Chapter I

Help!

Note: All I can say is that I should not be writing this. Really, really should not be writing this. The last thing I should be doing before college starts is launching myself into a multi-chapter fic, especially if there's a chance that it will not be completed (which really, really bothers me). So…yeah. Shouldn't be doing this. Should just stick to the one-shots. But I'm posting it anyway, I think mainly because I'm rather fond of how I plan on incorporating the Beatles songs into the story. That said, I hope that you at least enjoy the (hopefully not too long) story of how Maxwell E. Carrigan met Dizzy Miss Lizzy.

۞۞۞

"Got a good reason

For takin' the easy way out.

Got a good reason

For takin' the easy way out, yeah.

"She was a day tripper—

A one-way ticket, yeah.

It took me so long

To find out.

And I found out."

— the Beatles, "Day Tripper"

۞۞۞

All she wanted was a Goddamn bag of M&Ms.

Three words, kid: No. Such. Luck. The only candy this place had had in months were Milky Way, Mars, and Heath bars, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Milky Ways were okay, but one could only consume so many before they grew sick of them. Mars Bars were something she'd never tried and had no plans on trying in the future (no matter how great Michelle said they were). And as for the peanut butter cups and Heath bars, well, (and this was just her opinion) they had to be two of the worst confections in existence—both were gritty, all-around nasty, and tasted entirely of peanuts and nothing else.

It was just as well, though. She'd practically (okay, all but literally) been living on candy bars for as long as she'd been here and that couldn't possibly be good for her system. Funny: A nurse—someone who should have been more knowledgeable than most about what was healthy and what wasn't—could have really cared less about her physical well-being. What was really crazy was that she didn't even like chocolate all that much. She much preferred licorice rope or Root Beer Barrels. Unfortunately, it seemed that cocoa-based candies were the only kind that the soldiers would eat; either that, or it was cheap for the Army just to buy a bunch of Hershey's products (probably the latter). True, she could have just given in and forced down the so-called food that they served, but…nah.

Although, in all honesty, what she really wanted was a piece of fruit (not to mention a carton of expensive cigs and not the cheap-assed ones available here, a good lay with a good-looking guy, and, of course, M&Ms), be it an apple, orange, banana—a peach would have been really nice, but, at the moment, the closest she could get to that was the too-sugary canned crap that the Army served. And, unless on the verge of blacking out, she refused to touch that stuff. This attitude she blamed entirely on her grandmother who had always seen consuming canned food as some sort of sin, especially when the same things were available fresh. As a result, she'd made it her duty (one of many) to keep her beloved grandchildren as far away from any "sticky, syrup-coated, teeth-rotting substitutes."

Then again, while a peach would have been nice, she had cigarettes (no matter how lousy they may have been) and at least she could get her hands on some kind of candy. So, all things considered, what she wanted, really and truly wanted, was a good lay.

Again, no such luck. Oh, there were plenty of handsome men to be had, all of whom would be more than willing to accommodate her. The only problem, simply put, was her. She was a flirt, to be sure, but not a slut. As a girl who was rather picky when it came to any and everything, men were no exception. So, while she liked kissing, she liked fooling around, she liked sex, and she even liked experimenting…lately, she had been having a terrible time finding someone who she was actually drawn to enough that she wanted to have some fun with them. And, really, if she wasn't attracted to the person, then what was the point of screwing them? She could have just settled for simple foreplay (and sometimes did), but the men here were so horny and sex-deprived that they often tried to take it too far (not that she blamed them, since it was difficult to restrain herself at times). Besides, with the irritating lack of birth control pills and rubbers, was the risk really worth it?

And anyway, as a nurse, she always had much more pressing matters to take care of.

"Nurse!"

Like now.

Quickly, she turned in the direction of the noise. Cap askew, eyes bright and urgent, Sgt. Henderson, the head nurse, burst through the double doors, sending them swinging wildly.

"Emergency—now, nurse!"

With no further explanation, the older woman darted down the hall, her short, blonde curls bobbing as she ran. In a instant, she was behind her—sex, cigarettes, and M&Ms forgotten.

"What happened, Sergeant?"

"No time; just move." Nurse Henderson was robotic, eyes forward, completely focused on the task ahead. This was the other woman's tactic for keeping herself together: Don't think; just act. She had erected a wall to separate herself from the carnage that surrounded them, and she had advised all of the other nurses to do the same. A nurse should not, Nurse Henderson had said, under any circumstances, allow herself to be affected by what was going on around her.

Unfortunately, even after a year's worth of service, her wall was still unreliable, though at least now it could withstand more attacks than it had when she first arrived.

"Captain Darling," the older woman suddenly warned, as if reading her thoughts, though not bothering to look at her.

"What happened?" she snapped back as together they pushed through another set of double doors.

"Explosion," Nurse Henderson stated sharply.

Her heart was in her throat, but she didn't stop.

"How many wounded?"

"You'll only have to worry about half of them."

Meaning that the other half were going to die.

"How many is that?" she asked tightly.

Nurse Henderson considered.

"Six. Maybe eight."

So that meant that at least twenty had been brought in, and that out of that twenty the Army had deemed only six of them worth saving. Possibly eight, but it was unlikely.

What disturbed her the most wasn't how unfeeling the military could be, but rather how, a year ago, she would have been outraged, furious, demanding to know why the other nine or so severely injured men didn't deserve just as much care as the others. Now, however, she was resigned to it, had accepted (albeit, reluctantly) the fact that, in all likelihood, those men were going to die anyway and it was, in some coldhearted way, more logical not to waste too much time tending to them. This realization and similar ones were what made her wonder if she still had a soul, and her only confirmation were the nights when she would wake up gasping, breathless, as if strangled, with visions of herself standing in the doorway of a hospital room that was piled sky high with body parts.

"Sort them out. Keep that arm—we can still use it. Those legs are useless, full of holes—throw them out. We might have use for those eyes…"

Get back! her mind urged her. At once, she snapped to attention, focusing her thoughts on what was happening around her and nothing more.

۞۞۞

"Lt. Gardener!"

She twisted around upon hearing her name. Before she knew what was happening, two nurses had flown past her.

"Nancy!" the one impatiently called over her shoulder and she barely recognized the light, curvy form as that of Captain Darling.

She bit her lip, steeling herself for what was about to come, trying to fight the rising terror within her. Unlike Lizzy Darling, who seemed to be growing more hardened and cynical as each day went by, she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep it together. She was always on the edge, always tense, nervous, biting her nails, chewing at her lip, twisting her hair, eyes darting. Anymore, she was afraid nearly all the time, and if she wasn't afraid, then she was depressed. Seriously, inconsolably depressed. Men were dying left and right, all around her, and not just men, but women and children as well—people who should have never been dragged into this war. Never. And it was impossible to save all of them; she knew that. But did they have to lose so many? And the ones that survived…sometimes she thought that they were worse off than those that had died. They would leave here alive, yes, but heavily scarred, blind, missing teeth, eyes, limbs—that one, the poor boy… Both of his arms had had to be amputated. His life was ruined, now; there was no kind way to say it. And no matter what, they all had nightmares. Lizzy was a goddamn saint for working the night shifts—or maybe she only did that because she could no longer sleep in the dark?

There were things that they—she, Lizzy, Lt. Michelle, and the other nurses—did to help themselves cope with what was going on around them. Smoking was very popular, of course. She'd seen Lizzy go through an entire pack of cigarettes in one sitting. And sometimes it wasn't just cigs. As pretty nurses, she Lizzy had an easy time bumming joints off of the soldiers. Michelle was attractive, too, but sometimes the men were reluctant to help out a woman who was clearly of Asian decent. It pissed Michelle off and whenever it happened, she and Lizzy knew that they were in for a long-winded rant later that night. "What the hell is their problem?" she would demand to know. "I'm not some Goddamn Gook!" No one could blame Michelle for being upset; the unfairness and blatant racism of some of the soldiers was revolting at times. Luckily, poker nights were a good distraction, (the considerable amount of money she always lost to Michelle definitely helped to keep both of their minds off of things). Then there was flirting. With the disgusting attitudes of some of the men, Michelle couldn't always participate, but, in any case, she claimed that it wasn't for her as she already had a boyfriend back home—a sweet guy named Desmond that she wasn't willing to give up for anything. So, that left her and Lizzy. It wasn't that they were sluts—rarely did they actually sleep with any of the men—they were simply two extremely bored, unbelievably deprived, and very beautiful women who were in desperate need of some affection (or, at the very least, "a good fondling" as Michelle had teasingly put it).

It worked, for the most part, though there were still those nights when she could not sleep and those moments when, for no reason, she would begin to tremble all over. But nicotine, card games, and flirting helped, if only a little bit.

As she raced down the hallway, she could feel her heart pounding—beating so frantically that it hurt. Her legs were heavy with reluctance as she tried to push herself forward. Breathing was painful; there was too little air and her breath came in short, spiked gasps. She could see Lizzy running ahead of her, sandy ponytail bobbing about her head.

For some reason, her mind flashed on a memory of the other nurse complaining about having to wear a bra now because of all the sprinting she suddenly found herself doing. Apparently, back in the States, Lizzy hadn't needed to scurry around nearly as much, but now she did, and as a result, her tits bounced all over the place, creating a need to "strap them down", as the girl had so delicately put it. And this was something that, Lizzy had claimed, was a crime against nature.

She scrunched her nose, wondering why in the hell she was thinking about Captain Elizabeth Darling's tits.

Well, they are pretty fabulous, I gotta say, she could practically hear the little minx taunt. That was one thing: Though ravaged by war like the rest of them, Lizzy was still and would always be a cocky little tease. Or a little cock tease, if you happened to be a soldier. Whatever the case, in an odd way, this was reassuring.

Because if she knew that Lizzy could stay whole, then they all could stay whole—even her.

۞۞۞

It was all a façade, and quite a comfortable one at that. It was just like slipping into an old, familiar pair of sneakers—ones that her grandmother always insisted she throw out because they were useless, but she kept them anyway, dragging them out whenever she needed them. While a mask would have been a better metaphor for describing a façade, it was too cliché for her. Besides, the sneakers idea was cute, in a way, and at this point in her life, she was willing to seize any amusements that passed her by.

"Lizzy," she heard someone order. Her head snapped up as she looked into Nancy's green eyes—a contrast to her own, dark brown ones but just as frightened. The other nurse was standing over the limp, bloody form of a fallen soldier and nodding her head in the direction of a second one. "Take care of that one over there. I've got to get this one's uniform off."

There was once a time when she would have made some suggestive remark about Nancy being so eager to remove a man's shirt. But when said man lay unconscious on a cot, covered in blood, green fatigues turning a sickening shade of black, and there was no way of telling where his injuries began and where they ended…nothing came to mind.

She gave a single nod and hurried to the side of the other man and attempted to undo his bootlaces. But it was strange: the more she struggled, the stiffer her fingers seemed to become. They were frantic in the agonizing numbness, wanting to move faster but constantly slipping on strings that were wet with blood.

Hurry, hurry, please hurry! she urged herself desperately.

She looked down at her hands—small, white, delicate with blood seeping under her fingernails.

His laces were tied so tightly, the knots impossible to undo.

"Goddamn it!" she swore aloud as she lost her grip again. Looking back at Nancy, she shouted, "Gimme a scalpel!"

"Hang on!" Nancy pleaded, biting her lip as she cut away the last of her soldier's clothing.

"Jesus, Nancy!"

"Hold on!" Two seconds later, the other nurse was thrusting a scalpel into her hands. In her haste to grab it, she nicked her palm but didn't feel it. Not wasting any time, she messily began sawing at the soldier's bootlaces.

Not thinking, tossing the blade aside, she gripped the boot tightly, dirt mixing with the blood on her hands as she gave a mighty tug.

The boot came off.

"Oh my God…"

Nancy was shouting at her.

"No time! Lizzy, move!"

"Oh my God, Nancy…his foot…"

"Just hurry and wrap it, Lizzy, please!"

His foot had come off.

It was inside the boot—in her hands, inside of his boot in her hands.

She began to tremble.

Don't think, don't think, keep moving, don't think. Just move, don't think, whatever you do don't think! Don't! Think!

She stared around her, seeing but not seeing, searching for something that was nowhere to be found. Then—suddenly—she saw Nancy. Their eyes met.

Her mouth fell open, moving on its own, and she whispered:

"Help…I need somebody…"

"We can still save him," Nancy said, trying to assure them both "We can sew it back on—yes, Lizzy, yes we can. Just move!"

"Help," she gasped, louder this time. "Not just anybody!"

"Lizzy, come on," Nancy begged, panicked.

"Help!" she cried, pleading desperately with the other nurse."You know I need someone!"

And then she was screaming:

"HELP!"

She stood there, immobile, holding somebody's foot in her hands—little hands, nurse's hands that were supposed to heal and help these people—why weren't they helping?

Nancy was guiding her, gently moving her out of the way and taking the foot from her useless little hands. She let the other nurse take charge, all the while mumbling stupidly:

"When I was younger…"

"So much younger than…" Nancy echoed.

"…so much younger than today…"

"You never needed…"

Numbly, she shook her head. "I never needed anybody's help in any way."

"Now?" the other nurse asked.

"But now those days are gone—"

"Those days are gone?" Nancy repeated, bewildered.

"I'm not so self-assured," she said, staring blankly ahead. "Now I find I've changed my mind—I've opened up the doors."

Her hand shot out on its own accord and she seized Nancy's arm in a death grip, locking eyes with the confused and frightened nurse.

"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down!

And I do appreciate you being round—

Help me get my feet back on the ground!

Won't you please, please help me!"

Nancy stared at her, clearly scared and unsure but also determined. The other nurse gave a brief nod and in that moment she knew that she could always count on Nancy. Her friend had been exactly where she was and during those times it was she, Lizzy, who had pulled her out of it, brought her back to reality and reminded her that they had a duty to uphold.

"Lizzy," Nancy said with astonishing calm, her skilled hands never stopping. "Lizzy, stay with me. C'mon, baby, it's okay. It'll all be okay. Just stay with me—shit," she muttered as she attempted to staunch the blood that was flowing freely from the soldier's stump of a leg. She looked up at her sharply. "Lizzy, go work on the soldier I had; he isn't as messed up as this one. Quickly, now!"

The words made her start and, suddenly, she snapped out of it. Partially. There was still the griping panic that made her limbs go numb and stole her breath away, but she was coherent, if only somewhat. Her job. Yes, she had a job to do. She was a nurse. She was supposed to help and standing around like a petrified child, all the while recanting about a past that was lost to her was not helping.

She moved without a thought, bringing a hand to her head as she shook it slowly, feeling disorientated but considerably more lucid than she had before.

Inhaling deeply, steeling herself, she looked down at the boy that Nancy had been tending to. The other girl had been right—he wasn't as bad as her soldier had been. None of his limbs were missing. At least, for now. He was covered in blood, making it nearly impossible to see if he had sustained any injuries to his arms or legs. But it didn't take her long to see where the real damage was—his abdomen and nearly his entire right side had been ripped to shreds by the blast that had taken out the entire unit.

Mechanically, she began to clean and dress the wounds.

"And now my life has changed in oh so many ways.

My independence seems to vanish in the haze…"

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"But every now and then I feel so insecure.

I know that I just need you like I've never done before!"

Opening them again, she motioned to a nurse close to her—a small, brown-haired thing who resembled herself entirely too much, and who was now looking just as lost as she had felt moments ago.

"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down.

And I do appreciate you being round.

Help me get my feet back on the ground—

Won't you please, please help me?"

The terrified woman gave a single nod of understanding.

"What do you need me to do, Captain?" she asked meekly.

"More bandages, and quickly," she ordered, carefully cleaning the boy's gaping wounds. The young nurse complied with excellent speed and together they two worked for what must have been hours, cleaning and dressing and reapplying and there was so much blood. She didn't know how much he had lost, how much they had sopped up, how many rags had been dirtied—her uniform (like so many others) was now stained with it. And the crisp, white fabric would not turn black like the men's fatigues but it would stay red, bright red and angry. Bleach would get the stains out, but the smell would still linger, the horrible stench of copper and illness that would bring a plethora of sickening memories.

Angrily she shook the thought away and forced her attention on what was happening now. Later would come eventually, and the past was unimportant. What mattered was here, now. This moment. This boy.

They patched him up.

His breathing was very shallow, but, amazingly, he was still alive. And he would live, she told herself firmly. He would.

She wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that things were just fine, that he had nothing to worry about—or did she simply want to hear those words herself? The boy was unconscious, after all. It wasn't like he could hear her—

"Ohhh…"

"Oh my God," she heard the younger nurse gasp. "Captain, he's—"

"I know," she said shakily. The boy's eyes were closed, but he was awake. "We need to talk to him, keep him with us. I mean…just…I don't know. Don't lose it on me, okay? I can't—"

The frightened nurse gave another timid nod and began speaking to the soldier.

"Um…I…C-can you hear me? My name is Eleanor—I'm a nurse?" She glanced up at her uncertainly. "You—you're okay, you're safe now."

The boy moaned again, his head turning weakly to the side, face pinched with pain.

She sucked in a low breath.

"Morphine," she said automatically, looking sternly at the other nurse. "Now. Quickly!"

The young girl gave a small jump before scurrying off in search of the narcotic. She was left to tend to the soldier, this poor boy who could not have been any older than herself. His face was streaked with dirt and blood but he looked like a child—so young and lost with a softness to him that made her want to cry. She wouldn't have pegged him for more than nineteen, maybe twenty years of age.

Nineteen, she thought bitterly. Too young.

"When I was younger, so much younger than today,

I never needed anybody's help in any way."

She sighed wistfully and wet a washcloth, gently wiping the boy's face clean.

"But now those days are gone—I'm not so self-assured."

A shivering little laugh escaped her as she remembered her own foolishness.

"Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors."

She was so different, now—no longer the blithe, carefree young girl with bright eyes so full of energy and an open heart that made her feel lighter than air because she was in love and was loved and life was simply good. A lot could happen in a year, and, as fate would have it, a lot had happened. She was darker now, haunted by what she had seen, and while she had always had a bitter and sarcastic sense of humor, she was suddenly much more cynical and life was a lot less humorous.

But perhaps a part of her still remained, she thought as she washed away the last traces of dirt from the soldier's face. For even in her shattered state she hadn't failed to notice that the man that lay before her was very, very… Handsome didn't describe him. It simply didn't fit the way this boy looked. He was so…pretty. Even pale, sickly, and covered from the neck down with crusting blood, he was pretty. With delicate features—high cheekbones, soft and finely shaped lips, long lashes—even despite a few day's worth of stubble, he would have made a better girl. What's more, he would have made an attractive girl. Even his frame, while not exactly feminine, was very slight, made up of lean muscle. And bones, she saw upon closer observation. He was very thin with protruding ribs and hipbones. With a shadow of a smirk she wondered if this soldier had been on the same diet as she was—candy bars and cigarettes because the food that the army served was intolerable. If that was the case, then she couldn't blame him. However, such eating habits took a toll on one's body, seriously weakening the system—and this poor boy was in such a fragile state already.

"Captain?" It was the young nurse—Eleanor, she recalled—standing at her side with a needle and a vial in hand. The hesitant voice snapped her out of her miserable thoughts. She murmured her thanks, carefully taking the soldier's left arm and cleaning a space on the inside of his elbow. Taking the syringe and bottle from the girl, she inserted the tip of the needle into the top of the bottle, watching as the syringe slowly filled with the brilliant, blue liquid. Without a word, she injected the drug into the pretty soldier's veins.

The effect was instantaneous, almost frighteningly so. No sooner had the morphine entered his system than the boy began to relax, features smoothing over, painful lines and creases disappearing as he slipped off. He was even more beautiful like this, his face softer, calm with sleep.

She hadn't realized that she had been admiring the attractive young man until Eleanor's voice once again brought her back.

"Is there anything else, Captain?"

She glanced around and saw to her immense relief that the excitement of before had dissipated considerably. The air was still fraught with tension, and she would not soon forget the seriousness of her situation—men could still die, the boy lying before her now could still be lost. However, the nurses were noticeably calmer, their patients had been taken care off, things were under control—or as in-control as they were ever going to be.

Across from her, Eleanor was shifting nervously from foot to foot, clearly anxious to be dismissed. The poor kid must have been new, otherwise she would have known that it was never that easy. If she could have, she would have told the girl to leave, however, there was no telling if she would be needed later on. Therefore, Eleanor had to stay.

However, this did not mean that she was simply going to let the other nurse stand around with nothing to keep her mind from straying to much darker thoughts. She had to give her some task, however menial, keep her occupied…

"Check his dog tags," she heard herself order. "We need a name."

"Right, of course," Eleanor said quietly. She watched as the girl gently took the tags from around the soldier's neck and held them so gingerly in her hands, like she would a tiny bird, as if afraid that they might break.

"Sgt. Maxwell Carrigan, ma'am," she informed her, hesitantly running her finger over the name.

"Thanks, and you don't have to call me 'ma'am'—or 'Captain,'" she added as an after thought. "The first one makes me sound old and the second sounds hypocritical since I've never gotten along well with authority figures."

The girl smiled weakly, looking as though she wasn't sure if she should find this funny or not, but appearing to understand her dislike for both titles.

"What would you like me to call you, then?"

She sighed heavily.

"'Lizzy,' or 'Darling' if that's too informal for you."

Eleanor scrunched her nose in confusion.

"How is 'darling' more formal than 'Lizzy?'"

"It's my last name, honey."

Realization dawned and the girl actually turned pink with embarrassment.

"Oh…"

"Don't feel bad. When I first told Lt. Gardner—she's the tall, blonde one over there—my name, it took her ages to believe that it really was 'Darling' and that I wasn't just fucking with her." She went on, ignoring how the other nurse's eyes widened at the curse word. "Although, I guess I can understand why she didn't believe me. I just sorta have that air about me." Or at least, I used to. Her eyes trailed away until she was looking at the soldier on the bed.

"Are…are you okay, um, Lizzy?" Eleanor asked tentatively.

She knew without seeing that the other nurse wore a puzzled yet concerned expression on her face. Sweet kid. The girl didn't even know her and yet, here she was, almost beside herself with worry.

"Not really," she answered quietly, still gazing at the handsome, unconscious soldier. "D'you think he'll live?" she asked with quiet fear, her eyes suddenly meeting Eleanor's.

The girl looked taken aback by such a blunt and unexpected question and she fiddled with the tags in her hands.

"I-I hope so."

Briefly, she smiled, nodding faintly to herself.

"Yeah. Me too."

۞۞۞

When she had thought that Lizzy was staying whole, she hadn't quite meant 'whole' as in completely sound of mind. Upon meeting her for the first time she had known, then and there, that Lizzy Darling was nuts, out of her mind, a few cards short of a deck—one of those rebellious, liberal wackos that her parents had always warned her to stay far away from. But, crazy or not, Lizzy was harmless, taking her work very seriously, though she had always gotten the impression that the girl might have been a bit rowdier under different circumstances. Still though, while on duty, Lizzy was remarkably composed. So, by 'whole' she had meant that the other nurse was keeping it together far better than she, herself, was. But that evening's little episode had proved her wrong. Horribly, shockingly wrong. The kind of wrong that blew her mind and left her weak and shaking and desperately in need of something—anything that would take the edge away.

She was out of cigarettes. Sighing in frustration, she sat down on the edge of her cot, gritted her teeth, and tried to bear it.

Christ, she hadn't seen Lizzy freak out like that in ages… There had been several moments, back when they had first started. During their first major emergency, Lizzy had been lost—overwhelmed by the rush and panic of it all. She was an excellent nurse, yes, but she had never before been exposed to the kind of situations that she now faced on almost a daily, if not hourly basis. The girl wasn't used to the constant danger, the ever-present sound of bombs and gunshots in the distance. She had been completely unprepared to assist in amputation after amputation, insisting that the limbs could be saved if they just took the time. She had not expected the captain to shout back that there was no time to waste, that they simply had to do what they could at that moment, hope for the best, and move on. Moving on was not something Lizzy did when patients were involved, though she had certainly tried. Once, a little Vietnamese girl had been rushed in with the entire left side of her face charred and burned beyond recognition and Lizzy had stood, rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend it.

"She's a little girl, she's a little girl…" she had whispered over and over again. Sgt. Henderson had eventually had to slap the other nurse to bring her back to her senses.

But that had been over a year ago, and Lizzy's panic attacks had lessened greatly since then. She shouldn't have been that affected by what had happened earlier. Granted, it wasn't every day that a man's foot came off with his boot—

Oh God...

She shuddered uncontrollably as the image entered her mind, the image of pretty, sylphlike Lizzy—who couldn't ever kill anything if she tried—standing there with a bloody, mangled foot clasped in both hands, her lovely face frozen in a look of shock and horror.

She had always known that Lizzy was scared—hell, all of them were scared. And for all her quick wit, easy smiles, and biting sarcasm, Lizzy wasn't very good at hiding it. The girl didn't understand death, and while she wasn't afraid of her own demise, seeing other people screaming, suffering, dying really cut into Lizzy's heart.

Plain and simple, Captain Darling loved beauty, unconsciously gravitating toward something just because it was pretty—even strange shit, sometimes, like a garish, orange silk scarf or that God-awful pair of striped toe socks. She was the kind of girl who hated things to be ugly—and where they were now was very, very ugly. The kind of deep-rooted ugly that Lizzy could not find beauty in, no matter how hard she searched.

And that realization…it had hit the girl hard. Worse yet, it had hit her without warning less than a week after she had arrived at the hospital. She knew that Lizzy had willingly signed up for this completely ignorant of how bad things really were. It was almost disgusting, thinking back on it now—of course, she had been no better, having been just as unaware when she had volunteered. And it was probably true for many others. None of them had really known what they were getting into. But at least they had had a choice, unlike the men. That was what really revolted her.

She shook her head, driving her thoughts back to Lizzy.

The other nurse hadn't had a shock like this in a while; maybe that was it. While things at the hospital never really quieted down, for the past few weeks there hadn't been nearly as much of a strain on the nurses' psyches. Then, a dozen or so soldiers were rushed in, all either dead or dying from an explosion, and all of the nurses had to jump to their feet, run around from ward to ward, stitching this, cleaning that, bandaging, sewing, amputating…

Amputating... She thought of Lizzy and the foot again and closed her eyes. They had had to cut off both of that soldier's legs and sew his feet to his knees. It was possible that he would walk again, but more likely that he would contract gangrene. The thought made her want to weep. He was such a handsome boy with light brown hair and brown-green eyes… She had learned that his name was William and that he was a medic, ironically enough. When at last they had dismissed her, he had been asleep, heavily sedated and feeling nothing. The thought both reassured her and made her envious, for it was often that she wished to feel nothing, to be numb to the horrors around her, and to simply move and not think. Morphine was tempting and easily accessible. But she had always quelled those thoughts, firmly insisting that it wasn't worth it, no matter how much she craved oblivion.

Such thoughts had gone through Lizzy's mind as well, she knew. One day, she had caught her friend with a bottle of the drug, turning it over in her hands, watching its blue contents with a faraway expression on her face and a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then, as if coming to her senses, Lizzy had promptly returned the bottle to its shelf, turned on her heel, and left.

That had been reassuring, at least. As was the fact that, while she was aware that Lizzy liked to indulge in pot or booze every so often, she also knew that the other nurse had little desire to try more addicting substances. That wasn't to say that she hadn't, though the idea of being dependent on anything (material or otherwise) scared the hell of out Lizzy.

Ah, but there were some things that the girl had, whether unwillingly or unknowingly, become dependent on, and today Lizzy had once again proved that one of those things just happened to be named Lt. Nancy Gardner. It was sweet, knowing how close their friendship was, yet also frightening. If something happened to her, and God knew that something could, where would that leave Lizzy? She didn't want to think about it.

She didn't look up when she heard the door open, nor when she felt the cot sag as someone sat down beside her. A knee touched her own and she saw a flash of honey-colored hair as Lizzy dropped her head onto her shoulder. Without a word, she slipped an arm around the other nurse and held her close, resting her chin atop the sandy head.

"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down," she heard the girl whisper, and without looking, she could see a pair of dark eyes staring at nothing.

"And I do appreciate you being round.

Help me, get my feet back on the ground.

Won't you please, please help me?

Help me, help me…"

۞۞۞

For once, I have nothing to say except for let me know what you think. Especially because this is Max/OFC, I'm worried about keeping everyone in-character and, of course, turning my OC into a Mary-Sue. Therefore, if things start to seem that way even slightly (or if the writing is just plain crappy), please, don't hesitate to tell me.

Notes

"Day Tripper" – one of my all-time favorite Beatles songs, not to mention one that I feel fits Lizzy perfectly—that is, aside from "Dizzy Miss Lizzy," of course. I'd originally intended to have this story begin with a scene of Max sitting on the roof of his apartment, overlooking the city and singing the beginning of "Day Tripper" as he thinks about Lizzy—reminiscent of how Across the Universe starts with Jude on a beach singing "Girl" while thinking of Lucy. And then the flashback (which is this entire story) begins. However, rather than do that, I chose to simply quote the song (i.e., I chose the lazier route, although I really do think that just having the lyrics is better than an actual, written scene. It leaves more to the imagination).

… gritty, all-around nasty, and tasted entirely of peanuts and nothing else – clearly, this one is going to be completely baffled by my Max's sporadic liking for all things peanut-flavored.

Get back! – referencing the song "Get Back," of course. Funny, in a way, because her name was originally going to be 'Loretta' (because, as Max says in Part-Tme Lover, Lizzy says she's a woman but she's another man), but it didn't take long for me to realize that "Dizzy Miss Lizzy" was even more fitting of the character.

"Nancy!" – from "Rocky Racoon," though this one doesn't call herself 'Lil' even though her real name is 'Miguil.' Also, there just had to be a Nurse Nancy in reference to the children's books of the same title from way back in the day. Props to anyone who knows what I'm talking about.

As pretty nurses… - this is actually a subtle reference to the song "Penny Lane." The nurses in this story, while not flawlessly beautiful, are all attractive in their own way. This almost gives the illusion that they are flawless because people will look at them and think, "This girl is gorgeous—what problems could she possibly have?" when, in reality, the war as taken a serious toll on all of them. So, I suppose, it's somewhat symbolic of the idea that "nothing is real."

"Help…I need somebody…" – I actually think of this as being sort of like a dark version of Max's singing "With a Little Help from My Friends" because, really, it's almost the same situation: Lizzy is using song to express what her friends mean to her and just how much she needs them. They help her out, and by just being there for her, she can get through the war.

"HELP!" - for the record, jut because I feel like it needs to be said, I normally cannot stand to use capslock. It drives me crazy; I don't know why. However, for the sake of dramatic effect, it felt right using it here.

"…My name is Eleanor—I'm a nurse?" – "Eleanor Rigby," of course.

She wouldn't have pegged him for more than nineteen, maybe twenty years of age. – although, she's mistaken because I'm going to make my Max at least twenty-two for the simple reason that he can now drink and not worry about going through the hassle of using a fake ID. Although, wouldn't put it past Max to have used one until he finally turned twenty-one.

"Sgt. Maxwell Carrigan, ma'am," – and, unfortunately, this is the only mention of Max in this chapter. It's sad, I know, however, it needed to be done in order to introduce the nurses. Fear not, dear readers, for he plays a much bigger role in upcoming chapters.

…the brilliant, blue liquid – even though morphine is actually clear, if I'm not mistaken. Nonetheless, I decided to stick with blue and keep some of the surreal elements of the movie, which is the main reason why I've chosen to leave out a lot of medical terms even though I'm currently dating a male nurse and therefore have access to a walking medical encyclopedia/dictionary. :)

She had learned that his name was William… - yes, it's a subtle reference to the song "The Continuing Story of Bungalo Bill."

Disclaimer: We already know what I would have done to Across the Universe and it's characters if it belonged to me, so I think it's save to say that I don't own anything (except for any characters that weren't in the movie, obviously). Oh, and Jude is still Max's bitch no matter what, even though this isn't a slash fic.