Work Text:
You were alone in your foxhole, shivering as the icy air stung your face and hands. You heard soft footsteps in the fresh, crisp snow that almost shone with its whiteness and turned your head as Babe settled into the foxhole.
“Hey,” he said gently, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Hey you,” you pecked his lips and nuzzled into his side, trying to leech any warmth he had left.
“Your hand looks cold, let me hold it.” Before you could respond Babe grabbed your freezing fingers in his, stroking them to try and inject some warmth. His long thin fingers rubbed gently against yours. Every line and crease of his hands were covered in dirt, but they were still surprisingly delicate and smooth against your own grimy fingers. Sitting here in a forest of the dead, far from home, with the brutal sounds of German artillery in the distance, you were reminded that there was still love in the world.
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“Oh god, there’s something on your hand!” Babe turned excitedly to you as the troop truck rattled through France.
“What the hell is it?” you exclaimed, confused at seeing nothing on either of your hands.
“Just my hand,” Babe enveloped your hand in his, his warmth radiating onto you. You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him with your shoulder but kept his hand in yours and grinned for the rest of the journey, his strong grip meaning that you couldn’t let go even if you had wanted to.
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“Y/N, hold out your hand real quick,” Babe came up to you, slightly out of breath, suggesting he’d just run to you over one of Zell am See’s beautiful green hills that instilled such a sense of paradise in their temporary American inhabitants. Nervously, you knew Babe and his jokes, you held out your hand. Instantly, he grabbed it, holding onto it tightly, as if even a bomb going off wouldn’t be able to prize him from you. “Thank you,” he said softly. The war had taken its toll on you both but sitting on the fresh grass with your hand wrapped in Babe’s, you knew the future would be better.
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“Hey, Y/N, you know what would look really great?” Babe poked his head around the corner, a smug grin adorning his face.
“What?” you asked, amused, and yet slightly apprehensive, Babe was still as cheeky as he’d been when you first met.
“My hand in yours,” Babe walked towards you, taking a seat next to you on the sofa, holding your hand in his ever-warm one.
“Ten years we’ve been together, and you still make up excuses to hold my hand,” you laughed. “You could just ask me you know.”
“Now where would be the fun in that,” Babe was still smirking as he leaned in to kiss you.