the way to church, fishing trips down the river, following his grandmother wherever she went…

His eyes were wide as he stared into the night and saw instead the bright and busy streets of his hometown.

Muffled boot steps and murmurs came from further down the street, snapping him out of his reverie. He gave his head a small shake before cautiously taking a few steps towards the sound. The silhouettes of two soldiers and the glowing ends of their cigarettes slowly emerged from the fog.

"—there's no way—"

"—Hey, someone's there."

"Morning." he croaked.

"Doc! Jeez, I thought you were a Kraut." Sergeant Luz laughed, his breath forming large clouds of mist in the air.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said softly. "Come from a patrol?"

"Yeah. It was all pretty quiet though." Sergeant Martin said and stifled an enormous yawn. He then said good bye to the two men, slapping Luz on the back and nodding at him.

He watched the figure of the sergeant disappear into the darkness before saying "I was goin' to look for you later actually."

"Well, what can I do for ya, Doc?"

He paused. "I need more coffee." he sniffed.

Luz laughed again. He thinks I'm joking. Luz looked up at him and his eyes widened, "Shit—really?"

Yes.

"But didn't you—didn't I—? Rations were just given a few days ago!"

He raised an eyebrow. Hopefully, he was giving Luz his most impressive 'never question the medic' look.

Luz ran a hand through his hair, "Alright, alright, no need to snap your cap. Come on."

They began to walk slowly towards the supply office. "But really Doc, are you bathing in the stuff or what?" Luz gave him a sideways glance and saw him lower his head.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

…

By the time they entered the supply office the sky was beginning to lighten.

"At the rate you and Spina are chugging, you're gonna finish a whole crate of this by next week!" Luz held out his hand and he passed his coffee can to him. "Can't imagine the higher-ups being too pleased about it." Luz suddenly straightened up and stuck out his chest, "What the hell have you boys been doin' that I ended up with this watered-down-lame-excuse-of-a-drink with my breakfast, trooper?" he croaked, imitating the voice of Colonel Sink while waving the tin in the air.

"I get it," he chuckled, rolling his eyes, "I won't ask again, don't worry."

"Aw, what the heck." He filled the can with coffee grounds and the smell of it spread through the room. "Come with me to the back, there's some stuff you should probably take with you too."

He trudged after Luz through a short hallway that led into another cramped storage room lined with shelves for rations. Upon entering the room, he immediately stopped. It took a few moments for his brain to process why he had stopped. It suddenly occurred to him that it was because he smelled something- something that reminded him of a time long ago. It's grand-mere's cooking.

Luz had been talking about the mesdemoiselles in town and putting medical supplies in an open crate for the good doctor when he noticed that Doc wasn't behind him anymore. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at the medic, who was rooted to the spot at the doorway, gazing at the crates and shelves around him like a stunned little kid in a candy shop. It was the first time he had seen the man act so strangely, and it made him nervous.

"You okay, Doc?"

He blinked hard and turned his gaze towards him, "Sorry?"

"Well, I dunno, you looked a little… a little dazed, if you know what I mean."

"Do you know where that smell is coming from?"

"What?" Luz took a step towards him and sniffed the air. "You mean the refreshing aroma of dust?"

"No, it's—it's—"he waved a hand and began to mutter inaudibly in… was that French? Now Luz stared at the medic confusedly.

"—It's herbs and spices! You know, like—like thyme, basil, paprika…" He trailed off.

It can't be, I must be going crazy, he thought when Luz just continued to stare at him.

Then, he saw recognition register on Luz' face. "Oh yeah! Yeah, that was brought in days ago, sorry, I got used to the smell."

He skirted a few rows of stacked-up crates and walked up to a shelf. "Think it was somewhere around here…" There was the sound of bottles clinking and objects being shuffled before Luz came back, triumphantly holding up a small carton. "Yeah, this is probably what you're smelling. They brought it in a couple of days ago when they went around town for supplies. No one knew what the hell to do with it, so it got left here." He put the box in his hands. "It's all yours if you want it."

He remained quiet. Slowly he lifted the lid of the carton.

Luz went back to the crate he had been packing and added the last rolls of bandages. When he turned back to Doc, he was holding the carton up close to his face, silently gazing at its contents. Luz walked over and shifted his grip on the crate so that he could hand it over.

"Hey Doc, what is that stuff anyway? Smells pretty good."

For a few moments, it was as if the medic hadn't heard him, he was so absorbed in his own thoughts. Then, he looked up and the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"It's… a bit of home."

He closed the carton and added it to the medical supplies before taking the crate from Luz.

"Thanks," he said softly and quietly walked out of the room.

…

Captain Winters squinted up at the blindingly bright gray sky as he headed back to Battalion along with Captain Nixon from the edge of the river.

"—not to mention those two reports for Sink," Nixon sighed, "the paperwork is starting to pile up. We have to—"

"Lew," Winters glanced at his friend.

"Yeah?"

"Let's not discuss the paperwork right now."

"Oh." Nixon blinked back at him. He gave a small shrug. "Sure."

The two continued in companionable silence until they entered Haguenau. Frost and gravel crunched under their boots as they walked down one of the main, wider streets.

"Hey Nix, I'm going to go check on some of the soldiers, see how they're doing. You go on ahead."

"Nah, I might as well come with you."

Winters turned to him, "Scared of being alone?"

"What? No, I'm just following your plan of action to evade the mountains of paperwork waiting for us."

When they reached the steps of one of the buildings housing the second platoon, the front door flew open and several men of Easy shoved their way out into the street, laughing and pushing each other like a group of schoolboys. As they came down the steps and caught sight of the officers, they all pulled into a serious salute, though some of them seemed to have difficulty wiping the grins off their faces.

"Where's the fire?" Nixon chuckled.

"Well, sir—" their sergeant paused to think of how to explain the situation and turned to the men behind him.

"It started with Babe here, sir!" one of the soldiers called out and the rest of them began nudging and elbowing Babe Heffron towards the officers to speak.

"Ow, hey! Aw, it was nothing, sir. Just saw Doc runnin' around the place askin' for all kinds of stuff, then he came here and asked me for potatoes. Said 'the hell do you need potatoes for?' So I followed him after that, sir, and found out he had whizzed up this thing in one of the kitchens without invitin' any of the rest of us." He gave a wheezy laugh. "Smelled pretty damn good, sir."

Winters raised an eyebrow in surprise, thinking over what he had just heard and taking some time to fully understand it. "Does he have enough for all of you?"

"Yes sir." Heffron nodded and grinned. "Was just too shy to share. I reckon he has enough for you and Captain Nixon, sir, if you want some."

Winters looked at Nixon. "Lew?"

"Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

…

He leaned back against the cabinets, warming his hands on his canteen cup of coffee. If only they hadn't been so suspicious. It's not that he was being selfish; he just wished they hadn't found out about his "experiment" so soon. He watched the small group of troopers that had already gathered at the kitchen table, talking very little over the hot food they were shoveling into their mouths.

He shifted uneasily when he heard more boot steps coming down the stairs. Men from second platoon filed into the room, which ensued in a lot of loud greetings and shouts upon their meeting those already eating.

"Aw, that smells like heaven!"

"Hey Doc, is there any chow left?"

"You boys look like you ate a whole pot of the stuff already!"

He was about to put his coffee down so he could start giving food to the other soldiers when he saw Captain Winters and Captain Nixon enter the room, and he nearly dropped his cup. He turned to hide his embarrassment, and ladled food from an enormous pot on the stove into the empty cups being passed around. He made sure that they all had a share before he shuffled to a corner and continued sipping his coffee, the kitchen was getting crowded.

Those from second platoon took their first spoonfuls of the fragrant, steaming stew, and they seemed to sigh in unison.

"Oh, it tastes like heaven."

"Doc, what do you call this?"

"Shit, never mind what it's called! Move over boys, I'm taking the whole pot."

The good food and company raised all of the soldiers' spirits, and the room filled with their laughter and talk. Many of them realized at that moment how long it had been since they had been able to relax.

"Gene." Captain Winters came over to the corner where he was standing so he could be heard above all the loud talking. "You did a fine job. I haven't tasted anything this good in a long time." He smiled earnestly at him and patted his shoulder.

"It was really good, Doc. You better watch out though, he might assign you some permanent mess duty after this." Nixon said and elbowed his friend.

He laughed lightly. "I doubt it, sir." The captains addressed the rest of the men, reminded them of their duties and made their exit.

At least they like it. He wasn't sure if his grandmother would be proud of him or not right now. He had tried to cook something like her famous gumbo of his childhood, but he seriously doubted the cooking genes in his family had passed on to him, and it had been hard to make do with their rations. Heck, he hadn't even tasted it for himself when Spina and some others had discovered him by following their sense of smell.

By the time he had drained his cup of coffee, most of the men were lining up for second servings.

When Heffron stood, he saw the man who had started this whole meal, huddled in the kitchen corner with a distant expression. He had seen him in a very similar state a few times before in Bastogne- just the thought of those freezing, nightmarish forests made him shiver— but they weren't dug in Ardennes anymore, and he decided that the medic needed some cheering up.

"Hey, Eugene."

He looked up. Heffron switched the empty cup in his hands with a hot one filled with his "gumbo".

"Try your own cooking and lighten up, why don't you. Your mother would cry if she saw you."

"This food is making me cry!" Luz yelled; the soldiers cheered in agreement and continued to wolf down their second servings.

He hesitantly brought his first spoonful to his mouth, praying silently to his grandmother for forgiveness.

He was surprised that what he was tasting was his own cooking; it actually wasn't all too bad. Despite the herbs from Luz that he had thrown in being a bit overpowering and there being far too many potatoes, and of course, the fact that it wasn't nearly as good as his grandmother's gumbo, he was enjoying his stew. The men laughed hard as Luz and a few others did some very convincing imitations for a story they were telling. He smiled. It was funny to think that his cooking had brought all these men down into this small, dark kitchen to have a good time. All of a sudden he realized that the scene before him was, coincidentally, very much like his dream. Except then, he had been in a sunny place with family. He looked around him now, seeing the men's bright smiles, all of them huddled close at the wooden kitchen table.

No.

He was with his family now.

Just thought I'd let you know, I didn't write this-my little sister did, and since she doesn't have her own account, after she showed it to me I wheedled and cajoled until she let me post it for her. She loves BoB even more than I do, but she's a little shy about letting other people read her writing; so if you liked this story at all, please review so I can let her know! Thanks so much!

~boswell