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Apr. 16th, 2004 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sua_layI now have an urge to grab my BoB DVDs and spend the next ten hours watching Winters and Nixon's excellent adventures one of the greatest drama series ever.
Must resist!
Already posted this at Camp Toccoa, but since there might be like one person reading my LJ who isn't a member, I'll post this here as well.
Title: Chances
Author: Viccy
Email address: yccivAThotmailDOTcom
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Pairings: Nix/Winters
Date: April 2004
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Based on a series based on real people. Run for your lives!
Summary: Nix has a problem.
Author's webpage:http://www.kolumbus.fi/viccy.estelrich/
This is a rather basic 'missing scene' from Points. Extra special thanks to Blue and Snicket for the excellent beta.
Chances
by: Viccy
He hasn't slept all night.
It's not unusual for him these days. On evenings, the other guys stay up late, enjoying the local entertainment; girls and beer mostly. Sometimes, he joins them. Doesn't exactly go for the girls. He's not really a beer-drinking man either. He goes out just because he can.
Life's been pretty hectic up until now. No time for anything but work. Time off meant playing cards with Harry and Dick, or sleep. Divine sleep, preferably somewhere with a working stove, a mattress and a bottle.
Strange, how things can change in such a short time. No more sleeping in a foxhole, trees exploding overhead. No more death around him.
Or maybe it hasn't been such a short time. Maybe that was an eternity ago. He can't tell. Some things have blurred into one, as if all the nights spent shivering with cold, in fear, are just one long night.
There's a slight smile on his lips and for once, it's not the sarcastic one that resembles a grimace.
He's not drunk. Honestly. Not that he's really sober either. Mostly tired. Tired of everything.
There was a nice sunset hours ago, and the dawn is pretty nice too. He's not sure just when exactly did he last stay up to actually watch the sky turn dark and then light again.
The darkness of the night was a good background for his thoughts. Seems like he's had a lot to think about these days. Ignoring the guys inviting him to the small pub near the HQ, he stayed in his room, thinking. When the small room had started to feel more like a prison than a bedroom, he walked out. Breathing in the freedom.
It's still quiet, except for the birds making a lot of noise all around him. No one talking or yelling. He finds it strange to walk through the woods without his gear. Without his gun. There's no enemy here.
Only his own thoughts.
He can never really make the thoughts go away. They get somewhat muffled from time to time. When he's had enough to drink. When he's being held tight in strong arms.
It hasn't always been like this. Or maybe it has. He can't really remember anymore. The time before war has become a distant memory. A dream.
Thinking is what he does. His duty in this insanity. His mind goes through all the information even when he tries to relax. It's all a part of the job.
Intelligence officer. Not a pair of words most of the men would link together. Considering the things he knows, he's not sure he would either.
Knowledge officer would be more appropriate. For there's very little going on that he doesn't know. Not only official knowledge, about the operations and the war. Not only things he needs to know.
He knows about all the innocent things. The truth behind rumors and whispers. Yes, he would take a cigarette from Speirs. No, he would never call Lipton 'mother' like some of the men in Easy do when extremely drunk. There are dozens of things the men whisper amongst themselves, thinking that none of the officers knows. He does.
He knows them all.
Of course there are things that are far from innocent. Secrets that would ruin careers. Personal things. Addictions. During the years, he's come to realize that he and Buck Compton have nothing to be ashamed of. There are worse things than booze and gambling.
Some of the secrets he's told to his superiors, when they've needed to know. It was a line he never wanted to cross, to decide what to say and what to keep to himself, but he did. Quite early on his career, actually.
He doesn't like to think about it very often. It reminds him of all the other lies in his life.
Still, lying is better than condemning people he likes, who haven't really done anything wrong even if they've broken the rules. So the Generals will never know about an unsuccessful mission that only existed on paper. He won't say a word about loot. Laughs at the word 'contraband'.
Will never even whisper a word about how some nights, company and comfort has been sought in the arms of local girls or brothers in arms.
Live and let live. An absurd motto for someone in his profession.
It's not really his business. As long as it's consenting. As long as no one gets hurt. He can remember Camp Toccoa and the ideals sprouted there, but can't really believe in them anymore. Distraction, diseases, duty. God! When you find some kind of peace in the middle of the madness, you grab it.
Like he has. So many times.
Brushing back his hair with his fingers, he sighs. The sun is rising higher in the sky, and he can actually see where he's going now. Shouldn't be far. He'd better keep going before he loses his nerve and turns back to his empty bed.
There was some buzz in the HQ yesterday. More people than usual. That meant going to bed alone. Anything else would have been risky, with so many new faces around. He hasn't seen Dick since dinner. Just in case.
Good decision. It would have been too tempting. Facing the night alone had become his greatest fear. Seeing the dent on the pillow and hearing Dick walk around his room was a routine he didn't want to break.
Still doesn't.
He shifts the package he's carrying under the other arm, glad that he at least has a reason for this early morning walk in the woods. Even if he can't do what he came here to do, he won't look like a complete idiot. He will probably feel like one, but there's nothing new in that.
He's determined to do this now. Can't really think of a better moment. It's not an impulse. He's been going through this in his head for a long time now.
It was a stray thought at first, of his life during the war. Both the military and the short interludes when he's managed to get a pass to Paris or some other great European city mostly in ruins.
There was never anything concrete to base his thoughts on. Only stray images and dreams. Fears.
That was when all he knew were the lies his superiors told and believed in. When he knew how easy it was to be lost and drown at the same time. Back then it was only a booze-induced dream. Something he didn't really dare to think about when he was sober.
Knowledge can be a funny thing. You think you have it, but you don't. It's usually an illusion instead of a fact.
It's different now. He doesn't care about all the insanities around him. He can ignore them and concentrate on what's important.
The faint smile that always seems to be aimed at him. The mischievous glint in the usually so serious eyes. Feeling --knowing -- that no matter what he does or where he is, there's one person who will be there for him.
Worry for his well being. Turning from mere concern to something more. Morphing yet into support. Not the annoying pats on the back or barely veiled comments about his drinking.
Being there.
Then being there. Meeting him halfway across the room. The need to touch and be touched driving all sanity away. Kisses that were more gentle than he ever could have imagined. Touches that made him forget everything else for just a while. And when the madness was over, there was that faint smile again. Saying everything was all right, or at least would be.
And that Dick Winters was not going anywhere.
It's not just about the nights. He doesn’t understand it. Has no clue what gives that one man so much power over him. It doesn't really matter why. He accepts it. Unconditionally.
Suspicion and sarcasm are a part of him now, and still he trusts him completely. Trusts Dick not to hurt him. Not with words. Not when he rolls on his belly and waits for that exquisite touch and can do nothing but to groan out his name. He has faith in him.
He also knows that depending on someone like this is pretty stupid. Almost as stupid as this whole war. But he can't help himself.
There was a time when the mere idea terrified him. When seeing that soft look in Dick's eyes made him snap at him. Now it brings him peace. It's something he doesn't want to let go.
How does one ask?
It has been so easy this far. Easy to be lost and broken. Easy to numb the pain even for just a couple of hours. It would make him smile if he wasn't this frightened.
Stomach churning, palms sweating, and damn it, he is a soldier! He never lost it in the woods at Bastogne, has been through more jumps than anyone really knew. Now he is afraid of a few words? This is a messed up world.
But words can be more dangerous than actions. He should know. Wars aren't ended with a gun, they end with words. Like this part of the war has. 'Surrender.' The sweetest word he's ever heard.
He's not good with words. Reports are easy. He knows the jargon there. Simple phrases, short sentences. The army wants efficiency. He can explain anything to his superiors, can give a lecture of strategy and operations.
This is something much harder.
He doesn't know what to say. There are so many things he could mention. His trust in his friend. Gratitude. That unnamed emotion that fills him every time he sees him just stand there and watch over him.
Words like that would make everything feel awkward. They aren't a part of the easy camaraderie that has developed between them for years. He isn't sure he could ever say such a thing out loud. It would remind him of all the lies and half truths he's ever told. Too much like wooing a lady for the night.
That is definitely not what he is trying to do. His friend is not a lady and he doesn't need to woo him to stay with him for the night.
He doesn't even have to take him out for dinner first. It's not something he's used to. You took girlfriends to movies and an expensive dinner before you got anywhere. The ones you didn't wine and dine weren't really ones you could take back home to meet your momma.
A grimace spreads on his lips. Did he just call his best friend a whore? He has no idea. Probably. He didn't mean to. It's not like that with Dick.
It's special. Different. There are too many words to describe it, so he doesn't even try.
They haven't talked about it. He doesn't believe they should. Maybe one day, when everything is clear. When the world doesn't seem insane around them. It's every day life. The looks. The touches. Dick's silent acceptance of his nasty habits. His equally silent effort to curb at least some of them.
He calls it friendship. What else could it be called?
He doesn't really want to put it into words. There was a time when he didn't even want to think about it. Scared shitless, wondering if his gaze revealed as much as Dick's. It's different now. He's accepted what's going on. Resigned more likely. Not exactly something he's ever wanted or needed. Not until he first had the taste of it. Can't go back now. There's nothing to go back to.
Proposing to Cathy wasn't this hard. Not even when he'd honestly thought it would be the best decision in his life. What the hell did he know about life back then? Not a thing.
He'd told her that he didn't want to live without her. That had felt like the kind of thing to say and she had indeed been overjoyed to hear it. It hadn't really meant anything to him. Just pretty words.
This time he doesn't want to use them, even though he has to admit himself they'd be more true than ever. It should be a horrifying thought, but it isn't.
Sighing, he pushes it out of his mind. He doesn't want to focus on that now.
The lake is up ahead. He still thinks Dick is crazy coming here every morning for a swim. Getting up this early is pretty insane no matter how nice this place is. At least the weather is perfect.
He doesn't know if it's the change of scenery that makes him feel warm again. It's still cold up in the mountains. Austria isn't exactly Miami that way.
Maybe it is the fact that the war in Europe is finally over. Maybe he's over the shock of getting the letter and failing his marriage. He doesn't quite believe that, still feeling the anger. Damn it. Anger has always been a hot surge, but it has nothing to do with this comfortable feeling.
It's almost funny. A hard body next to him, curled under the same blanket makes him feel warmer than Vat 69 coursing through his veins.
When it's not funny, it feels sad. Since he can't name the thing between them, he can't be sure just how long will it last.
People up in Division talk about the war ending soon. He's hopeful, but can't believe it till it's really over. It's a confusing prospect. For a long time all he wanted was for the war to end. Now he knows that whatever happens, his life will still be complicated.
If the war goes on for years, will they share a bunk in the jungle? Will there be nights when he'll bite hard on his own fist as his other hand curls on red hair that tickles his thighs and tries not to cry out? Nights when he just lies there, surrounded by darkness and the soft, steady sound of Dick breathing. Who knows what happens a few months or years from now? His friend won't be a Major forever. It will be too risky to share more than friendship then.
It already is. He can't say he doesn't care. He simply ignores it.
After all, there is the possibility of the war ending. He has a gut feeling it will. But he's been wrong before. There have been so many operations that felt right but ended in disaster.
Days filled with idle waiting are sometimes harder to handle than those filled with hard work. Too much time to think. He can't keep his thoughts away from the future. Not only fearing about the war continuing for years, maybe even decades. He thinks about peace. Going home.
He's not sure he wants to go back to Nixon. He has a family and a job there. He has nothing there. Both equally true.
When did he lose the certainty in his life? Was it buried in a foxhole somewhere in the woods at Bastogne? Did he throw it away with an empty bottle? He has no idea. He just knows that home isn't in Nixon anymore. Home is something else -- someone else.
To some, it's so easy. He jokes about it, but deep inside he knows Harry will indeed go home and marry his Kitty. The others will return to their lives, their families. He doesn't know where he'll go.
All he does know is that if he has to go back alone, he'll probably crawl so deep into a bottle he'll never find his way out again.
The very thing that keeps him from staying in the army either. He knows it. His superiors know it. His drinking is ignored as long as it doesn't effect with his work, but this is war time. He's needed now.
Later, he'll just be a liability.
He doesn't want to be a burden. Doesn't want to mess things up. That's the one thing that's making him hesitate now. He doesn't want to destroy the best thing in his life.
If only there was more time to think. Nothing's really forcing him to do this now, but he knows that these are the days that will shape his whole future. It doesn't matter if the war continues or not. He needs to make some kind of a gesture right now.
He doesn't slow down. Walks slowly out of the woods.
The lake looks pretty, even though it's damn bright in here and he feels like his eyes are going to fry in their sockets. The sun has very little to do with the brightness.
Dick is here, just as he knew he would be. Relaxed and calm as always. Wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of trunks, looking like he belongs here. Maybe he does.
That kind of means this is the right place to be. No better place in the world.
Walking slowly next to his friend, he offers him the package he's been carrying. He has no idea what's inside, but it must be important. Dick's words affirm it. Whatever's worth a couple of Lugers must mean a lot to a man.
It's a shock to see his own picture. Him and Dick. Way back when. Both looking a bit stupid and very young. Innocent somehow. Before all this.
That is important. At least it is to him. The friendship. Remembering what it was like then. Hoping that one day they would look back at this day and reminisce. That they would be able to have years and years of time together.
Somehow it's easy to say the words after all. Offhand. Like a joke. Like it doesn't mean the world to him. He sees how Dick is really going to consider his words. Weigh this rather simple job offer against a career in the military. A life-altering decision surely, in more ways than one.
There is such a strange warm expression in Dick's eyes, a hint of a decision that may be more easily made than neither really imagines.
He doesn't push, he's willing to give his friend as much time to think as he needs. The most important thing is already done. He's made it damn clear that he really does want to have Dick in his life after this. It's nice and peaceful in New Jersey. He's sure Dick would like it.
He watches Dick peel off his shirt and dive into the cool lake, shivering at the mere idea. Manages somehow not to yell anything suggestive after him, even though he'll definitely have to comment about the dive later on. Hopefully, there'll be a lot of time for that later. When they're back in their quarters and they can lock the door and keep the world out.
Holding the heavy folder, he peeks inside. Lots of pictures. About the men. For some weird reason, most of the pictures are about the two of them. They look pretty good together.
He smiles. A real smile. Wonders if Dick would like to get a dog.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End
I wonder if there's anything to eat in the house...
Must resist!
Already posted this at Camp Toccoa, but since there might be like one person reading my LJ who isn't a member, I'll post this here as well.
Title: Chances
Author: Viccy
Email address: yccivAThotmailDOTcom
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Pairings: Nix/Winters
Date: April 2004
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Based on a series based on real people. Run for your lives!
Summary: Nix has a problem.
Author's webpage:http://www.kolumbus.fi/viccy.estelrich/
This is a rather basic 'missing scene' from Points. Extra special thanks to Blue and Snicket for the excellent beta.
Chances
by: Viccy
He hasn't slept all night.
It's not unusual for him these days. On evenings, the other guys stay up late, enjoying the local entertainment; girls and beer mostly. Sometimes, he joins them. Doesn't exactly go for the girls. He's not really a beer-drinking man either. He goes out just because he can.
Life's been pretty hectic up until now. No time for anything but work. Time off meant playing cards with Harry and Dick, or sleep. Divine sleep, preferably somewhere with a working stove, a mattress and a bottle.
Strange, how things can change in such a short time. No more sleeping in a foxhole, trees exploding overhead. No more death around him.
Or maybe it hasn't been such a short time. Maybe that was an eternity ago. He can't tell. Some things have blurred into one, as if all the nights spent shivering with cold, in fear, are just one long night.
There's a slight smile on his lips and for once, it's not the sarcastic one that resembles a grimace.
He's not drunk. Honestly. Not that he's really sober either. Mostly tired. Tired of everything.
There was a nice sunset hours ago, and the dawn is pretty nice too. He's not sure just when exactly did he last stay up to actually watch the sky turn dark and then light again.
The darkness of the night was a good background for his thoughts. Seems like he's had a lot to think about these days. Ignoring the guys inviting him to the small pub near the HQ, he stayed in his room, thinking. When the small room had started to feel more like a prison than a bedroom, he walked out. Breathing in the freedom.
It's still quiet, except for the birds making a lot of noise all around him. No one talking or yelling. He finds it strange to walk through the woods without his gear. Without his gun. There's no enemy here.
Only his own thoughts.
He can never really make the thoughts go away. They get somewhat muffled from time to time. When he's had enough to drink. When he's being held tight in strong arms.
It hasn't always been like this. Or maybe it has. He can't really remember anymore. The time before war has become a distant memory. A dream.
Thinking is what he does. His duty in this insanity. His mind goes through all the information even when he tries to relax. It's all a part of the job.
Intelligence officer. Not a pair of words most of the men would link together. Considering the things he knows, he's not sure he would either.
Knowledge officer would be more appropriate. For there's very little going on that he doesn't know. Not only official knowledge, about the operations and the war. Not only things he needs to know.
He knows about all the innocent things. The truth behind rumors and whispers. Yes, he would take a cigarette from Speirs. No, he would never call Lipton 'mother' like some of the men in Easy do when extremely drunk. There are dozens of things the men whisper amongst themselves, thinking that none of the officers knows. He does.
He knows them all.
Of course there are things that are far from innocent. Secrets that would ruin careers. Personal things. Addictions. During the years, he's come to realize that he and Buck Compton have nothing to be ashamed of. There are worse things than booze and gambling.
Some of the secrets he's told to his superiors, when they've needed to know. It was a line he never wanted to cross, to decide what to say and what to keep to himself, but he did. Quite early on his career, actually.
He doesn't like to think about it very often. It reminds him of all the other lies in his life.
Still, lying is better than condemning people he likes, who haven't really done anything wrong even if they've broken the rules. So the Generals will never know about an unsuccessful mission that only existed on paper. He won't say a word about loot. Laughs at the word 'contraband'.
Will never even whisper a word about how some nights, company and comfort has been sought in the arms of local girls or brothers in arms.
Live and let live. An absurd motto for someone in his profession.
It's not really his business. As long as it's consenting. As long as no one gets hurt. He can remember Camp Toccoa and the ideals sprouted there, but can't really believe in them anymore. Distraction, diseases, duty. God! When you find some kind of peace in the middle of the madness, you grab it.
Like he has. So many times.
Brushing back his hair with his fingers, he sighs. The sun is rising higher in the sky, and he can actually see where he's going now. Shouldn't be far. He'd better keep going before he loses his nerve and turns back to his empty bed.
There was some buzz in the HQ yesterday. More people than usual. That meant going to bed alone. Anything else would have been risky, with so many new faces around. He hasn't seen Dick since dinner. Just in case.
Good decision. It would have been too tempting. Facing the night alone had become his greatest fear. Seeing the dent on the pillow and hearing Dick walk around his room was a routine he didn't want to break.
Still doesn't.
He shifts the package he's carrying under the other arm, glad that he at least has a reason for this early morning walk in the woods. Even if he can't do what he came here to do, he won't look like a complete idiot. He will probably feel like one, but there's nothing new in that.
He's determined to do this now. Can't really think of a better moment. It's not an impulse. He's been going through this in his head for a long time now.
It was a stray thought at first, of his life during the war. Both the military and the short interludes when he's managed to get a pass to Paris or some other great European city mostly in ruins.
There was never anything concrete to base his thoughts on. Only stray images and dreams. Fears.
That was when all he knew were the lies his superiors told and believed in. When he knew how easy it was to be lost and drown at the same time. Back then it was only a booze-induced dream. Something he didn't really dare to think about when he was sober.
Knowledge can be a funny thing. You think you have it, but you don't. It's usually an illusion instead of a fact.
It's different now. He doesn't care about all the insanities around him. He can ignore them and concentrate on what's important.
The faint smile that always seems to be aimed at him. The mischievous glint in the usually so serious eyes. Feeling --knowing -- that no matter what he does or where he is, there's one person who will be there for him.
Worry for his well being. Turning from mere concern to something more. Morphing yet into support. Not the annoying pats on the back or barely veiled comments about his drinking.
Being there.
Then being there. Meeting him halfway across the room. The need to touch and be touched driving all sanity away. Kisses that were more gentle than he ever could have imagined. Touches that made him forget everything else for just a while. And when the madness was over, there was that faint smile again. Saying everything was all right, or at least would be.
And that Dick Winters was not going anywhere.
It's not just about the nights. He doesn’t understand it. Has no clue what gives that one man so much power over him. It doesn't really matter why. He accepts it. Unconditionally.
Suspicion and sarcasm are a part of him now, and still he trusts him completely. Trusts Dick not to hurt him. Not with words. Not when he rolls on his belly and waits for that exquisite touch and can do nothing but to groan out his name. He has faith in him.
He also knows that depending on someone like this is pretty stupid. Almost as stupid as this whole war. But he can't help himself.
There was a time when the mere idea terrified him. When seeing that soft look in Dick's eyes made him snap at him. Now it brings him peace. It's something he doesn't want to let go.
How does one ask?
It has been so easy this far. Easy to be lost and broken. Easy to numb the pain even for just a couple of hours. It would make him smile if he wasn't this frightened.
Stomach churning, palms sweating, and damn it, he is a soldier! He never lost it in the woods at Bastogne, has been through more jumps than anyone really knew. Now he is afraid of a few words? This is a messed up world.
But words can be more dangerous than actions. He should know. Wars aren't ended with a gun, they end with words. Like this part of the war has. 'Surrender.' The sweetest word he's ever heard.
He's not good with words. Reports are easy. He knows the jargon there. Simple phrases, short sentences. The army wants efficiency. He can explain anything to his superiors, can give a lecture of strategy and operations.
This is something much harder.
He doesn't know what to say. There are so many things he could mention. His trust in his friend. Gratitude. That unnamed emotion that fills him every time he sees him just stand there and watch over him.
Words like that would make everything feel awkward. They aren't a part of the easy camaraderie that has developed between them for years. He isn't sure he could ever say such a thing out loud. It would remind him of all the lies and half truths he's ever told. Too much like wooing a lady for the night.
That is definitely not what he is trying to do. His friend is not a lady and he doesn't need to woo him to stay with him for the night.
He doesn't even have to take him out for dinner first. It's not something he's used to. You took girlfriends to movies and an expensive dinner before you got anywhere. The ones you didn't wine and dine weren't really ones you could take back home to meet your momma.
A grimace spreads on his lips. Did he just call his best friend a whore? He has no idea. Probably. He didn't mean to. It's not like that with Dick.
It's special. Different. There are too many words to describe it, so he doesn't even try.
They haven't talked about it. He doesn't believe they should. Maybe one day, when everything is clear. When the world doesn't seem insane around them. It's every day life. The looks. The touches. Dick's silent acceptance of his nasty habits. His equally silent effort to curb at least some of them.
He calls it friendship. What else could it be called?
He doesn't really want to put it into words. There was a time when he didn't even want to think about it. Scared shitless, wondering if his gaze revealed as much as Dick's. It's different now. He's accepted what's going on. Resigned more likely. Not exactly something he's ever wanted or needed. Not until he first had the taste of it. Can't go back now. There's nothing to go back to.
Proposing to Cathy wasn't this hard. Not even when he'd honestly thought it would be the best decision in his life. What the hell did he know about life back then? Not a thing.
He'd told her that he didn't want to live without her. That had felt like the kind of thing to say and she had indeed been overjoyed to hear it. It hadn't really meant anything to him. Just pretty words.
This time he doesn't want to use them, even though he has to admit himself they'd be more true than ever. It should be a horrifying thought, but it isn't.
Sighing, he pushes it out of his mind. He doesn't want to focus on that now.
The lake is up ahead. He still thinks Dick is crazy coming here every morning for a swim. Getting up this early is pretty insane no matter how nice this place is. At least the weather is perfect.
He doesn't know if it's the change of scenery that makes him feel warm again. It's still cold up in the mountains. Austria isn't exactly Miami that way.
Maybe it is the fact that the war in Europe is finally over. Maybe he's over the shock of getting the letter and failing his marriage. He doesn't quite believe that, still feeling the anger. Damn it. Anger has always been a hot surge, but it has nothing to do with this comfortable feeling.
It's almost funny. A hard body next to him, curled under the same blanket makes him feel warmer than Vat 69 coursing through his veins.
When it's not funny, it feels sad. Since he can't name the thing between them, he can't be sure just how long will it last.
People up in Division talk about the war ending soon. He's hopeful, but can't believe it till it's really over. It's a confusing prospect. For a long time all he wanted was for the war to end. Now he knows that whatever happens, his life will still be complicated.
If the war goes on for years, will they share a bunk in the jungle? Will there be nights when he'll bite hard on his own fist as his other hand curls on red hair that tickles his thighs and tries not to cry out? Nights when he just lies there, surrounded by darkness and the soft, steady sound of Dick breathing. Who knows what happens a few months or years from now? His friend won't be a Major forever. It will be too risky to share more than friendship then.
It already is. He can't say he doesn't care. He simply ignores it.
After all, there is the possibility of the war ending. He has a gut feeling it will. But he's been wrong before. There have been so many operations that felt right but ended in disaster.
Days filled with idle waiting are sometimes harder to handle than those filled with hard work. Too much time to think. He can't keep his thoughts away from the future. Not only fearing about the war continuing for years, maybe even decades. He thinks about peace. Going home.
He's not sure he wants to go back to Nixon. He has a family and a job there. He has nothing there. Both equally true.
When did he lose the certainty in his life? Was it buried in a foxhole somewhere in the woods at Bastogne? Did he throw it away with an empty bottle? He has no idea. He just knows that home isn't in Nixon anymore. Home is something else -- someone else.
To some, it's so easy. He jokes about it, but deep inside he knows Harry will indeed go home and marry his Kitty. The others will return to their lives, their families. He doesn't know where he'll go.
All he does know is that if he has to go back alone, he'll probably crawl so deep into a bottle he'll never find his way out again.
The very thing that keeps him from staying in the army either. He knows it. His superiors know it. His drinking is ignored as long as it doesn't effect with his work, but this is war time. He's needed now.
Later, he'll just be a liability.
He doesn't want to be a burden. Doesn't want to mess things up. That's the one thing that's making him hesitate now. He doesn't want to destroy the best thing in his life.
If only there was more time to think. Nothing's really forcing him to do this now, but he knows that these are the days that will shape his whole future. It doesn't matter if the war continues or not. He needs to make some kind of a gesture right now.
He doesn't slow down. Walks slowly out of the woods.
The lake looks pretty, even though it's damn bright in here and he feels like his eyes are going to fry in their sockets. The sun has very little to do with the brightness.
Dick is here, just as he knew he would be. Relaxed and calm as always. Wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of trunks, looking like he belongs here. Maybe he does.
That kind of means this is the right place to be. No better place in the world.
Walking slowly next to his friend, he offers him the package he's been carrying. He has no idea what's inside, but it must be important. Dick's words affirm it. Whatever's worth a couple of Lugers must mean a lot to a man.
It's a shock to see his own picture. Him and Dick. Way back when. Both looking a bit stupid and very young. Innocent somehow. Before all this.
That is important. At least it is to him. The friendship. Remembering what it was like then. Hoping that one day they would look back at this day and reminisce. That they would be able to have years and years of time together.
Somehow it's easy to say the words after all. Offhand. Like a joke. Like it doesn't mean the world to him. He sees how Dick is really going to consider his words. Weigh this rather simple job offer against a career in the military. A life-altering decision surely, in more ways than one.
There is such a strange warm expression in Dick's eyes, a hint of a decision that may be more easily made than neither really imagines.
He doesn't push, he's willing to give his friend as much time to think as he needs. The most important thing is already done. He's made it damn clear that he really does want to have Dick in his life after this. It's nice and peaceful in New Jersey. He's sure Dick would like it.
He watches Dick peel off his shirt and dive into the cool lake, shivering at the mere idea. Manages somehow not to yell anything suggestive after him, even though he'll definitely have to comment about the dive later on. Hopefully, there'll be a lot of time for that later. When they're back in their quarters and they can lock the door and keep the world out.
Holding the heavy folder, he peeks inside. Lots of pictures. About the men. For some weird reason, most of the pictures are about the two of them. They look pretty good together.
He smiles. A real smile. Wonders if Dick would like to get a dog.
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The End
I wonder if there's anything to eat in the house...
