#but at first the drinking was just . a part of nix. and something dick always knew about nix. and nix tries to cut back but his whole life

[lesbiandarvey]

Do you think up angsty Winnix fic ideas/scenarios in your head all the time too or is it just me

oh yeah obviously . 100%

like there's the fun "angst" of like what if they slept together but then dick had to leave before nix woke up and then they cant talk about it cus the War Is Happening and nix thinks dick regrets it etc you see the themes.

and theres the less fun of like i think it doesnt work out, in the long run for them. like between the secrecy and nixs alcoholism i think they had a pretty messy divorce somewhere in the early 50s . and i think its nix who has to leave. i think dick wouldve taken anything to keep lew with him but lew knows its fucking killing dick to see nix like this.. and so its nix thats the one who has to leave first ...

[glossolali]

TLOVM Ep 11 Twitch Watch Party Summary

- Look at that hot couple, briarwoods are the popular kids at the party

- Lots of hints about future story elements in what Delilah says during her spells, backwards words etc.

- Taliesin says Ripley's designs suck and all her Kickstarters would fail

- The Briarwoods are really terrible but like 'aw they really love each other' it's what we all want right?

- When Sylas came back he was taller and hotter but his dick doesn't work - it's like anti-depressants, you're gonna be happy but your dick doesn't work, the whole ritual is to get it to work again (LMAO)

- This episode has great fight scenes!!

- Travis: "I love when Keyleth gets punched! It like knocks her into the next room" Taliesin: "Casters always pack a big punch but they can only take one!"

- On the stream everyone was fighting at the top of the Ziggurat but we had to shift everyone around not enough space up there

- Taliesin: "Thanks for letting me scream so much, I really enjoy it" Sam: "Well, you're so good at it!"

- Let's GO PIKE!! LET'S FUCKING GO (Travis yelling)

- Everyone gets chills during Keyleth's solar beam scene

- Chills from Delilah's scream too and "I broke the world for us"

- The souls in the Ziggurat room reminds them of Ursula's souls in her cavern from The Little Mermaid

- Sylas is definitely the arm candy, Delilah's the powerhouse

- (Everyone's watching very intently)

- Travis: "I love seeing people be like "*GASP* What??? That's not what happened!" (about Keyleth getting hurt)

- Nothing like Laura and Liam putting the period on a scene!!! (Vax and Vex scene about saving Keyleth)

- It's funny thinking about all the people who've never seen the campaign watching like dicks and boobs and drinking on the first episode, and now it's like "What the fuck??" Now it's just: trauma, trauma, trauma, trauma! Welcome to Critical Role!!

Q&A

Q: Ziggurat explanation!

A: Ley lines of energy all across Exandria, their intersections are where pre-calamity temples were built, places of worship and powerful magical energy, this one underneath Whitestone is dedicated to the Knowing Mistress, and the temple was buried and forgotten except to the Whispered One and his acolytes.

The Dawnfather planted the seed of the Suntree to protect the then wounded the Knowing Mistress and as a reminder of the battle that happened there, and it was forgotten after the divergence, but that's where Whitestone started in the Alabaster Fields when it was found again.

Briarwoods didn't care about the De Rolos or Whitestone, it was just about fulfilling the pact with The Whispered One. All we saw was part of the ritual. They tortured and killed the De Rolo kids because they thought they might know something about the Ziggurat, but they didn't and it took the Briarwoods years and years to find it anyway.

Q: The vocals behind Delilah's necromancy spells are fantastic, how was it built? What're the backwards words? A: We used words Matt said in the stream, fake words and backwards words that are future hints! We just grabbed words and stuck them in where needed to make the incantations longer. I (Grey) was used to speaking in tongues Grey would always get intense with each take, like "Can I do one more...?" In a sweet but scary way, and we're like "Let her go, let her go" Q: What did Scanlan say to Pike while he was silenced? A: "I respect you, you're a strong independent woman, I'm supportive of what you wanna do, if you don't feel like this is the right time, a lot of YAS QWEEN's" I said a bunch of nasty stuff in there but pitched down and muffled, and it was so awful but also excellent so we were like making it more clear or less clear? It was just a string of curse words but then they nixed it cause it didn't fit the mood of the scene.

Q: Favourite moments from that fight on the Ziggurat? Matt: I tear up everytime at Keyleth harnessing the Suntree, just the whole build up and the music, I get so emotional every time. Taliesin: I love that one too, and Pike being a badass - that whole fight with Sylas Sam: I liked when Grog was unconscious for most of the fight (Travis: What you didn't see was Grog being like "Suntree, help me" and the Suntree being like "Nah") Travis: The twins hand to hand combat, the choreography and sound effects are so good. (Sam: All the fight scenes sound effects were recorded live during the voice recording so it's nuanced and flows really well, each sound is unique to each scene, instead of the usual sounds from a walla library in other animation)

Q: Taliesin, Whitestone easter eggs? A: The tanning salon (you should see how pale Percy s without it). We went through the outskirts of the cemetery, and Eastern Wall and its terrible history, and the Poison Garden behind the De Rolo's house. One of the De Rolo's ancestors grew a poisonous plant to kill her arranged marriage husband and they just kept it (Mica: good for her! gaslight gatekeep girlboss!) Keyleth still takes care of it and they use the poison for arrows. I overthink things!

Q: Cassandra siding with Briarwoods or bewitched? A: It's a combination of the two. Her journey was a story of the Briarwoods utilizing her as a chess piece to control Whitestone through gaslighting, manipulation, hurting and comforting, and convinced her that her life now is better but Percy being there woke her up. They used magic as a safeguard, but a lot of it was the damage over time. Cassandra is stronger than her brother, and is overcoming her issues by becoming a leader, because her trauma does not define her.

Q: Sylas, Delilah and Percy can deliver some soul crushing one liners, no?

Matt: Sylas is definitely just a support to his woman.

Grey: Someone in high school told me "I don't care about you enough to not like you" but she's a meme now and everyone laughed at her, so I drew some of Delilah from that

Taliesin: Percy is definitely one of the bitchiest characters I've ever made, he's the one liner guy (Travis: my favorite Percy line is "Your secret is safe with my indifference" it's so ridiculous) I made that line cause I was bored listening to you roleplay LOL

They have a bitch fest/line off and drink tea as their characters like the Kermit meme LOL

Sylas: Percival De Rolo, sweet boy, it's a shame you couldn't find a better hair color than the same color as the substance your father made you with *sips tea*

Delilah: I know you like your hair blue, but I prefer you covered in red. *sips tea*

(Sam pretending he's Taliesin: "LiFe NeEds ThiNgS tO LiVe" LMAO i died)

Taliesin: Oh Sylas, I think you mean the hair color you THINK you have? Delilah's been so gentle not telling you what that looks like. My goodness. Why don't you check a mirror? Oh that's right, you CAN'T. *sips tea* And Delilah, you got obsessed with a 400 year old disgusting corpse with a blindfold and he still ghosted you. *sips tea*

Delilah: I heard you were the life of the party, but only at family gatherings... *sips tea* (everyone loses it - DELILAH WINS!!!!!)

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 10 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9)

 Nixon - April 1944

There was a fresh energy about Emily, a lightness in her step that had never been there before. Nixon first noticed it that Monday morning when she trotted into the intelligence room with a box of what looked like handicraft materials.

“Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. Her smile seemed brighter against her red lips.

“‘Morning,” Nixon responded. Emily looked particularly nice that day, Nixon noted. Her hair seemed bouncier, shinier, and her legs looked as nice as ever in those black heels and nylons. This was all objectively speaking of course. She was a new woman and her renewed energy showed magnetically. Nixon wasn’t the only one to notice either; he didn’t miss the creeping eyes of other staff members doing their best to sneak a glance at Emily.

“Nix,” the voice of Dick Winters interrupted his train of thought. Nixon dropped the report he was meant to be reading and looked up at his lean, copper haired friend.

“What?”

“We’re both needed in Colonel Sink’s office.”

“Right,” Nixon stood up from his desk, his chair shifting loudly behind him.

The remainder of the day passed in monotonous agony as Nixon was pulled from one meeting to another to trainings and back again with only quick trips back to the intelligence office to grab a file or notes. At each brief return, Nixon found Emily poised at her desk, dead focused on the slowly growing stack of aerial photos on her desk. Curiosity lined with envy poked at him. She seemed so invested in what she was doing surely it was more interesting than what he had been doing all day. He felt like a carrier pigeon bringing information and requests back and forth between intelligence staff, officers, and the war department. Where was the challenge in that?

By the time evening came all Nixon wanted was to drop into bed with a drink. He had promised Welsh that he would meet him for a drink, a promise he now regretted making. The man was quartered at a house in town and it was far too easy for him to slip away to the pub, and since Nixon had privileges that the enlisted men didn’t (and because Winters didn’t drink), Welsh often invited Nixon to be his casual drinking buddy. Nixon didn’t have the same energy for the pub crowds as Welsh did. On more than one occasion he stood his friend up, and this evening was looking like it was about to be one of those times.

Nixon slumped down onto the twin bed in his tight box room and that was it, he wasn’t getting up. He lay there, head barely propped up on the pillow, lacking the energy to even pull his boots off. This wasn’t the same exhaustion he had felt during his training at Toccoa. His body was strong, in fact it felt over-rested, restless. He found himself wishing for that physical fatigue he had once known. Things had grown stale for him at Aldbourne. Generally speaking, he enjoyed the work and he did it well. But recently Nixon felt under stimulated.

Things in his personal life had also become stagnant. His letters home were predictable and polite. He wasn’t lacking in fraternity camaraderie thanks to his friendships with Winters and Welsh and now Emily. He fully considered her a friend, and one he was grateful to know. Yet, Nixon felt himself wanting since the drama of their strained association had ended.

With combat on the horizon, he was conscious of not jinxing the relative peace he was experiencing. But a part of him, deep down, feared his own potential recklessness. He knew himself well enough to suspect that he may just do something that his rational self would regret later if this boredom continued.

Perhaps he should go out for that drink with Welsh, at least for the opportunity to burn off some frustrated energy. Barely lifting his head from the pillow, Nixon tipped a bit of liquor from his flask down his throat as he debated with himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the gentlest knock at his door. Nixon lifted his head in surprise, he wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Lew? You in there?” A voice murmured through the wooden door.

“Yeah,” Nixon whispered louder back, “come in,” he said as an afterthought.

Slowly, the door was eased open and Emily slipped quickly inside. She was dressed in slacks and a dark blouse tied up loosely around her waist. Although it was late evening and her face looked clean of makeup she still sported her bold red lipstick. She grinned naughtily, obviously feeling rebellious for being in his room at such an hour.

“Emily?” Nixon couldn’t say he wasn’t a little surprised, “what’re you doing here?”

From behind her back Emily produced an open bottle of red wine and a deck of playing cards.

“What do you say?” she smiled charmingly, “up for a little gin?”


Nixon raised an eyebrow, “I hope you mean the game and not that you have gin in that stoppered bottle of yours.”



“Don’t be silly! Do you mind?” Emily flopped down on the foot of his bed without waiting for permission. “I’m afraid the wine won’t be up to your usual standard. If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t very expensive.”

“You always assume me a snob.” Nixon took the bottle from her to check out the label.

“Well, you are kind of a snob. Vat 69 exclusively?”



“I drink beer.”

“As a supporting act,” Emily said.

Nixon chuckled and handed the bottle back to her, “you don’t know much about whiskey do you?”

“See! That’s something a snob would say!”

“I could be worse.”

“True,” Emily conceded, “you’re a snob but at least you’re not condescending. I’ve met a few guys like that.”

“Notre Dame men?”

“Harvard, I’ve recently met them.”

“Good thing I went to Yale.”

“Oh yes, good thing!” Emily teased.

“Anyways,” Nixon continued, “you may be surprised to know that Vat 69 isn’t the smoothest of whiskeys. Just happens to be my personal preference.” 


Emily eyed him, he could see that she wanted to say something but was holding back.



“What?” he pried.

“Nothing!” Her voice clearly revealed she didn’t actually mean nothing.

“Tell me.”

Emily chewed on her lip then smiled hesitantly, “do all alcoholics have preferences?”



Nixon rolled his eyes, “I’m only an alcoholic if it becomes a problem.”

“If?” Emily wrestled the cork from her wine bottle.


“Has my work performance been slipping, Miss Rooney? Do you have some feedback you would like to offer?”

Emily took a swig from the bottle. Nixon could see the tint of ox blood red blossom between her cherry lips before she swallowed. “Not at all Captain.” 



Nixon’s mouth twisted in distaste and he gestured for her to pass the bottle. She took another drink before handing it over, “actually,” she said smacking her lips, “I did have a question - or actually something I wanted to share - from when I was looking over a few of those surveillance pictures. I noticed that there was this hedge, or like fence, or something in a place that isn’t showing up on the topographers’ maps. I think that may change or impact whatever’s in the works.”

Nixon nodded thoughtfully, “okay, good to know. We can go over it in more detail tomorrow or next time we’re both in the office. But enough shop talk, why are you here again?”



Emily held up the deck of cards triumphantly, “gin! Want to play? Or am I interrupting plans?” she asked suddenly timid.

Nixon thought about Welsh at the pub. Eh, he probably made some new buddies to drink with, Nixon wasn’t worried. He still felt tired but looking at Emily perched on the end of his bed, he wasn’t about to kick her out. It’s not like he would be sleeping if she left anyways. The most tragic irony of his current state was that his restless exhaustion had made an insomniac out of him.

“Not at all, let’s play.”


Light seemed to radiate off of her smile in the dimmed room. She tucked her legs under her and dealt the cards. Nixon took another drink of wine, feeling his frustration abate, at least for the night.

Nixon’s workload continued to increase over the next couple of days. He was run ragged by a laundry list of tasks. Although the tasks felt menial, there was the sensation that things were coming to a head. He had known that something big was in the works for a while now. Since he handed those first photos over to Emily he was prepared for what was most likely their invasion of the continent. Finally, it seemed as if it was going to happen.

The intelligence office had been instructed to begin constructing sand tables; miniature, but lifelike maps of the terrain where the allies intended to invade. In a meeting with the higher-ups, Nixon had been instructed not to divulge the location for the impending invasion to anyone. The point of invasion was on a need-to-know basis. The sand tables could be constructed based off of the provided information without having to reveal the actual location. According to Colonel Sink, Emily and other S-2s were to simply be artists for the time being.

Nixon had barely found the time to relay construction instructions to Emily before he was whisked off to another meeting. Ergo, he hadn’t found the time to review the issue she had brought up to him the other night; an inconsistency with the aerial photos and topographical maps.

“Sir,” Emily stood up from her desk when he ducked in to visit his desk one day, “I need to talk to you.”


Nixon ignored her, focused on his task. He was only there to collect some reports.

“Nixon, sir,” Emily skittered over to his desk. “Sir, I need to show you these photos I pieced together. Remember? I mentioned the other night-,”

“Not now Emily,” Nixon grumbled as he rifled through his papers.


“Nixon, please it’s important. I think you should know before you proceed any further with whatever is being planned.”

“You can show me later.”

“I could, yes sir, but I think you should know that the topographical maps may not be completely accurate. They’ll need to be altered which means any strategic planning may need changing which I would hate for everyone to have to revise. It would be better to start with the correct information-,”

“Emily! Please!” Nixon finally found the reports he was after. He exited the room quickly with Emily on his heels, her black pumps tip-tapping irritatingly across the wood and carpets of the manor.

“Lewis, I wanted to show you days ago, take a look at these, really quick,” she stuffed the photos under his chin. Nixon snatched them out of her hand exasperatedly, “what?” he demanded.

She was struggling slightly to keep pace with him but managed to point out a row of hedges, thick and wide, that bordered the far right of one photo and the far left of another. Side by side, the photos formed a clear picture. If Emily hadn’t pointed out the hedge, Nixon may have assumed that the dense shrubbery was blurred photo ink.

“Where is this?”


“It appears to be a large hedgerow right near Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. In fact, it appears to be one of the largest in the area. Sir, it’s not on the topographers’ maps and in my opinion a hedgerow of this size should be included on those maps. It could offer strategic cover for almost the whole battalion. Even possibly an opportune place to set up a rendezvous point? Assuming the Germans aren’t encroaching on that position.” Emily’s voice didn’t waver. She was confident in her work.

“How do you know this is Sainte-Marie-du-Mont?” Nixon kept his voice neutral. Of course he knew that Operation Overlord intended to drop the Airborne into Normandy, but Emily shouldn’t have been the wiser.

Emily returned his suspicious gaze with an emotionless one. There was no hint as to how she discovered the intended invasion point. “I know my maps, sir,” she said.

Nixon couldn’t help the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Thanks for sharing this with me, Miss Rooney. Nice work. I’ll be sure to pass the information along.”

[snelbz]

The Ranch {19}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Nesta stood in the paint department and looked at the wall of samples in front of her. She wanted something light, but something that stood out, too. She didn’t want anything like her father had chosen back in the nineties and-.

She shook her head, trying to free her head of the deja vu that washed over her and chuckling quietly. She had been here before, had done this before. Things were just...a little different this time.

As if she wanted to remind her mother of this fact, Nesta felt a sharp pain against her ribs and she inhaled sharply through her teeth. Beau looked up at her, brown eyes wide. He hadn’t left her side since the beginning of her third trimester and Nesta had learned to love the constant, comforting presence.

“Your sister is using my ribs as a punching bag,” she told him, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t understand her. He opened his mouth in what Nesta swore was a smile and his tongue hung to the side.

He always smiled when they talked about the baby.

Nesta was floored as she realized how different her life had become in twelve months. A year ago, she’d been deciding whether or not she should give up everything she’d ever wanted, to move home and run her father’s crumbling dream of a bed and breakfast. Now she was about to have a baby, her perfect, little girl, and she was going to marry the man of her dreams, the man who gave her the gift she never thought possible.

“Nesta?”

She froze, recalling how someone had called her name the last time she’d been here, who it had been when she turned. But it wasn’t Tomas, just Azriel standing in his old, torn jeans and black hoodie. Out of all of them, it was Azriel who looked the least the part of a rancher, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.

“Cass said you were running into town, but this was the last place I thought I’d see you,” Azriel said, when Nesta said nothing. 

Nesta, collecting her thoughts, gestured to the wall of paint samples. “Nursery color.”

“Ah,” Azriel said, huffing a laugh as he stopped next to her and looked at the wall. Beau brushed up against his leg, and he gave the pup a loving scratch behind the ears. “What about purple?”

Nesta frowned, looking at the endless samples of purple. She had gone over the lavender hues ten times already. “Too predictable. Pink, too. I’ve ruled them both out.”

Azriel chuckled. “Fair enough. Cass wants to paint it green.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. She had to admit that she had her eye on a neutral olive color, but it didn’t seem right, it wasn't special enough.  “So I’ve been told. I told him no, though.”

It was true. In fact, the night before they’d had a heated debate over what color the nursery would be. It ended in them making love on the nursery’s carpet, but that was irrelevant. 

“How about blue?” Azriel suggested, picking up a few different swatches. “There are a ton of different shades of blue, surely there’s one you two can agree on.”

It was her favorite color, but it limited her decorating choices. Both the camouflage and rodeo nursery ideas were nixed last night as well, and Cassian was still pouting about it.

“I’ve been leaning towards a softer yellow or orange.” She lifted a buttery yellow card from its slot. It was too bright, too rich. She added it to the stack, knowing it may look different away from the fluorescent lights. “Like the sunrise. First light.”

Azriel was nodding. “Why don’t you ask Feyre to paint the sunrise?”

Nesta was going to blame her stupidity on pregnancy brain as her eyes went wide and she said, “I hadn’t even thought of that. She’d love that.”

Azriel just smiled, softly. “Feyre would be honored, if you asked her.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, then picked out a couple different shades of yellows and oranges. “Since you’re here, please take me to get some tacos. I’ll buy. Might even bring some home to Cass, if he’s been good this morning.” Azriel’s grin widened as they began walking toward the exit. “A little cranky, I must say, but I think that’s just because he’s hungover.”

Nesta snorted. After their fight over paints, he’d indulged himself - one beer too many, perhaps. “It doesn’t take much to be hungover when you wake up at five a.m.”

“True,” Azriel agreed. “I could do tacos, though.”

“Good,” Nesta said, putting the paint swatches into her purse as she and Azriel walked out onto the sidewalk, Beau close behind. 

It wasn’t until they were down the street at a taco vendor’s food truck that Nesta asked, “So, when the hell are you going to ask my sister to marry you?”

The bite he’d been in the process of taking nearly came back out. Nesta didn’t even flinch. She’d spent so much time throwing up in the past eight months that partially chewed food didn’t even phase her. She blinked and waited for him to collect himself before he took a drink of the Corona in his hand.

“You just go straight for the balls, don’t you?” He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Have you met my fiancé?”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, but he sighed. “You want the honest truth?”

Nesta suddenly realized she wasn’t sure. She was meddling and the only person who hated meddling more than she did was Elain. But she nodded.

Az took a deep breath and said, “I’ve had the ring for almost six months.”

“What?” Nesta’s eyes must have nearly bulged out of her head, because Az backed up a step. “And why exactly haven’t you proposed?”

His smile was soft but proud, as he said, “I don’t want to take this time from you, or from Cassian. You’re having a baby. Like, Nesta, you’re growing a literal human inside of yourself.” He chuckled and smiled fondly. “Did you know that even when we were in high school all Cass wanted from life was to rope and have a family. You’re giving him one of those things and I can’t ever thank you for making my brother so happy. And I don’t want to take that spotlight from y’all. I want you to have your moment, so that when the time comes, Elain can have hers.”

Nesta hated Azriel for making her cry over her taco, and yet, tears were sliding down her cheeks as she set her taco back down onto her plate and observed him. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, “Elain is a lucky woman.”

Azriel just shook his head as he took another bite. “That woman deserves the world. If anyone’s lucky, it’s me.”

Nesta found herself completely overwhelmed. A year ago, she hadn’t believed love existed, but now? Her and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Feyre and Rhysand...this type of love was rare, Nesta was sure of it, but somehow they all ended up in a fairytale romance. Her sisters were happy, she was happy...it was perfect. 

“Don’t tell your sister that I made you cry,” Azriel went on, shoving the last of his taco into his mouth. “She’ll kick my ass. She’s scary when she wants to be.”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a scratchy napkin. “She’ll understand when you knock her up. I cried yesterday during a Christmas commercial.” Azriel waited, knowing that was somewhat common. “A commercial for cattle feed.”

He nodded. “I believe you. Doesn’t change the fact that your sister will punch me in the dick if she finds out I was the cause of your tears.”

They both laughed and Nesta smiled. “Thank you for making her so happy.”

Az gave her that full smile that so many rarely saw. “It’s my pleasure.”

Nesta finished her tacos and ordered some for Cassian for the road. “Word of advice,” she said, getting into her car. Beau already patiently sat in the passenger seat. “Don’t ask her on a holiday. Girls don’t want to share their special day.”

Azriel’s eyebrows raised. “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

Nesta chuckled. “You were going to propose on New Years, weren’t you?”

He nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

She laughed, full and bright, and said, “How about this? You tell me when it’s time, I’ll plan a family dinner and voila, you’ve got yourself a fiancée.”

“Really?” Azriel asked, stopping in front of the driver’s side of the truck’s door.

“Of course,” Nesta said, crossing her arms, the bag of Cassian’s food hanging on her arm. 

“Thank you,” he said, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Although they were going to the same place, they said their goodbyes and Nesta drove home, slowly. By the time she made it back home to the ranch with her paint swatches, Cassian was mowing the lawn. He was shirtless, of course, and was chugging a bottle of water as he rode the lawn mower across the grass. As Nesta pulled into the driveway, he was waving and putting it in park. 

He was covered in sweat, but Nesta still didn’t stop him as he pressed his lips to the side of her head. “The grass was long.”

Nesta nodded. She had wanted to ask him to mow, considering she was too pregnant to do so, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt his daily plans. “I brought you tacos.” 

“Mmm, that’s exactly why I’m marrying you,” he said, pulling her onto his sweaty lap and opening the box in her hands.

She squirmed out of his arms, as best as she could at eight and a half months pregnant and said, “I’m going to go hang the swatches on the wall, come see when you’re done?”

He nodded, shoving an entire taco in his mouth.

She chuckled, but shivered as a brisk wind blew by. “Cass, I know the sun is straight on you, but it’s forty-five degrees out. Don’t you think you should put a shirt on?”

He finished chewing and said, “How else will I keep my tan year round?”

She shook her head and said, “I’ll be inside, call me if you need me. I love you.”

He smiled at her, those hazel eyes sparkling from the joy he felt inside. “I love you too, darlin’.”

She turned and started up the porch steps and heard, “Hey.”

Nesta looked back at him and he asked, the sparkle replaced by his usual mischievous glint, “You got any green swatches in there?”

Nesta rolled her eyes as Azriel pulled the truck in next to her little car. “No.”

She continued up into the house, laughing when she heard Az ask why the hell he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She pulled the swatches out of her purse, including the couple of greens she’d snagged on their way out, along with her phone and she and Beau made their way up to her old room.

The room that she grew up in was the same room her daughter would too.

As she was taping swatches to the room, in various lighting, she called Feyre, putting her phone on speaker.

“Hello?” her sister answered a second later.

“Hey,” Nesta said, looking around the room. “I have a favor to ask.” “Ask away,” Feyre said.

Nesta admired the swatches she had chosen before clearing her throat. “Would you mind...helping me paint the baby’s nursery?”

There was a slight pause, then Feyre’s quiet voice came through, “Of course.”

“I was thinking the sunrise,” Nesta continued, trying not to cry for the tenth time that day. “Bright, cheery, calming.”

“I can do that,” Feyre breathed. “I can come by this weekend?”

“Perfect,” Nesta agreed. There was a few seconds of silence before Nesta said, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my niece,” Feyre said, then added, “And anything for you. And that idiot fiancé of yours.”

Nesta peeked out the window where Cassian was still mowing without his shirt on. He always acted like it was spring, even in the winter. Although their town stayed pretty mild, winter-wise, there was still a little chill in the air. “Idiot he is, but he’s my idiot.”

Feyre chuckled. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Nesta promised. “I’ll see you then.”

They said their goodbyes before Nesta was left alone, in the silence, observing the room around her. Five minutes of planning in her head passed before heavy boots padded up the stairs and Cassian appeared, now wearing a hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Can I help with anything?”

She was admiring the colors in the direct sunlight. “You can tell me which of these you like best.”

“Hmm.” He came up behind her, pressing his big hands against her belly. Even as round as she was, even at over eight months pregnant, his hands still covered most of it. But then they slid upwards until he was cupping a breast in each hand. He made a show of weighing them and squeezing them gently, and said, “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty partial to the left one.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, and pushed away from him, walking towards the wall. “I meant color, baby.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” he snorted, coming in closer as well.

It turned out that it was, in fact, not easy.

After forty-five minutes of arguing and an almost silent quickie with the door open to make up, they had narrowed it down to New Spring Chick and Frosted Tropical Apricot.

They would let Feyre make the final decision in the morning.

“Don’t you have to get back out there?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shook his head. “For now, Az has it covered, it’s been an easy day. I was thinking you and I could go out to dinner, though.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “Dinner?”

Cassian nodded, then gestured to her belly. “We only have so much more time before baby comes. We should have a date night while we can.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before saying, “Okay, fine. But does this mean I have to get dressed up?”

Cassian grinned. “You could wear fucking sweatpants for all I care, but I’m taking you out.”

She wouldn’t wear sweatpants, but she also didn’t plan on wearing another real pair of pants until after this baby was out of her.

Cassian pressed a soft kiss to her stomach, which he did every chance he took, and left to go take a much needed shower. Nesta got ready, slipping on a pair of comfy black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. Cass ended up dressing nearly identically, except he did wear sweatpants.

They hopped in the “play truck” and right before they left, Cassian said, “Shit, I’ll be right back.”

Nesta sat straight up, hands forming a protective cage around her stomach. “What? Is everything okay?”

He jogged into the house and came back out a minute later, backpack tossed over his shoulder. Climbing back into the truck, he tossed it in the backseat and put it in reverse.

“What is that?” she asked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“This,” Cass replied, putting his free hand in Nesta’s and rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand, “is our emergency bag. It’s got everything we’ll need in it in case you go into labor. Clothes, insurance paperwork, phone chargers, snacks.” He began a smooth back and forth motion. “Diapers, binkies, onesies, little socks and blankets, and everything else our precious girl is going to need.”

She blinked, and hated that tears were, once again, rolling down her cheeks. “You have truly thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Cassian shrugged. “You’re literally growing my child inside of you. As your baby daddy, it’s my job to take as much stress off of you as possible.”

Nesta leaned over the center console and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He grinned, fully satisfied with himself, as he pulled onto the road and headed into town. They drove to a little Italian restaurant because Nesta had mentioned she could use a plate full of breadsticks. Cassian ordered it to go, though, and hopped back into the truck before driving a mile down the road to the old high school. He parked in the parking lot before hopping out and putting down the truck bed.

“Come on, babe,” he called, already taking the boxes of pasta out of the bag. When Nesta came around, he helped her onto the back of the truck before joining her there, his thigh brushing hers.

She ate her alfredo happily, indeed chowing down on an insane number of breadsticks that Cassian swore he didn’t count.

He was rubbing her feet when she asked, voice quiet, “Are you scared?”

He looked at her, at how she was staring off toward the football field, pretending not to notice him staring at her. “Am I scared of doing something stupid? Yes. Am I scared it’s going to be a lot more than we’re expecting? Yes. Am I scared we’re going to get in over our heads? Yes. Am I scared that there’s about to be a miniature version of you running around? Hell yes.” He turned her face toward his, forcing her to look at him. “But am I scared to be a father? No. Am I scared to meet our daughter? No. Am I scared to do this with you? Absolutely not.”

She whispered, “Quit making me cry.”

But he shook his head, softly. “I love you, Nesta. And yeah, I am scared, but I can’t wait. This little girl already has me wrapped around her finger and she’s not even here yet.”

A tear slid down her cheek that he quickly reached up and brushed away. “Are you scared?”

Nesta took a moment to think about it, but then she sighed. “Yes, and no. It’s complicated.”

Cassian chuckled, in full understanding.

“I’m scared because I don’t know what to expect,” she said, after a minute. “I’m not sure how to handle the not knowing.”

“That’s why we have each other, sweetheart,” he kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s get home. I have a shitload of furniture to build tonight.”

The egregiously overpriced infant's bedroom suit that Nesta had seen online had been delivered that afternoon. Cassian couldn’t understand how Nesta could justify spending as much as some people spent on a vehicle on furniture that was just going to get covered in shit and baby barf.

Not to mention that it had been shipped from overseas.

They packed up their trash and got back in the truck, heading for home.

“While I carry all of the boxes upstairs, why don’t you take a nice bath, baby?” He asked. “And then when you’re done, you can read me instructions that I won’t listen to while I figure out how to put it all together.”

Nesta shook her head, unable to stop herself from chuckling. “At least you’re honest.” 

He took her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I am that.”

Nesta had to admit that the thought of a bath sounded incredible, though, so she didn’t argue. Once they got home, Nesta was making her way, slowly, up the porch, inside, and up the stairs while Cassian got to work on gathering the boxed nursery furniture. They had a changing table, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a crib, all of which Nesta had bought from a small French boutique that had always caught her eye in Paris. When Cassian asked why they couldn’t just go into town and buy something that was already assembled, Nesta’s answer was simple: she was getting what she wanted, and she wanted the modern, white, sleek furniture she’d on her walk to work every day.

Cassian didn’t argue. 

While she was soaking in the tub, she could hear Cass moving around in the other room. She’d hear a thump as a box was dropped or something would start dragging across the floor. At one point, she heard a loud bang followed by Son of a bitch!

Nesta laughed quietly to herself and smoothed a hand over her belly, which stuck out of the water by a considerable amount. “Daddy’s getting your room put together, sweet girl, and then we’re ready for you to get here whenever you are.”

She leaned her head back against the cool, porcelain tub, sighing happy. Life had become so crazy lately, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be stressed about it.

Her phone vibrated on the small table by her head and when she leaned up to glance at it, her hand slipped on the slick surface. The table knocked against the tub and Nesta gasped as her phone fell into the water.

“Shit,” she breathed, grabbing it out and tossing it onto a nearby towel. She decided that was the end of her bath and got out drying herself off and getting dressed.

She tried to power her phone back on, knowing she shouldn’t but hoping it hadn’t been in the water long enough to do any damage. The logo popped up in the middle of the screen then it went black and began to make a whirring noise.

“Damn it.” She sighed and made her way downstairs, throwing it in a bag of rice to see if it could be salvaged. Otherwise, it looked like she’d be going into town the next day for a new phone.

Cassian was padding down the stairs a moment later, his brows furrowed. He took one look at Nesta and froze, then looked down at her phone in the bag of rice. “Your phone take a bath, too?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” With a deep sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “I’m pissed.”

“Me too,” Cassian mumbled, throwing open the fridge and grabbing two beers. “I’ve decided that I hate France. Or at least French furniture. Fuck France and their fancy furniture.”

Nesta snorted and came up behind him, attempting to wrap her arms around his waist, but over her giant bump, she hardly managed to reach around his sides.

Cassian's body shook with silent laughter as he turned to face her. “Bump in the way?” He asked, before setting one of his beer cans on the top of it, which only made Nesta roll her eyes.

“It’s not a table,” she laughed. 

“Seems pretty convenient to me,” he shrugged, popping open a can and chugging it down. He brushed his hand over her bump, and just when he touched, baby girl kicked wildly from inside, which only made Nesta groan. 

“That either means that she loves me, or that she’s telling me to fuck off,” Cassian said, which made Nesta laugh. After he kissed her forehead, then the bump with the wild, little Nazari inside, he said, “Alright, baby mama, come upstairs and watch me struggle.”

She smirked and headed for the stairs as he tossed the empty can in the trash, opened the second and grabbed a third to take upstairs. “I already do that on the daily. What’s so different about building furniture?”

She heard him mimic her words in a mocking tone and she laughed as she topped the stairs and made her way into the nursery.

It looked like a styrofoam factory exploded. There were pieces everywhere and screws littering the little catch-all tray he pulled from his tool box. She sighed, realizing it was going to be a long night.

But when she looked out the window, into the starry, cloudless night, and screamed Cassian’s name, she forgot all about furniture and messy packing materials. She forgot all about her phone lying useless on the kitchen counter. She even, for a moment, forgot her own name.

Because the stables were catching on fire.

Cassian was instantly behind her, his eyes wide as he swore violently. “Stay here,” he ordered, and then he was gone, pulling out his phone on the way out the nursery door. 

Nesta could only stare in horror as Cassian's dark figure, only outlined by the light of the moon, sprinted down the path that led to the stables.

It was quickly going up in flames, all consuming, raging flames. Nesta didn’t understand how it could have happened.

Only moments ago, she had been down in the kitchen and the stables were fine.

Then, the thought that had her heart stopping entered her mind. It hadn’t been an accident, couldn’t have been an accident, but that didn’t make any sense. 

A slow panic crept into the pit of her stomach, she was breathing heavier, her heart beating wildly as she sobbed, holding onto her bump, the only thing that allowed her to keep her sanity.

Nesta remembered that Az had told her he’d put the horses in the pasture this morning, since it wasn’t supposed to rain, and she was thankful to whatever god whispered in his ear and told him to do so.

She needed to call someone, needed to get the fire department here. Needed to call her sisters, to call Az. Without thinking, she turned and ran from the room, carefully making her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her phone wasn’t on the counter where she’d left it and she frantically looked around the kitchen. 

She plunged into near darkness as the lights went out and a frightened scream burst from Nesta, followed by a sob.

She needed Cassian.

She screamed his name, her voice full of shaking terror as she reached around, trying to find something to hold onto. Eventually, her hands found the edge of the counter and she told herself to breath, in and out. Stress wasn’t good for the baby, panic wasn’t good for the baby.

But she couldn’t help it, and as if the infant in her womb knew that something horrible was happening, she kicked wildly.

Nesta felt the need to puke but she couldn’t move, not in the darkness, not as far from the city as they were. Even as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she couldn’t see through the endless tears.

She tried one more time to scream Cassian’s name, but her voice came out broken, terrified, and it was no use, he was too far away.

She thought she heard a door open and close across the house and she froze. Her voice cracked as she called, “Cass?”

There was no answer.

Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. She held onto the counter as she quickly ran for the back door - only to find that it was jammed shut, a two-by-four under the doorknob preventing it from opening.

She began to hyperventilate as she realized that this, all of this, was deliberate. The fire still blazed outside, and Nesta heard a creak from the old, wood flooring in the other room. Her blood chilled as she realized that she wasn’t alone in the house.

She ran for the front door, finding it stuck shut as well. “Please, please, please!” She sobbed, pulling on the door as hard as she could. There were unmistakably footsteps from the dining room and she cried, “Please, I’m pregnant, please.”

She hurried back to the kitchen as quietly as she could and silently opened a drawer, pulling out a large knife. She held it out, blindly as she took shuddering breaths.

Then he appeared, in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up. He was tall, his shoulders broad, but slim.

She knew who it was.

She would be foolish to convince herself it wasn’t him. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her, had stalked her for months without saying a word. He didn’t come any closer.

Nesta did not lower her knife.

She tried to convince herself to look unafraid, to sound calm, but she couldn’t help the tears that continued to stream down her face.

Inside of her womb, the infant became utterly still.

Nesta swallowed and lifted her chin. “Leave,” she ordered, the demand echoing in the silence. “Or I will kill you, and I will not hesitate.”

Even as she said the words, she wasn’t convinced they were true.

Cassian couldn’t breathe. There was smoke in his eyes, it was unbearably hot, and he couldn’t stop coughing, but then he was out in the fresh night air, his back hitting the soft grass.

He knew that Az had led the horses out before he left today, had watched him take them out one by one, but he had to make sure. He had to verify that there wasn’t one down somewhere.

He found nothing, not a horse or person inside.

Except the overwhelming smell of gasoline.

This fire wasn’t natural, it was intentional. This fire was set.

He’d called Azriel before his feet had hit the landing of the stairs telling him what was happening and asking him to call the fire department. He didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he could turn on the garden hose and put it out. With as much accelerant was used, it would burn all night.

He knew exactly who it was, he didn’t try to delude himself into anything else.

A truck door slammed and Feyre and Rhys were running toward him.

“What happened?” He asked, helping him stand. Cassian saw that his arm was covered in soot. “I have no idea. We were building baby furniture and the barn was fine, came down to the kitchen so I could grab a beer, and when Nes got back upstairs it was in a blaze.” He coughed, but continued, “Smells like a damn Mapco in there, there was so much gasoline dumped.”

“Gasoline?” Feyre asked, covering her mouth in horror.

Cassian nodded. “Tomas did this.”

Rhysand stilled as Feyre’s face paled.

“I have to go to Nesta,” she breathed, backing away from the fire, even though she wasn’t close to it. She glanced back at the dark. “Is she down at the cabin?”

Cassian’s face fell as he glanced up at the big house, then, he was sprinting.

If Tomas had done this, which Cassian was sure he did, he would still be close. He ran without stopping, without a breath, until he was up the back porch. The door was wide open, a piece of wood sitting off to the side.

Cassian was inside of the kitchen before he screamed, “Nesta?!”

There was no reply in the dark house, no movement or creak or whisper. He frantically flicked the light switch, nothing happening.

“What’s going on?” Feyre called, catching up and coming up the stairs.

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but there was a banging from the front of the house. “Nesta?!”

He was running through the dark house immediately, finding Azriel and Elain on the other side of the front door. It was jammed closed as well. “Move!”

They did as he said and he put all of his weight into the motion as he tried to shove the door open. On the second try, it gave way.

Elain was already crying when she and Az ran in. He said, “Fire department is on the way.”

Cassian was about to say something when Rhysand’s shaking voice called out from the kitchen. “Cass… come here.”

The sound of his voice chilled Cassian’s blood. He hurried back, could see from the glow that either Feyre or Rhys was using their phone’s flashlight function.

He stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over himself and ran to the other side of the island.

He froze.

One of the kitchen knives was missing from its spot in the open drawer, but it laid on the floor, just a few feet away.

There was so much blood.

She was gone. He took her. By taking her, he took them both.

Cassian heaved over the kitchen sink, everything within his stomach emptying out. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He knew he was sobbing, but no one tried to comfort him. Knew no one was sure how.

Nesta was gone. His baby girl was gone. Tomas had taken them. They were gone, the only hunch of where they had gone written on the kitchen floor: a long kitchen knife and a puddle of blood. 

Cassian was ready to set the world on fire.

“I have to find her,” he breathed, he cried, as his face fell into his hands next to the kitchen sink. “I will find her.”

“Cass-.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted Rhysand before he could even say a word. “He’s out there, and he has my fucking fiancée and child!” 

But Rhysand only shook his head. “I know. I’m coming, too.”

“Me too,” Azriel agreed, then looked to Elain, who nodded.

“We'll take care of things around here,” Elain promised. “Go to the police. Now.” 

Cassian was already near the front door, just as a fire truck pulled onto the grounds. 

“I’ll go talk to them,” Feyre said, and kissed Rhysand quickly on the cheek before hurrying out the back door, Elain close behind. 

Cassian was looking around the house as he walked, even though he’d already searched the entirety of it. Rhysand and Azriel were on his heels as they exited through the front door.

Rhysand’s truck had the most room, and they knew letting Cassian drive wasn’t the smartest. The first logical place to go was the Carlson ranch, only to find it deserted. Cassian looked at the window, where he’d hurled the brick back at him.

“Where would they go?” Azriel asked, kicking something aside as they searched through his workshop.

Rhysand’s phone rang and he answered it. A quick conversation took place, and Feyre said the police needed to talk to Cassian.

They loaded back up into the truck and went back to the ranch. The police were there, along with the fire department and an ambulance, and the second Cassian’s feet hit the ground, questions were being asked.

“What happened?”

Cassian replayed the situation, from the second Nesta had noticed the fire blazing up until the point he realized they were missing. 

“You have to find her,” he told the police, after he told his story. “She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, nearly ready to go into labor, you have to fucking find her.”

“We will do everything we ca-.”

“Find her!” he yelled, grabbing the cop he’d been talking to by the shoulders. No one reacted, everyone stayed calm, even the cop that was being grabbed.

The young cop simply took a deep breath before saying, “We will look for her, adamantly, starting now.”

Cassian released his shoulders and nodded, and said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, just… I have to get them back.”

He looked over to where the stables once stood. Now it was a smoldering pile of wood and cinders, all that time put in, all those memories. Gone up in a blaze.

They told Cassian he couldn’t stay in their house that night, that they’d be combing through it for any evidence.

He asked a passing officer, “Will you please, please tell me if that’s her blood?”

The dark red hair, the amber eyes. He was a Vanserra, no doubt.

He nodded. “As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”

They let Cassian go in, accompanied by Elain, to get what he would need for the next few days. 

Elain did most of the packing, although she cried the whole time. Cassian couldn’t stay focused though, couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her.

All he could think about was Nesta and their baby, where they were, what he was doing to them.

But per the cops request, Cassian went home with Azriel and Elain to wait for further word.

But he didn’t sleep, didn’t rest.

And he wouldn’t until he found them.

Nesta, and his baby girl. 

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

I Don’t Think You’re An Angel (Anymore)

A Lewis Nixon x OFC One Shot

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Thank you to @basilone​ @softspeirs​ and @mercurygray​ for all your help on this! I am much happier with how it turned out thanks to y’all’s suggestions :)

Warning(s): Some suggestive language, but that’s about it

***

Her father once told her that nursing would make her feel fulfilled. It would get her back on her feet after such tragedy struck. Nothing healed like giving back and healing others, he said. Especially after downing whiskey and kissing strangers didn’t work, she thought. 

It did the trick, to be sure. Nursing school was rigorous, but it taught her a lot about herself. She met some of her greatest friends there, and new connections soothed the ache from the burn of the ones she lost. With a new support system, she wearily clawed her way out of the ashes of her grief, and stood up again. And when the war came, she and thousands like her were able to charge into the fray. 

But the last thing Bonnie wanted now was to be on her feet - in a much more literal sense. The Austrian sun shone outside, calling to her, coaxing her to come out and warm her face and rest her sore feet. But she didn’t have a day off for another two days. And after almost eight hours at the hospital, there were still more patients to check on before she could clock out. She felt that familiar throb in her heels as she headed into the next ward. 

Shit.

There he stood. The man she once knew as Lewis Nixon, but for many years, only referred to as “The Worst Mistake I Ever Made.”

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

He was coming closer, accompanied by a red-headed major she didn’t recognize. To her dismay, they headed for Sergeant Grant’s bed, the very patient she was supposed to check on. He was still recovering from his surgery until he was well enough to be moved to England. 

She decided to grit her teeth and bear it. Years had passed. Why should he bother her now? He probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She knew herself to be an unremarkable part of his life. How else could he have done what he did?

She strode over to the bed and ignored the men standing beside it. She lifted Grant’s chart and scanned it, but she couldn’t absorb anything. She could feel Lewis’s eyes on her. Moments that might have been hours passed as he stared, and she pretended she didn’t notice.

“Bonnie?”

Shit.

Biting back a groan, she looked at him, and met his eyes. Those eyes that once made her legs weak and her heart soft. But now only activated her punching reflex. She glanced at his collar to get his rank.

“Captain,” she said coolly. 

She returned her eyes to the clipboard.

“Okay, I know it doesn’t take that long to read a chart,” he said. 

She snapped it shut and glared at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a medical professional. Would you like a white coat and stethoscope? Just clock in since you seem to know so much!”

“Still mad, I see,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh, get over yourself,” she shot back. 

“So, you two know each other?” the red-head observed, cutting the tension. 

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “We went to school together.”

“We used to date,” Lewis added. 

“Could not have been more obvious I preferred to keep that private, but I guess we’re in this room now,” she said. 

“Dick, this is Bonnie Butler,” Nix said. “Bonnie, this is Major Dick Winters.”

“How do you do?” she said politely. 

“Nice to meet you,” Dick replied. “Bonnie Butler...like the little girl from Gone With the Wind?”

“If fairness, I had the name first,” she pointed out. “And I haven’t broken my neck falling off a horse, but I avoid them just in case.”

They both chuckled, and she refrained from smirking with satisfaction. Her need to impress him disturbed her. 

“I gotta admit I’m surprised to see you here,” Lewis said. 

“We haven’t spoken in years, Lewis, anything I’m doing should come as a surprise to you,” she returned.

Now that the initial contact was made, she had an easier time going about her job checking on Grant. It was pretty basic, just taking vitals and ensuring he was still stable. Which he was.

“Well, I’ll let you visit now,” she said.

She started to go.

“Kathy’s leaving me,” he blurted out.

She turned to face him, expression level. “Is that supposed to mean something to me, Lewis?”

It should have felt like victory. Like justice. But it only made her sad. None of it meant anything now. Her loving him, him loving Kathy, and Bonnie hating them both for it. The agony she faced because he chose her friend was only worth a few years of marriage. 

Did everything have to fall apart? Was nothing truly built to last? The war showed her that even thousand-year-old buildings would crumble under a bomb. Just as she crumbled when Lewis dropped the truth about him and Kathy. But now they were in ruins as well, so what was the point in any of it?

He shifted his weight between his feet, as he always did when he was anxious. He looked at the ground and then back at her, his eyes revealing how deeply he was stung. 

“Guess not,” he said. “I’ll see you around, Bonnie.”

She didn’t answer for so long he feared she would not at all. But she was still looking at him.

“I should hope not, Lewis,” she finally said. 

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the wing. Dick looked at Bonnie and then at his friend. He had never seen Lewis look so guilty. There was a deep remorse there, which indicated a great impact on his life, but Dick could not recall Lewis ever mentioning this woman. 

“What did you do to her?” Dick asked. 

Lewis cleared his throat before he answered. “Did I ever tell you how I met Kathy?”

Dick shook his head. 

“Well, Bonnie and I were dating,” Lewis began. “Kathy was her best friend. And, well...we fell in love. Behind Bonnie’s back. We had an affair for six months before we came clean.”

Dick blinked, taken aback. He knew Lewis was not the most ethical person in the world, but he did not expect his friend to be capable of something like that. He didn’t blame Bonnie at all for the way she spoke to Lewis. That kind of betrayal went deep because it was not just her boyfriend, but the one person she was supposed to be able to rely on when her boyfriend messed up. And then, to add insult to injury, they ended up married. Now, Dick was impressed with how Bonnie handled the news of the divorce. She had every right to laugh in his face. And she didn’t.

“Did you apologize?” Dick asked. 

“Oh, only about a thousand times,” Lewis replied. “And even after some time went by, Kathy and I tried to reach out again, but she wanted nothing to do with us. And we didn’t blame her, of course, but it still hurt.”

A beat passed. Lewis watched the door where Bonnie disappeared and wondered now if his split from Kathy was his punishment for what he did to her. That he and Kathy - because they started as a transgression - were perhaps doomed to fail. 

“C’mon, Nix,” Dick said. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Or dink,” Lewis returned. 

They left the hospital, but he found himself wishing he could find her again. Explain some more. But he knew better.

The following morning, Bonnie went to change an IV for a young corporal who had drunkenly jumped from a fourth story window and broken his leg. Many of the injuries she treated these days were caused by the jubilance of VE-Day, and she couldn’t say she blamed them, but she did wish they would be more careful. 

“Thanks, Nurse Butler,” the corporal said. 

“I’m just doing my job,” she replied gently. “This’ll only take a moment.”

She reached for the bag, when she suddenly heard a dreaded voice from behind her. 

“Careful with those, they can get messy,” Lewis said. 

She whipped around. 

“I’m sorry, don’t I first open my eyes and realize it’s a new day?” she asked sarcastically.

“I didn’t -”

“What is this magic bag in front of me?!” she exclaimed, holding the IV bag out with taunting wonder. 

“Look -”

“I’ve done this before,” she said sharply, becoming serious again and facing the patient, who was snickering.

“I know that,” he said.

“Then stop telling me what to do,” she retorted.

“I was joking,” he said calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she shot back, with a bitterness that told him she meant more than just the joke.

He did not speak again until after the IV was replaced. When she finished, she ignored Lewis and began walking away. 

“Bonnie, wait, I think we should talk about things,” he said, trailing behind her. 

“I disagree,” she replied. “Besides, I’m working.”

“When is your shift over?” 

“You know I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Please -”

She halted and whirled around. He skidded to a stop a few feet away. 

“What is it you’re so desperate to tell me?” she demanded. “That you’re sorry? Because I’ve heard that before, Lewis, and I don’t care.”

“You really can’t forgive me?” he asked. “After all this time?”

She wondered that herself often enough. But there was too much. Not only the betrayal, but the effects of it. How could she forgive him for the worthless way she felt? How could she forgive him for her now ingrained lack of trust? How could she forgive him for the nights she spent crying on the kitchen floor, convinced that this was what love felt like? 

His eyes clung to her gaze, and she endured a long moment of weakness where she felt totally incapable of turning away from him. But she knew she could now because she had done it before. 

“No,” she said, surprised by the croak in her voice and the lump in her throat. 

She didn’t wait for him to answer. She walked away, and thankfully, he didn’t follow. 

Another day passed. Lewis did not return to the hospital, and Bonnie was relieved. She worked the rest of her shift in peace. The only disturbance was a violent thunderstorm, which rumbled in the sky and pelted rain down against the roof all day.

When her shift concluded, it was still raining. Unwilling to get drenched, she went to the doctor’s lounge, which nurses frequented as well, for a drink. She had the next day off, so she figured she could afford to get a little tipsy. Her true goal was to get Lewis Nixon off her mind, but as she walked in, she met a dismal sight. There he sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey, looking sadly at a letter. 

She looked at the heavens to address God directly.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

She waited a moment, but received no reply. So with a sigh, she went over to the bar and took the stool beside Lewis. 

“You know, if you’re not medical personnel, you’re not really supposed to be in here,” she said.

He looked at her. “Are you speaking to me now?”

“I never said we can’t speak in general,” she said. “Just not about our past.”

“I see,” he returned. “Well, to address your earlier statement, this is the only place they have Vat 69 in all of Europe apparently.”

“You’re still drinking that nasty stuff?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve moved on.”

With that, she ordered a gin and tonic. They waited in silence as the bartender prepared it. The soft clink of ice and pop of the gin bottle might as well have been explosions. There were no other patrons to fill up the space. 

“So, are we gonna catch up?” he wondered. “Like old friends?”

“I don’t think we were ever really friends,” she replied. “If we were, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned jokingly. “That is forbidden territory.”

“Do you wanna talk or do you wanna fuck around?” she retorted. 

“If we’re not gonna address the elephant in the room, I’d argue that all we’re doing is fucking around,” he said. 

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. As she relaxed into her chair and took a sip of her drink, memories of them laughing together swam before her. Those tidbits of happiness that she locked away so that they couldn’t hurt her anymore. Back when she thought of him as her whole world. 

“Alright, let’s fuck around,” she said. 

She let him go first. He talked about his son, then about joining the Airborne, about meeting Dick Winters, and he even admitted that he never fired a shot in combat. She told him about nursing school, enlisting, and a bit about her journey through Europe. It was all very surface level and appropriate. But it wasn’t them. 

“Would I be trespassing if I asked about your parents?” he wondered after their third round.

She considered it as she sipped her fourth cocktail. They grew up together, so she supposed it was fair. 

“Fine,” she said. “But it might depress you. Dad passed away, and Mom really hasn’t been the same since.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “They were always nice to me. Even after…”

She nodded, turning her glass on the counter, keeping her watering eyes focused on it. As her mother deteriorated, she kept asking where “that angel Lewis” was. Mrs. Butler doted on Lewis Nixon as if he were her own son. And Bonnie’s was not the only heart broken when everything happened. But now Mrs. Butler was stuck in a time before that, and Bonnie never had the heart to remind her that things were different now. 

“She asks about you,” Bonnie blurted out. “Mom does.”

“And what do you say?” he asked. 

“I tell her you’re coming any day now,” she said. “Of course she doesn’t know the difference. She can’t remember anything.”

He half smiled. “Well, I better go see her so I don’t make a liar out of you.”

She half smiled back. “That’d mean a lot to her.” 

She paused a beat while a doctor and another nurse filed in and took up two stools just a few seats away from her and Lewis. The other two were obviously romantic - their knees touched, their hands lingered close to each other, and they hardly looked at the bartender as they ordered. They were so wrapped up in each other. Bonnie felt the distance between her and Lewis was cavernous in comparison. She took a dink.  

“Um, how are your folks? Feeling alright?” she asked after swallowing.

“Oh, they’re the same as ever,” he said. “A little cold, a little rich. They’re gonna lose it when I tell them about the divorce.”

“You’re a grown man,” she reminded him. “What could they do?”

“You act like growing up means your parents can’t be obnoxious,” he said. “They can and they will.”

She bit her lip with hesitation. “Can I ask you something? It might be crossing a line.”

“Honey, I’m on my fifth whiskey, you can ask me whatever you want,” he assured her, knocking back the last gulp in his glass.

“Why can’t it work between you and Kath - your wife?” she asked. 

She couldn’t bring herself to say the name. Calling her “Kathy” made her who Kathy was. Bonnie’s former best friend who betrayed her in the worst way possible. Calling her “his wife” reduced her to an abstract. She could be anyone in theory. 

“She met someone else,” he answered. “Ironically enough.”

The air around them felt thick again. 

“You can laugh,” he said. “It must feel like poetic justice or something to you.”

She shook her head. “The last thing I feel like doing is laughing. That kind of hurt is not something I would wish on anyone, not even you.”

“It feels like you’re supporting me, but just barely,” he joked. 

She offered a smile. “I’m sorry, Lew. Really, I am.”

“Thanks,” he said. “But how on Earth are you so goddamn understanding?”

Her brow furrowed. “What? I’m not being understanding. I still think you’re rude for what you did.”

He blinked. “Rude?!”

“Yes, rude!” she cried. “You wanna cheat on me? That’s fine! You wanna marry that girl and get her pregnant? Fine! But to make it my best friend? That’s just rude!”

He laughed. An old, buried admiration for his smile crept up into her heart - right along the very cracks he had created and she had forced back together, never fully repairing the damage. She looked away, only to see the other couple was kissing now, and Bonnie had to turn her back to them.

“Well, I apologize for my rudeness,” he said.

“Based on the situation, I’m sure it won’t happen again,” she replied. 

“Ouch,” he said. “But well deserved on my part.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed. “But...can I ask you one more thing?”

“We have already crossed way beyond the line, go ahead,” he said.

“If you two felt that way about each other,” she began. “Why didn’t you just tell me? If you had been honest, I would have told you I’d be fine. I would never have stood in the way of your happiness. The lie hurt me more than the blow to my ego.”

He took a drink of his fresh glass of whiskey and swished it in his mouth briefly before swallowing - a tactic she was familiar with. He was constructing a careful answer.

“First of all, in fairness to us, we had no way of knowing that,” he said. “Second of all, and perhaps worst of all, we...we didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But don’t you see how it’s worse that you -”

“Of course,” he cut across her. “Of course we see how what we did was worse. We were young and stupid and afraid. And look where we are now.”

At that, they both finished their drinks. She bounced her foot a moment as what she was about to say bubbled up. Could she really say it? Did she mean it? She glanced at his face and got her answer. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“To what?” he asked. “I hope it’s to tell those two to get a room.”

He nodded down the bar at the doctor and nurse. Their drinks remained untouched, but the same could not be said for their legs or their backsides. Bonnie snorted.

“C’mon, give them a break,” she said. “You remember what it was like when it was new.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said fondly. “Remember that time at Joan Watson’s party, when you and I went upstairs and -”

She squeaked to cut him off and her face went beet red. A fleeting memory of his hands on a lot more than her legs made her squirm in her seat. She cleared her throat. 

“As I was saying,” she said firmly. 

“Right, sorry,” he said through a chuckle. “What is it you’re ready for?”

“To forgive you,” she told him. “We’re both different people now, aren’t we?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’d say that’s true.”

He sat up a little straighter, appearing lighter. He pursed his lips too, fighting the grin that was spreading across his face.

“Wanna get out of here?” she suggested. 

“I’m still enjoying my whiskey,” he said. 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough whiskey for - I dunno - a lifetime?”

“Not my lifetime.”

She rolled her eyes. He met her gaze and smirked. Then, he got to his feet, and offered her his hand. She took it, and they touched for the first time since what they each thought was to be the last time. Who could have imagined they would find each other again in Austria? So far from home and everything they knew together? And yet, through clasped hands, they felt that home was not so far away after all.

He helped her off the stool, they paid, and then walked outside together. The clouds had disappeared and the sun was beating down a fresh, fragrant warmth. The air was clear. The storm had passed. 

[potatosoldier]

Are you still there?

  /Part 7/

I am hot, I am sweaty, and I am crammed into a small cot surrounded by equally sweaty men. It was the 6th of September, and we had just boarded the Great Samaria a few hours ago. We were now on a journey to Europe. 

How they managed to jam us into this ship, I have no clue. It isn’t like there is 20 men over the capacity of this ship. No, this ship was made for 1000 passengers and now there were 5000 men from the 506th shoved in. I could have made the choice and went to the officers and made my stay there, I want to be near the men. 

“Joe, darling, your shoulders are like barn doors, I can’t fit”

Oh yes, as the passenger count was so high, the cots were shared by two soldiers. I was sharing with Joe. At first I also considered going to Skip, but then I came to a conclusion that I could stand Joe’s singing in this suppressed place, but listening to Skip talk non-stop would make me an irritable person. And I truly did not want to become that. These men are my companions and I want to treat the with the respect they deserve. I did not have the right to become rude even in these circumstances. 

Also, if I was put too high, Bull would have to carry me around like a baby monkey. 

“For God’s sake, just turn the other way”, Joe grunts as I try to maneuver myself without jostling the cot too much.  

“Joe, please move”, I whine and try to push him. He rasps and looks at me teasing smile on his lips. 

“you wanna continue trying, Bambi”, he teases. I scrunch my brows and pout. Why did he have to make this so difficult. Then I put on my most motherly glare. “Joseph Toye, this is not how you should behave”, I scold. 

He chuckles once again, but proceeds to move over so I’m finally able to fit in next to him on the cot. It was a tight squeeze, both of us were on top of the bed springs, but we tried to be so that it’s the least uncomfortable. Physically and mentally. 

“So you told Muck, huh?”, he whispers once we are in and he hears Skip talking while making his way around the ship. I nod as we both look at the cot above us. “You sure that was a good idea?”, he asks. I could hear in his voice that he didn’t doubt Skip personally, but he was just checking in. 

I smile. “He has been good to me since I came here, He won’t betray me now. And it does feel good to let it out”, I tell. He nods. 

“So, what do you think about going to Europe?”, he asks. I shrug. “I’m glad I’m here, maybe we can speed up the process of ending this war and Matias and dad can go back home”, I answer. Matias was my older brother. I think he is the reason I’m so fond of Skip and Luz, Matias was such a jokester too. It broke my heart to think of him out there somewhere, fighting for his life. 

“I’m glad we’re going to Europe too. Hitler gets one of these right across the windpipe, Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye Day and 10,000 a year for the rest of my fucking life”, he says in a much louder voice. 

I look at him trying not to laugh. “Joe, I promise I’ll celebrate Joe Toye Day from now on even if you don’t succeed”, I manage to say without laughing. 

“What if we don’t get to Europe, what if they send us to North Africa”, Smokey points out from above us. 

The conversation doesn’t awfully concern me, till I hear these words: “ I like Winters, he is a good man. But when bullets start flying, I don’t know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me”

My head turns sharply up towards Bill’s bed. My blood starts running cold with the rage I’m feeling. He had the audacity to condemn someone by their religion and to add to that doubt MY husbands skills in combat. 

“How do you know he’s a Quaker?”

“He ain’t Catholic”

I’m about to jump up and teach the boy some manners when, Joe apparently notices my open mouth and shoves my head under a blanket. And by shoving, I mean shoving. Nothing gentle about it. I can only imagine the looks people are throwing at us. 

“Okay Bambi up we go” he then says and starts lifting me up, my head still covered. I can hear Liebgott and Bill still having a spat and am about to turn to go towards the noise, but Joe keeps me covered till we are away from the scene.

“You need some fresh air, you angry hedgehog, to he deck we go”, Joe says and pushes people around to make us way forward. He really saved me from making a mistake. 

With Richard

The Boat was far from comfortable, that was the only thing Richard Winters would say to the circumstances at hand. Last time he had been this hot, was while running in full gear in Toccoa. 

“They really filled this Troop ship to the brink”, Lewis says looking just as sweaty as his friend. “If I’m going to be this hot, I’d rather have 5000 ladies here. At least there would be something to look at”, Nix says. 

“Yeah, and by the time you’d make it to your destination they’d have eaten you alive, after finding out about Kathy”, Dick teases. Keeping your mind light in situations like this was the key to keeping your head together. His friend had his own lightness hidden in Dick’s footlocker. 

Lewis let’s out his trademark chuckle. “Easy for you to say”, he snarks back. Dick knows exactly what he means. It was easy for Dick to judge other men for seeking affection because his own wife was there. 

Dick only looks at his friend with a dry look and they remain silent for a while. 

“Never thought this day would actually come, of course I knew it was coming, but hell we’ve come a long way”, Nix says and takes a swig from his flask. Dick lets out a small huff. It really was a miracle that Sobel hadn’t found some way to get rid off them. 

“You think we can make it Nix, back home I mean”, Dick asks thoughtfully and plays with his fingers. It was a curious question, not one of sadness or fear. 

“That’s not for us to decide, but hey I’ll drink to the thought of seeing your children some day”; he says raising his flask in what was supposed to be a happy remark, but when he sees Dick’s face, all the happiness goes away. 

He furrows his brows and looks at his friend more closely. “You okay Dick?”, he asks while still studying his now pale friend. Dick just continues looking ahead like he was not there at all. 

“Yeah, Nix, I’m okay”, he finally whispers and they drop the topic replacing it  with silence. 

Sonja / Day 3 on the Samaria/

“Better out than in, there we go”, George says as he brushes some of my hair back. I had been throwing up for the last two hours. I wasn’t sure was it the sea or the smell of the fish soup that made me so nauseous. 

“I fe- ugh”, I puke again in the middle of my sentence. I was not the only one throwing up, no. But I felt very embarrassed to be in this situation. I was a nurse, not a patient. 

Suddenly a pounding of boots is heard and I feel someone place themselves on the other side of me. “There we go, a Hershey bar for the lady. Got it from Winters, tried scrounging and he was kind enough to offer when he passed”, Skip says as he opens the wrapper for me. 

And what I can take from his story is that, that he went to tell Richard I’m unwell and Richard gave him the bar. 

“Thank you”, I whisper and take the piece Skip snaps me. Luz takes the bucket from my hands and gives water to rinse my mouth.  “For a small lady, you sure puke your guts out like a grown man”, Luz teases. 

“Shut up, I’m only three inches shorter than you”, I grumble and lean against him while savoring the chocolate to get the taste of vomit out. He only chuckles and makes a mocking “UGH” noise. 

“Thank you boys for getting me out, I thought Joe was going to kill me”,I giggle softly. They both huff in laughter. “I mean you did puke on his chest”, Skip points out. I grimace, that I sure did. His chest and neck where running with fish soup after I retched on him. 

“Someone get her a bucket, fucking hell, if someone isn’t gonna help her, Imma kill every fucking one of you”

“Skip, go get us some cards, I don’t think she can handle the sweat level yet”, George says as he strokes my back, as I gag again a little. 

How long was I going to be stuck on this boat.

----------------------

The night was awful, I felt sickly and I noticed that Joe was turning more than usual, probably because of the back pain. We were lucky enough to fit on the cot so that we could both sleep in it, but nothing seemed to get me catch sleep. I was afraid of throwing up again. 

“Nurse”, I hear a whisper. I jump and look up. Even in the dim lighting I can recognize my husband. I carefully stand without jostling Joe too much, and gently put the blanket on him again, after raising it up a little to get a little cool air on him. 

“Yes sir?”,I ask professionally as I stand before Richard. He just nods his head towards the deck. 

As we make it to the deck we quickly and quietly find a corner with no one sleeping in it. He takes a look around and has a seat. Before taking something out from his pocket: chocolate.

“Richard, you don’t have a sweet tooth, how do you have all these”;I ask looking at him oddly. 

“I got this from Nix, he was willing to sacrifice it for I quote ‘holy business’“, I giggle at my husbands expression as he quotes Lewis. I take the bar from him and put it next to me. I honestly felt too sickly to eat it now. 

I look at Dick biting my lip. He seems to notice the softness in my gaze as he utters a gentle “come here”, and gently guides me to lay my upper body onto his legs. 

“Don’t worry, darling. I can keep watch, and if they ask more, I can say that I was just looking out for you as your officer”, he soothes and rubs his hand along my arms. Which feels amazing on my sore muscles. 

“I think it’s time to tell the men soon anyway. They need to get used to the idea before we jump, and I think that they know you well enough to not judge you”, he then brings up. I nod against his leg, this living in secrecy was starting to become more and more difficult. 

I then squeeze my eyes shut as nausea takes over me. “Richie I think I might puke”,I whimper. I always got very stressed when I had nausea, and sensitive. “I don’t wanna puke on you”,I say and try to rise, but in all honestly rising just made it worse.

Richard guides me back gently. “If you puke on me, then you do. Don’t worry about that. Let’s just get you comfortable”

----------------------

On the 15th of September we finally made it to Liverpool. I was still quite pale after the ride. Eating had really become a task, and without food, you lose strength. But with the threats from Joe and gentle urging from Carwood Lipton, I was able to get food down. 

“You feelin’ good ma’am?”, comes a familiar Arkansas drawl as I give a happy sigh to be on the steady ground. I chuckle “Aye, sir, better than ever”, I say teasingly. He mock salutes me and we start walking for our shelter for the night. 

I walk on Joe’s side keeping a firm hold of his sleeve as I had been told by Lip.

“We don’t want you getting lost, you are harder to find than most of us”

At first I had wanted to tell him that I am a grown woman with military training, but his truly caring gaze changed my plans.  If I could express in words, how thankful I was for that mans care I would shout it at his too humble face. Okay, these boys are really rubbing off on me, I wouldn’t shout, maybe gently lecture. 

Tomorrow we would be going to our final destination. 

-------------------

Aldbourne was vastly different from all the places I’ve had my training and from what the men told me, it was also very different to them. We were in the middle of a village! We could actually see other people. 

“Come on Sonja, please, please please”, Skip was begging on his knees. We had gotten our passes to go to Swindon for a Saturday night dance this weekend. The boys were all excited about being able to go and actually getting the passes this time. 

“Skip, you know I get uncomfortable with many people, also it’ll be nice to have some time alone”, I try to reason as he keeps pushing my skirt and blouse towards my hands. 

He looks at me with his green puppy eyes. “please, Bambi, for me, Joe is coming too. Aren’t you? Hear that Joe is there too”, he begs. I sigh and look at both of them. 

“Okay, but when I say want to come back, I will”, I say pointing at him. 

“Yes!!”

-------------------

I didn’t put on my skirt and blouse, instead I took out my light blue swing dress and let my hair down. It was nice to feel girly again, and actually have a reason to get dolled up. That was not the best part, the best part was actually putting my wedding ring onto my finger. I gave a small kiss to my cross and said a little prayer of gratitude before going to the boys. 

The boys were happy to have me, their lady with them. 

“Your husband is one lucky bastard”. George had said when he saw me. Bull had even blushed when I gave him a kiss on the cheek as thanks for helping me with my jacket. 

All the girls in the dance were dolled up too. I found the music in there absolutely delightful. It might have not been completely in my taste, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Also the sound of shoes clapping against the floor was beautifully relaxing. 

“Would my lady like to dance?”, Skip asks bowing at the waste. I shake my head at his antics but take his hand none the less. And boy did I make a mistake. I was tosses from Skip to George, to Bull, to Joe, to Don (who mind you, was an excellent dancer!) and god knows who. The Easy boys really decided to hit the floor. 

Once I was able to make a run from them, I found Joe drinking a beer at one of the tables. “You having fun?”; he asks and takes a long sip. I nod and smile widely. 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to dance so much! But I do wonder”, I bite my lip. “Am I a bad person to be here, without Richard?”; I whisper. 

Joe shakes his head. “You’re too good for this world. There ain’t nothing wrong with you being here. He trusts you and you trust him. And hell, you were giggling like a school girl when you realized you still had time to go to him after this. You aren’t committing any sin”, he soothes with a little teasing making me blush. 

Who can blame me, I just want to grab my Robert Burns poems and go read with Richards head on my lap. Was that really too much to ask for? He was my husband.

We continue our conversation, with me sipping a cup of water, until I hear a similar interruption as in the boat. 

Bill and Skinny make it to our table chatting. “He might be a good man, but Quakers aren’t meant for this shit” My patience had been running thin with these comments for so long and now my patience was all run out.

“He is not a Quaker”, I snap. Bill turns to me with an odd look on his face. 

“And how do you know that Bambi”, many of the Easy men were now near our table from hearing my raised voice. 

I don’t know what made it come out of my mouth, but this did anyway: “If my husband was a Quaker I think I’d be the one who knows that and not you”

I quickly realize what I said and plant my palm against my face, trying to remember how to breathe. I hear Joe sigh from next to me: “Well, now you fucking said it”

@iilovemusic12us​

@georgeparisole​

[howling-harpy]

Sex denial trope due to the lack of privacy in barracks?

Oh, Anon, this is comedy gold! You’ll get “lack of privacy in the army in general”.

Winnix

Nix is pretty sure he’s going to die. Yeah Dick takes things slower than most and he’s too decent to risk sneaking around, and it’s cool, totally cool, Nix respects that and all and it’s cool. But he’s going to die.

The thing is, Nix has pined for a while. He just didn’t believe that Dick would go for him, and when it turned out that he does, they are living very tightly on the road with a whole company of other guys.

Nix is so going to die.

To avoid his miserable fate, Nix tries so hard to get them alone.

There’s a spot in the laundry.

There’s a chance at the latrines after ten PM.

He tries to get Harry to drink himself under the table.

They could even take the jeep and just make a small detour of fifteen minutes of heaven.

Dick won’t budge. He won’t - he’s a man of duty and honour and common sense that keeps him from fooling around just about anywhere when the price of getting caught is so high.

Dick is completely unbothered by the situation.

That’s a lie. No he’s not. He is a redblooded young man after all, and Nix acting so needy and desperate does things to him.

Every time they come even close to alone time, Harry finds them.

They both love Harry but sometimes both want to strangle him.

Their first time happens in a foxhole in Bastogne. Someone most likely overhears but has the good sense to keep it to themselves.

Speirton

There’s the issue of infidelity at play on top of everything else.

At first Lipton thinks it’s a sign from God to keep his fly closed and resist the green-eyed devil tempting him.

His gratitude doesn’t last long. They might all die soon so what does it even matter, and if what he wants with Speirs is a sin it sure feels so much better than anything he’s been put through so what the hell??

Speirs treats the situation like a field problem. He won’t compromise his duty either, but he is on constant lookout for a convenient gap or a nook where to pull off the attack.

Such gap just doesn’t appear. Speirs is almost certain that Lipton’s buddies know his intentions and block them on purpose.

Lipton feels like he imagines a frustrated housewife might; his kids hang onto him constantly demanding attention and care, when he just wants to find a moment of privacy to tussle with the husband for a change.

Just once, okay? Just goddamn once please dear god.

Speirs stares so intently that it’s almost like a physical touch. He looks murderous, but Lipton knows it’s desire.

Sometimes Lipton feels like a deer with a wolf after him and he wants to get caught.

Seriously why there are so many people around?? What kind of a world they live in when they are not alone in the shower or bed?

They get their moment in a bombed out house in Haguenau after months of just staring. They don’t have a bed, not even a couch, not even a carpet, just a chilly hallway with a hardwood floor but goddammit at least they are alive.

BabeRoe

Medics are busy okay?

Also Babe is a part of the thightly knit remains of the second platoon, and there really isn’t much time to go adventuring. He misses Bill too, which has taken a good deal of his spark.

These two are kept apart mostly by grief and misery as well as the lack of privacy.

They catch each other’s eye sometimes, but always in a crowd, always in passing, and they don’t have time.

Babe smiles for Gene just to keep him afloat. He looks so mireable and pale every time he sees him, always running somwhere where he’s called.

Gene smiles back. He likes to think that’s what he can do for Babe, who’s clearly heartbroken and lonely, and it’s something.

They find some comfort in each other, but neither has the energy to really initiate anything more.

Once, after Jackson dies and the night is cold and dark and it’s all for nothing, Babe grabs at Gene and tries to pull him with him into a basement, but Gene takes his hands and gently pries them off his jacket.

“Not yet, Edward,” he denies softly, gives him a kiss on the forehead like a benediction, and Babe lets go.

They don’t get together before Austria, in the sunshine and greenery and joy, and once they do, they never want to part again.

Webgott

Yeah the lack of privacy doesn’t bother them.

They cockblock themselves by getting into arguments, not by being careful or considerate

These two are horny first and everything else, including sensible, second when it comes to each other

Don’t get me wrong, they make an effort. They “sneak” into each other’s bunks. “Hide” in the back of a truck. “Sneak off” to a basement. Things like that, and deep down they know they are doing a bad job, but they convince themselves that they are subtle enough.

They are sort of an open secret, and their buddies do the covering for them, keep them off the MPs’ radar and warn about officers

Their main problem is the lack of space and time. They might be having sex, but it’s pretty bad and frustrating since they have to keep it quiet and quick, and more often that not they hiss and swear at each other while at it.

That’s no concolation to Shifty though. He’s trying to sleep in the bottom bed of the bunkbed that’s rocking back and forth.

[inglourious-imagines]

The Only One (Lewis Nixon)

Requested by: @dontfearthereaper-09

Summary: You're Colonel Sink's granddaughter and you're helping out with paperwork - you eventually fall in love with Lewis Nixon and start dating. However, every relationship has its ups and downs.

Prompt: a requested one - I wish I'd never met you.

Author's Note: I struggled so hard with this and I'm not proud of it at all, but hope it is what you wanted. A big thank you goes to for @alienoresimagines and her great help as always!

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans  @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @stressedinadress @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday

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"He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began." - Anna Karenina, L. Tolstoj

Y/N had never in her life shooted from a rifle or even held it in her innocent hands. She had never known combat, real combat, where men kill and die. She had never endured real physical pain.

And still, Y/N was standing in the middle of Camp Toccoa during the hot summer days of 1942 with a huge grin on her face. She finally persuaded her grandfather to let her join the paratroopers. Well, she was there to help out with paperwork mainly, to be there at hand for the intelligence officers, but she also managed to pull a few strings so she will be undergoing the combat training like every other soldier even though she's not allowed to go and fight in France.

The first weeks were exhausting - physically and mentally - with the combat training Y/N volunteered for. She constantly felt like she's at the verge of giving up and going home. 

But Y/N didn't and neither will she. Even though it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life, it seemed right. This is where Y/N Sink belonged.

But thank God it wasn't just exercise, work and signing documents. One evening, when everything was finished for the day, her grandfather Sink took her with him to a certain celebration, more like an occasion to get drunk and forget that a war is going on just across an ocean. 

It was certainly the most eventful night during her stay in Camp Toccoa, Georgia. Y/N lost her grandfather nearly 10 minutes after they walked in the pub. She immediately befriended two guys - George Luz and Joe Liebgott. It seemed like they'd known each other for years. The soldiers heard all about the mysterious woman that had been helping out in their training camp weeks ago now but never really got the chance to talk to her.

George introduced her to the rest of his friends within Easy Company and they spend the night together laughing, downing shots one after another, dancing and joking around. Y/N felt relaxed and genuiely unworried that night so when they were told to break it up and get some sleep for tomorrow, it suddenly saddened her. The Easy Company boys were the most welcoming, kind and funny men Y/N'd met during her stay and she was sure that she's not gonna have a chance to talk to them like that night for a long time.

There was a soldier waiting for her outside of the pub to escort her into her room but Y/N kindly told him to fuck off and he made sure to be quickly on his way. 

So there she was again, standing under the starry night in Georgia, a warm summer breeze dancing through her hair while she struggled a bit to remain on her feet due to all the alcohol flowing in her veins. 

"Have a trouble finding your way, Miss Sink?" a deep voice filled her ears and Y/N jumped a bit on her spot as she didn't see him coming from behind.

"I'm perfectly fine, soldier." she tried to answer with a firm steady voice but a quiet giggle escaped her lips.

"I can see that. Let me help you there, Miss." he offered his help kindly, smirking. The Moon was illuminating his face making his hair appear darker than the night itself and his eyes shined like two stars up at the sky.

"I assure you, Mr Nixon, that I have no trouble at all. I can manage myself." Y/N stood behind her words but a part of her desired his gentle hand on her lower back steadying her. 

"I'm surprised you know my name." Nix laughed raising his eyebrows as he took a few steps closer to her.

"And I'm surprised it was just a can of peaches." Y/N replied boldly looking directly into his dark eyes.

They were covered in silence for a few moments but they burst out laughing in the next second earning some "shut the fuck ups" from the nearest barracks.

The duo spent the rest of the night walking around the camp as they eventually ended up in her room talking about nothing and everything. By the next morning, Y/N knew every little thing about Lewis and he knew every little thing about her. 

It was no surprise, to Easy Company boys or even his grandfather, that the two of them started dating just a couple of days after the party. Richard Winters soon payed Y/N a visit informing her how he's never seen Lew so damn happy and cheerful all the time.

•••

At the end of May, 1944 when all the preparations for D-Day were finishing, another party was thrown in honor of the paratroopers that had earned their jump wings. Y/N persaued Sink to take her to Britain with him so she was able to celebrate with all of them. 

She was a bit tipsy already because George Luz made her drink three beers and the forth was already on its way. 

Lewis Nixon glared at the duo with a bottle of whiskey in his right hand and a cigarette in the left. He watched how Y/N's lips curled into the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen at something George whispered in her ear. She burst out in a hearty laugh as she touched Luz's shoulder gently and this simple action reminded Lewis the night they met for the first time. An uneasy feeling burned through his chest - it suddenly became hard to breathe. Nixon clenched the glass in his hands and he'd have break it eventually if Richard didn't shake with Lew's shoulder.

"Not now, Dick," the intellingent officer snapped immediately, "we'll talk tomorrow. I'm heading back to my room."

And with that, he stood up and walked out of the pub without any other glance toward his girlfriend. The bottle of Vat '69 was left on the table half full.

•••

"Baby? Why did you disappear so quickly?" Y/N barged in his room while he was sitting behind his desk looking out of the window absently. 

"You seemed quite happy with George." Nixon murmured quietly, he didn't even bother to turn and face her.

"What is this all about? Is there a problem?" she asked kindly moving closer to her broken soldier. The sweet tone of her voice was making it even harder than it already was.

Lewis Nixon looked at her for the first time. "I think we shouldn't be seeing each other anymore." He sounded decided, strongly convinced in his statement.

Y/N suspiciously eyed his face whereas Lewis tried to avoid her concerned look. "Is this about George?"

"No, it's not about fucking George!" Lewis raised his voice and stood up from the little chair, "you are better without me, okay? I drag you down, Y/N."

She stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about? I love you and only you, damn it!"

"You just think you do!"

Y/N's eyes began to water and when the first hot tear rolled down her cheek Nixon's heart broke into million pieces. He hated himself for hurting the most precious human being on the Earth but he had to do it. There was no other way.

"I wish you trusted me more, Lew." she breathed out reaching out to caress his cheek but changed her mind in the last second and her hand fell to her body.

Lewis pressed his eyelids tightly together forcing the coming tears stay inside of his soul. "I wish I'd never met you."

•••

The next days hit Y/N harder than her first days at Toccoa. No combat training, no amount of paperwork had ever made her feel so broken, tired and demotivated. As weird as it sounds, even after the relatively short relationship with the Easy Company intelligence officer, Lewis was a big important part of her life. He made her feel so many new emotions, he fulfilled her soul and heart like nobody else did.

And now, it was all gone.

Everyone noticed the sudden cold behaviour between Y/N and Lewis but they didn't really know what happened. Y/N brushed it off every single time when someone asked her and no one really dared to approach Nixon. 

It wasn't like the duo stopped communicating absolutely. Lewis after the argument stormed off and got drunk, he was genuiely wasted, but he also realised what a mistake he did. It was the first time Y/N told him she loved him and he was still able to make the person who cared for him the most go away.

When Y/N tried her best to avoid Nixon, he tried his best to talk to her as much as possible, every day he left her a note at her desk along with a flower and every time she accidentally glanced at him he sent her an apologetic smile.

Y/N knew her anger and hurt was slowly fading away. Lewis felt truly sorry - alcohol and jealousy wasn't really a great combination.

•••

My dearest Y/N,

I know you don't want to have anything to do with me, and I don't blame you, but there's still something I need to tell you. I'm just gonna hope that this sort of letter is not lying in the bin already.

I want you to know that I regret every single word I said that night. Clearly my jealousy and my alcoholic problem (as much as you hate me right now, please don't tell anyone I just admitted that) came in the way and I thought you're better off without me.

I'm not the perfect boyfriend, Y/N, and I never will be. I'm not funny as George, and I guarantee you there's gonna be more arguments between us. But I can assure you that no matter what happens, I will love you for the rest of my life. 

Hope you can forgive me,

I'm sorry.

With love, your Lewis

A tear soaked into the piece of paper as she pressed it to her heart. Little did Y/N know that she will love the idiot forever.

[wrctings]

Winters and Nixon’s domesticity at Toccoa Camp

I was dying to write some domestic winnix content, so there it is 🥰

“It was a fuckin’ can of peaches, that’s what it was.” 

Lt. Nixon mumbled irritably, shooting a glance behind his shoulder as if to make sure that Cpt. Sobel had not somehow appeared within earshot out of thin air, ready to condemn him to the surrender of all of his week-end passes until kingdom come. 

“Dick, it was just a can of peaches. Can’t the guy remove the stick that’s up his ass just once?” he kept on grumbling, all the contempt that had been slowly but surely piling up for their commanding officer now pouring out of him. The Intelligence Officer had never badmouthed Sobel as fervently as the other soldiers of the company, but their afternoon incident with contraband products seemed to have given his mood a good kick. 

The man’s redhead best friend could not refrain a smile from springing upon his lips at Nixon’s grumpy remarks, the part about Cpt. Sobel removing a stick from his ass sparkling a very humorous image inside his mind. Although he would never himself indulge in such remarks, lest he be overheard by anyone but Lewis, it also felt shamefully pleasant to Dick to hear his friend’s roast of their CO. Winters being an example of discipline among the men, what with his new promotion to First Lieutenant, did not mean that he suffered any less from Cpt. Sobel’s over-the-top rigour and unfair punishments.

“C’mon Nix, see it that way: you’ll get to spend your week-ends round here. You pretty much do it anyways. Is it that bad? Kind of reminds you of Officer Candidate School, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, a little, yeah.” The brunet man sighed while following Dick inside the room where they hung out after a long day of training and bearing Cpt. Sobel’s commands through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe life was almost easier there. At least, we weren’t stuck with him.” Nixon flung himself onto a chair, his muscles unclenching as he finally unwinded, safely shut away from the rest of the men, and especially Sobel. “I guess it’s all a strategy: we all hate him, so it brings us closer together. The bastard’s a genius.”

Dick took a sit as well, removing his side cap and allowing himself to let his guard down. He always felt comfortable in the presence of Nixon, whom he confided in ever since a strong bond had developed between the two of them in Officer Candidate School. 

“He said we’ll have an afternoon of lectures tomorrow,” he told Lewis, remembering his conversation with Cpt. Sobel after the latter had promoted him. “He also wants us to have a special meal. He said he liked spaghetti.” 

“Really? He likes spaghetti?” Nixon turned his head toward his friend, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Never thought I’d see the day he actually admits enjoying something. I mean apart from cancelling week-end passes and making our lives miserable.” 

“Well, Lew, this is the truth. He likes spaghetti.” Winters smiled back, feeling the weight of responsibility slightly lifting off his shoulders as they goofed around. Even though he always had in mind the final result of their training, the jump that they would finally come to make in a land occupied by the enemy, occasions like these granted the man precious minutes away from everything. With Nix, resting was easier. “And he also designated me mess officer for 14 days. A test for my command potential,” he let the brunet know.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your plate, now that you got promoted.” Lewis commented slyly.

Dick could only chuckle, shaking his head in disapproval of such a poor pun.

Silence settled in the room, falling comfortably upon the two men, each of them savouring the calmness of the end of the day. 

“Lew, do you ever think about what’s going to happen next?” Winters first broke the mist of quietness at last, voicing the question that had been hanging on the edge of his lips for weeks. 

“Huh?”

“What’s going to happen next. When we actually get sent away to fight.”

Nixon’s gaze lingered on a distant spot for several more seconds before he answered, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully.

“Yeah, sometimes. But I think it won’t be that different, only Krauts will be shooting at us. But the rest, pretty much the same.” He turned to Dick, and the graver shadow that had crept over his face shifted into his usual expression. A small smile even slipped onto his features. “I got through Officer Candidate School with a non-cursing non-drinking redhead for a best friend. Nothing can surprise me anymore.”

“You’re well-prepared,” Dick replied in a slightly more buoyant tone, Nixon’s words managing to once again allay the heaviness that would sometimes overburden him. 

“Yeah.” The brunet Lieutenant stretched, suppressing a yawn, and shut his eyelids. “So spaghetti tomorrow, huh?”

“Spaghetti it is. Though if it was up to me, I’d also go for an additional desert.”

“How kind of you.” Lewis teased him, relaxed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Peaches,” Winters answered casually, playful.

“You son of a b*tch.” The man laughed, opening his eyes to take a look at his friend’s delighted expression.

In that moment, they both knew that no matter what was to happen to them, they would make it as long as they had each other. As long as they would share the same complicity, as long as they would experience even fractions of such amusement and light-heartedness, they would find the strength to face whatever the war would unleash at them. But for now, still unaware of what lay ahead, the two men relished their few hours away from duty, relying on each other to make their time with Cpt. Sobel a little less unbearable. 

[himbowelsh]

18 with winnix for the kiss prompts please!

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!) 18.   kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

this definitely...  escalated far past where you wanted/needed it to go, and turned into more of an exploration of their post-war relationship, when winters joins nix in new jersey...   i had fun with it, but oof, did it ever kinda spiral.  there’s definitely kissing towards the end, though, so i hope you enjoy!!

To be fair, Nix never promised him an enjoyable night.

His first pitch was “a party”. Dick, who’s had enough experience with the sort of parties that go on in Nixon, New Jersey, replied that he had paperwork to catch up on. It was a good excuse because it wasn’t a lie. Nix brooded for a solid thirty seconds before popping back up, smile bright, to declare, “an evening affair, then, and you’re my date. You have to be, since I need one, and I haven’t got anyone else.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What about that girl, the one with the — the red hair —?”

“Hah,” replied Nix, in a flat tone that suggested his redheaded girlfriend was ancient history.

“One of the lobby girls, then.”

“Hah.”

“Blanche?”

“Hah!”

“I’m sure your mother would be honored to go with you.”

Nix had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling down, laughing.

By the time he regained his composure, Dick was pretty much resigned to accompanying him for the evening. He’s never been able to say no to Nix anyways, even during the war. Being home — Nix’s home — and seeing him in his element — for better or worse — just makes it harder. Something about Nix in the bustling atmosphere of the New Jersey social scene is beguiling, electric, and a bit haunted. Like watching a film noir, Dick can never look away.

He doesn’t expect to have a good time. Nix’s parties are not designed to be good times for people who don’t smoke, drink, or gamble. Nix was kind enough not to remark on the novel tucked into the inside pocket of Dick’s suit jacket as they strode up the walkway towards the roaring party. Loud music blared from open windows; lights and laughter twinkled from beyond the spacious French doorways. It was only nine o’clock, but Dick could feel exhaustion creeping up on him already.

“Come on,” Nix encouraged, guiding him into the townhouse with a proud hand on his elbow. “Let’s set you up on a nice sofa and find a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries, just for you.”

The one thing Dick will credit Lewis Nixon’s parties for — they’re never stingy with the cherries.

Now, three hours into the affair, he sets aside his most recent soda and scans the crowd. As the hours wind away, the raucous group has started to thin out. Either the partiers are headed somewhere else, or all have appointments to keep in the morning, because they show no signs of lingering into the early hours. Dick can be grateful for that much, at least. Those types of parties typically end with him dozing on a stranger’s sofa until he has to steer a very drunk Nix into the back of the waiting car at 3am. Dick has suffered through enough late evenings to never want to see another one again — though, time after time, he ends up coming out for Nix.

It seems like a quiet one tonight, though, thank goodness. The music has faded to a lull, someone thrumming out a thoughtful tune on the piano. The rowdiest partiers have taken leave, and all that’s left are Nix’s regular companions— the home’s owner, another Ivy League man Nix knows well, along with several of his mistresses; a few other Nixon Nitration folks Dick vaguely recognizes, and their dates; Nix’s sister Blanche, leaning languidly over the piano in a shimmering silver dress; and Nix, sprawled in a chair, top buttons of his shirt undone and hair disheveled.

He looks utterly debauched, and something about it thrills Dick. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course, but Nix in his sanguine element is magnetic. He’s like a panther — sleek and relaxed, dangerous under a veneer of nobility. No matter how much he’s had to drink, Nix’s dark gaze is always piercing; he always seems to know something the rest of the room doesn’t, and sometimes it plays on his lips like a hidden treasure.

He’s smirking like that now, and the smirk’s trained directly on Dick… and he can’t look away. It’s impossible. Even if he wanted to, Nix reels him in with that penetrating gaze. It’s all Dick can do to sit up straighter, pretending he is comfortable in this rakish crowd, the only one sober and the only one out of place.

“Speaking of saints,” Nix says at once — loud enough to cut in on whatever theological ramble his Yale buddy was in the middle of, “here’s one now. Sitting in front of us. Dick, come here. Show these fellows what a true Saint Augustine looks like.”

Dick would rather do anything else… but he’d cross a mountain for Lewis Nixon. Crossing the length of a trashed ballroom is only a bit more challenging. He comes to stand at Nix’s side, clearly uncomfortable, while Nix’s friends take him in as though seeing him for the first time this evening.

“You know I’m not Catholic, Lew,” he tries to quip, to break the tense mood. Nix’s hand catches his, squeezing lightly, and Dick’s own unease only grows.

“Neither am I, but we’re pretending for tonight. Gives all the sinning a bit more zest, you know?”

“Sure.” Dick’s hand comes to rest on the back of Nix’s chair, unconsciously craving something to do. One of the host’s mistresses, with bright red lips and sharp eyes, doesn’t miss it.

“Ohh,” she hums, like the word is a wave she must ride to the shore. “Don't say it, Lewis. This is your handsome date?”

Something about the way she says it has Dick’s shoulders tensing in instinctual alarm. Maybe Nix has had far too much to drink, or can read this crowd too well; he doesn’t even flinch at the implication.

“Afraid so,” he replies, a hand creeping up Dick’s sleeve. “Nice enough to hang around all night, even though he’d rather be back home pouring over...  productivity reports. Employee reviews? Staff... surveys?”

“Something like that,” Dick says.

“Something like that.” Nix’s hand runs up and down Dick’s arm, blatantly fond. It takes everything in Dick’s power not to tense up.

None of the assembled crowd seems bothered by such a display, however. Nix’s friends exchange knowing looks, smirking around lit cigarettes or crystal glasses. One woman languidly kicks her heels onto her date’s laugh, shaking her head. From the piano, Blanche runs a hand over her glossy hair, gaze sharp on her brother and his companion. “He’s out of your league, Lewis,” she chimes. Her smirk is catlike, voice like molasses dripping onto spring grass. At times, she looks dangerously like her brother, and Dick isn’t sure how to handle either of them.

Nix’s grip settles around Dick’s upper arm. “Isn’t that the truth?”

When Dick looks down, Nix is looking up. Something about his whiskey-bright gaze knocks the breath from his lungs. It’s too… soft, too tender. Too intimate for this party, to exist among strangers. Nix’s grip on his bicep is firm, and Dick has no desire to pull away. He doesn’t get the chance to question — not even a flicker of uncertainty, a breathless what's he doing — before Nix gives a tug, and Dick all but tumbles into his lap.

He regains his balance like a newborn colt, to the bubbling laughter of Nix’s audience. His cheeks flare, bright red; Nix’s touches, usually so welcome, now linger on his skin like a hot iron. He’s straddling his best friend’s knees, Nix’s arm wrapped around his to steady him, and it’s all Dick can do not to leap back to his feet to salvage whatever slim slice of dignity remains.

“Nix,” he says, voice low in warning.

“Relax, Dick,” he answers, equally softspoken. “It’s all a game. Don’t you see? None of it really matters.”

It matters to me, he wants to say...  because Nix has never held him without it mattering, has never caressed him without every sensation engraving itself permanently into Dick’s memory. Nix has never… not mattered to him. Some part of Dick, an small yet insidious murmur, wonders when he became insignificant to him.

The way Nix caresses his face is anything but meaningless, though… as is the way his dark gaze lingers on his lips, simmering for so long that Dick can feel its heat. Nix’s thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, and instinctively Dick draws back.

Something hurt flashes in Nix’s eyes. Dick cannot feel guilty. He doesn’t want this — can’t Nix understand that? Not here, not now, not putting on a show for an audience. Not when Nix is whiskey-soaked and careless, so far gone that Dick could get drunk off the taste of him. If this is a game, Dick doesn’t want to play.

“Father isn’t around for you to give a coronary, Lewis.” Blanche’s voice echoes as though from the other side of a tunnel, practically bored. “Save it for the next family dinner, at least.”

Gradually, Nix’s grip on Dick’s waist loosens. His touch pulls away from his face, finding Dick’s hand instead. He raises it to his mouth and lets it linger there — a sweet mockery of a kiss — before releasing Dick entirely. 

Dick pulls away, regaining his posture and his dignity. The eyes of the room are all on him now, as surely as they were on the jazz singer earlier in the night. He can’t take their weight, or their curiosity. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead, he brushes himself down and murmurs an excuse to Nix. “Just going to get some air.”

Nix doesn’t try to stop him.

Stepping out into the cool night is like being released from prison. Dick braces himself against the stone railing of the townhouse’s balcony, gazing at the gravel drive only a few feet below. He could jump it, if he really wanted to — easier that than going back inside and leaving out the front door, wrangling Nix away from his clan. They’re not so far from home — he could walk it, in an hour or so. The fresh air would do his head good. At least in the dark, no one would be able to see him, to wonder and scrutinize…

His mind has gone to a strange place now, and is twisting itself in tangles. Recognizing his own impossible daydream, Dick sighs, slumping forward. A hand finds his hair, rumbling it. For a long moment, he only breathes, focusing on the autumn air filling his lungs and the crickets chirping in the night, to drown out the storm raging inside.

His nerves are too taut not to notice when someone comes up behind him… but the scent of perfume is familiar, so he doesn’t jump. She sidles up alongside him, inhaling softly in the night air; she blows out the same way Nix does, from deep within her chest. When Dick raises his head, Blanche is not focused on him at all, but looking ahead down the driveway.

“Planning your escape?” she asks lightly. Her mulberry lips curl upwards, without the chore of looking at him. “I don’t blame you. That was painful, in there.”

Dick arches an eyebrow. “You felt it too?”

She has a drink in her hand, but the glass is empty. As Blanche’s attention drifts to it, she seized upon the olive, still speared and languishing inside the glass. With delicate, manicured fingers, she plucks it out and scrutinizes the tiny fruit.

“You can’t let him bully you, Dick,” she says after a moment. The scent of wine may be heavy on her breath, but her words are perfectly sober. “He doesn’t mean to, but it’s instinct around these people. They all like to show off, and he’s proud of you.”

Dick’s brows furrow. He’s not some brand new car, or a gold-plated watch. “Why?”

“Because you’re nothing like them.” Blanche’s dark gaze flickers up to him; for the first time tonight, Dick feels entirely seen. Her lips purse, like she’s fighting back a smile, but something in her eyes reminds him of loneliness. “You don’t belong in this set… and that’s nothing against you, darling, only what you know as well as us. My brother prizes you so highly; he’s proud that you’re here, that you’re with him, that you give him your time and agree to accompany him to these parties, even though you’d much rather be doing anything else.”

Dick’s lips purse. Blanche waits a moment, as though expecting him to protest… but he has nothing to say.

“Rich little boys love their toys. You need to remind him that you aren’t one.” Her fingers drum against the rim of her glass; each clink-clink-clink pierces Dick’s nerves like shrapnel wounds.

“He doesn’t mean anything wrong by it,” he protests, because he knows Nix well enough to understand that. 

“Of course not. If he didn’t care about you…” Blanche’s words trail off, along with her gaze. She drifts back out to the driveway, painted lips pursing like she’s considering something far away. After another silent moment, she glances at Dick once more. “Last chance to run.”

Dick smirks. “I’m considering it.”

Blanche sighs into the night, pushing her folded arms off the railing and stepping back. Dick no longer feels inclined to stand out in the darkness, alone. As she steps back into the well-lit hallway, he follows her.

When they reenter the lounge, Nix is holding court, in the middle of an animated story Dick’s heard before. “— of course, I couldn’t have known there was a cat involved, otherwise I’d never have set foot in the apartment. So I sit down on the couch and the damned thing launches at me, yowling like a bat out of hell —“ He cuts off, mid-flail, gaze landing on his sister and companion. “Ah. Was wondering where you too made off to.”

“Nothing untoward,” Blanche drawls, slinking back towards the bar. “I offered, but Dick’s too upstanding.”

Nix locks onto Dick, and again, his gaze is painfully warm. Dick feels the same way, like a furnace is burning under his collar. Uneasily, he lowers himself onto a settee at the far edge of the room, back to the door so he won’t be tempted. So long as he’s in Nix’s sightline, his presence counts… but he doesn’t have to make himself the object of a crowd’s fascination again.

Nix understands, in that easy way of his. His lips curl up in the slightest smile, before he turns back to his audience. “As I was saying…”

His story winds on for a little while longer, before he grows bored with it. By then, the crowd has grown equally bored with its malingering, but still too languid to get up and do something about it. One of the women slips behind the piano and tries to start up a dancing tune, but no one bites. Her song devolves into something slower, more thoughtful. The host pours himself another drink from the bar, and doesn’t offer to serve anyone else; his mistresses chatter in an undertone, lipstick stained crystal glasses sitting beside them. Nix reclines back in his chair, perfectly debauched. His hair is a ruffled mess, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. The top of his shirt is still open, carelessly displaying his collarbones and a flash of dark hair across his chest. 

You’ll catch a chill, a voice in Dick’s head that sounds too much like his mother chides. He’s seized briefly with the inexplicable, intense urge to cross the room and lean over Nix to close the shirt himself. It passes, of course, and he politely averts his gaze.

Perhaps he’s doing too good of a job not looking at him. “Dick,” Nix finally says, from right behind him. “Ready to go?”

A wave of relief washes over him. He hasn’t wanted anything so badly since his discharge papers. “Let’s go,” he replies, rising to his feet.

They pay polite goodbyes to their host; Blanche waves them off with an eyeroll for Nix and a blown kiss for Dick. Then, finally, they leave through the front door, and slip into the night.

While they drove here themselves, Nix is in no state to command the car. Dick is already prepared to take the wheel, when the valet steps up with keys in hand. “Do you require a ride home, Mr. Nixon?”

Dick’s surprised gaze swivels towards Nix, as if to ask do we? (He’s still so unused to the world of chauffeurs and butlers, and every encounter leaves a foreign, coppery taste in his mouth.) Nix dwells on the offer for a moment with lazy-eyed disinterest, before shrugging and gesturing the valet towards his car. “Why not? Roy likes to be generous. Let him do us a favor for once, huh?”

Dick, who has never personally done Nix’s friend Roy a single favor, just nods.

Nix’s car is sleek and expensive, a top of the line Plymouth Deluxe in glossy black paint and felt seating. Dick has sat in the passenger’s seat enough times that sliding into the back feels like a mistake, something to double back and correct before he manages to embarrass himself. Nix slides in right behind him, not giving him the chance. The scent of car freshener can’t disguise the stuffy air in the back of the car; there’s not much separating the back from the front, but the forward row of seats stretch up, practically creating a barrier to separate both ends of the car in half. Dick hears the driver slide in up front, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see.

“Turn on the radio, will you?” Nix requests as the car stirs to life. Obligingly, the driver turns a few knobs; what threatens to become an awkward silence immediately finds itself drowned out by a staticky love ballad.

“And when I kissed you, darling It was more than just a thrill for me It was the promise, darling Of the things that fate had willed for me…”

The timing is astonishingly poor. Dick slumps back against the seat, all but defeated. At his side, Nix chuckles.

When Dick looks over, it's impossible to catch his eye. The night is too dark, and these roads aren’t well-lit; shrouded by shadows, Nix’s eyes are two black holes, drawing all trace of light into them and holding it hostage. Dick catches a flash of something pearly, which must be the jagged cut of Nix’s smile; the silhouetted shoulders rise up and down, in what isn’t quite laughter.

After a moment, Nix goes still. Dick can’t see, but he knows he’s being watched.

“Well?” Nix finally says. “When are you going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

Dick turns his head, looking out the window nearest to him. “Never occurred to me, Nix.”

“Maybe not to say it, but you were thinking it. Come on, Dick.” A smooth-palmed hand finds his in the darkness. Dick allows it. “I knew I screwed up the moment you pulled away. Knew it as soon as I saw your face, really, but damn me if I know how to stop… come on, that’s what I bring you to these things for. To keep a leash on me.”

Dick thinks Nix’s social circle picked up on that, at least.

He doesn’t realize how tense he’s gone until Nix’s thumb strokes along the back of his knuckles; his hand, Dick realizes, has gone stiff as a corpse’s, gnarled with tension. When he looks down, he’s suddenly ashamed. He tries to pull away, but Nix holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sudden and sincere.

“You didn’t do anything,” Dick replies. “If I didn’t want to be there —“

“You don’t want to be there. You come to these awful things for me, even though you can’t stand it, and you’re a fish out of water the whole time. I’m being cruel to you. Downright uncharitable! And you know the reason why.”

Dick’s gaze is drawn back to him again. This time, as a flash of light passes through the car, he glimpses Nix’s face — eyes bright with drink, devastatingly earnest, his lips curled downwards and jaw tense. He’s handsome without trying… and cruel, too. More careless than he realizes.

Blanche’s words echo in his ears: rich little boys love their toys.

“It might be a game to you, Nix,” Dick says softly, “but it isn’t to me. Whatever show you were putting on in there… I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Nix is silent for a long moment. The air between them is thick as curdled cream. “I understand,” he finally says. “I… I get it, Dick, christ. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Of course he knows. Doesn’t Nix realize he doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone, just do Dick will stand by his side? Doesn’t he realize the whole reason Dick goes to these parties, time and time again, is for him? Because he’d shatter the entire world and piece it back together, fragment by microscopic fragment, just to make Lewis Nixon happy?

“It’s never been a game to me, Nix,” he says softly.

In the darkness, Nix’s hand finds his again. This time, Dick squeezes tight.

He doesn’t know exactly how they come together, what magnetism pulls them or the way their bodies fit together. His shoulder presses up against Nix’s; his fingers find the threads of Nix’s hair; Nix’s thigh is a solid weight as it drapes over his own, his skin is warm, and suddenly Nix is practically in his lap.

It felt better this way. Dick likes the cover of darkness, is painfully grateful for it, just as he is of the way his hand fits over Nix’s hip. He likes holding him so much more than he likes being held… and something in the sigh Nix breathes against his lips suggests he likes it this way too.

“It’s not a game to me either, Dick,” he murmurs. “You matter too damn much”

The distance between them closes on its own will. Nix tastes like whiskey and coffee and August twilight; his lips are smooth, gliding over Dick’s own as though he’s wet them a dozen times since their conversation began. Their embrace is tender, but the hand gripping Dick’s shoulder is desperate. When Dick sighs against Nix’s lips, he utters a soft noise, almost like a whine. Dick’s fingers run along his scalp, soothing the dissatisfaction away.

“I much prefer this,” Dick mutters. “It suits us both better… privacy.”

“If it suits you,” Nix replies, “that’s all I need to know.”

It’s not perfect, and it’s not quite laid to rest… but they make it home at a reasonable hour, and Dick holds Nix in the privacy of their own home. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

[churchkey]

18 from the kiss prompts with winnix

Kiss Prompt (Winnix ~1700 words)

Title: Nice Work if You Can Get It

Pairing: Winters/Nixon

Rating: Teen w/ some vaguely described sexy bits

Notes: Thank you lovely anon for the prompt. I’m placing this behind a cut because it’s long-ish and tagging the fabulous @anthrobrat for always listening to me when I’m on my obsessive Winnix bullshit. Inspired by that iconic photo (you know the one), which Tumblr won't let me post for reasons I don't understand.

18. kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

By the time Dick joined them on the balcony, they’d been drinking for a solid seven hours and looked like it too. Speirs was slumped Lipton-ward on the settee, his body sprawled so languidly that Dick wondered how he kept from oozing down onto the stone floor. Harry was settled deep into the chair opposite Nix, his arms dangling over the sides and his head moving in constant, lopsided waves among all three of them, while Nix, well.

Nix was just his regal self. Same generous smile; same kind, dark eyes. Balancing a bottle of wine on his thigh and resting one boot on the opposite knee, he looked like he just belonged there, like a sovereign gazing proudly upon the vast beauty of his Alpine kingdom.

“Here you are,” Dick said as he approached them. “The neighbors have started to complain.”

Harry laughed. “What, this little tea party?”

“Some gang of officers behaving like rowdy sailors on shore leave,” Dick said. “I said, ‘that can’t be my staff’. Figured I’d better come see for myself.”

“Well si’down, since you’re here”, Ron slurred. “Stay awhile.”

The rest of the guys echoed him, a chorus of “Yeah” and “Come on”, oblivious of the fact that there was nowhere for him to sit. Dick’s eyes swept over the empty bottles strewn haphazardly across the table, the misty mountains in the distance, and landed on Nix, whose lips fluttered in the briefest smile as he sat up straighter in his chair and dropped his eyes to the armrest in invitation.

Their bodies slid together like magnets, Dick perched on the arm of Nix’s chair, Nix’s arm draped around the back. Though they weren’t actually touching, it struck him as deeply intimate and mundane at the same time, sharing a chair with Nix in the same way they’d shared everything else. Everything they had, everything they’d clawed and scrabbled for, every victory they’d won, it all belonged to both of them. There was no separation.

The guys laughed and drank, laughed and drank. Dick faded into the background, now and again turning his head toward Nix to murmur a question into his ear, which he’d answer under his breath in a voice reserved for Dick.  “Is Lip drunk?” “Hard to say.” “Did Harry piss himself?” “No, that’s champagne”.

“Come on,” Harry was saying, holding a bottle in his outstretched arm. “Have a drink with us, Dick. Major. Major Dick.” He was so busy laughing at his own dumb joke that he didn’t react when Nix wrapped his arm around Dick’s waist and pulled him down to his lap.

“Who, this guy?” Nix said. “He’s been drinking all day. Look at him, he can’t even sit up straight.”

Dick was indeed struggling to regain his balance, trying in vain to keep some measure of distance between them. He figured he must look ridiculous, wedged between the chair’s arm and Lew’s right leg. And then he remembered that the war was over, and that everyone was drunk, and that Nix was his… Nix was his. For a little while longer. He gave up the fight and settled in, settling his arm around the back of the chair, his back against Lew’s chest. Lew’s hand on his hip. Lew’s voice in his head.

“Don’t you ever stop working?”

Everyone else was in the barn celebrating the success of Pegasus and doing their part to nurture the Special Relationship. As he’d listened to them from the attic of the farmhouse, Dick felt the anxiety slowly leave his body, felt the relief pour in on deep, full breaths of cool night air. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours yet, so he’d opened his Infantry Field Manual and begun reading it over again, committing its maneuvers and tactics to memory.

At first he’d thought Nix was just stopping by for another refill from his dwindling stock, but he didn’t even glance toward Dick’s footlocker as he climbed the steps and slowly crossed the room.

“Don’t you ever stop working?” he’d asked, like he’d been sent on a special mission to distract Dick, disrupt his routine and impose a new world order on his life. Like he’d been doing since the day they’d met.

The protest Dick mounted was perfunctory at best, just rolling his eyes as Lew perched himself on the edge of the desk, knees wide, blocking access to his papers and books and every other trivial concern. But it was Dick who first made contact, sliding his palms up Lew’s thighs to take him by the hips and pull him down to his lap, and it was Dick who thrust his tongue into Lew’s mouth as vulgar images flashed through his mind, all the other places he would put his tongue if given the chance. The far reaches he’d touch, the depths he would plumb.

And as they began the mindless grind, the desperate rocking of their hips against the hardness swelling between them, it was Dick who finally broke away, breathless, to say they should stop now or they’d have a mess on their hands.

“Yeah,” Lew chuckled, his voice dark and low, scraping his teeth along the taut muscles of Dick’s throat. “That’s kind of the point, Valentino.”

“I know, but - “ Dick sat back in his chair and looked down at the wrinkled shirt tails he’d yanked from Lew’s trousers. “Not like this.”

The suddenness with which Lew stood and began righting himself, tucking in his shirt, finger-combing his hair, made Dick worry briefly if he’d done something to offend him.

“What’s going on?” he asked cautiously, but Lew just gave him a confused look, like he’d missed something very obvious.

“Well aren’t we going to your room?”

It was the first time they made love in a proper bed, the first time they undressed completely and felt the warmth and surprise of each other’s skin against cool cotton sheets. It was the first time it occurred to Dick to call what they did ‘making love’, and not just opening a release valve and blowing off a little steam. And it was the first time he dared consider that maybe he’d known all along that they were never going to be just friends, that while they were running up mountains and memorizing sand tables and jumping out of planes, maybe they were also falling in love.

When it was over and he was lying there with Lew sprawled heavily across his chest, tracing aimless designs across Lew’s shoulders with his fingertips, Dick couldn’t help but think:

A fellow could get used to this.

And then a fear gripped his heart, a warning so loud and insistent that he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t shut it out. He knew that he couldn’t get used to it; that he mustn’t let himself. He spent the next week trying to forget what it felt like to hold Lew in his naked arms, to press his lips to the mark on his brow, faded now to a pale streak, white like the tail of a comet.

That felt like another lifetime now, with the sun setting behind the mountains and turning them black against the darkening sky. Time passed like wine flowing from the mouths of those bottles they kept tipping to their lips, drops spilling from the corners of their mouths, down their chins, wiping them away with the backs of their hands. Mirth rolling from their eyes and sweeping over him in warm waves, and Dick felt a little drunk on it himself, on their happiness and relief.

The night air grew chilly. Their laughter subsided to restful sighs and mumbled curses, and Dick felt a truth settle in. Looking around this circle, into the drowsy, grinning faces of his friends, he knew that he loved them in a way that he would never love anyone else.

“Alright Captain,” Lip said finally, struggling to pull Speirs to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Captain. Carwood,” Ron mumbled, like the words were marbles rolling around in his mouth. Lip took his wrist and hooked his arm around his neck, wrapping his other arm around Ron’s waist.

“Oh Carwood, my Carwood,” Dick heard Ron saying, his face buried in Lip’s neck as Lip led him carefully across the balcony.

He looked at Nix, amused. “Are we that obvious?” he murmured. Nix just looked back at him, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Hey Harry,” he asked after a moment, his eyes still on Dick. “Think it’s time to call it a night?”

“And leave you two unchaperoned?” Harry sunk lower in his chair, stretching his legs across the table, boots crossed at his ankles. “Unlikely.”

Nix just shook his head faintly, raising his shoulders in a tiny shrug. Harry’s chin fell to his shoulder and his face went slack. Within a minute, his breathing had deepened to gentle snores.

“What about you,” Dick asked Nix. “How are you feeling?”

“How do I look?”

Dick’s eyes swept down his stubbled face, his rumpled collar. “Like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

Lew chuckled at that, pulled Dick closer. “Well,” he began thoughtfully, taking a deep breath and sighing it out again. “I think I might have a few more laps in me yet.” His eyes were almost black in the dim light as he gazed into Dick’s. “Kiss me.”

Dick didn’t even check to see if Harry was still asleep. Cupping the back of Lew’s head, he dropped his chin, tipped his head to the side, and felt Lew’s mouth, firm and wet and sweet, pressed to his.

He could barely make out the jagged edges of the mountains against the sky as he moved in to kiss Lew again, and he didn’t chase it away this time, the thought he couldn’t help but think.

A fellow could get used to this.

[hcdsn]

☹ for Nix

Perhaps it’s irony that settled itself heavily against every individual one of Hudson’s ribs. Irony, in that, what he’s watching across the bar isn’t so different from what he remembers of the first night he’d ever seen Nixon as something beyond his brother’s best friend. The flirtatious nature of his husband has never once been lost on him, never struck him as something that he should worry about because he’s more than aware that since they’d tied themselves together in this knot of feelings back in New York, it’s never been geared towards anyone but him. Whatever this is though, tangles him further, and this time, he’s seemingly alone. Jealousy has never been his downfall. If anything, Hudson Redgrave has bled everything but jealousy all his life. The calm and collected allure that he’d always held is something far different to what he feels now though, watching as the assistant curator he’d hired months ago, drives his palm a little higher on his husband’s jean-clad thigh. And it lives there, somewhere in the smirk Nixon wears, the same one that Hudson can trace from all the way across the room, that turns every molecule of water within his body to flame, all at once. And maybe it’s shattered in the dim light of the bar. Pieces of a smile that he knows are meant only for him, cast across in a kaleidoscope of reasons that could live behind Nixon’s hand slipping across the other. Yet, all Hudson sees is one. A singular reason, a doubt that has lived for so long within the pit of his stomach and undoubtedly, one he’ll never voice. His search for immortality is one that he shares with few - a refusal to lose the power he has, to gain a longer life, it tethers him to who he is, and in the same breath, ensures that their time is still limited together. The glimmer of light that catches the ring his husband wears seems less bright, a falsity that can’t exist beyond a measly reflection and without trace of thought, he conjures the incantation in the depths of his mind without moving a muscle. There’s a breath of pettiness, undoubtedly, that exists in this piece of Hudson. His logical, analytical and mirror image mind is less of a failure and more of an irrelevant standpoint as the eidolon he knows only he and his apprentice can see, appears stood within the horse-shoe shaped bar between them. It’s in the shatter of glass, a woman’s screech as she wears the contents of a once full glass, piercing. Still, he doesn’t seek to find his way through the thinning crowd, parting ways to allow room for a man seemingly losing his mind to stumble from his place, face void of all color. This is his own doing - his own mind at work, and perhaps, Hudson is more aware of that than anyone else in the room, even as the striking hues of his better half find him in the mess. Even still, it doesn’t feel like enough. The knowledge that the younger man might be plagued by even the worst of his demons for the days to come - such torture has never been an end-all for Hudson. Satisfaction doesn’t come from the trauma, because while chaos is what he has always sought, it’s never the exact detail that finds him seeking out more. It’s then, in the twist of his own fingertips as he steps aside slightly, pressing himself into the crowd of people watching on as the screaming continues. Memories once buried of the ghost-like woman that screams almost as endlessly as he does are torn from their cage within and burned into the inlet of his hues. Jealousy is a wild concept, one that has never once broached Hudson’s conscious mind until he’d found Nixon. It’s taunting nature left to hang between them as if they were both willing to use it against one another, a game, mocking and torturous all the same, but this breathes heat far hotter than that. The unwitting snap of bone as Hudson reaches to bend the blood within his assistant’s ankle is enough to draw the breath of all those watching inward - but the screaming stops. At least, his does, as instead his throat is filled with water. Rushing up from within his body to block his airways and splutter from his mouth. It’s sent the nearest bartender hurdling the wooden bar, calling for someone to call an ambulance though, perhaps there are far more than two who know that there’s no use. Two who stand at opposite ends of the bar, almost ignorant to all that goes on as hues bore into one another, Nixon’s smirk not one that Hudson finds capable of returning this time as he instead turns his head and slips from the building - leaving the casualty of Hudson’s feelings to drown

He doesn’t make it far and truly, he’s not sure he ever expected to. The grip on his shoulder, entirely inhuman, is more than enough to draw him to a stop, the biting nature of the callous words that sit on his tongue, however, are completely gone by the time feet have found their pivotal point on the concrete below. Azure hues are piercing and whatever it is that Nixon voices, a far off sound that seems more like a feeling, reverberating right through his chest, he hears none of it before he’s cast it all aside just to feel the burn of everything within him a little longer, “What?” It’s hard to miss, the spark of uncertainty that still resides beneath the taunting look Nixon seems to carry with him everywhere. “I thought we were meant to be keeping a low profile?” Admittedly, it’s not what he was expecting, but somehow, it tightens the knot in his stomach a little more since attention seems to be the one thing Nixon wished to have drawn from the outburst that was clearly Hudson’s doing in the building they’d left behind. “The only thing low back there was his hand on your dick, Nix.” He spits out, even if it’s the least of his problems with what he saw - or what his mind had conjured for him. An eidolon of his own, perhaps. In the form of things, he can’t promise.

The look on Nixon’s face speaks wonders. Too often had they toyed with people, men and women who couldn’t find it in them to look away from one or the other for too long. Easy targets in a world that was becoming far more aware of the dangers that lurked in the form of those far too easy on the eye. Frustration bubbles over, knowing that there’s nothing that Hudson can say that might give Nixon a reason to otherwise assure him that his thoughts are merely that. Though, whatever heartfelt assurance he could offer certainly doesn’t offer up a reprieve from things he cannot rid himself of, his own irrationality and how aware he was that it definitely existed, is enough to push him forward. Hands draw themselves from the pockets in which they’d previously buried themselves in to find the curvature they so belonged in at either side of Nixon’s jaw and maybe it’s enough that he can taste the bitterness of the drink his now dead assistant had bought for Nixon, on his lips. Maybe it’s enough, that he knows his choice of liquor had been wrong. That nobody knew Nixon the way he did.

[madame-brioche]

Can I ask headcannon for Easy Company where they react to a female soldier in the Toccoa camp? Please)

Of course! I would assume this female soldier would not be on her own, as she’d more likely be a part of a Women’s Army Corps or Women’s Airforce Service Pilots. Still, it’s no doubt the boys of Easy Company would find it a bit jarring to see a female among their ranks ;)

Winters: Dick doesn’t do the best job of socializing with her, but he would be exceptionally gentleman-like and kind to her. I see him being rather direct, keeping things professional, and expects her to do the same. He would admire how intelligent she is and might try to bond with her over similar religious or political views. If she is super outgoing, he might shy away altogether and prefer their interactions to be surface-level and business-like, but there are some exceptions. (I mean there’s a reason he and the very outgoing Nix are besties, they compliment each other well). He likes to be by himself, but he definitely will enjoy her company. 

Nixon: Nix would most likely be quite flirtatious, using a lot of his dry wit and backhanded compliments at first, trying to figure out how she ticks. I see him falling for her if she was a bit on the bookish, quirky side of things. He would probably sneak her alcohol and then say it’s okay if she hides it in Dick’s foot locker without asking because he never does. But I don’t see him ever truly admitting the extent of his feelings for her, so it would take some deep digging before a relationship becomes official.

Lipton: Lip really wants to get to know her and will make that his mission until he knows every little detail without revealing one thing about himself. If she needed anything, you know he’d go above and beyond to take care of whatever it was. Honestly, he gives the best pep talks when she’s feeling especially defeated from Sobel’s lecturing or rethinking why she joined up. Definitely the kind of friend she’d want in her corner, just an all-around angel.

Luz: George Luz...what can I say? He has great lines, probably surprises her with random contraband gifts, and is very confident to the point that, depending on how she is, she might feel a bit intimidated at first (but that quickly goes away). He’ll keep her laughing at every turn, shouting out some inside joke every time they pass each other, makes an effort to sit with her in the mess hall, and just has this big brother loving energy that puts her at ease ;)

Guarnere: Wild Bill is teasing her non-stop, which comes off as mean in the beginning but evolves into something of affection and fondness. At the end of the day, it’s all just playful and not to be taken seriously. He probably checks up on her all the time, and without having to say it he makes it clear he’d take a bullet for her. And he gets serious FOMO if she goes out and has a good time without him because they’re drinking buddies and encourage each other to do dumb stuff they wouldn’t normally do on their own. 

Toye: Joe’s a sarcastic boi by nature but he will use all the charm he’s got when it comes to interacting with her. He won’t be as cynical, leaning toward more playful, and will welcome her conversation with a coy smile and that raspy voice of his. He likes the feeling of her hand in his, even if he’s just helping her up. His eyes visibly light up whenever he sees her, and he prefers to be extra in any and all the plans he makes for the two of them. I can totally see him snapping a picture of her while she’s not looking (in a non-creepy way), maybe during a time when everyone is out having fun, and keeping the picture close to him at all times.

Liebgott: Lieb is giving her those eyes that say both ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck me’ at the same time, and he always seems to have a quick comeback for everything. He would definitely challenge her to a drinking game or poker or something competitive where he could simultaneously show off and flirt. I think she’d eventually become such an integral part of the company that he’d very much object if she was being transferred out. And because he’s a beautiful chaotic mess, Lieb would be giving her sweet smiles and winks while casually roasting all her interests and hobbies to her face, but it’s how he expresses his romantic feelings, so...

Webster: He’d be most likely to approach her if she was sitting alone or maybe struggling with something that he could help with. He likes to feel like a Regency-era hero, and maybe she secretly has the upper-hand and does it on purpose just to amuse him. Either way, his eyes would get this dream-like trance to them and he’d take her for long walks up Curahee in the evening, just waxing poetic about nothing and everything (why people go to war, how we just believe what we’re told, the meaning of it all, etc). He’ll need want someone to share those ideas with for once.

Speirs: Speirs probably thinks this is no place for a ‘lady’ but is secretly turned on by her hard work and determination. Think Li Shang from Mulan. He doesn’t play games, tells it like it is, and that includes pointing out things she can improve upon. On the low, he’s very impressed by her ability to stand up to him and call him out for things that no one else is brave enough to do. He gives her advice because he cares about her, wants to her to make it out alive. If anyone tried anything with her, he’d turn into a viscous guard dog in an instant and then back to his cold, collected state.

Malarkey: Malark is all smiles around her and will more than likely talk her ear off if she lets him. He can go on and on and keep that same optimistic disposition in place. He would welcome her into his little group of jokesters, inviting her to late-night poker games and various misadventures with Muck and Penkala. She should expect a weekly telegram from him if they’re ever separated, updating her on the crazy antics she was missing out on. Please write back soon!

Roe: Tbh, he likely wouldn’t talk to her unless they had to in some circumstance. Just quiet shy smiles and prolonged eye contact, and that would be the extent of their communication. Doc would be so gentle if he ever had to treat her for an injury, like whatever level of gentleness he normally uses will be dialed up to 11. He’ll call her by a nickname if everyone else does, but that’ll come with time. Maybe playfully mimics her gestures or the way she says stuff, only because she does it to him, and he says a lot more with his eyes than with his words. If he’s drunk though, that’s a different story altogether. Hello truth serum.

Heffron: Babe’s just a friendly, fluffy ball of boyish charm and teasing, and he’s one for giving her elaborate, over-the-top compliments. He nods a lot at what she says, laughs easily at her jokes (even if they’re sub par), and often says she’s his favorite in the company. He cares deeply about her safety and will be worried when they’re in combat but ultimately knows she can take care of herself (that doesn’t stop him from standing slightly in front of her when the bullets start flying).

#easycompany #bandofbrothers #hbowar #request

[thefricklefracklesin]

Easy Reacts pt. 2

Back at it again with part 2! Just a little more sauce this time... If there is one that any of you doods really like and you want me to write a whole smut fic for it please PLEASE let me know!!

I know this is only three of the boys but I wanted to get something out to you all, part three is in the making as this is posted. please let me know what you all think! And who you’d like to see next!

Inspiration from @lostinthewiind​ “I’ll Let You Guess” please go check it out!

Part One

SINFUL WORDS AND 50%  SINFUL ACTS BELOW

Lewis Nixon

Were you ever drunk, you and Lew. This was probably the best way to celebrate VE-day, drunk in beautiful Holland with your lover. Easy sat around a fire, drinking, having a good time, you sat next to Lew, his hand on your thigh; winters sat next to him. Music played from the town in celebration, loud enough for you all to heat. “Hey Y/n, why don't you dance for us? Ya know, show us the moves” Luz joked, but the rest of the guys nodded. 

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you stood up, Lews hand falling from your thigh; eyes watching you intently. “this isn't normally the type of dancing I do but Ill try to add a twist to it” Now you did your absolute best to put on a show for the guys, but what you really wanted was to be dancing naked in Lewis Nixon's room with many bottles of fancy German wine. 

You danced around the fire, dragging some of the guys up to take part in the celebratory dancing. The entire time you danced, Lewis never took his eyes off you. You plopped back down next to him, out of breath, his hand went back to your thigh and he squeezed it hard.

Looking down at his hand then back up at him, you knew what he wanted. His lust filled eyes took in your dishevel form; hair messy, sweat rolling down your neck and chest, which was rising and falling heavily as hard breathes left your lips. Not saying anything other than a nod to Dick, Lew pulled you up and dragged you by your wrist away from the men, many of them cat calling as you left.

Before you could even reach your room Lew pushed you against the wall, his lips on your neck, sucking and biting harshly as his hands groped your breasts. His lips kissed up your jaw, to rest by your ear. “Now what did I say about dancing kitten?” swallowing hard, you let out a needy mew. “Dancing is only for me”

Richard Winters

“Hey Nix, have you seen Dick?” at first your question fell on deaf ears, after repeating yourself an answer was given. “Shit sorry y/n, uh yeah hes typing out a whole novel in his ‘office’ up there.” uttering a quiet thank you, you made your way to where he was currently occupying. And like Nixon had said, he really was writing a novel. 

His fingers clacked against the type writer as his eyes scanned the page, only taking brief 2-3 second pauses to review what he just typed out. He hardly noticed your presence as you close the door softly. A sad smile on your features as you made your way behind him, arms wrapping around his neck. “Sweetheart what are you doing here?” came his strained tired voice. “I'm here to make sure you don't overwork yourself Mr. Important” as he pushed his chair back you made room for yourself on his lap. 

“Im fine, Im almost done just a few more-” “Nu-uh mister, you’ve already overdone yourself.” Interrupting Dick, you placed a finger over his lips. Eyes moving tantalizingly slow over your form. His hand came up and grabbed your own, his other had fallen from the desk and now resided on your hip.  

His fingers intertwined with your own as his hand moved to the small of your back, gently pushing you forward. Just before your lips met his you could see the cocky smirk which he now showed. 

The make out session brought both you a boiling point. You could feel his hard cock straining to be released through his pants. An idea entered your mind and you giggled softly against his lips. A brow raised at you as you took to your feet, making him turn the chair away from his desk. You looked at him as you dropped to your knees, running your hands up his thighs. A groan emitted from him as he lulled his head back slightly, feeling your fingers ghost over his cock. His eyes met yours, then becoming glued to your lips, watching your tongue take its sweet time to moisten your lower lip. 

“Ill give you what you want sir...but” standing, drawing yourself back from Dick, noticing the look of confusion and frustration he was giving you made you giggle. “You have to go three minutes without touching me this time.” Ah yes, the strip tease. It was you favorite thing to tease him with. Dick had to admit that he did enjoy them- when he was aloud to touch. but he liked watching you dance to a rhythm in your head while removing your clothes. 

Buck Compton

“A wager?” “Yeah, I've noticed you like to do little bets with the guys and stuff so I figured you might want to have one with me” Bucks eyes followed you across the room. Where you were boarding, the family happened to have a record player, and they also happened to be away for the time being. You flicked through a couple of the records, giving the man seated on your temporary bed a side glance. “Hmm, what’s at stake here girlie” “Well. it would be mostly on you, how good you are at controlling yourself.” His face twisted to show slight confusion as he watched you choose a record, placing it on the platform, but not putting the needle town.

“When this needle drops, Ill dance for you, because I know how much you've wanted to see me dance.” Buck hummed in response. “All you have to do is keep your hands off me till its over, then you win.” “And what exactly do I win?” sauntering over to him, a sassy way in your hips. you bent over, giving him a view down your unbuttoned shirt. “Ill do whatever you ask of me” 

He sucked in a breath. “And if you win?” “You’ll do whatever I want, pretty simple. You in?” “Yes I am sweetheart.” and with that you walked back over to the player and dropped the needle. a rhythmic beat started playing and with that you turned your back to the man. 

His eyes watched your form, he didn't even dare blink. Sure you had always teased him about giving him a show, but neither of you ever acted on your silly words. Needles to say there was a hell of a lot of sexual tension between you too.  

The shirt fell from your shoulders and you turned to face him at a very slow rate. Arms covering your now exposed chest as a method to further your teasing. When you moved your hands, he knew that this was one bet he wasn't going to win.

[musicnoots]

Formulating the Plan - Storming Area 51 (1/3)

Band of Brothers

A/N: I kept my promise and wrote it. There are three parts to this.

Synopsis: The men of Easy Company look forward to storming the very famous Area 51, but first, they must formulate a plan.

Part 2 Part 3

Tags: @gottapenny @wexhappyxfew @higgles123 @croatianbagudna @medievalfangirl @bandofmarvels @dustyjjumpwings

A get together. Dick wanted a small, little get together with his closest friends. He wanted a nice evening with Nix, Speirs, Harry, and Buck in the backyard of his home with a couple of lemonades and some whisky for Nix. An enjoyable time with his friends as they talk about things going on in their lives until it got too late for them to sit outside, or until Nix fell asleep on the table.

They were sitting at the table in the backyard, leaning back and relaxing on the chairs as the stars twinkled from the above. Dick’s homemade lemonade sat in a pitcher on the table, half empty from hours of drinking it on end along with some mini quiches that Ron brought from Lip’s place. Oh, and not to mention a bottle of Vat 69 that Lew brought just for himself because he isn’t a lemonade kind of guy.

“Y’know,” Lewis took another sip of his whisky, “I’ve always wanted to go to Area 51.”

“You do know that place is closed to the public, right? It’s private government property.”

“Oh, private government property my ass, Dick.” He took another sip. “They have aliens there. God damn aliens.”

“Aliens?” Ron popped back into the conversation, scooting closer to the men and propping his elbows up on the table. This was serious business. Even more serious than his stolen silverware that was sitting in the cupboard at home.

“Yeah, aliens. I want to go to Area 51 so I can see those aliens.”

Aliens? Dick scoffed and sipped his lemonade. “Aliens aren’t real, Lew. Everyone knows that.”

“Uh—“ Now Buck came into the equation, setting his glass of lemonade down on the table very loudly just to attract attention. His eyes were laced with interest, his body becoming stiff at the subject. “Your opinion is wrong, Dick. Aliens are, in fact, real.”

“Oh, God. Not you, too, Buck.”

“I just wanna go to Area 51 to see those aliens—do you know what I would do just to see those aliens? Huh?” Lew said, his voice getting louder and louder to the point where you could tell that he was obviously drunk and serious about this. “I would break into Area 51. I don’t care if the government puts me in jail, prison, whatever! I just want to see those aliens.”

“You know what’s even better than seeing those aliens?” Ron spoke.“Bringing home one of those aliens.”

Lewis smiled like he had found his true calling. He pumped his arms out, spilling the rest of his whisky on the ground and grinning like a child after having found the golden egg during an egg hunt. “That is the greatest idea I have ever heard of.”

“We should do it!” Harry exclaimed and everyone but Dick followed in cheers and enthusiasm. Even Buck agreed which wasn’t expected of the UCLA graduate. Dick thought he was better than this.

“Okay, okay,” Dick interrupted the cheers and celebrations, “you guys are just joking, right? The last time someone tried to break into Area 51, they were shot. And besides, there are no aliens. It’s just an open training range for the Air Force.”

Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dick, I’m Ron Speirs. I can’t die.”

“Don’t listen to the Dick, he’s just a nonbeliever,” Buck said. “So, when are we going to break into the place?”

“How about tomorrow? We meet up here in the morning and go straight to Nevada,” Lewis said. 

“No,” Dick quickly shut him off, “no, no, no, no. You guys are not meeting here to go to on your alien hunting trip. This is my house, and I do not encourage this any further. You guys are going to get yourselves killed.”

“Not with Ron we won’t!” Lewis smirked, and Dick rolled his eyes. He knew that Dick would allow them to meet at his place, the man can’t say no when it comes to his favorite whisky drinker. “So we’ll just meet here at five a.m. sharp, leaving at five-thirty. Make sure you have whatever you need to break in.”

“Who’s going to drive you there?”

That was the problem. Now, Buck would drive because he had the biggest car out of all of them, but then Lewis wanted to have a getaway vehicle so they can escape swiftly without getting caught. It had to be someone who obviously didn’t want to go but would also be willing to drive them to dang place.

Ron raised his hand in the air. “I have an idea. I’ll call Lip.”

Oh, God. Not lip. Dick felt bad for the poor man. Everyone knew he was everyone’s mother, and he would never say no it came from Speirs. He’d do anything if you gave him a viable answer. 

When Ron left the table to get on the phone with Lipton, Dick was ready to give a long lecture to the men. What were they thinking? Did they really think they were going on an adventure to find something that didn’t exist? Aliens? Really? Dick honestly expected this out of Nix more than anyone else, a conversation created off of being drunk and sleepy at the same time. “Please tell me you guys aren’t really going to Area 51. Please,” he pleaded, and no one laughed. Or looked sincere. 

Everyone was serious. Dead serious. Harry wasn’t laughing and joking like his usual self, and even Buck didn’t say anything. They were all looking at Dick like he had just doubted their mastermind of a plan. 

“Dick, stop telling us that we can’t go!” Lewis slurred, trying to pat Dick’s shoulder but just ended slapping it. “I know you’re jealous, but if you want to come with us, then just say so! We have more room in the van for a couple more people, so you’re more than welcome to join us!”

“No.” Then Dick turned to Buck. “Please tell me that you aren’t going.”

Buck shook his head as a no. “Sorry, Dick, but I really want to see those aliens.”

“God, you believe in them, too?”

“Aliens, Dick!” Lewis exclaimed, waving his hands around in a drunken manner. It was hard to tell if this really was his true passion or just the alcohol talking. “God damn fuckin’ aliens! Tell me you don’t want to see them. Tell me you don’t want to see what the government has been hiding from us all this time.”

“I don’t want to see the aliens.”

“Wrong!” Lewis yelled so that the whole neighborhood knew what they were talking about. “You do want to see the aliens! You do want to go! You just don’t know it yet.” It’s been fifteen minutes, and Dick still doesn’t know who’s talking to him: the real Lewis Nixon or drunk Lewis Nixon. They sound the same at this point.

Buck reached over to pick up a mini quiche and popped it into his mouth. “Dick, just go with us. Lew probably isn’t going to leave without you,” he said with his mouth full, little bits of quiche falling on his lap, and Dick briefly questioned if Buck was also drunk, judging from the fact that he agreed with Lewis.

He simply shook his head and sighed, placing his glass of lemonade on the table with a loud clank. His boys were about to get themselves arrested, or even worse, killed all because Lew wanted to go to Area 51 in a drunken confession. Perhaps if Lew had drank lemonade instead, then this conversation wouldn't have happened in the first place, and then Ron wouldn’t be arranging rides from Lip on the phone.

When Ron did come back from the phone call, he didn’t look ecstatic, but he also did not look disappointed. “So, here’s the deal. Lip said he can drive us there, but he can’t drive us back.”

“Good enough!” Lewis exclaimed. “So, tomorrow morning, five a.m., we meet here and take off for alien central. Who else are we bringing?”

“I think we should get that little rat boy—what’s his name?”

“Liebgott?” Harry said, and Ron nodded.

“Yes, Liebgott! And take his friend too! The nerd from Harvard.”

“Wait, take?” Dick interrupted, but it was important this time. “Please don’t tell me you aren’t going to kidnap them.”

Lewis laughed, which made Dick nervous and confirmed his suspicions. “Oh, did you really think we were going to ask them? Hey, we’re going to Area 51, wanna come? Pfft. You know me, Dick. I don’t do that.” Then he turned back to the other three men. “Okay, so we got Liebgott, and Webster. Who else are we taking?”

“The angry Italian one,” Ron said. 

“Perconte?”

“No! The one with the square jaw!”

“Oh! Guarnere!”

“What about the other angry one?” Harry asked, mouth full of quiche with crumbs falling from the corners of his lips. “Not the one that bites people. He scares me. The one with the nice eyebrows.”

“Toye? Yeah, we’re bringing him, too,” Lew said while pouring himself another glass of Vat 69 and looked back up at Dick who had nothing but a look of disapproval smeared on his face. “There’s always room for you, too, Dick. I’m not beggin’ for you to come with us, but it would mean a lot if you did. This is important to me.”

This is important to me? What part of this was important to Lewis? The aliens part or the feeling of breaking into Area 51? Whatever it was, Dick was still not convinced to join their alien crusade because not only did he think it was wildly stupid, but it was incredibly dangerous, and he wasn’t about to put his life on the line for this. 

He simply shook his head. “No, and if you get in trouble, Nix, don’t call me. I’m not going to be responsible for you, or any of you, really. You all put yourselves into this situation, and I hope you all know the danger that lies ahead.”

Lewis rolled his eyes and shrugged as if he really didn’t care about Dick’s opinion and what the man had to say about the plan. “Suit yourself, Dick.”

If he wanted to bring Dick along with them, then he’ll take him. Dick doesn’t even have to know about it, it was just another step in Lewis’ plan to Area 51, and that’s how Dick Winters ended up in the backseat of Lip’s minivan at five in the morning the next day.

[joetoyeday]

The Lemon Tree Preview

Characters/Pairings: Artist!Gene!! WinRoe & past mentions of winnix, also lots of winnix friendship.

Summary: It’s 1950 and Richard Winters is feeling directionless after the war. He and Nix are no longer together, having broken up in Germany, but they still maintain a tenuous friendship. After the death of his father Nix decides he needs a fresh start and moves west to California, leaving Dick lonely and somewhat stranded. Having no more ties on the East coast, Dick decides to go visit Eugene Roe, after a chance meeting with Babe, who he runs into at the train station. Babe tells him that after a construction accident left him unable to work in construction anymore, Eugene lives now as an artist in an old church in Georgia. Curious, Winters goes to visit Gene for a week, in a hope to get his head straight, and ends up staying longer. 

It had been about a month since Richard Winters last heard from his best friend and ex-partner, Lewis Nixon. It was early July, 1950. But when Dick picked up the phone and heard his old friends, voice, it easily could have been the summer of ‘43 all over again. Nix didn’t even have to say hello, Dick knew him just by the way he cleared his throat.

“Spit it out, Nix.” Dick was half expecting the announcement of his 3rd engagement, but that was not yet to be.

“So, I hear California is nice this time of year.” Nix voice came out sorry over the receiver.  Dick heard the crackle of a sigh coming through hundreds of miles of phone lines. A pause, and then: “Dad died. His last fuck you was to leave us bankrupt. So I sold the company. Headin west.”

“Oh.” said Dick.

“I’m leaving at the end of the month. Dick…” Nix shifted his voice like a manual transmission. “I know I have no right to ask but...can you just help me this one last time?”

Richard Winters first learned of Eugene Roe’s new profession when he ran into Babe Heffron at the train station in Philly. The station was chaotic, many students said goodbye to loved ones as they headed off to college, and man and women kissed at the train doors. Children ran amok as their mother struggled to locate their tickets in her purse. That’s when Winters saw Babe.  He knew him by his goofy nose and copper hair. He herded the two boys back to their mother, who thanked him. Richard had spotted him first, but something in him hesitated to say something; Besides Floyd Talbert and Nix, he wasn’t sure what they would think of him now, outside the war. He feared there might be some resentment for what he put them through. Nix always rolled his eyes at this, in true Nix fashion. “I’m sure they hate you for getting them home alive.” But, if they felt like he did, Richard would understand: the part of him that survived the war still mourned the the parts of him that didn’t. He could understand if men like Toye, Gaurnere, and malarky resented him. There were fates worse than death.

It was Babe who said something first. He caught WInters staring and gasped aloud. “It was Babe who said something first. He caught Winters staring. "Well, I'll be damned, Major Winters!" Babe gave him a firm handshake and a slap on the back.

"It's just Richard now," he smiled weakly.

"Richard, huh? What are you doin' clear out here? Where ya headed?"

"New Jersey," Richard said.

Heffron smiled knowingly, "Going to rescue Captain Nixon from another bender?" He jested.

"Something like that." Thin parenthesis formed around Richard's mouth as he forced a thin, but polite smile. Somehow, it wasn't that Richard minded saving Nix from himself, he had been doing it since they met in officer candidate school. But he bristled when others implied Nix was a lush. He was, and Richard knew that, but Nix was his lush. If something had happened to nix in the war, if he got himself killed some other awful thing, he knew he wouldn’t have made it through the war. So where his drinking was concerned, he didn't mind putting up with it as long as it meant he was the only one who had to.

"Hey, yeah, speaking of nicknames and all," Babe carried on. "The reason I'm in this joint is I just got back from seeing Eugene Roe," Babe grinned wide. “Doc!”

"That so?" Richard said. "He still callin' you, Edward?"

Babe snorted, "Yeah, he's still callin me Edward. Livin in a church now, just like the goddamned nuns, too!" And then he added, "He did call me 'Babe' a few times though when he wasn't thinking." Babe smiled with pride.

"He's living in a church?" Richard repeated.

"Huh! Yeah! Worked construction til he injured his back. Can't do that no more, so he lives now as a painter." Babe prattled on.

"And the church?" Richard was failing to see how the church fit into all of this.

"Well, he was renovating this old church, ya see? But the other contractors lost interest. Too much damage. So Gene bought it. It's his studio now."

"Our Gene a painter. Huh." The most immediate memory of the former medic that came to mind was Eugene's blank face in Bastogne, his hands all red and Harry's screams of agony. Richard felt ashamed that was the first memory to come to mind, it wasn't fair to associate such an honorable man with his lowest point. It was his subconscious way of reminding himself he would never forgive himself for the way he had to let Gene break down.

A woman's crackly voice called out over the PA, "Last call for Princeton,"

"That's you, huh?" Babe said. He pulled a small notebook out of the inner pocket of his wool coat. He ripped a page from it and held it out. "Gene's address. I don't need it, got it memorized. For what it's worth I think he would like to hear from ya, Major." Babe shoved the paper into Richard's hand.

"Thanks,” he said, absently.

When Richard boarded the train he was relieved to snag a few empty rows of seats to himself. He wasn’t up for idle conversation with strangers which would inevitably turn to the war and his service. It was another reminder he didn’t need. He was in one of his “moods” today, as Nix would affectionately refer to them.

Richard pulled the half-crumpled paper with Gene’s address out of his jacket pocket where he had shoved it when boarding the train earlier. He considered the paper and its potential. Eugene. He recalled memories of Gene’s tender hands pulling a ricochet out of his leg, the caring way he always brought him coffee after most of their battles. He shouldn’t feel special, Gene made coffee for plenty of the men numerous times, but he always seemed to make it a point to with Richard. Gene made everybody feel safe. For all his joking it was the morphine he administered, everybody felt better when Gene was around. His touch, his voice- it soothed like aloe on a sunburn.

Richard recalled one particular time, a time he avoided thinking about but thought about all the same, was in Germany, shortly after Nix had been served divorce papers and demoted. He’d been drunk, naturally, and he’d been angry. In a fit of rage, he had swiped a bottle of whiskey off the wooden table, where it hit the wall and shattered.

Ashamed and enraged, Nix had disappeared into the night. Dick had crouched down to begin cleaning up the mess, and the glass shards cut his fingers. He slipped on the whiskey and lost his balance. He caught himself in a handful of glass. Defeated he collapsed to sit on the floor and he slapped his hand against the wood in frustration, driving the smaller bits of glass deeper into his palms. He sat for a moment, pants wet from the liquor and hands bloody and raw, and he wept.

He had shown up to Eugene’s billet that night, sheepish with a bloody hand and smelling like a whiskey he didn’t drink. It looked much worse than it actually was, he told himself. He was half there because Doc was the only one he trusted to see him in such a state and half there out of loneliness. Gene carefully cleaned and stitched his wounds, only saying the occasional this might sting. Reverently he wrapped white bandages around Richard’s palm. Richard’s eyes stung with tears. Eugene had that same look in his eye when they announced Jackson’s death in a dank basement in Hagenau. He could tell Gene was holding back something he had wanted to say, and after he and Harry had nearly killed Moose in Holland, Richard had a mind to know what he was thinking.

Instead, Gene simply said, “A bit late for coffee, but I’ll warm you up some milk, yeah?”