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ringa-starr · 1 month ago

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Hold on to the Memories (Martin x Lewis)

I can't believe I finally finished this! I'm so proud of it and myself! Happy Valentine's Day @fredandginger64! I hope this fic is all you've dreamed of and more! I'm sorry it wasn't finished earlier. My boss has got me working on a big project. Enjoy!

-Dee <3 <3

Words: 14.6K

Jerry Lewis looked out of the slightly open nursing home window from his favorite lounge chair, the glass slightly foggy from the outside moisture. He watched the world go by, a world that had once been so vibrant and full of life, now a distant memory. The leaves danced in the wind, creating patterns on the pavement that reminded him of the tap routines he and Dean used to perform. The spring breeze brought with it a smell of rain, hinting at a storm approaching. The scent was familiar, comforting almost, but it was tinged with something else, something sad.

Dean Martin sat in his own favorite lounge chair next to Jerry, a blanket draped over his frail legs. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell with the rhythmic effort of his oxygen tank. The machine's hiss was the only sound in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the laughter and applause that had once filled their lives. The room was small, but it was theirs, filled with pictures of their past, a lifetime of friendship captured in smiles and black-and-white film.

A nurse, young and cheerful, walked in, her shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed floor. She checked on Dean first, her gentle touch a reminder of the care they both received here. "How are we doing today, Mr. Martin?" she asked, her voice a soft melody in the otherwise solemn air.

Dean opened his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Just fine, sweetheart," he replied, his voice a raspy whisper. "How about you, Jer?"

Jerry turned from the window, his gaze momentarily lost before focusing on his partner of so many years. "I'm... I'm okay," he said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. The nurse, her eyes filled with compassion, nodded and moved to check on him. She knew the truth; the dementia was taking more of him each day, stealing the jokes, the laughter, the memories that made up the essence of who he was. But she saw the love in his eyes, the spark that remained whenever Dean was near.

The storm finally broke outside, the rain pattering against the glass like a million tiny applauses. The nurse walked over and closed the window with a tight, soft bang! The sound of the rainfall washed over them, bringing with it a moment of peace. Dean reached for Jerry's hand, his grip stronger than it had been in months. "You know," he said, his voice a little stronger now, "we've seen some storms, haven't we?"

Jerry nodded, his eyes misting over. "Yes," he whispered, "but we always had each other to weather them."

The nurse finished her rounds and left, the door clicking shut behind her. The two men sat in silence, the only sound being the rain's lullaby. Jerry leaned closer to Dean, the warmth of their joined hands a lifeline in the cold, slightly air-conditioned room. The rain grew heavier, the droplets racing down the windowpanes like eager fans.

Dean looked at Jerry, the lines on his face deepening with concern. "You remember the good times, don't you, pal?"

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's face, desperation clinging to his features as he tried to hold onto the fading moments. "I...I think so," he said, his voice wavering. "We had a show, right?"

Dean nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort of a smile. "We had many shows, Jer. So many laughs, so much fun." He paused, taking a deep, pained breath. "But we had our share of storms too. Remember when we had to perform in that downpour?"

Jerry's eyes lit up briefly, the fog of his mind parting just enough for a sliver of memory to shine through. "The tent was leaking!" he exclaimed, a ghost of his former exuberance returning. "We had to keep moving or we'd get soaked!"

Dean chuckled, the sound a welcome balm to the room's heavy atmosphere. "That's right," he said, his hand squeezing Jerry's gently. "We danced in puddles, sang to the sound of thunder, and had the audience in stitches despite it all."

The rain grew heavier still, the sound a comforting backdrop to their conversation. Jerry leaned in closer, the warmth of their shared memories a temporary salve to the coldness of his condition. "I remember," he whispered, "I remember us, making people laugh, making each other laugh."

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving Jerry's. "We did that, didn't we?" He paused, his thoughts drifting back to the stage, to the music, the lights, the laughter. "We had something special, you and me. Something that not everyone gets to have."

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's, trying to hold onto the words, the memories, the love that was slipping away like sand through his fingers. "I love you, Dean," he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that transcended his illness.

Dean's smile grew, the pain in his chest momentarily forgotten. "I love you too, Jer," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Always have, always will."

The storm raged on outside, but inside their room, it was as if time had stopped. The years fell away, and they were young again, two friends taking on the world with jokes and laughter. They sat there, hand in hand, reminiscing about their past adventures, each memory a treasure retrieved from the depths of Jerry's fading mind. The laughter was quieter now, tinged with the bitterness of time's cruel passage, but it was laughter nonetheless, a testament to the bond that had lasted a lifetime.

As the storm reached its crescendo, so too did their conversation, until finally, the words slowed and the silence grew. Jerry's grip tightened around Dean's hand, and for a moment, it seemed as though he had found something solid to cling to amidst the chaos of his thoughts. "I'm scared, Dean," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.

Dean's smile never faltered, his gaze unwavering. "You don't have to be scared, Jer," he assured, his voice a soothing balm. "I'm right here."

Jerry looked down at their interlocked hands, the veins standing out like rivers on a map, a silent history of their shared journey. "But what if I forget you?" he asked, his voice a tremulous whisper.

Dean leaned in, his breath warm against Jerry's ear. "You could never forget me, not really," he said with a gentle confidence that belied his own fears. "Our love is like this rain, Jer. It might fade from your memory, but it's always here, always falling around us."

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's, finding the truth in his words. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the fear receding like the storm outside. "You're right," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "We're in this together."

Dean's smile grew, his eyes crinkling with affection. "Always have been, always will be."

The storm outside began to subside, the rain's tempo slowing to a gentle patter. The nursing home's quiet was broken only by the occasional drip from a leaky gutter and the persistent hiss of Dean's oxygen tank. In the dimming light of the afternoon, the shadows grew longer, stretching out across the room like the years that had brought them here.

Jerry's eyes grew heavy, the effort of recalling their past taking its toll. He leaned into Dean, his head resting on the shoulder of his lifelong companion. "I'm tired," he murmured.

"Rest, then," Dean said, his own voice a comforting rumble. "I'll be right here."

Jerry nodded, his eyes closing as he let sleep take him. The room grew still, the only sound the soft rhythm of the rain and the steady hiss of the oxygen. Dean watched him, his heart swelling with a love that had never diminished, despite the ravages of time and illness.

Leaning down, he kissed Jerry's forehead, the gesture tender and filled with a depth of feeling that defied the simplicity of the action. The warmth of his touch lingered, a silent promise that he would be there, no matter what the future held. It was a promise that had carried them through decades of friendship and love, through the bright lights of stardom and the quiet moments of their private lives.

As Jerry drifted off to sleep, Dean's thoughts turned to their future. The doctor's words echoed in his mind, a grim reminder of the limited time they had left together. But he pushed the dark thoughts aside, focusing instead on the warmth of Jerry's hand in his. He had seen enough of the world's harshness to know that moments like these, filled with love and shared history, were the ones that truly mattered.

The room grew dimmer, the shadows deepening as the rain outside began to slow. The nursing home's staff moved quietly in the hallways, their footsteps sounding by the hardwood floor. In the quiet, Dean felt a strange peace settle over him, a peace that came from knowing that they had lived a life filled with joy and purpose. They had brought happiness to millions, and now, in their twilight years, they had found a quiet, private happiness that was theirs alone.

As the last of the rain fell, the world grew still. The air in the room was thick with the scent of the wet earth and the faint antiseptic smell of the nursing home. Jerry's breathing grew even, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Dean watched him, his thoughts wandering to the day they had met, two young men with dreams so big they had filled the sky.

They had been inseparable from the start, two peas in a pod, a dynamic duo that had set the world alight with their comedy. Now, as the years had painted their hair silver and etched lines into their faces, they were still together, facing the final act of their lives with the same unshakeable bond.

A different nurse's footsteps grew louder as she approached their door. "Dinner's ready, gentlemen," she announced, her voice filled with the same cheer that had greeted them every evening.

Dean's eyes never left Jerry's peaceful face. "Give us a few more minutes," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The nurse nodded, understanding in her gaze. "Take your time," she said before closing the door softly.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on Jerry. The weight of their history was a warm blanket around him, offering comfort against the cold reality of their present. He knew the dementia was taking Jerry away piece by piece, but he also knew that the love they shared remained untouched, a beacon in the fog.

Their dinner trays arrived, the scent of overcooked meatloaf and mashed potatoes filling the air. The nurse placed them on the small table between them, her eyes lingering on their clasped hands for a brief moment before she left, respecting their need for privacy. The food grew cold, untouched, as they sat there in the quiet.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn photo. It was from their early days, both of them in their twenties, grinning from ear to ear, their arms slung around each other's shoulders. The picture was creased and faded, but the joy in their eyes remained as vibrant as ever. He held it up to the fading light, the corners of his mouth lifting into a nostalgic smile. "Look at us," he murmured. "We were something, weren't we?"

Jerry stirred slightly in his sleep, his thumb brushing against the back of Dean's hand. It was almost as if he could feel the warmth of the memory, the electricity of their youth captured in that tiny frame.

Dean stared at the photo for a long moment, his mind a kaleidoscope of memories. The late-night rehearsals, the laughter, the tears, the fights, and the endless love that had bound them through it all. He placed the photo gently on the nightstand, the edges sticking slightly to the varnish. "We were more than something," he whispered to the sleeping form beside him. "We were everything."

The room grew darker as the storm clouds cleared, and the setting sun painted the horizon with hues of pink and orange. The rainbow outside their window was a silent testament to the beauty that could be found even in the most tumultuous of days. It was a symbol of hope, a reminder that even the darkest moments were followed by moments of peace.

Dean took a deep breath, the ache in his chest a constant companion. He knew the end was approaching, could feel it in every labored breath and the weakness in his limbs. But he also knew that until that final curtain call, he would be here, by Jerry's side, holding onto their love with everything he had left.

The room grew darker, and the air grew colder as the sun disappeared completely. The rainbow faded, leaving only the soft glow of the setting sun to illuminate their space. Jerry's breathing grew more ragged, a stark reminder of the reality of their situation. Dean leaned forward, his hand tightening around Jerry's.

"Jerry," he said softly, the words a gentle caress in the quiet room. "Let's go to bed, sweetheart."

Jerry's eyes fluttered open, the haze of sleep and confusion clearing away to reveal the familiar face of his partner. Dean's smile was a beacon in the dim light, a promise that even in the nursing home, there was a semblance of comfort and home. He nodded, his grip on Dean's hand tightening as he allowed himself to be guided to his feet. The weariness of the day clung to him like a second skin, but the warmth of Dean's touch brought a small spark of energy to his limbs.

They moved slowly, in a dance they had perfected over the years, navigating the small space with an ease that belied their age and infirmities. The bed was a welcome sight, the softness of the blankets a stark contrast to the harshness of the world beyond their door. Dean helped Jerry into bed, the act filled with a tenderness that spoke of a love that had grown stronger with each passing year.

Once Jerry was settled, Dean climbed into bed, the mattress protesting with a sigh. He reached over and took Jerry's hand again, holding him close. "Remember that time we snuck into the kitchen at two in the morning and made pancakes?" he asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet.

Jerry's eyes lit up with the spark of a memory. "You burned half of them!" he exclaimed, the laughter bubbling up despite his exhaustion.

"And you flipped one right onto the floor!" Dean countered, his own smile growing.

The shared laughter was a balm to their weary spirits, a moment of light in the gathering dark. They lay there, side by side, their fingers entwined, each lost in their own memories of a past filled with joy and laughter. The quiet of the room was a cocoon around them, a protective bubble that held at bay the inevitable march of time and the pain that stalked so closely beside it.

Dean's chest tightened, the cancer a constant reminder of the limited days they had left. But he pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the warmth of Jerry's hand, the steady beat of his heart. They had faced so much together, the highs and lows of a life in the public eye, the quiet moments behind the scenes. Now, in this twilight, it was those quiet moments that meant the most.

The nursing home's intercom crackled to life, the mundane announcement of the evening's activities jolting them back to the present. They had long ago decided not to participate, preferring the sanctity of their room and the company of each other. The world had changed so much since their heyday, but their love remained a constant, untouched by the passage of time.

Dean leaned over and kissed Jerry's forehead, the gesture filled with the weight of their shared history. "Rest now, Jer," he whispered, his voice thick with the love that had been their foundation. "We'll have more pancakes tomorrow."

Jerry's eyes drifted closed, the comfort of Dean's voice and touch guiding him back into the realm of sleep. The darkness of the room was pierced only by the faint glow of the nightlight, casting a warm, golden hue on their intertwined hands. The air was heavy with the weight of their emotions, a silent symphony of love and sorrow.

Dean began to sing softly, the notes of "Until You Love Someone" floating through the air like whispers of a forgotten time. His voice was rough with age and pain, but the love it conveyed was as vibrant as it had been when they were young men, standing under the marquee of their first show. The melody wrapped around Jerry like a warm embrace, a gentle reminder of the life they had built together.

Jerry's eyes remained closed, but his breathing grew even, a slight smile playing on his lips. The words of the song seemed to coax him from his slumber, pulling him back to a place where they were both in their prime, dancing and joking on stage, the audience's laughter echoing in their hearts. It was a sweet reprieve from the harshness of their current reality.

Dean's hand moved tenderly through Jerry's hair, his touch as light as the feathers of a butterfly's wings. The act was soothing, a silent declaration of his unwavering love and support. Each stroke was a reminder that even as the world outside grew dimmer, the warmth of their connection burned brightly.

Jerry's breathing grew shallow and uneven. The stroking motion was a balm to his troubled mind, the gentle touch anchoring him to the present, to the reality of their shared love. He knew that soon, the fog would claim him fully, that the memories that made him who he was would slip away like sand in an hourglass.

But for now, in this quiet moment, he was still Jerry Lewis, the man who had made millions laugh, who had danced and sang alongside the legendary Dean Martin. And Dean was still there, his voice a soft serenade in the darkness, a testament to the friendship that had sustained them through it all

In the quiet, Dean felt a tear slip down his cheek, a silent tribute to the joy and pain of their journey.

He knew Jerry's mind was a tempest of forgotten memories, a whirlwind of moments lost to the relentless march of time. But in this quiet space, in the warm embrace of their shared truth, he felt a peace that had eluded him for so long.

Dean closed his eyes. Each breath was a battle, but the comfort of Jerry's presence made it easier to bear. He listened to the crickets chirp, the soothing white noise a backdrop to his racing thoughts.

Eventually, sleep claimed him as well. Deam dreamt of their early days, of laughter and applause, of the joy they had brought to so many. The dreams were a tapestry of moments, a collection of smiles and shared glances that had built their legacy.

When Dean awoke, the room was bathed in the soft glow of early morning. He blinked sleep from his eyes and turned to find the other side of the bed empty. Panic surged through him, his heart racing in his chest. Where was Jerry? Was he just in the bathroom? Was he hurt...or worse? He threw back the blankets and swung his legs over the side, the coldness of the floor a stark contrast to the warmth of their shared bed.

Dean reached for his oxygen tank, the hiss a comforting sound as he sucked in a deep breath. His eyes searched the room, but Jerry was nowhere to be seen. The silence was deafening, the absence of his husband's snores a stark reminder of the reality they now faced.

Forcing himself to his feet, Dean shuffled to the door, his legs protesting with every step. He pulled the handle, the coldness of the metal a striking change to the warmth of the room. The hallway was empty, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the sterile floors and walls. His heart raced, each beat echoing through the corridor like a drumroll before the final act.

He scanned the area, the hiss of his oxygen tank the only sound in the eerie silence. His eyes fell on the figure of Jerry, a few doors down, standing in the open doorway of another resident's room. He looked lost, his pajamas rumpled and his hair standing on end. The sight was heartbreaking, a stark reminder of the cruel grip dementia had on his once sharp mind.

With a surge of strength that surprised himself, Dean shuffled down the hall, his oxygen tubing trailing behind him like a lifeline. "Jerry?" he called out, his voice hoarse from the battle with his illness. There was no response, just the distant sound of a nurse's footsteps.

Jerry's silhouette grew more defined as Dean approached, the harsh light of the hallway casting long shadows across his trembling form. He was now huddled against the wall squatted down, his pajama bottoms pulled down around his ankles, his bare skin pale and goose-pimpled. Dean's heart clenched, his eyes filling with tears as he realized Jerry was lost in the depths of his own mind, believing he was in their shared bathroom.

The nurses appeared like a flash of white, their footsteps a cacophony of rushing urgency. "Mr. Lewis, what are you doing?" one of them gasped, her voice a mix of shock and concern.

Dean's heart was in his throat as he watched the scene of Jerry trying to defecate unfold, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He had seen this before, the way Jerry's mind could play tricks on him, pulling him into moments that no longer existed. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this, not here, not now.

The nurses approached with a mix of urgency and care, their eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored his own. They had become accustomed to this tragic dance, the cruel rhythm of a disease that stole moments and memories with every beat.

"Mr. Martin, let us handle this," the head nurse said gently, her voice a soft caress in the harsh reality of their world.

Dean nodded, his heart racing. He watched as they carefully helped Jerry to his feet, tugging his pajama bottoms back into place. The look of confusion and embarrassment on Jerry's face was a knife to his soul.

"It's okay, Jer," Dean managed to say, his voice a mere whisper. "You're okay."

Jerry's gaze searched his, a flicker of recognition in his eyes before it was gone, swallowed by the fog of his dementia. "I'm... I'm sorry," he mumbled, the embarrassment evident in his tone.

Dean took a deep, ragged breath, willing his own body to hold on just a little longer. "It's okay," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "You're safe."

The nurses exchanged a knowing glance, one that spoke of countless similar moments they had witnessed. They moved with the grace of dancers, guiding Jerry back to their shared room with practiced ease. The soft murmur of their conversation was a gentle symphony of care and concern, a stark contrast to the chaos of the situation.

Dean's heart felt heavy as he followed, each step a reminder of his own mortality. When they had reached the safety of their private space, he closed the door and leaned against it, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his emotions. He knew the day would come when Jerry wouldn't remember him, but facing the reality was like a slap in the face.

He looked over to where Jerry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes vacant and lost. "You know who I am, Jer," Dean said, his voice a gentle coax. But the confusion in Jerry's gaze remained, a stark reminder that the man he loved was slipping away from him, one memory at a time.

The silence stretched between them, a chasm that grew wider with every passing second. Dean's heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces, the weight of Jerry's silent, yet somehow screaming loud, question a crushing blow. "It's me," he said, taking a step closer. "It's Dean."

But the eyes that looked back at him were clouded with confusion, a storm of unanswered questions. "I...I don't know you," Jerry's voice was barely audible, the tremble in his words a polar opposite to the confidence that had once defined him.

Dean felt a coldness wash over him, a chill that had nothing to do with the air in the room. He had feared this moment, had seen it approaching like a slow-moving train, inevitable and unstoppable. The love of his life, the man he had shared his deepest secrets and most cherished moments with, didn't know him anymore.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "I'm Dean, Jerry," he said, his heart breaking with every word. "Your...your partner. Your husband. Your best friend."

But Jerry's hazel eyes might as well have belonged of a complete stranger. The spark of recognition, the warmth that had once greeted him every morning, was gone, replaced with a vacancy that sent a chill down his spine. Jerry looked around the room, his gaze darting from one side to the other, as if searching for something lost. "I don't...I don't know you," he whispered, the words a knife to Dean's soul.

Dean felt his heart crack, a fissure of pain that threatened to split him in two. He took a shaky step forward, his oxygen tank rolling with him. "Jerry," he said, his voice cracking, "it's me. It's Dean. Dean Martin."

Jerry looked up, his eyes searching Dean's face, but the connection wasn't there. The man who had been his other half, his rock, his confidant, was now just a stranger in his own mind. The reality was a blow that left Dean reeling, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him.

"You... you don't know me?" He couldn't hide the tremor in his voice, the pain of rejection etching deep lines into his weary face. The room was a prison of lost moments, a testament to the love that once filled their every waking breath.

Jerry looked inro his husband's eyes, his eyes misted with confusion. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice a shadow of its former self. "I don't... remember."

Dean's knees buckled, and he had to sit on the bed beside Jerry to keep from collapsing. His hand trembled as he reached for Jerry's, the warmth of their connection now a distant memory. "It's okay," he whispered, trying to keep the despair from his voice. "It's okay."

The room was silent, save for the faint hiss of Dean's oxygen tank. The air felt thick with unshed tears and the weight of a lifetime of shared moments that were now slipping away. Jerry's gaze remained vacant, lost in the maze of his own mind.

Dean took a deep, ragged breath, fighting back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he had to stay strong for both of them. He reached over, his trembling hand cupping Jerry's cheek, his thumb brushing away the unshed tears. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to the harshness of reality. "I'll always be here."

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's, the fog in them slowly lifting. "Dean?" he whispered, the hope in his voice a desperate lifeline thrown into the abyss.

Dean's eyes filled with tears, his heart swelling with love and fear. "Yeah, Jer," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's me."

Jerry looked at him, the confusion slowly giving way to a glimmer of understanding. "You're my... partner?" he asked, his voice tentative.

Dean's heart clenched at the uncertainty in Jerry's voice, but he nodded, his eyes never leaving Jerry's. "Yes, I am," he said, his voice steady. "I've always been here."

To Dean's relief, the recognition was growing stronger with each passing second. "You're the one who makes me laugh," Jerry said, his voice a whisper of memory. "The one who's always had my back."

Dean's throat tightened, and he nodded, his hand sliding to the back of Jerry's neck, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "That's me," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "Your Dean."

Jerry leaned into the touch, his eyes searching Dean's face as if trying to find a piece of himself in the familiar contours. "I... I remember now," he murmured, his voice filled with relief. "You're Dean."

The tension in the room lifted, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal the sun. Dean felt a warmth spread through him, the warmth of hope rekindling in his chest. "Yeah, Jer," he said, his voice shaky with emotion. "It's me. I'm not going anywhere."

Jerry's hand found its way to Dean's, the warmth of their joined hands a lifeline in the storm of confusion. "You promise?" he asked, his voice small and scared.

Dean squeezed his hand, the promise in his eyes unwavering. "Always," he whispered, feeling a tear slide down his cheek. "I'll always be here for you."

Jerry's eyes looked deep into Dean's, the fog of dementia lifting slightly, allowing a glimpse of the man he had been. "And I'll be here for you," he said, his voice a little stronger.

After lightly knocking on the couple's door, one of the nurses who assisted with Jerry cleared her throat, a gentle reminder of the outside world that waited beyond their door. "Mr. Martin, it's time for your medication," she said, her voice filled with the same sadness that hung in the air.

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving Jerry's. "I'll be right there," he assured her, his voice a thread of warmth in the cold room.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile before retreating back down the hallway. Dean turned back to Jerry, his heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. He knew these moments of clarity were becoming increasingly rare, a gift to be cherished amidst the chaos of Jerry's disease.

He took a deep breath, his chest tight with emotion. "You know I love you, right?" he asked, his voice a trembling whisper.

The confusion slowly dissipating, Jerry began to find himself again. "Yes," he said, his voice a little stronger, "I know."

The words were like a warm embrace, wrapping around Dean's soul and filling him with a warmth that chased away the chill. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Jerry's lips, the scent of antiseptic and age a stark reminder of their current reality. "Always remember," he whispered, his voice a soft benediction.

Jerry's eyes closed for a brief moment, the kiss a gentle promise that seemed to anchor him. "I will," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the vows they had once exchanged.

Dean felt a lump form in his throat as he pulled back, his thumb brushing over Jerry's cheek. The room was a symphony of unspoken words and unshed tears, a testament to the love they had shared for so long. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one a poignant reminder of the time they had left.

"Come on," he said gently, his voice thick with unshed emotion. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Together, they moved through the familiar motions of washing and dressing Jerry, the quiet rhythm of their caretaking a dance they had performed countless times before. Each gesture was a silent promise, a declaration of love and partnership that transcended the confines of their nursing home walls.

As Dean helped Jerry into a fresh pair of pajamas, he couldn't help but notice the frailty of his husband's body, the way his once muscular arms trembled with the slightest effort. It was an unsettling change to the vibrant, energetic man he had known on stage, a reminder of the cruel ravages of time and illness.

Jerry looked up at him, a hint of fear in his eyes. "I don't want to forget you, Deano," he whispered.

Dean felt a tear roll down his cheek, landing on Jerry's hand. He squeezed it gently. "You never will, Jer," he assured him. "Our love is too strong. It'll live on, even when your mind can't hold onto the memories."

They sat back down on the bed, side by side, holding hands. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of their fears. Yet, their connection was vast, spanning decades of friendship, laughter, and love.

"You know, Jerry," Dean began, his voice a gentle rumble, "I never knew what it was like to love someone so much that it physically hurt. Until you."

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's, a flicker of understanding passing through the fog. "I know what you mean," he murmured. "You've always been...my everything."

The words were a balm to Dean's soul, a gentle reminder that their love was more than the sum of their memories. He leaned his head against Jerry's shoulder, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. The warmth of their touch was a sanctuary amidst the coldness of their surroundings.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the steady rhythm of the rain outside. The droplets had turned into a gentle patter, as if the storm was offering them a reprieve. Each second was a gift, a precious moment in the dwindling time they had together.

"Remember when we first met?" Dean said, his voice a whisper in the quiet. "You were the funniest guy I'd ever seen."

Jerry's eyes searched his, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "You were the best straight man a guy could ask for," he said, his words slurred slightly.

Dean chuckled, the sound a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. "I had the best teacher," he said, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Jerry's smile grew a little more genuine, a spark of memory lighting his eyes. "You weren't so bad yourself," he replied, his voice a little stronger now.

Dean leaned back against the pillows, drawing Jerry closer. "We were something, weren't we?" he said, his eyes reflecting the warmth of their shared history.

Jerry nodded, the ghost of a laugh escaping his lips. "We were magic," he murmured, his eyes distant as the past played out before them.

Dean's heart swelled with love, his eyes never leaving Jerry's face. "We still are," he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Jerry's hand.

Jerry's eyes grew misty with the warmth of the memory. "We could make people laugh, even when they had nothing left to laugh about," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

Dean nodded, his own eyes reflecting the joy of their past triumphs. "We were two lost souls who found each other," he murmured. "And together, we made something beautiful."

Jerry leaned into him, his head resting on Dean's chest. The steady beat of Dean's heart was a comforting lullaby, a reminder of life's constancy amidst the ever-shifting sands of his mind. "We had fun, didn't we?" he asked, his voice tinged with longing.

"More than you'll ever know," Dean said, his voice thick with emotion. He wrapped his arms around Jerry, holding him close. "We had the best of times."

They sat like that for a while, lost in their shared past, the storm outside a gentle reminder of the tumult they had weathered together. The nurses had retreated to their stations, leaving them in the quiet embrace of their memories.

"Do you ever think about what could have been?" Jerry's voice was faint, his grip on reality slipping again.

Dean swallowed hard, the question a punch to his gut. "Every day," he admitted, stroking Jerry's hair. "But what's important is what was. We had a lifetime of laughs, a friendship that stood the test of time."

Jerry nodded, his eyes drifting closed. "We did, didn't we?" he murmured, the words a gentle sigh against the fabric of Dean's shirt.

The silence stretched between them, a testament to the love that had endured through the years, the storm outside now a faint whisper against the window. Dean felt the weight of Jerry's head against his chest, the steady rise and fall a comfort in the face of the unknown.

"What happens when we're both...gone?" Jerry whispered.

Dean's chest tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "Then we'll just keep making each other laugh in another place," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Our souls will find each other again."

Jerry's eyes searched his, the fear slowly receding. "You believe that?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and doubt.

Dean's gaze never wavered, his voice a warm embrace. "With all my heart, Jer," he said firmly. "Our love is bigger than this place, bigger than this life. It'll carry us through to the next."

Jerry's grip tightened, a silent plea for the words to be true. His eyes searched Dean's, looking for the reassurance that had always been there. "I want to believe that," he murmured, his voice shaky.

Dean leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Jerry's forehead. "Then do," he whispered. "Because it's true."

The warmth of Jerry's body, the familiar scent of his skin, it was all he needed to keep going. The room was a cocoon of sorts, insulating them from the harshness of the outside world. The storm had passed, leaving in its wake a quiet serenity that filled the air.

Months had rolled by, and with them, the seasons had changed. The once soft pinks and greens of spring had given way to the stark oranges and yellows of summer. Today was the morning of July 25th, their wedding anniversary, a day that should have been filled with joy and celebration. Yet, a shadow loomed over Dean, a heaviness that seemed to press down on his chest. He wasn't feeling well, the cancer a constant reminder of the ticking clock that was his life.

He didn't want to burden Jerry with his pain, not on a day that was supposed to be special. So, he put on a brave face, his eyes bright with forced cheer. He knew Jerry would be looking for any signs of weakness, any cracks in the armor he had built around his heart. He had to be strong, for both of them.

The nurse came in to check on them, her eyes kind as she took in the scene. "It's a special day today, isn't it?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving Jerry's face. "It is," he said, his voice filled with a mix of love and pain. "Our anniversary."

The nurse offered a soft smile, her eyes understanding. "I'll make sure we get some cake sent over," she said before leaving the room, closing the door with a soft click that echoed in the quiet space.

Dean's gaze returned to Jerry, who was still dozing peacefully, his breathing shallow and erratic. The sight filled Dean with a bittersweet mix of love and dread. He knew their time together was growing shorter, and he cherished every moment, no matter how fleeting.

With trembling hands, he reached for the framed photograph on the bedside table. It was an image of them in their prime, young and vibrant, the world at their feet. They had come so far, endured so much, and yet here they were, back where it all started. Two performers, bound by love and destiny, now sharing a twilight that was as poignant as it was heartbreaking.

Dean studied the photo, the corners worn from countless touches. It was a reminder of the life they had built together, the laughter and the tears, the successes and the failures. The love between them had never wavered, even as the world around them had changed. And now, as they faced the final act of their lives, it was that love that would carry them through.

He carefully placed the frame back and took a deep breath, willing his strength to return. The nurse's words about cake reminded him of the small celebration they had planned. It was a simple gesture, but in this place where so much was out of their control, it meant everything.

As he stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over him, a stark reminder of his own mortality. He steadied himself against the dresser, the wood cool against his palm. The room spun for a moment, the edges of his vision blurring. But he couldn't let Jerry see him like this, not today. He had to keep the smile on his face, had to be the rock Jerry had always leaned on.

The nursing home had done their best to decorate the room, a few balloons and a bouquet of flowers the only evidence of the anniversary. It was a sad attempt at cheer, a stark contrast to the bleakness of their situation. But it was something, and for that, Dean was grateful.

Jerry began to stir, his eyes blinking open to the unfamiliar light of the room. For a moment, he looked lost, his gaze unfocused and confused. Then, he saw Dean, and a smile ghosted across his lips. "Hi, Deano," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Dean's heart skipped a beat at the sound, the warmth of Jerry's greeting a balm to his weary soul. "Happy anniversary, Jer," he said, his voice a soft caress.

Jerry's eyes searched his, a hint of recognition flickering in the depths. "Is it...is it really?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Dean nodded, his own smile a little too bright. "It's been fifty-five years, can you believe it?"

Jerry's eyes grew misty, and he reached for Dean's hand. "We've had a good run," he whispered.

Dean squeezed back, his voice thick with emotion. "The best," he agreed, his thumb tracing patterns on Jerry's knuckles. "Now, let's not get too sentimental," he added, his tone lighter despite the heaviness in the air. "We've got cake to eat and a whole day of not participating in those ridiculous nursing home activities ahead of us."

When the nurse brought in the small cake with two candles, Jerry's eyes lit up. "It's our day!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with childlike wonder.

Dean managed a smile, the sight of Jerry's excitement a balm to his soul. "Yes, it is," he said, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.

The candles on the cake flickered, casting dancing shadows on the wall. Jerry looked at him, his gaze a little less foggy. "Make a wish, Deano," he whispered.

Dean took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "I already have everything I ever wanted," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Jerry's.

Jerry's hand found its way to Dean's, their fingers intertwining. "Me too," he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

They sat together, the candles casting a warm glow over their faces, the only sound the faint rustling of plastic forks against the Styrofoam plates. Each bite of the cake was a declaration of their enduring love, a sweetness that transcended the bitterness of their circumstances.

Dean felt a hand on his arm, a gentle reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. It was one of the nurses, her eyes filled with a silent empathy that brought a lump to his throat. "You're doing so well," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "Both of you."

He nodded, his smile forced but earnest. "We have to," he said, his eyes never leaving Jerry's face. "For each other."

The nurse nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. She cleared their plates and wished them a happy anniversary before leaving them in the soft embrace of the candlelight.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his hand still in Jerry's. The warmth of their connection was a lifeline, a beacon in the fog of his pain. "You know, Jer," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "I've been thinking."

Jerry looked up at him, his eyes a little clearer now. "About what?"

"About how lucky we are," Dean said, his voice thick with emotion. "We had a career that most people dream of, a love that defied the odds."

Jerry's gaze drifted back to the cake, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he murmured, "we did it all, didn't we?"

Dean nodded, his eyes misty with unshed tears. "We did," he agreed, his voice a gentle caress. "And we did it together."

The room was silent, the only sound the distant laughter of other residents echoing through the hallway. It was a bittersweet reminder of the joy they had once brought to the world, their comedic timing and friendship a balm to countless souls.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the room in hues of gold and red, Dean's breath grew more ragged. His body was failing him, the cancer a relentless adversary that had stolen so much of their time together. Yet, he refused to let it steal this moment, their anniversary, from them.

The nurse returned, a gentle knock on the door preceding her entrance. "Mr. Martin," she said, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, "Could I speak with you and Mr. Lewis for a moment?"

Dean's heart raced, fearing the worst. He tightened his grip on Jerry's hand, but the nurse's smile was reassuring. "We have a surprise for you both," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Would you mind coming outside?"

They shuffled along the hallway, the wheels of Jerry's wheelchair squeaking against the linoleum. The cool evening air hit them as they stepped out onto the veranda. The setting sun painted the sky with a fiery blend of oranges and pinks, casting long shadows across the lawn.

"What's going on?" Jerry asked, his voice filled with childlike wonder as he took in the sight before them. The nearby pier had been transformed into a romantic escapade, adorned with twinkling lights and bouquets of roses in different shades of red, white, and pink.

The nurse beamed at them. "It's a surprise," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Your family wanted to do something special for your anniversary."

As they approached the pier, the sound of laughter grew louder, and suddenly, their children, now grown with families of their own, came into view. The sight was overwhelming, a wave of emotions crashing over Dean, his vision blurring with the effort to hold back tears.

Their children, dressed in their best suits and dresses, rushed forward, surrounding them with warm hugs and kisses, the grandchildren shyly peeking out from behind their parents' legs. The love in their eyes was a mirror to the love that filled Dean's heart. It was a love that had grown and evolved, a love that had transcended the boundaries of blood to become something stronger, something more profound.

"We wanted to do something special for you both," their oldest daughter Danielle said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We know how much you've meant to each other."

The children had gone all out, the pier a reflection of the love and joy Jerry and Dean had brought to their lives. The scent of fresh roses filled the air, mixing with the salty breeze from the nearby ocean. The twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the gathering, the soft strums of a guitar playing a familiar tune that had once filled their stage with magic.

"It's beautiful," Jerry murmured, his voice filled with awe.

The nurse nodded. "Your family wanted to make it special," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "They've been planning this for weeks."

As they approached the pier, the light grew softer, the shadows longer. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the distant sound of laughter. The wooden planks beneath their feet creaked with every step, echoing the rhythm of their hearts.

Their children had set up a small table at the end of the pier, adorned with a white tablecloth and a bouquet of Jerry's favorite flowers. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, the condensation glistening in the soft light.

Their oldest son, Craig, took the microphone, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and love. His voice was a reflection of Dean's smooth tenor, a testament to the genes that had passed down through the generations. "I even wrote you two a song," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

The pier grew quiet, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the shore. Craig began to sing, his voice weaving a melody that was both heartbreaking and hopeful.

"Just when I believed

I couldn't ever want for more", Craig sang.

"This ever-changing world

Pushes me through another door."

Dean's hand was clammy, his body trembling with the force of his fever, but he stood up, reaching for Jerry's hand with a determination that belied his weakened state. The song was a poignant reminder of their journey, a journey that had led them here, to this moment on the pier.

Jerry's eyes searched his, a question in their depths, but then he took Dean's hand, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Together, they shuffled to the makeshift dance floor, their movements slow and unsteady, but filled with a grace that came from decades of knowing each other's every step.

"I saw you smile", Craig sang, smiling as he saw his dads joined hands on the pier, holding each other close for a dance.

"And my mind could not erase

The beauty of your face

Just for awhile

Won't you let me shelter you?"

As Craig's voice grew softer, the music swelled around them, and Jerry leaned into Dean, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. It was a dance they had done a thousand times before, but this time, it was tinged with a bittersweetness that brought tears to the eyes of everyone watching.

"Hold on to the nights

Hold on to the memories

I wish that I could give you something more

That I could be yours."

The music washed over them, a poignant serenade to their enduring love. As Craig's voice grew softer, the lyrics echoing in the salty breeze, Dean felt a tear slip down his cheek. He had never expected this, never dreamed that their love could be celebrated so openly, so beautifully.

Jerry's hand was trembling in his, but his eyes were clear, focused on Dean. "You're the only one I've ever wanted to be with," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Dean swallowed hard, the words a balm to his soul. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Jerry's forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin, the flutter of his pulse beneath his lips. "And you're the only one who ever knew how to make me laugh," he murmured.

"How do we explain

Something that took us by surprise?

Promises in vain

Love that is real but in disguise."

Craig's voice grew stronger, the words resonating through the air as Jerry and Dean held each other, the love between them a palpable force that seemed to transcend their frail bodies. The crowd watched, some with tears in their eyes, others with smiles that reflected the warmth of the moment.

"What happens now?

Do we break another rule?

Let our lovers play the fool

I don't know how

To stop feeling this way

Hold on to the nights

Hold on to the memories

If only I could give you more."

Their bodies swayed to the music, a silent declaration of the love that had spanned a lifetime. The lyrics seemed to be speaking directly to their hearts, encapsulating the joy and the pain that had been woven into the fabric of their relationship. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, the pier, and the setting sun.

"Well, I think that I've been true

To everybody else but me

And the way I feel about you

Makes my heart long to be free

Every time I look into your eyes

I'm helplessly aware

That the someone I've been searching for

Is right there."

The lyrics of the song played out their truth as Dean and Jerry leaned in, their trembling lips meeting in a tender kiss. It was a moment frozen in time, a silent declaration of the love that had remained steadfast through the years, through the laughter, the tears, the secrets, and the fears. The kiss was gentle, a whisper of love against the backdrop of the fading day, the taste of champagne still lingering on their lips.

Their children watched, their eyes filled with a mix of love and pain. They had never seen their fathers so openly affectionate, not since the days when the world was less accepting of love that didn't fit the mold. But here they were, two men in their twilight years, sharing a moment of pure and unbridled love, a moment that seemed to transcend the confines of their bodies, reaching out to embrace each other's very souls.

As the music swelled to a crescendo, Dean pulled Jerry closer, their hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of the waves. The pain of his illness was a dull throb in the background, overshadowed by the warmth of Jerry's embrace. He knew that his time was running out, but in this moment, all that mattered was the love they shared.

Their dance was an achingly beautiful portrayal of their lives together, filled with moments of joy and sorrow, passion and pain, all leading to this moment of unabashed love. The world had changed so much since they had first met, but the bond between them had remained unshaken, a testament to the power of their connection.

"Hold on to the nights

Hold on to the memories

I wish that I could give you more."

"Whoa

Hold on to the nights."

The final notes of the song hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the time they had shared and the memories they had made. The crowd around them had gone quiet, the only sound the soft applause of their loved ones as the music ended. Dean's breath was shallow, his chest tight with the effort of standing, but he didn't want to let go of Jerry.

Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, they communicated without words the depth of their love and the sorrow of their impending parting. The applause grew louder, and their family and friends stepped closer, enveloping them in a warm embrace. The grandchildren giggled and clapped, not fully understanding the gravity of the moment, but feeling the joy that radiated from their grandfathers.

The pier was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The twinkling lights reflected in Jerry's eyes, the same sparkle that had captured Dean's heart all those years ago. They sat down at the table, the champagne forgotten, and held each other's hands, the warmth of their touch speaking volumes.

Their children and grandchildren gathered around, sharing stories of their adventures and the laughter they had brought to the world. Each tale was met with nods and smiles, the occasional tear slipping down a cheek as they remembered the men they had been before the ravages of time had taken their toll.

Dean's breath grew more labored, each inhale a battle against the cancer that was slowly stealing him away. Jerry's grip on his hand tightened, his eyes never leaving Dean's face, searching for any sign of distress, ready to offer comfort and reassurance. The air was thick with emotion, a potent mix of love, regret, and the quiet acceptance of fate's cruel hand.

The nurse, noticing the change in Dean's condition, approached with a gentle touch. "Let's get you back to bed, Mr. Martin," she said, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You need your rest."

"B-But I can't ruin this night," Dean panted in between gasps of air. "F-for Jerry!" His eyes held a fierce determination, the love for his partner shining through the haze of his pain.

Jerry squeezed his hand, his own eyes brimming with tears. "You're not ruining anything," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You never have."

The nurse approached, her eyes filled with compassion as she saw the pain etched into Dean's features. She grabbed the oxygen tank and mask from the chair beside them, her movements swift and practiced. She gently placed the mask over Dean's face, the hiss of the oxygen a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

As the cool mist filled his lungs, Dean's eyes began to relax a little, but Jerry could see something different in them. There was a depth there, a silent communication that went beyond words. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unspoken fears and a million unsaid "I love yous." Jerry felt his chest tighten, his own eyes misting as he held onto Dean's hand, not wanting to let go.

Another nurse hovered nearby, a silent sentinel watching over them as they shared their private moment. She knew better than to interrupt, having seen the unspoken bond between them a hundred times before. The love that existed between Jerry and Dean was something that transcended the ordinary, something that had grown from friendship into a quiet, unassuming force that had sustained them through the storms of life.

But the storm outside had abated, leaving behind the promise of a new dawn. Inside, however, the tempest raged on, as Dean's grip on consciousness grew weaker. The candlelight grew dimmer, the shadows longer, and the world around them began to fade away.

He looked into Jerry's eyes, searching for a spark of clarity in the fog that had once more claimed him. But what he found was something more profound, a love that had endured through the decades, a bond that had only grown stronger with each challenge they had faced.

Dean felt his vision swimming as he fell onto their floor of the pier, the edges of his world going fuzzy and indistinct. The colors of the pier bled into one another, the faces of their family becoming a kaleidoscope of blurred smiles and misty eyes. Feeling Jerry's presence as he crouched down to his side, Dean clung to his husband's hand with all his might, as if by doing so he could hold on to consciousness.

The nurse's voice grew distant, her words a muffled echo in the recesses of his mind. "It's okay, Mr. Martin. You can rest now." But he didn't want to rest, not yet. Not before he had told Jerry everything.

The colors around them swirled together, the faces of their children and grandchildren becoming a sea of love and concern. The candles on the cake looked like distant stars, flickering in and out of existence. His chest grew tight, each breath a struggle as he tried to fight the inevitable.

Jerry's hand grew wet in his, the tears unbidden and unstoppable. "Dean," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Don't go."

Their children had gathered around, the joy of the evening shattered by the sudden turn of events. Danielle's scream pierced the air, a desperate plea that seemed to hang in the silence that followed. "Someone call a doctor!"

The nurse was already on it, her calm demeanor slipping as she reached for her walkie-talkie. "Dr. Reynolds, we need you on the west wing patio immediately," she said, her voice tight with urgency.

Danielle's scream had pierced the tranquil atmosphere of the nursing home, shattering the moment of tenderness they had all been sharing. The grandchildren's giggles turned to whimpers, their innocent eyes wide with fear as they clung to their parents' legs.

Dean's grip on Jerry's hand weakened, and he felt a coldness seep into him that had nothing to do with the evening air. "Jerry," he whispered, his voice barely a rasp. "Remember, I love you. Always have, always will."

Jerry griped his hand with all his might as if it would give Dean the strength he desperately needed. His eyes filled with love and a fierce determination. "Don't you dare die on me, Dino Paul Crocetti", Jerry demanded, using Dean's full real name for the first time ever. "Don't you dare! You hear me?"

The nurse returned with Dr. Reynolds, a stern but gentle-faced man who had known them since their move to the nursing home. The doctor knelt beside Dean, checking his pulse and listening to his shallow breaths. The air grew heavy with anticipation, the laughter and chatter from the surrounding rooms a stark contrast to the quiet tension on the pier.

"You need to let go, Jerry," the doctor said gently, placing a hand on Jerry's arm. "We need to get him to the hospital."

But Jerry wouldn't budge, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I'm not leaving him," he said firmly. "Not now, not ever."

The doctor nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment. "Then you can come with us," he said, his voice filled with kindness.

The room grew a blur as Jerry felt himself being pulled away from Dean's side. The oxygen tank was replaced by a stretcher, and his husband was lifted with care, the mask still clinging to his face. The world around them sped up as the nurses and doctor rushed him away, the clanging of metal and the squeaking of wheels piercing the silence.

"No," Jerry moaned, his legs too weak to follow. "Dean, no!"

But the stretcher continued to roll away, carrying with it the love of Jerry's life. The panic grew stronger, his chest tightening with every step they took away from him. The pier felt cold without Dean's warmth beside him, the laughter of their children and grandchildren now just a distant echo.

In the hospital waiting room, the harsh fluorescent lights cast an unforgiving glare on the sterile walls, bouncing off the tiles with a starkness that seemed to amplify the silence. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and fear, a stark contrast to the warmth of the nursing home and the sweetness of the roses.

Jerry sat in a chair that was too hard and too cold, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the floor. His hand felt empty without Dean's to hold, and the echo of his voice, so faint and distant now, still echoed in his ears. "I love you, Jerry."

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one feeling like an eternity. The doctor had said it was serious, had used words like "complications" and "deteriorating condition," but Jerry had tuned out, focusing instead on the feel of Dean's hand in his, the way his thumb had stroked the back of his palm.

The hospital nurse returned, her face drawn. She took Jerry's hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "Mr. Lewis, we've done everything we can for him. The cancer...its spread and we found he also has Emphysema "

Jerry's eyes searched hers, desperately seeking a glimmer of hope, but she offered none. "Take me to him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The nurse nodded, leading him through the maze of corridors, the sound of his cane echoing through the halls. They arrived at a private room in the ICU where Dean lay, his chest rising and falling with the forced rhythm of the ventilator. The machines surrounding him beeped and whirred, a stark reminder of the fight he was losing.

Jerry's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice as he approached the bed, his vision blurred by the tears that threatened to fall. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he reached out to touch Dean's cool hand. "Dean," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm here."

Dean's eyes fluttered open, a hint of recognition in their depths. He tried to smile, but the effort was too much. His voice was a mere rasp, "Jer... I'm sorry."

Jerry squeezed his hand, feeling the chill that seemed to seep from Dean's body. "Don't you dare apologize to me," he said fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Dean's eyes searched his, desperate to convey what he could no longer put into words. The love that had been theirs for so long was now a silent conversation between two souls bound by fate.

"I'm scared, Jerry," Dean managed to murmur, his grip tightening around Jerry's hand. The fear in his eyes was palpable, the pain a silent scream that tore at Jerry's heart.

"I know, love," Jerry whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm here with you. Always." He leaned in closer, his forehead against Dean's hand, feeling the chill of his skin. "Remember all the laughs we had?"

Dean nodded, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "The best times of my life," he breathed out, his eyes drifting shut.

Jerry leaned in, his breath hot against Dean's skin. "I know it's not easy," he said, his voice a soothing whisper. "But we've got each other. We've always had each other."

The room was a cocoon of soft light and the rhythmic beeping of machines. The air was thick with the weight of their unspoken words, the love that had defined them for so long. "You're not leaving me," Jerry said, his voice a promise. "Not now, not ever."

Dean's eyes searched Jerry's, a silent plea for reassurance. The ventilator hissed, the only sound that filled the space between them, a stark contrast to the laughter and applause that had once been their constant soundtrack.

Jerry took a deep breath, his chest tightening. "You're right, Dean. We've always been more than just colleagues, more than just friends." He paused, his thumb tracing the outline of the compass charm. "I love you, Dean. And I'm scared. Scared of losing you, of losing myself."

Dean's eyes remained closed, but his hand tightened around Jerry's. "You're not going to lose me," he whispered. "I'll always be with you."

The words hung in the air, a silent promise that resonated in Jerry's soul. He knew that no matter what happened, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkest of nights.

"Jerry", Dean breathed. "I...I need to tell you something."

Jerry's heart raced. The urgency in Dean's voice was palpable, despite the weakness that ravaged his body. He leaned in closer, his breath catching in his throat.

"What is it?" he whispered, his eyes searching Dean's face for any sign of what was to come.

Dean's voice was barely audible, a soft rasp that seemed to carry the weight of their entire shared history. "When I go...don't let them forget us. Our love...our legacy."

Jerry felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears as he nodded. "I won't, Dean," he promised. "I'll make sure everyone knows about us."

The silence that followed was filled with the muffled sounds of the hospital - distant footsteps, the hum of machinery, and the occasional muffled cough. Jerry's thoughts raced as he struggled to find the words to express the depth of his feelings. He had spent a lifetime hiding their love, but now, as they faced the possibility of being apart, the urgency to proclaim it was overwhelming.

"Jerry," Dean's voice was a mere whisper, his eyes fluttering open. "I need you to know...everything." The words came out with a rush, as if he had been holding them back for too long, waiting for the right moment.

Jerry leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew this was it, the moment Dean had been building up to. The room felt as though it had shrunk around them, the air thick with the weight of the unspoken.

"Dean, you can tell me anything," Jerry whispered, his voice shaking slightly. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay strong for the man he loved more than anything. "You know that."

Dean's eyes searched Jerry's, his gaze intense and filled with a love that seemed to burn brighter than the stars. "I do," he murmured. "But I need you to listen, really listen."

Jerry nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears that he was desperately trying to hold back. He knew this was it, the moment of truth that would define the rest of their time together. He took a deep breath and leaned in closer, his heart racing in anticipation.

"Jerry," Dean began, his voice a mere thread of sound. "You know how much you mean to me, right?"

Jerry nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He knew, but hearing it now, in the starkness of the hospital room, made it all too real.

"Jerry," Dean continued, his voice a whisper in the stillness. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. The laughs, the friendship, the love..." His eyes searched Jerry's, looking for understanding, for reassurance that his words were landing.

Jerry felt a tear slip down his cheek. He knew Dean was trying to tell him something profound, something that he hadn't been able to express in their years together. He swiped at the tear with his free hand, the one not holding onto Dean's like a lifeline. "I know, Dean," he murmured. "I feel the same way."

Dean's chest rose and fell in a shallow, uneven pattern, the rhythm of his breathing a grim reminder of the battle he was fighting. "But Jerry," he insisted, his voice growing stronger despite the effort it cost him. "You don't understand. You don't know everything."

Jerry felt a coldness spread through his veins. He knew Dean was right; there were secrets between them, things left unsaid for fear of breaking their friendship, their partnership, their very identity as a duo. But now, with the clock ticking down on their time together, there was no room for secrets.

"Dean," Jerry whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm listening."

Dean's eyes searched his, looking for the strength to go on. "Jerry, I've loved you since the first day we met." The words came out in a rush, as if they had been held back by a dam that had finally burst. "The kisses on stage, they weren't just for show. They were real. Every single one."

Jerry felt his heart clench in his chest, the realization of what Dean was saying settling in. "You don't have to tell me this now, Dean," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I know you love me.”

Dean's eyes never left Jerry's, his gaze filled with urgency. "But you don't know everything," he insisted, his voice barely audible. "You don't know that I've always loved you, not just as a friend or a partner, but as a man."

The revelation hung in the air, the gravity of the words heavy and real. Jerry felt his chest tighten, his mind racing with the implications. All those years, all those moments, the love they had shared, the jokes, the camaraderie, the unspoken bond that had carried them through the storms of their lives - it had all been so much more than he had ever allowed himself to believe.

"Dean," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Dean's grip on his hand grew weaker, but his eyes remained fixed on Jerry's, filled with a fierce determination. "Because I was scared," he admitted, his voice a mere rasp. "Scared of losing you, scared of what the world would think. But now..." His eyes closed briefly, as if the weight of his words was too much. "Now, I just want you to know the truth."

Jerry's mind raced, a tornado of emotions swirling through him. He felt a mix of shock, anger, and overwhelming love. But most of all, he felt a deep sadness that they had been apart for so long, living in the shadows of their own fear. "Oh, Dean," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Don't be sad, Jerry," Dean murmured, his eyes still closed. "Just remember, I've always been yours. Our love was real." His hand grew limp in Jerry's grip, the effort of speaking too much.

Jerry felt the weight of those words, the years of unspoken love and fear crashing down on him. He leaned over, his forehead pressing against Dean's, the coldness of the hospital sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. "And I've always been yours, Dino," he whispered back, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish I had known sooner, we could have had so much more."

The ventilator's rhythm grew erratic, a heart-wrenching reminder of the limited time they had left. "Jer," Dean's voice was barely a breath, "Don't waste time on regrets. Just remember the joy we had."

Jerry nodded, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I will," he promised, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'll remember every laugh, every moment we shared." He paused, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "But I can't help feeling like we were robbed of so much more."

Dean's eyes opened slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We had a good run, Jer," he murmured, his voice a mere breath. "Better than most. And now..." His words trailed off as his grip on Jerry's hand tightened. "Now, I need you to do something for me."

Jerry's eyes searched Dean's, desperation and love warring in his chest. "Anything," he said, the word a vow that he meant with every fiber of his being.

"Promise me," Dean rasped, his voice barely audible over the symphony of hospital sounds.

Jerry leaned in, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "What, Dino?"

Dean's smile grew weaker, his breaths shallower. "Promise me you'll keep our love story alive." His voice was a mere breath, his grip on Jerry's hand feeble. "For us, for them, for everyone."

Jerry's heart felt as though it was being crushed in a vice. He squeezed Dean's hand, trying to imbue his touch with all the love and strength he had left. "I promise, Dino," he murmured, his voice thick with tears. "I'll tell everyone. Our love was real."

The room grew quiet, the only sound the rhythmic beeping of the machines and the harsh rasp of Dean's labored breathing. The air was heavy with the weight of their shared past, the unspoken love that had fueled their partnership, and the unspoken fear that had kept them apart for so long.

Jerry felt a warm hand on his cheek, and he looked up to find the nurse, her eyes filled with compassion. "Mr. Lewis, it's time for Mr. Martin to rest," she said gently. "You should get some rest too."

He nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of Dean's confession, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He knew he had to be strong, for both of them. With trembling hands, he leaned down and kissed Dean's forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin. "Rest, Dino," he whispered. "I'll be here."

"Jerry", Dean breathed, his voice barely auditable as Jerry slowly walked towards the door. "H-Hold me."

The nurse stepped aside, giving them a knowing smile, as she knew the depth of the bond they shared. Jerry's heart was a tumult of emotions, but he nodded, moving back to the bed and gently sliding his arms around Dean's frail frame as he carefully climbed in beside him, being mindful of the wires. He held him close, feeling the warmth of Dean's body, the beat of his heart against his chest.

They lay there in silence, the only sound the persistent rain outside the window, the rhythm of the hospital machines, and their own breathing. The air in the room was thick with unspoken words, a lifetime of shared experiences, and the painful reality of their impending goodbye. Jerry felt the weight of the years, the laughs they had shared, the moments of joy, and the secrets they had kept, all pressing down on him like a heavy blanket.

As Dean grew still in his arms, Jerry's breath caught in his throat. He didn't dare to move, afraid that any shift might break the fragile moment. He held his breath, waiting for the next inhale, the next sign of life. The seconds stretched into an eternity, the beeping of the machines a stark reminder of the ticking clock.

Finally, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, Dean took another shallow breath. The air shuddered through his lungs, a painful echo of the life force that was slowly slipping away. Jerry felt the warmth of Dean's exhale against his neck, and the tears he had been holding back spilled over, tracing a wet path down his cheeks.

"Thank you," Dean murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "For being my rock, my laughter, my everything."

Jerry's eyes remained closed, the warmth of Dean's words seeping into his very core. "And you, my love," he responded, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain composure. "You've been all of that and more."

"I'll be....waiting for....you", Dean breathed, the machines beeps becoming few and far between. "On...t-the...other...side."

Jerry's chest tightened, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold onto the pain that threatened to consume him. He nodded against Dean's temple, feeling the wetness of his own tears mingling with the sweat on Dean's skin. "I'll find you," he murmured. "I'll always find you."

The nurse stepped closer, her eyes filled with understanding. She knew the end was near, and she offered them a private space to say their goodbyes. The room grew quiet, save for the soft patter of rain against the window and the muffled sobs that Jerry couldn't hold back any longer.

Dean's breathing grew shallower, each inhale a battle, each exhale a whispered farewell. "Jerry," he managed to say, his voice barely a thread. "Remember..."

Jerry's eyes snapped open, fear clutching at his heart. "Remember what, Dean?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Dean's eyes remained closed, his breaths coming in gasps now, each one a fight against the inevitable. "Remember," he whispered again, "I love..." His voice faded, the words hanging in the air like a final note in a poignant melody. "...you."

The room grew still, the only sound the rain outside and the erratic beeping of the machines. And then, with a final sigh, the beeping stopped. The room was filled with the silence of a love that had transcended all boundaries, a love that had been theirs alone for so long.

Jerry felt a coldness spread through him as he held Dean's lifeless body, his mind unable to comprehend the finality of the moment. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck, inhaling the faint scent of aftershave that clung to him, a scent that was so uniquely Dean. His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest, leaving an emptiness that threatened to consume him.

The nurse approached, her eyes filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Lewis," she whispered. "But he's at peace now."

Jerry nodded, his chest heaving with the weight of his sobs. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of Dean. It was as if by holding on, he could somehow keep a piece of him alive.

"Leave me with him," he breathed, his voice almost a plea to the nurse.

Her eyes filled with understanding, she nodded and retreated, leaving them in the quiet embrace of their grief. The world outside the hospital room continued to spin, but for Jerry, time had stopped. He remained there, his heart aching with the loss of the man who had been his anchor for so long. The man whose love he had just discovered was so much deeper than he had ever allowed himself to imagine.

The night grew long, the rain outside tapering off to a gentle patter that seemed to echo the rhythm of his own thoughts. The nurses checked in periodically, whispering soft words of comfort, but Jerry barely registered their presence. His mind was a kaleidoscope of memories, the moments they had shared playing out in vivid detail as he lay beside Dean, holding him close.

As dawn broke, the first light of day seeped through the hospital blinds, casting a soft glow over the still room. The nurse's footsteps grew heavier, the quiet chatter of the waking hospital a stark contrast to the silence that had settled around them. She paused in the doorway, her eyes immediately drawn to the two men on the bed, their forms entwined in a silent embrace.

Jerry's grip on Dean was unyielding, as if by holding on, he could somehow will him back to life. His eyes remained closed, the lines of his face etched with the pain of a grief that was still too raw to be fully realized. The nurse approached with a gentle touch, her heart aching for the love that had clearly defined their lives, even until the very end.

"Mr. Lewis," she whispered softly, not wanting to disturb the sacred moment. "It's time."

Jerry didn't move, his body still as a statue, his heart a lead weight in his chest. The nurse's gentle touch did little to penetrate the wall of grief that surrounded him.

"Mr. Lewis," she whispered again, her voice a soft caress in the early morning light. "We need to prepare Mr. Martin."

Jerry's body was a statue, frozen in grief. Each beat of his heart echoed in the quiet room, a mournful drum that marked the passage of time. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to accept that the man he had loved in secret for so long was gone.

The nurse's voice was a soft lullaby, trying to coax him out of his sorrowful trance. But Jerry remained unmoving, lost in the embrace that had become his sanctuary.

"Mr. Lewis," she tried again, a hint of urgency in her tone. "It's time to let him go."

But Jerry didn't respond, his body a testament to his unyielding love. The nurse stepped closer, her hand gently touching his shoulder. She felt the coldness of his skin and realized the truth. With a gasp, she checked for a pulse, her eyes widening in shock and sorrow.

The room grew stiller, if that was even possible. Two hearts had stopped beating in the quiet hours of the night, forever entwined in the silence of their shared grief. The nurse stepped back, her hand hovering over the call button, unsure of what to do. She knew she had to alert the staff, but she didn't want to disturb the peace that had settled around them.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the phone. The soft ringing seemed to echo through the room, a stark intrusion into the sacredness of their final moments. She waited for the voice on the other end, her eyes never leaving the two men on the bed. She spoke in hushed tones, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I need Dr. Reynolds in room 213."

The doctor arrived quickly, his face a mask of professionalism that couldn't quite hide the sadness in his eyes. He checked Dean's pulse, confirming what they all knew. Then, with a gentle touch, he did the same for Jerry. He looked at the nurse, his expression one of quiet understanding.

"They've both passed," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble in the early morning silence. "It seems Mr. Lewis couldn't bear to let go."

The nurse nodded, her own eyes brimming with tears. "Their bond was... extraordinary," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Reynolds nodded solemnly, his gaze lingering on the two men. "It's not uncommon," he said, his voice filled with a quiet empathy that comes from years of witnessing the complex tapestry of life and death. "The human heart can be surprisingly strong, even when the body isn't."

The nurse wiped her eyes, a silent nod of understanding passing between her and the doctor. They had both seen their fair share of love and loss, but there was something about Jerry and Dean's story that had touched them deeply. The doctor gently pried Jerry's arms from around Dean, their embrace releasing like the final chord of a heartbreaking melody. He checked Jerry's vitals, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"They're both gone," he confirmed, his voice filled with a gentle sadness. "But they're together now."

The nurse nodded, her eyes never leaving the two men who had found refuge in each other's arms. "I'll notify the family," she said, her voice shaky. "They'll want to know."

Dr. Reynolds nodded, his gaze lingering on the two figures for a moment longer before he turned to leave. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the two doves that had perched themselves on the windowsill outside. They looked at him with an air of serenity that seemed out of place in the sterile hospital room. He watched as they took flight just as quickly as they had come into view, their white feathers fluttering in the early morning light.

The sight of the doves brought him a sense of peace, an odd comfort amidst the sorrow. It was as if the universe itself was acknowledging the profound bond that had existed between Jerry and Dean. He couldn't help but wonder if they were a symbol of the love that had transcended their lifetimes, a love that had been theirs alone. He pulled the sheet over them gently, tucking it in around their forms with a tenderness reserved for the most beloved of patients.

The nurse stepped outside to make the call, her voice cracking as she relayed the news to the family. She watched the doves soar into the distance, feeling a strange kinship with them. Their journey mirrored the one Jerry and Dean had taken together, a dance of freedom and unity that could never truly be contained.

Back in the room, the doctor and nurse moved with practiced efficiency, handling the bodies with a respect that spoke volumes of their humanity. As the doctor began to prepare them for their final goodbye, he found the photo that had been clutched in Jerry's hand. It was an image of the two of them in their prime, laughter lighting up their faces, a reminder of the joy they had shared. He placed it gently beside the bed, a silent tribute to the love story that had played out in this very room.

The nurse, her voice thick with unshed tears, made the necessary calls, informing the family of the tragic turn of events. They had lost both men in the same night, but not before they had been granted one last gift—the truth of their love. The doctor watched her from the corner of his eye, her dedication to her patients clear, even in the face of such profound loss.

As the doctor finished his preparations, the two doves outside the window caught his attention once more. They hovered for a moment, seemingly in tune with the gravity of the situation within the hospital room. With a final beat of their wings, they disappeared into the dense clouds that had gathered in the early morning sky. It was as if they were carrying the souls of Jerry and Dean with them, ascending to a place where they could be together for all eternity without fear or judgment.

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 months ago

Text

PAST PROTOCOL

Request: hey beautiful you…could we maybe have more Nixon then? what about at the attack on Foy, reader gets hurt and Lewis has to be held back because he is panicking and furious about Dike letting this happen?

Summary: Things can get complicated when decade-long feelings meet restrictive protocols due to gaps in military ranks.

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, depictions of period-typical violence (it's literally ww2)

A/N: Didn't put much thought into this one but I think it turned out alright. Again, never thought writing for Nixon would be entertaining but here we are. Another George Luz request coming right away btw. They're keeping me busy while I find the strength to keep organizing the Liebgott multipart without spiraling. Enjoy <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The night was dark, quiet enough that the occasional murmur of voices seemed to carry through the entire company. I could feel the weight of what Lipton and I had come to say pressing down on me, but it was too late to turn back now.

My First Sergeant paced before me, an uncharacteristic cigarette hanging from his lips. He didn't like this one bit.

"Lip," Winters greeted exiting the improvised Battalion Headquarters, his voice measured as usual despite the shakingly low temperatures . "Y/n/n?"

Lipton and I shared a resigned look before I addressed the confused officer. "Sir."

"What in Pete's name are you doing here?"

"It's... Part of the reason why we're here, Sir." The West Virginian man replied before I could. 'Let me do the talking, alright?' Lip had requested on our way.

Winters gave us a steady yet somewhat weary nod and prompted us to follow him into the tent where he and Nixon were huddled over maps, the low lantern light casting long shadows on their faces.

Nixon had to do a double check when I trailed behind Lip. He raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of us with a hint of suspicion but not saying a word.

"So," Winters sat down, expectant, hands around a mug of steaming coffee. "what is it? How are the men?"

“Sir, the men are ready.” Lipton said, his tone steady, though his jaw was clenched. "I'll be leading Second Platoon tomorrow. It's the most affected out of the three and I figured it'd be best for me to take care of them." Winters gave him a nod as a form of agreement, and his eyes couldn't help but land on me for an instant. "I have full confidence in the men, Sir."

Here we go.

"On the other hand, I have no confidence in our CO, Sir." Winters’ expression shifted—just a flicker of surprise in his otherwise steady gaze. "He's an empty uniform. He's been taking... very questionable decisions." Lip's gaze flickered to me. "I think tomorrow he's gonna get a lot of Easy men killed, Sir."

He dropped it as heavy as it came, and one would think that would have everyone's attention on him, but Nixon was unabashedly focused on me.

I knew he wouldn't like me being there. It only meant trouble —trouble he could not solve, and that ate at him from the inside.

Nix and I had practically grown up together, our families being close since we were born. The older we got, the more we gravitated towards each other, an unspoken connection pulling us in. Sadly, war came and, to our mothers' dismay, we both enlisted.

Nixon, became an officer while I had to climb from down below —something I wasn't used to, but I had never backed down from a challenge. We wouldn't have imagined he would be assigned to my company. That made things way too complicated.

Which is why he drastically distanced himself from me; for both our sakes. It was difficult enough as it was, I couldn't have an officer favoring me and he couldn't engage in issues just because they involved me.

"I'm gonna address the elephant in the room. What’s she doing here?" Nixon asked, tilting his head with a scrutinizing look.

Lipton hesitated, choosing his words carefully, but I could sense that he was unsure of how much to say. "She'll be leading First Platoon tomorrow, Sir."

"She what?" Nixon jumped from his spot, brows almost meeting his hairline.

"You're not in this?" Winters' shocked whisper was directed exclusively to his friend.

"Do I look like I'm in this to you?" The brunet man spat more bitter than he should have. "Where is this coming from? Who's idea was it?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Sir?" I said, directing my question to Winters instead.

"Permission granted." He had become accustomed to it; Nixon and I using him as a bridge.

I drew a deep breath, and for a second, I questioned if this was a mistake. But the words had already lined up in my mind, and I knew I couldn’t hold back. "I’m a Staff Sergeant. I clearly shouldn't be leading a platoon," I said, keeping my voice even. "Just like Lieutenant Dike shouldn’t be leading Easy Company, Sir. He's as qualified to do so as I am."

Silence fell, thick and heavy in the small space. They both knew I had never spoken ill of any officer or fellow soldier, no matter what I had seen myself dragged into. That's how bad it had gotten.

Nixon’s mouth opened, but for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. "You’re saying Dike’s incapable."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice softer but no less certain. "Respectfully, Sir, he’s going to get people killed if he’s in charge out there. We’ve all seen it. And the men—" I glanced at Lipton, who gave a tight nod of encouragement. "They don’t trust him."

Winters exchanged a long look with Lipton, and I could see the gravity of the situation weighing on him. But as much as he might have wanted to do something, it wasn't their choice, and we were stuck with it.

We were about to be halfheartedly dismissed when Nixon exhaled a low, frustrated sigh. "So what do you want us to do about it? We’re as boxed in here as you are," he said, though the irritation in his tone was directed somewhere far beyond us.

'don't ask me for help' he wished to say instead. The four of us knew the moment I stepped into the CP, the problem in his eyes would be less about the company and more about me.

A part of me thought Lipton wanted this to happen; perhaps he hoped Nixon would put more pressure up on Regiment if I was dragged into it.

"We know, Sir." Lipton replied, carefully redirecting the officer's attention to him. "But as First Sergeant, I figured it was my duty to let you know what we think."

"The orders are clear." Winters finally spoke, his words steady but carrying a hint of resignation. "Dike is to lead."

Lipton’s shoulders sagged a little, and I felt the weight of what I��d feared all along settle heavily in my chest.

"Understood, Sir." Lip said, his voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, I almost regretted speaking up, but there was no turning back.

Lipton and I turned to leave, but Nixon’s voice stopped me as I stepped outside.

"Y/n."

I looked back, meeting his gaze. For a second, it seemed he wanted to say something else, something that wasn’t bound by ranks or regulations. He wouldn't do that, though.

"Stay safe tomorrow."

I limited myself to respond with the short sentence I had struggled so much to internalize when it came to Nixon. "Yes, Sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the cold, gray light just before dawn, the trees cast long shadows over the gathered soldiers. A tense quiet filled the air, broken only by the low murmurs of the men making last checks on their gear and formations. Winters was crouched a few feet away with Dike, going over the plan, his voice steady and insistent, doing his best to guide him through every step. Our Lieutenant's gaze drifted across the field toward Foy, and I couldn't help but wonder if Winters was getting any word into him.

With Martin's help, I stood a little apart with the men of First Platoon, running through their positions, double-checking who would be where, and making sure each of them understood. They all knew I shouldn't be leading, but tried their best to help me out.

Lipton who did the same as me with Second Platoon not too far away from us, caught my eye with a quick nod, offering some small assurance. But before I could fully return the gesture, Nixon appeared, slipping through the trees toward me.

"Sergeant." he took a look around us and gestured me to step aside with him.

"Captain." My curt response was choked by the formalities I no longer felt like indulging.

"Who exactly decided you’d be leading First Platoon into Foy?"

Oh, he was mad.

"Lieutenant Dike, Sir." his jaw clenched at the mention of the commanding officer. I knew what Lew would have said to me. But Captain Nixon surely wasn't able to cuss out my superior.

"Why was that?"

I barely held back a huff. "He gave no explanation, Sir, just pointed at me and moved on."

He pressed his lips into a line, clearly unsatisfied. "So you didn't do anything to bring this to yourself?"

"No, Captain." My gloved fingers tightened around my rifle's strap. "I just happened to be nearby."

"That's pretty hard to believe." There was a tinge of poison in his words. 'I don't buy it', he meant.

"Sir, with all due respect," I took a step towards him, shortening the distance between us. "Believe whatever you want. It's none of my business."

He held my gaze, conveying that annoyingly protective instinct I seemed to trigger in him since we were teens. "You're not qualified to do this."

"Frankly, Captain, if you have a problem," without thinking twice, I raised my pointer finger at Dike, sat still in the same position Winters had left him in. "go have a word with Lieutenant Dike. I'm clearly not qualified for this either."

That was it, I thought to myself when I turned heel. That was the last conversation I would have with Lew.

Maybe he thought the same, because I had barely lifted my foot off the mud when his hand found my elbow and tugged on it.

His eyes were softer now, brows knitted with worry. "Did he even ask if you wanted the job?"

"No, Sir." With a sigh, he glanced away, and while he tried to find the words, I continued speaking. "I didn't wanna be put in this position, but I'm gonna do my best to make it right." It wasn't the reassurance he needed, but I couldn't offer anything else when I had that horrible feeling in the back of my mind.

He saw straight through me, as always.

Nixon’s voice lowered as he dangerously closed the distance between us. "What happens when he gets himself in over his head?" I couldn't even open my mouth before he hissed "First platoon is leading in, what happens when you have to shoulder the whole attack?"

"What's the point of this goddamn conversation, Lew?" It slipped. It was quiet but it slipped. "It's... It's an order. I'm just doing as I'm told."

Nixon swallowed the lump in his throat but it had triggered a tenderness out of him I didn't expect. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just— this is madness." I muttered a soft 'I know'. "Y/n, I tried. I tried to get him transferred. Dick and I-" He discontent grunt escaped him. "He's untouchable and it's gonna cost us dear. And you're getting dragged into it, I swear to God, this son of a—"

"Alright, stop." The back of my hand stealthily brushed his, killing the words at the tip of his tongue. "I’ll figure something out."

Before return the hold I previously had on my gear, Nixon's cold digits trapped mine for an instant, giving them a squeeze. "Look, just... watch out down there, okay?" Nixon ran a hand through his hair. He was past the point of being tired. "Don't make me write to your mother."

'don't get killed'.

"Yes, Sir."

I held his gaze for a moment, something tight and unspoken settling between us.

As if on cue to break the spell we shouldn't be under, Martin called my name. It was time. With an apologetic look, I stepped back in my Platoon's direction.

"Stay sharp, Sergeant." Another plea, just like the night before.

I managed a small, grim smile. "Always do."

Martin sidled up beside me, raising a brow as he watched Nixon walk away to reach Sink. "The hell was all that about?"

I shrugged, adjusting my helmet before spinning to face him. "Just… Nixon being Nixon." Martin gave me a weary up-and-down that I swiftly shook off. "Let's do this, yeah?"

He nodded, clapping my back and prompting me to join the platoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We didn't even make it to town before what everyone feared happened.

We had made it through D-Day, Carentan and Holland, but when Lip, Luz and I exchanged exasperated looks crouched behind hay bales, it was clear as day we all thought that was it for us.

After a lot of outraged yelling on our parts to try and get anything out of Dike, the Lieutenant did what no one expected. He gave an order.

"First Platoon will surround Foy!" Dike’s voice might have been a quiver, but it was a direct command nonetheless.

It hit like a punch to the gut.

"Are you f—" My voice caught in my throat as I looked back toward him, trying to read any sense in his face. "Sir, you want First Platoon alone to surround and attack the town?!"

"Sir, they're gonna be exposed!" I had never heard so much anger in Lipton's voice, but it there was a time, it was now.

"We will provide c-covering fire!" Dike's shellshock face snapped to me. "Move it, Y/l/n! N-now!"

I didn’t have a choice. I ran back to my platoon bullets ricocheting around me. I kept my head down while I signaled Martin to take the men forward. With every nerve on fire, we pushed out the best we could until we were spread too thin around the town.

It was chaos all around while I tried my best to lead a platoon I shouldn't have been assigned in the first place.

Then it happened.

A sharp, hot pain ripped through my side. My legs buckled, the ground rushing up to meet me as I went down hard.

NIXON'S P. O. V.

I watched through binoculars the disaster unfold, my heart hammering violently with every wrong move, every stop, every scream from Dick.

I saw Dike’s shaky gestures and heard the garbled command over the radio, muffled by George's frantic plead for his CO to take the phone.

The binoculars dropped over my chest when I snapped my head at the higher ups from Regiment overlooking the scene almost unbothered at the sight of their best Company getting massacred.

Dick was too busy trying to get Dike on the radio, so I took it upon myself to not so kindly go off at XO's a few steps away from me.

I wasn't too far when the radio crackled with Lipton’s voice. All we got was 'Y/n' and 'hit'.

"She’s down!" Luz’s voice cut in, strained and tense, making my blood run cold. "Y/n’s down! First platoon is stranded!"

My chest seized, panic clawing up my throat when my trembling hands lifted the binoculars back to my eyes. Fate seemed to play a cruel joke and made me direct my view straight at Y/n, lying on the ground with a crimson pool of blood under her middle, propagating on the pristine white snow.

I barely registered Winters' furious call for Speirs; I was too busy grabbing my rifle —the same rifle I had never shot. My mind was a blur as my feet attempted to carry me to the battlefield.

Winters yanked me back by my arm and I shoved him off, only for Colonel Sink to step forward and block my path. I believe he was shouting something about ranks, but all I could hear was Luz's message ringing in my head.

There were numerous times in this godforsaken war in which I had felt useless and overpowered, but never to this level.

Nothing compared to the helpless feeling of having to watch the girl I had grown up with —the one I had so badly tried to protect— shot down in the middle of a frontline; caught in the crossfire without anyone able to help her while she bled to death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The aid station was full of activity as medics moved between beds, their voices a murmur of steady instructions. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness since they had brought me in.

I wasn’t fully sure, but chances were Speirs had been the one who got me out of Foy. I could still hear the echo of his barked orders, steady and focused, right before someone's hands had snatched my body from the chaos and onto a stretcher.

The sting of antiseptic seared my side, snapping me back to the present. A nurse leaned over me, quietly murmuring something I didn’t quite catch as she tended to my bandages. I forced myself to stay still, swallowing back a hiss of pain, when suddenly, through the thin canvas walls of the tent, a familiar voice rang out.

It was Nixon, and from the sound of it, he was furious.

"—no, I don’t give a damn if that’s not procedure. This never should have happened!" I could almost see him out there, pacing back and forth. "Dike’s a goddamn disaster. How many times did we say he’d freeze under fire?" There was a pause, then the slam of a fist against something solid—a crate, maybe. "We got soldiers down in there because he panicked. Is this what you needed to take Easy off his hands?"

My chest tightened, and I tried to sit up, ignoring the ache in my side. The nurse gave me a sharp look, pressing a hand to my shoulder, but I strained to listen.

"Do NOT tell me I'm outta line again, Lieutenant." A scoff. "You all knew he wasn’t fit for this," Nixon’s tantrum continued. "We all did. And now she’s in there, and I'm out here, waiting to see if she makes it out while I listen to this dumbfuckery!" He forced himself to continue, voice rougher. "This isn't— you're not pushing another replacement officer into the company."

There was another pause, and I could hear someone else murmuring low responses, as if trying to calm him down. But Nixon wasn’t having any of it.

"I don't give a damn! He's not gonna command Easy." Another murmur, another humorless laugh. "Oh yeah? I’ll go straight to Sink myself if I have to." The tent flap shifted, and finally caught a glimpse of him. No helmet, no gear. Just his winter uniform and that disheveled look he sported. God, he was handsome. "You're dismissed."

His arm hit the canvas with a grunted curse, and his confident steps came to a halt when he spotted my sitting form.

Resolved, he made a beeline to my stretcher, dismissing the nurse on his way.

"Captain Nixon—"

"Fuck that." My eyes widened ever so slightly at his harsh pitch. "I told you to be safe."

"Sir—"

"Don't call me that, Y/n/n." Oh. "I'm not in the mood to play on this bullshit." His complaint barely made sense to me, but I figured it had something to do with the trail of stitches on my abdomen and the fact that he had to witness it. "I told you to be safe." He repeated, this time with more intent.

"Are you really gonna scold me after getting fucking shot, Lew?" The act was down among us, but I just hoped no one could get me court-martialled for it. "Keep treating me like a kid, see where that takes you."

"I know you're not a kid."

"Then why do you keep acting like this?" I did my best no to raise my voice at him; the situation was a bit too reminiscing of the argument we held after he found out I had enlisted.

He had that same look on his face and that same paternalistic tinge, as if it was up to him what I could and couldn't do. This time he looked less anxious and more exhausted, though.

"You're doing it again." I warned him, but it only seemed to bother him even more.

"I'm doing it again because you keep doing this!"

"What's 'this'?" I spat, attempting to sit up only for his palms to hold me back onto the makeshift bed. "You hate seeing me try and hold my ground on my own?"

"I hate seeing you get hurt!" He was past the point of caring; if it wasn't obvious by the feelings-fueled shouts, the way he kneeled by my side did the trick. "Y/n/n." He shut his eyes, exhaling to collect himself. "I promised your mother I would take care of you, alright? How do I explain this without her forbidding me to step a foot on you house ever again?"

"You shouldn't have promised her anything." I limited myself to respond, although my reply was way less hostile and more understanding. I knew my mother would have dragged him into something of the like, but that was a burden he shouldn't have been carrying. "This is war, Lew."

"I had to." In those saddened dark irises, I saw a reflection of the boy who, scared, used to stand up for me in every situation. The kid that didn't fight unless cornered; the one that would always do anything to keep my reckless self safe.

I denied with furrowed eyebrows. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. I've always done that." He was trying to convey something through his retort, but when he saw it didn't seem to reach me, he gave up. "You don't know how much you mean to me. And God knows I wish it wasn't like that because you can be so annoyingly stupid."

Lew got one thing right from the beginning of this ranks shitshow— I was his problem. I had always been. And he had learned the hard way he couldn't keep saving me.

"I had to see you bleed to death and no one let me do anything about it." There was the scolding tone again, only that this time desperation and guilt engulfed it, and I couldn't help but feel bad. "Do you understand how that felt?" It was nothing more than a whisper.

"Do you think I wanted this to happen?" I matched his tone with a pleading gaze. "I followed orders, Lew. Why would I wanna get shot?" He casted his eyes down. "And why would I wanna put you through that?"

His hands rested on the side of the stretcher and I wondered for a second if, aside from being past ranks and formalities, we were also past protocol.

Fuck the protocol, I thought to myself before placing my palm atop his.

"I hate this, Lew."

His hand turned to intertwin his fingers with mine. A quiet silence briefly reigned our little corner of the aid station while we gazed at each other like starcrossed lovers from our books would.

"You're a good soldier, Y/n/n." It was an odd compliment coming from him. Maybe it wasn't a compliment at all.

I feared it would be something else; a goodbye, perhaps.

He swallowed, eyes darting everywhere before finding mine again. "You're getting back to the States in the next ship." Before I could open my mouth, he added, "It's not my doing."

Nixon expected me to clap back.

Maybe three years ago I would have.

"You're staying." It wasn't a question, but he answered nevertheless.

"The job's not done."

Only then it occurred to me why he was there.

"You've come to say goodbye?"

"We're moving out in a couple of hours." His hand escaped my own. So did his eyes. "I hate this too, Y/n/n."

My palms came to cover my face with a shaky sigh, the back of the head sinking into the poor excuse of a pillow.

"If you get yourself killed, Lew, I swear to God." My voice broke slightly. Whether it was due to the exhaustion or the fear of losing him, I couldn't tell.

"You'll come back to kill me?" He finished, making me peek through my fingers at his form, half turned away from me.

"Yeah."

"Consider recovering first, alright?" He attempted to joke, although the situation was too somber to make it land.

"I'm serious." I warned, uncovering my face to look at him —properly look at him— one last time.

"I know."

He wanted to say more, I saw it in the gleam of his eyes and the way his lips parted ever so subtly.

He didn't. He couldn't, not even when we were past formalities. It was too... Improper? Heavy?

It was too much.

So instead he rose to his feet, his digits fumbling a little to find my own and give them a tight squeeze, his attention roaming the tent to check if someone was watching.

"I'll see you back home." His voice was low yet clear, holding intent. 'I'm gonna come back to you', he tried to get across.

"Don't take too long." I responded, hoping he could read the plea in my visage.

This time it was me who let go of his hand, a silent allowance on my part for him to walk away, which he halfheartedly did, sparing me one last glance from the aid station entrance before disappearing behind the tarp.

"Jesus Christ..." I muttered under my breath, shutting my eyes to stop the tears from spilling. "You better come back."

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she-wolf09231982 · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 9-It Ain't Over

Summary: Easy is tasked to dismantle German outposts across the river and were to return with prisoners for interrogation. The mission is successful but not without another loss. When the Colonel tried to send the men back in, Winters unconventionally goes against the grain, allowing the men a night of rest instead of risking more unnecessary deaths.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, Post Bastogne, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Aggression, Angst, Confrontation, Military Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, A League of Their Own Movie References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German language with English translation, Smoking, Crying, Banter, Pining, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

February 1945/Night of POW Mission

American side of the river

Liebgott sits behind his M1919 Browning machine gun with his assistant gunner on a bombed-out landing at battalion headquarters right off the water, watching the rest of the platoon load into the boats on the riverbank. You sneak past the AG and sit next to Joe.

"Gams?? What the fuck are ya doin'?" he chided at you.

You roll your eyes, "Just checking on you two and seeing where the guys are." you respond quietly.

"Yeah, well, they ain't even crossed yet so get back downstairs, will ya? I don't want you out here if shit starts poppin' off." he scolded.

You sigh, "Fine, Joe, I just wanted to see you before anything happened, that's all."

You turned to leave but then hesitated. You looked over your shoulder at him with his back towards you. You return to him swiftly, grab his chin and plant a hasty peck on his cheek.

"Ich liebe dich, Joe Liebgott (g)(I love you, Joe Liebgott)." you say in a quick hush before you scamper off inside.

Joe grunted at you not knowing whether to be irritated or entertained,

"Du verdammte Füchsin (g)(You goddamn vixen)." he called after you before you could reach the stairs.

Basement of Battalion HQ

You and Doc sit together in the cellar of HQ, waiting and listening intensely for any gunfire exchange outside. Minutes feel like hours sitting there, as you sip on a tin cup of coffee.

Your leg is bouncing from anxiety, waiting for something to happen. Eugene reached across to you and grabbed your knee to stop your leg from jumping. You look up at him startled.

"You're too jittery. Lay off the coffee, Y/F/N." he said in his low soothing Cajun accent with a gentle smile.

You nod then smile back, placing your cup on the table next to you.

~~~~~~~

German side of the river

The patrol crosses the river in the inflatable boats. When they reach land, they strategically approach the building where German soldiers are posted. As Easy makes entry, Jackson rushes into the building too soon after throwing a grenade and is severely wounded.

The rest of the guys then rush the building and captured three Germans. As they retreat with their prisoners, the remaining German forces open fire. One of the prisoners is hit and is left behind on the riverbank.

American side of the river

Joe sees his platoon scattering towards the boats as smoke and gunfire erupt from the German side. He shifts his line of fire, anxiously waiting to pull the trigger.

"Jesus Christ, come on. Blow the goddamn whistle!" he yelled.

The sound of the whistle finally reaches Joe's ears. He lays heavy suppressive fire at the windows where he sees flashes from German MG-42s. He peppers the buildings back and forth, in hopes he's nailing each one dead center of their foreheads.

Basement of HQ

You and Doc hear an eruption of gunfire and shells dropping through the garden windows of the basement. You stand next to the little window listening hard for the yells and screams from your boys. Just then, you suddenly hear the faint call from the riverbank on the American side...

"WHERE'S THE MEDIC!?!?"

Alarmed, you look back at Eugene with wide, panicked eyes.

"No, Y/L/N." Doc said sternly.

He knew damn well what you were thinking, and he wasn't going to allow it. Not again.

You began to protest, "But they-"

"Y/F/N, NO!" he barked, "I'm not lettin' you run to danger again. Remember what happened in Ardennes?" He reminded you angrily.

You look down shamefully at your boots. Suddenly the basement door abruptly swung open as the platoon started scrambling in.

"Wounded! We got wounded, come on!" Ramirez bellowed.

You swept papers and utensils off the nearest table to clear it for Jackson who was being carried in.

"Set him right here!" you call out.

Johnny Martin entered, "Get the Krauts back there, shake them down! Move! Move! McClung! Get on over to CP, let them know what we got!" he ordered.

Jackson lying flat on the table, his face bloody and raw from the neck up, began gagging on his own blood.

"Jesus, what the hell happened to him over there?!" you ask overwhelmed by the soldier’s appearance.

"Grenade went off right in front of him." Ramirez reported.

"Shit, his lungs are probably hemorrhaging. He can't breathe right." you confirm aloud.

Doc gently pushed you aside and lowered his ear to Jackson's mouth.

"Light. I need some light. Give me some light." Doc requested urgently.

Grant took his lighter and flipped it on. Doc held Jackson's mouth open by the chin, observing and listening for a few seconds as the poor soldier gurgled and whimpered.

"All right, look at the flame. Look at the flame. Ok, that's good." Doc instructed Jackson.

The room became eerily quiet as they all watched Doc work.

"All right, let's get him outta here." Doc directed.

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson cried out.

He repeated these words tearfully over and over again as the platoon started to move him towards the door on a litter. Jackson started to grab at Doc, kicking off the surface as his choking worsened. The men set him down.

"He's gonna die!" one of the guys shrilled in horror.

"Hey, shut the hell up! You're upsetting him more!" You hiss over the sea of bellowing soldiers, while Jackson started to flail and kick in terror.

"Please help me, I don't wanna die!" He wallowed.

Doc tried to hold him steady on the stretcher, "Jackson, you're not gonna die! I need you to hang on!"

Jackson continued to bawl and throw an agonizing fit out of fear until the life drifted from his tearing eyes and his body fell limp. Doc sat up, dropping his helmet to his side with a huff of defeat leaving his mouth. He sat there, lost in his thoughts then looked up at you with frustration painted all over his face.

You look around the room at rest of the guys until you see Martin. You shake your head, confirming he didn't make it. You take Babe's wool blanket he wrapped himself with and covered Jackson.

~~~~~~~

The following morning, the platoon hung out in the barracks, resting up after a long night. Webster entered the room with LT Jones.

"Jackson is dead." Webster announced.

"Yeah, we heard." Joe replied from his bunk sitting above you.

"Yeah, well, they want another patrol tonight." Perconte added.

Joe shifted onto the mattress and laid against the pillow. You stood up angrily and walked out the room, down the stairs, and out the door to head to the basement back at HQ to be alone.

With most of Easy at HQ later that day, Winters, Nixon and Speirs address the same patrol from the night before to discuss the next mission for that evening. You're in attendance once again, across the room where you can see Joe as you stood next to Eugene.

Winters opened the brief by stating how proud he was of the good work the platoon did last night then added that Col Sink was proud as well.

"-In fact, he's so proud he wants you to do another patrol across the river tonight."

The men remain resentfully silent. Joe lights a cigarette then shoots you an unamused glance as Winters continued.

"Any moment now, the outpost we hit last night will go up in flames. Means we have to venture farther into town this time. Captain Speirs, you have the map, please."

Speirs passes the map to Grant to display across the table.

"We have enemy movement here and here," Winters began as he pointed on the paper, "Which means this is our new house target here. We recovered all the boats. So, we'll be setting off from the same place we did last night."

"We're not changing the plan any, sir?" Martin spoke up.

"No. The plan is the same. It will be 0200 hours instead of 0100. Is that clear?" Winters asked.

The men shifted in discomfort, "Yes sir." they acknowledged collectively.

"Good, because I want you all to get a full night's sleep tonight. Which means in the morning, you will report to me that you made it across that river into German lines but were unable to secure any live prisoners-" he instructed as he looked around the room to see if the platoon was tracking what he was saying.

Everyone looked at him in disbelief. The man was really ordering you to disobey Col Sink’s orders.

"Understand?" he pushed cautiously as he scanned the room making eye contact with each of his men.

"Yes, sir." The men replied in unison. (Some of their responses sounding like a question, unsure this was actually happening).

"Good. Look sharp for tomorrow. We're moving off the line." Winters finalized as he left the room.

The guys all breathed their first sigh of relief since Holland. A few exchanged handshakes. Joe stood up from the table to rush over to you.

"Did you just fucking hear that, Gams!?" His smile stretching from ear to ear revealing your favorite dimple on his left cheek.

You beam at him, "I did. He's a good man."

You wrap your arms around the back of Joe's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He pressed you against him, burying his face into your neck. A couple of happy tears stream down your face.

"Can we just hold each other for the rest of our lives?" you utter softly in Joe's ear.

Joe chuckled, "That's my plan."

~~~~~~~

As the sun set that evening, Cobb distributed bottles of liquor he found in the cellar at HQ. Each man happily accepted the offer, taking hearty swigs from the bottles.

Luz hacked, pounding on his chest to soften the sting of what he just swallowed.

"Shit! *cough* What the hell is this Cobb?? Jesus Christ!" Luz choked.

"What's wrong, George? A little too strong for ya?" Cobb teased.

"This stuff will knock ya on your ass." Malarkey confirmed as he took another drink.

You walk into the room, and the entire platoon cheered. You stop in your tracks, almost alarmed by their response to you entering the room.

"What are you miscreants doing now?" you ask looking around the room at them.

"Nothin' we're just happy to see our songbird!" Babe yelled across the room.

"Hey, Y/F/N, sing us a little somethin' yeah??" Luz pleaded.

"No, George, I'm not-" you contested before all the men groaned and boo-ed expressing their disappointment.

"-I'm tired, guys! It's been a rough few days for all of us." you defended.

"Hey, Joe, come on. Get her to sing!" Babe resorted.

Liebgott hopped off the top bunk and approached you with his bottle. You deliver a look of skepticism to him as he closed in on you. He raised his eyebrow as he smiled mischievously at you.

"No, Joe." Is all you say.

"Gams, the boys just want you to sing a little lullaby so they can get a good night's sleep like the captain said." Joe justified.

"Winters never said anything about me singing you to sleep." you pointed out.

"True," Joe started, "but Webster didn't get to hear ya yet, and l’ve been tellin’ him how sweet my girl’s voice is. I wanna show you off."

You shake your head at him, "You're unbelievable."

"I know." Joe replied confidently.

You look around the room at all the expectant drunk faces of your boys.

"One song so you can sleep. Just one." you compromise.

"Don't get on a chair this time!" Luz called out.

You glare at him, then smile.

"Get comfortable you idiots." you say as you dim the lamps to set the mood.

"What are you gonna sing, Gams?" Joe whispered in your ear over your shoulder as he snaked his arms around your waist from behind.

"A piece from Laurel and Hardy's The Bohemian Girl. Thelma Todd was always one of my favorites.”

Joe hummed as he pecked your cheek. You smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Hm, ir hot aoykh a bisl shlogn di flash, tsi nit? (y)(Hm, you’ve been hitting the bottle a little, too, haven’t ya)?” You ask Joe, smiling at him skeptically.

Joe only grinned, his face glowing and his eyes droopy, sauced from drink, exhausted by the mission, and completely entranced by you.

“Ok, settle down, boys." you project through the room.

"Hey, Liebgott ain't in bed." Perconte protested.

You guide Joe to your bed and have him sit. You stand in the middle of the room so everyone can hear. Every pair of eyes and ears focus on you, waiting patiently for you to begin.

youtube

🎶 “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,

With vassals and serfs at my side,

And of all who assembled within those walls,

That I was the hope and the pride.” 🎶

You serenade to your platoon, watching their heads lull and their eyes flutter. You make a round around the room to each soldier, touching a shoulder here or patting another on the head over there, making a personal connection to each one to bring a sense of comfort amongst them as you near the end of the song.

🎶 “And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt, which charmed me most,

That you lov'd me still the same...”🎶

You come back to Joe who is laying across your mattress zeroed in on you with adoration behind his eyes. He beamed up at you from your pillow when you start combing your fingers through his hair as you finish your song just for him.

🎶”That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still the same

That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still-“🎶

You seat yourself on the side of your bed next to him.

🎶”-the same.“🎶

The room is quiet, with the gentle snores and breathes of the guys sound asleep in their bunks. Joe took your free hand and started to pull you towards him as he sat up to meet you half way for a kiss-

“That was incredible, Y/L/N.” You hear Webster compliment from the bunk across from Liebgott’s.

You look over at him and smile, “Thanks, Web. Get some sleep, buddy.”

“Yeah, can’t you see we’re busy over here?” Joe sneered.

Webster chuckled and turned towards the wall to make his back face you.

You look back to Joe, whose face was a hair away from yours.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You giggled.

Joe nudged his nose against yours, “Any second I can get with my girl is precious, I don’t want to waste it.” He purred.

You lean forward, kissing his lips softly. Joe’s faultless ability to lock onto your lips as he tilts his head to deepen his kiss always left you craving for more. You try to pull back but he holds you in place so you don’t go too far.

“We should sleep, too, Joe.”

A devilish smirk appeared across his face, “One of these days, Gams-“ he started without finishing.

You smile coyly and laugh, “I don’t mean to get you riled up. But we’re not getting away with anything in a room full of people.”

Joe shook his head and sighed, “Komm her, du Füchsin (g)(Get over here, you vixen)."

You scoot onto the bed laying across his chest as he enveloped you in his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you nuzzle into him.

"Liebe dich sehr (g)(Love you so much)." Joe uttered to you.

"Liebe dich mehr (g)(Love you more)." you whisper back, squeezing him.

~~~~~~~

@wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie 🪖♠️🦅

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