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1.
“Think you’ll get seasick?”
Lieutenant Richard Winters stops rummaging in his pack for a moment and glances over his shoulder to appraise the Lieutenant behind him. Said Lieutenant is sprawled back on a narrow bunk aboard their troopship, shoulders up against the wall as his feet dangle towards the floor, kicking his toes every so often. Lewis Nixon just raises his dark eyebrows as their eyes meet, fingers laced together over his stomach, awaiting his friend’s response.
Dick can’t help but stare for just a moment, eyes wandering over Lew’s utterly relaxed form. He is so very handsome , the thought echoes through Dick’s brain. The instinct to berate himself for letting it pass through his oh so carefully constructed mental walls rears up in his head, but these thoughts happen so often now he’s all but given up on trying to stop them.
“Don’t know. I’ve never crossed the Atlantic before,” he finally responds after a thick swallow, moving his gaze back to his pack and running once more over his checklist, “you?”
“Last time I crossed the pond I was lounging in first class.”
“Ah, that sounds awful,” Dick throws another look over his shoulder, not turning all the way around, but just enough so Nix can hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice.
“Yeah, well, try sailing for two weeks with Stanhope Nixon and let me know how much fun you have.”
Dick can only chuckle in response as he completes his inventory, zipping up his duffle in one quick, sharp motion. His mind must still be elsewhere though, on dark eyes and dark lashes, as the zip catches on his uniform, sending a brass button flying.
“Damn,” he lets through his lips as he turns to watch the button bounce on the ground, tink, tinking as it rolls to a stop near Lew’s swaying feet.
“Dick, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Nix finally sits up from his sprawl and presses a hand to his chest like he’s been scandalized. “Lieutenant Winters? Cursing? In this establishment?” He is on his feet and picking up the button before Dick can get there, “and with an untidy uniform no less? Oh, how your standards have fallen, Richard.”
Dick can feel a blush rising to his cheeks at the ribbing, and knows Nix can see it, his Irish complexion offering absolutely no camouflage. Nix just smiles indulgently at him though, before he’s rummaging in his own pack and plucking out a med kit.
“You think suture’s’ll work to sew this back on?” Nix asks as he pulls out a needle and filament, closing one eye as he deftly threads them together with pinpoint accuracy.
“Didn’t know you could sew, you’re a proper housewife, Lew,” Nixon’s teasing makes him bold more often than not these days, causing Dick to riff back in a way he’s unused to entirely.
The suggestive smirk Nix gives him in response makes something in his chest clench, that same tightness returning to his throat.
“Anything for my big, strong soldier,” the grin only increases as a twinkle develops in Lew’s eye and Dick feels his lips parting as the blush spreads hot across his whole face. He thinks Nix might say something else, comment on how easy it is to rile Winters up, but without further ado he’s kneeling down, only inches away from Dick, and looking up at him through those stupid, lovely lashes.
Dick loses the ability to breathe.
“Undo your belt so I can-“
“I’m certainly interrupting something this time.”
Both Dick and Nix snap their gazes to the entrance to their officer’s quarters, and Harry Welsh is hovering in the doorway, one arm braced against the bulkhead with a face that says he’s two seconds away from making a break down the p-way.
Dick tries to school his features, can only imagine the surprise written across his face, and hopes to God it covers up the thrill that had run up his spine at Nix’s proximity.
“Just sewing a button back on the Lieutenant’s uniform,” Nix answers from the floor, eyes back on his task, completely unaffected by Harry’s shocked gaze.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days…” Harry sniggers before he trails off, but seems to buy the story as he steps through the door.
Dick hadn’t thought his blush could get any deeper, but judging by the way his hands are suddenly hot and dry, he was wrong.
“Sorry Welsh, my personal tailor duties are already taken,” Nix ignores the insinuation in favor of pulling Dick’s waist belt out of the way and threading the needle through the olive drab fabric beneath.
Dick remains still as he works, and he can hear Harry and Lew talking, though he’s not really clear on the words. All he knows is that Nix is kneeling before him, his deft hands resting on Dick’s hip, his stomach, at odd times, before he’s moving them away and pulling the thread tight. No one in his life has ever touched him so freely, so casually, as Nix does and it’s downright addicting.
It’s over almost as soon as it happened, with Nixon rising up to his feet, knees popping.
“Not bad if I do say so myself,” just when Dick thought he could relax, Nix is pulling his waist belt to the side again to admire his handiwork and Winters’ pulse skyrockets.
“We’ll make a seamstress of you yet, Nixon,” Harry jokes and Lew turns around to snark at him, leaving Dick to his own internal crisis.
“Thanks, Lew,” he finally croaks out, running his fingers over the places Nix’s had just been.
“Don’t mention it.”
2.
Lew’s head hurts.
The burn across his forehead has been bothering him since the second it happened, the scorched blister the bullet left behind the apex of a headache that’s spread across his skull, beating at his temples. It’s only gotten worse throughout the day, a throbbing that feels like it’s keeping pace with the bombs exploding over Eindhoven not two miles away.
Not that he’s going to tell anyone about it, especially not Roe and definitely not Dick. The look in his eyes earlier in the day had been enough to fuel Lew’s nightmares for quite some time, thank you.
Quit lookin’ at me like that, he barely remembers saying in the chaos of the moment, as Dick’s eyes had locked onto his with so much absolute terror behind them that Nix thought the bullet might’ve actually gone through his skull.
But at the same time his best friend’s hands had cradled the back of his head, squeezed tight over his hip and the brief, horrible, hysterical thought entered his mind that if dying is what it took to get into Dick’s arms, then at least they had that moment.
Now the moment is over and he has only to stand a few paces away from Dick, watching over his shoulder as Eindhoven burns.
“Come on, Nix, we’ll dig in for the night,” Dick suddenly turns and Nix almost startles, even though they’d just been speaking. But concentrating on anything beyond the scalding pain right above his brow bone is damn near impossible.
“Won’t be waving so many orange flags at us tomorrow,” he mumbles, knowing that if he doesn’t say anything Dick will probably panic all over again. He trudges forward, feet dragging more than normal, as he keeps his eyes on Winter’s footprints in the dirt.
They don’t really dig in so much as find somewhere to huddle down, no foxholes tonight since they’ll be gone by morning. Nix collapses the second they make it to the log Dick’s chosen as faux cover for his sleeping spot, which, Nix idly realizes only after he’s crumpled next to it, his friend may have wanted to himself.
“How’re you feeling?”
Dick just settles down on the other side of Nix like this was the plan all along, the fabric of his pant leg catching in Lew’s hair, and leans back against the log with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Nix might stop to admire the length of him if he didn’t think he would pass out in the middle of it or that Dick might not take too kindly to another man’s, much less his best friend’s, ogling.
“Hwymph-“ is approximately what comes out of his mouth as he rolls on his back and resists the urge to throw an arm over his forehead, sure that wouldn’t help the burn any.
“You get doc to look at that?” Dick asks, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate.
Lew pries one eye open and tilts his head back in the dirt, sending his best glare towards the redhead. Dick doesn’t laugh it off like Nix had hoped, but rather curls his lips up in a sad, sympathetic smile.
Lewis closes his eyes again and lets out a long sigh, ready for the darkness behind his eyelids to take him.
Only something is suddenly touching his forehead, and his eyes shoot back open.
Dick has his thumb pressed to the center of Nix’s brow, his knuckles curled under so they brace across his cheeks, feather light. The pressure of his thumb feels amazing though, as he presses down confidently, gliding the finger towards the bridge of Lew’s nose.
“Habumph-“ he tries to get out, his brain suddenly drawing a blank.
“Hhmm?” Winters just hums in response.
“How’d you know I have a headache?” Lewis manages to make his lips form words.
“I like to think I know you pretty well,” Dick answers simply and something flutters pleasantly in Nix’s stomach at the thought. He bats his lashes open to look up at the man above him.
Dick is still sitting in the same place, body relaxed against the downed tree, but his lovely, perfect face is pointed down towards Nix, like an angel watching over him.
It takes everything inside Lewis not to reach out and touch him, to glide his own hand along Dick’s freckled cheek, to sit up and lean into his space and put his face in the junction between his best friends neck and jaw like he’s always wanted and just breathe and-
“C’mere” Dick says and surely Nix dreamed it.
But Winters is already tugging on his shoulders, strong hands wedging underneath to pull Lew up, only to set him back down so his head is cradled on Dick’s thigh.
Something in the back of his mind tells him he should do something - should freeze up or push Dick away or tell him he’s a man and doesn’t need to be coddled for Christ’s sake - but those long fingers are immediately back on Nix’s head, following through with the same ministrations, and it’s all Nix has really ever wanted, so he thinks, to hell with it. This time Dick’s other hand is resting on top of his head, scratching his hair softly and Lew wonders if that bullet really did go clean through because he’s obviously dead.
“Feels good,” he whispers, practically outside of his own body; feels his own breath bouncing off Winter’s skin and back onto his face.
He manages to open his brown eyes and meets Dick’s blue. They’re much closer than Nix is expecting, as the lieutenant leans over Lew, his face hovering above the brunette’s serenely.
“Dick,” he murmurs, mesmerized, and Winter’s just responds with the softest tiny smile.
Nix blows out another breath and watches it ruffle Dick’s hair.
They’re so close. He could just-
“Lieutenant Winters, we- oh.”
Nix is sure his eyes go comically round at Malarky’s voice. He moves to sit up immediately, but Dick keeps his hands where they are, not even breaking the rhythm of the slow sweeps through Nix’s hair, the bastard, which effectively keeps Lew on the ground.
“What is it, Sargeant?” Nix can at least turn his head enough to look at Malarky as Dick questions him, and immediately wishes he hadn’t as his burn drags painfully across the rough fabric of Dick’s pants.
“Are- um- that is, Doc says Lieutenant Compton should heal up just fine in no time, sir…”
“I’m glad to hear it. Appreciate the update, Malarky.”
“Ye-yes sir, I uh- that is…” Malarky is trying his damnedest to look Dick in the eye, but his gaze keeps wandering over to Nix every few seconds. Lew can only imagine how confused he is at seeing Nix using his commanding officer as a pillow.
“Are you alright, Lieutenant Nixon?” Don finally settles on the words.
“Takes more than a bullet to take me down,” he thinks the sentence might lose some of its effect with his cheek squished up against Dick’s thigh.
Malarkey’s eyes just move between the two lieutenants for a few moments before he lets out a huff and smiles.
“Right you are, sir, I’ll uh, I’m off to my own bunk for the night.”
“Goodnight, Sargeant,” Dick smiles at him, his stupid fingers still in Nix’s hair.
“‘Night,” Lew mumbles in agreement.
Nix lets out a sigh as they watch Malarkey go, rolling his face back up toward’s Dick.
“Dick, you don’t-“
“Just relax, Nix,” Dick cuts him off even as he’s tilting his own head back to rest on the tree behind him. “Go to sleep,” he instructs as he closes his own eyes.
He feels so warm and relaxed, sitting here with his best friend. He should just get up, find his own spot.
He should.
But Dick gave him an order to sleep, did he not?
So Nix does.
3.
“Morning,” Dick looks up from his tiny mirror at the mumbling voice of his favorite intelligence officer and smiles at the sight of him. Lew has obviously just woken up, his hair sticking up all in one clump where it must have frozen that way from the snow. He shuffles his way into their tiny little CP, ducking under the tarp that barely passes for a roof as he drags a hand through his wild mane.
“Morning,” Dick responds and by the petulant expression Nix sends his way, he can tell it’s far too cheery for the Captain’s liking. He just chuckles to himself before resuming his morning ritual of shaving.
“Jesus, Dick,” Nix is suddenly right next to him, his hair back to its normal place as he puffs warm air into his own conjoined fists, “Doc’s gonna have to waste all his bandages just patching you up.”
Dick sends Nix an exasperated wrinkled brow, but he already knows was Lewis is on about as he glances back at what he can see of his own reflection in the mirror. Tiny cuts litter his skin from his razor, across his cheek and his neck, little pools of bright red against his pale skin.
“I’m shivering too much to do this cleanly,” Dick admits quietly, something he would truly only say to Nix. He grits his teeth as he raises the blade again and tries to keep it steady.
“Hey, I have a great idea: you don’t have to shave,” Nix crosses his arms over his chest and grins, his white teeth flashing brilliantly. Dick wants to wipe that look off his face with a hand…or…another way.
“It’s part of the uniform, Nix,” Dick just sighs. How many times have they already talked about this?
“We live in a frozen hell, Richard, the only person who really cares is you.”
Dick decides not to deign that with a response, instead letting out a sharp breath as he gears up for another swipe down his cheek.
“Give me that before you slice your own throat, would ya?”
Dick glances back to his friend as Lew unfolds an arm gracefully and sticks out a hand. He waggles his fingers when Dick doesn’t move, raising an impatient eyebrow as he waits.
Dick has a retort ready on his tongue, the very idea of Nix so close to his face already making his heart race, but somehow Nix’s hand isn’t shaking, fingers steady as he holds them out and Winters thinks maybe, just this once.
He continues to remain silent as he places the razor in Lew’s outstretched hand, to which Nixon grins triumphantly.
“Right this way, my good sir,” he gestures to the stone half wall that surrounds the CP, and Dick takes a deep breath as subtly as he can before he leans back against it, legs going out at an angle so he’s a few inches shorter than normal.
They’re just about the same height now, as Nix walks straight up into his space and bares the razor right next to the soft flesh of Dick’s pulse point. He hopes Lew won’t notice the frantic thump thumping of his heart.
Winters holds his breath as the razor scrapes across his skin, the complete and utter trust he’s placing in Nix not lost on him. Lew’s hand remains steady, gliding nicely in a way Dick hasn’t been able to manage, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
They stand like that in silence as Lewis works, the CP eerily quiet with the snow surrounding them, only the sounds of the razor methodically scratching in between them. His heart has returned to its normal speed and Dick can feel himself relaxing at his friend’s proximity. He lets his eyes slip closed, slowly giving into Nix’s heat right next to him.
The S2 finishes one side of his face and steps back for a moment to admire his progress. “Not a scratch,” he pronounces victoriously, before he’s stepping back towards Dick. Winters expects Nix to turn his face to get a better angle on his far side, but instead he steps one foot over Dick’s outstretched legs, the other leg pressed up against the Captain’s as he straddles Dick’s shins.
Dick gulps at the same time Nix shifts forward, razor at the ready, but from his new angle his bare wrist brushes against Dick’s ungloved hands.
“Shit, your hands are freezing, Dick,” he pulls back instead of completing his original motion.
“We live in a frozen hell, Lewis,” he repeats the words back with satisfaction even as his mouth feels dry.
Lew just responds with a put upon sigh that relays, do I have to do everything myself, before he’s stepping even closer to Dick.
“Put your hands in my pockets.”
“What.” Dick answers dumbly.
“Or just leave your hands to the frostbite, doesn’t matter to me,” Nixon shrugs, hoisting the razor once more.
“I have my own pockets…” Dick trails off and wonders if he’s trying to convince Lew or himself.
“Sure but then your shoulders’ll hunch and they’ll be in my way, and then I won’t be able to…just put your damn hands in my pockets, Winters.”
Nix is trying so hard not to smile, his cheeks are all rosy, although maybe it’s from the cold, but damn if it doesn’t set Dick’s heart back aflutter. He resigned himself long ago to his feelings for Nix, a deep rooted affection that the word love doesn’t even describe. All he knows is he wants to be close to Nixon at all times, in whatever capacity, anywhere in the world, and if Lew is offering him warmth and closeness, who is Dick to argue?
He slowly moves his hands from where they’re clasped together in front of him and towards Lew’s jacket, on high alert just in case this is one of Nix’s jokes, in which case he will happily deck him.
But Nix just leans in closer before Dick can make it to his final destination, already pulling up the razor and actually making contact on the unshaven half of the redhead’s face. He continues his task as if completely oblivious to Dick, which Winters supposes is for his benefit.
Finally he slots his hands into the pockets on either side of Lew’s jacket, fingertips grazing the brunette’s hipbones through a layer of olive drab canvas. It’s honestly not a whole lot warmer at first, but soon the feeling starts to return to Dick’s fingers without the wind blowing on them and with Nix’s body heat against them. He lets out a contented sigh before he can stop himself.
Nix somehow steps closer in reaction, reaching up his tan fingers to brace against the other side of Winters’ jaw and something warm and tingling bubbles up in Dick’s chest.
Foot falls suddenly interrupt the quiet in the CP, but with Lew’s hold on his face and a razor to his neck, Dick can’t turn to see who it is.
“Need something, Doc?” Nix asks as his eyes flick to the side, only to resume his task instead of stopping to focus on Roe, or even to explain why they’re in this position.
“Yessir, no sir, that is, I’m just makin’ m’ rounds, I didn’t mean to…” He trails off and Dick really wishes he could see the expression on the man’s face.
“Haven’t had any new supplies come in this morning, I’m sorry, Roe,” Nix is staring intently at Dick’s cheek as he says it, as if they do this all the time, and Dick can only imagine what their medic thinks of this display: two captains, practically smashed together, one all but straddling the other to cradle his face, the other with hands shoved into the pockets of the wrong jacket.
“Thank you, sir, I’m g’nna walk down th’ line.”
“See you later, Doc,” Nix finishes the final swipe on Dick’s neck and stands to his full height. Dick turns to say something to Roe, but he’s already done.
“Captain Winters, you’re looking handsome,” Nix smirks even as he grabs Dick’s chin to admire his handiwork and it’s too much all at once. If he doesn’t leave right now he doesn’t know what will happen, and he owes it to Nix not to find out. Dick pulls his hands out of Lew’s jacket, immediately missing the warmth, before tucking them under his arms.
“Thanks, Lew,” he says quickly, crossing to the other side of the CP in a few quick strides.
“Any time,” Nix doesn’t seem to catch on that anything is up as he stays where he is and snatches a towel Dick left behind to wipe off the razor.
“I’m headed up to regiment for the latest,” Nix says, like it’s their normal morning check in and his deft hands hadn’t just been cradling Dick’s face.
“Sounds good, I’ll see you later,” Dick summons all his willpower to sound as normal as Nix does.
“Okay,” Nix stares at him for a long moment and Dick worries that he really had given too much away, Nix is an intelligence officer for Pete’s sake, but then he’s smiling like he always does with a “be safe,” before he heads off to call a jeep.
“You too,” Dick calls after him, and spends the rest of his morning in deep, deep thought.
4.
“You guys are having a party and you didn’t invite me?” Nix exclaims as he wanders into a billet. His billet? No. Yes. Who’s billet is this? He’s feeling good, loose, and it doesn’t really matter. Dick will point him in the right direction when it’s time for sleep. Probably.
“Nixon! Where have you been?” Harry half shouts, newly returned from his injury and more chipper than Lew’s seen him in a while. He’s sitting in a red armchair in the billet’s parlor, sprawled out like he owns the place, with a bottle in his hand that explains his ease. Dick is adjacent to him in a matching armchair, his posture excellent, because of course it is, but Nix knows him well enough to tell by the set of his shoulders that he is also relaxed.
“Oh, just sendin’ off the best report I may have ever written,” Lew smirks, nodding to Lipton who is sat up on a couch not far from Welsh, buried under a mountain of blankets, though his eyes look more alert than they have in a while. Speirs is perched on a barstool behind him like a gargoyle, his face half in shadow and Nix swears if he moved just right his eyes would glow like a wolf’s.
Even while he’s speaking he quickly counts seats in his head and realizes there’s no place for him. He could tell Lip to move his legs, he supposes, but it’s Lip, and he’s sick , it would be like kicking a little puppy out into the rain. So even while the alcohol hasn’t impeded him enough for quick addition or basic decency, it does tell him that sitting on the arm of Dick’s chair is an absolutely fantastic idea.
So, off he goes as the others resume their previous conversation. He lets the chatter wash over him as he plops down on the upholstery that has seen better days, attempting to balance with one foot on the ground which is, woah, not as easy as it originally sounded.
“Lew,” Dick looks up at him, eyes flickering down to Nix’s thigh, but otherwise not making any other note of Lewis’ choice in seat. He just meets his friend’s gaze serenely and his eyes are so blue and his hair is so red and his freckles are right there and Nix has to gather every sober muscle in his body that still remains to keep himself planted where he is instead of leaning down and doing something that would get him kicked out of the army.
“It really is a great report,” he murmurs instead but gives up as his body inches just a bit lower as if without his permission.
“Yeah?” Dick asks, a smile pulling at his lips, amused. He’s got that look, the one he reserves for teasing, which is usually only reserved just for Lew, come to think of it, and it makes Nix’s stomach do a funny flip.
“The unfortunate thing is that I couldn’t include my favorite part, about how my dashing Major of a best friend is completely diabolical,” Lew smirks and has the overwhelming urge to rub his nose against Dick’s.
Winters just smiles up at him, huffing an amused breath through his nostrils before he’s turning his head back towards the others.
Lew can feel himself relaxing, like every ache and pain he’s had since jumping out of that god-forsaken plane can take a backseat because he’s here with Dick, all but pressed into his side, and they’re safe. He belatedly realizes that in his haste to share news of his monumental report that he has left his flask by the typewriter. He drums his fingers across his thighs, debating. He could probably pester Harry into sharing his bottle, but moving even an inch away from Dick right now is the last thing he wants to do, so he holds his peace, Vat 69 forgotten.
And so the night goes on, just the five of them, laughing together about anything and everything but the war. It’s nice; warm. Nix isn’t sure he ever wants the moment to end.
“Best friend, huh?” Dick whispers up to him after a time, when Speirs and Harry are mid-argument with Lip glancing wide-eyed between them. Winters’ eyebrows are raised and he has that smile back on his face, the teasing one, but something behind his eyes looks a little bit like hope and a little bit like surprise with a tiny dash of fear. And what even is…surely…surely Dick already knows it’s true.
“Oh, I was talkin’ about some other Major,” he can’t help but tease back, eyes sparkling as he leans over a little closer, pulled helplessly into Dick’s orbit.
To his surprise Dick doesn’t shift away, just stays where he is, an expression that Lew wouldn’t dare call affection on his face, and Nix suddenly realizes his thigh is on top of Dick’s. His initial reaction is to gasp loudly, which he’s sure would be fun to explain to the others, but as it is there’s no air left in his lungs.
“And I was trying so hard to get your attention,” Dick drawls and Nix feels warm all over, somehow finds enough air to suck in a soft breath. He’s practically half on Dick’s lap at this point, there faces are so close and the lingering alcohol is whispering dangerous things in his head like “touch” and “mine,” and he really should hurl himself across the room because he’s about two seconds away from-
“Hey love birds, spare us, would ya?” Harry’s pinched voice suddenly interrupts and Lew startles back upright, loses his balance and ends up sliding further onto Winters.
“I’d like to see you try to balance here like a bird, Harry, how much have you had of that bottle?” Nix grins at him even as he tries to lever himself up, like his heart isn’t beating out of his chest and he isn’t burning from every point of contact between them, like the helpful hand Dick pushes against his bicep to help him up, damn him.
“Not enough, Lipton drank most of it,” Harry takes another swig.
“Lip?” Lew exclaims, still trying to steer the conversation away from them and finally back to balancing without Dick’s help.
“He’s sick,” Speirs cuts in from behind the couch, like that explains everything before adding, “they said it would help him feel better.”
Harry dives into teasing Lip, Nixon completely forgotten and Lew lets out a soft sigh in relief. He should’ve gone back for his flask.
“I’m glad you’re here, Nix,” Dick murmurs, apropos of nothing, and pushes his shoulder back up against Nix’s.
“Yeah,” Lew breathes back, matching the pressure with his own shoulder. He takes in a long, deep breath, feels his friend safe and sound next to him, and lets it out in a long sigh. It’s a better feeling than any drink he’s ever had.
5.
Dick is exhausted. It has been one of the longest days of Dick’s entire life, of this entire war, and they’ve already lived through so much. Caretan, Bastogne, Foy…they all pale in comparison to the horrors witnessed at that camp today.
He can’t get them out of his head. Every second he closes his eyes it’s as if the memories are branded on the back of his eyelids. He had tried so hard all day; to keep everything together, to give orders, and make plans, and desperately try not to fall apart in front of the men. He remembers telling Liebgott that the prisoners would have to be put back and the absolute devastation on the man’s face echoed every feeling in Dick’s heart.
He’s back in his billet now, lying in a borrowed bed that is far too plush, far too luxurious compared to the absolute terror he had witnessed earlier in the day, and he might vomit if he thinks about it any more.
He idly wonders if this is why Lew drinks. Dick’s never judged him for it; he seems to be able to do his job well, even if the brass doesn’t want him in the limelight, and it’s never once gotten the men into trouble. It’s not something Winters has ever really considered for himself, until now, while he lies in bed, willing the images to stop spinning in his head so he can just sleep.
He drifts, half conscious, half awake, not really able to pin down if the nightmares plaguing his mind are real or imagined. He’s on the brink of something, either sleep or a breakdown, when he hears the door to his room open.
He ignores it, uncharacteristic of him, but at the moment if he hears one more update that goes something like, “we still don’t know where to transport the prisoners,” he might lose his mind. He remains lying on his side, back towards the door, and waits.
No one speaks though, and he figures Zielenski or whoever has come to bother him at this hour thought twice and about-faced down the hall. Only, a moment later a hand is touching his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Dick tenses.
“It’s only me,” Nix’s voice murmurs right as Dick is about to spin around and go for his gun. Every ounce of energy and adrenaline drains out of him at the soft timbre of his best friend’s voice and he feels tears suddenly spring to his eyes.
“Nix,” is all he gets out before his throat closes up. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he needs, all he knows is that Lew, his friend, no, his person, is right here when he needs him most.
“I know,” Lew’s voice sounds thick too, like he’s just as close to the brink of tears as Winters. Dick is about to turn around to face him but between one blink and the next he can feel the mattress dipping behind him as Lew curls his body right alongside Dick’s, their bent knees slotting together as he snakes a strong arm across the Major’s chest and pulls him back against his own.
A sob finally escapes his lungs at the contact and Lew just presses in closer, tighter, his nose brushing the soft skin behind Dick’s ear, cool breath running down his neck. In any other situation Dick would be on fire right now - body screaming at the contact and yearning for Lew to touch him in ways he’s barely had time to dream about himself - but as it is the overwhelming relief of having Lew close is almost too much to process.
He brings a palm up to wrap around Lew’s forearm, pulling it up higher across his chest so he can tuck his chin over it. He feels almost like a child, scared after a nightmare.
“Couldn’t sleep on my own tonight,” Lew whispers right next to his ear and moves his other arm so that it’s tucked beneath the pillow. His breath ghosts over Dick’s cheek and he realizes it doesn’t smell a bit like alcohol.
“I’m sorry Nix, I should have come to check on y-”
“Sshhh,” Dick feels like crying again as Nix moves the arm from his chest to sooth down Dick’s side like he’s a frightened animal, coming to a halt atop his hip bone as his thumb rubs soothing circles there.
They rest like that for a long, long time, the only movement between them their breathing as it slowly syncs together and Lew’s hand as it drifts lower over Dick’s stomach as he relaxes.
Dick finds himself praying, sending up his thanks that even in the darkness he’s allowed this man, this light.
He’s had the thought before, that Nix was a literal gift from God, but it hits him full force in that moment.
He makes a decision, then, and slowly, oh so slowly turns in Nix’s arms. There are tear marks on his cheeks that barely glint in the low light as Dick turns to face him and he reaches out to wipe them away with his thumb. Nix’s eyes flutter closed at the touch and his grip that now rests on Dick’s side tightens.
Dick leans up until his lips barely brush Nix’s forehead, almost reverent, and he’s stuck with the sudden memory of a bullet stinging Lewis’ flesh. He presses a kiss on the spot, feather light, and brushes his lips towards Nix’s hairline.
Lew gasps beside him and Dick can feel his short, hot breaths against his neck, can feel the way Nix’s other arm comes up to cradle the back of his head.
“Lew, I-”
Two knocks sound at the door.
“Major Winters, sir?” This time it is Zielenski, and Dick sends up another quiet prayer of thanks that he’s one of the few that would actually knock.
“I’m sorry Nix, I have to go,” he doesn’t leave immediately, doesn’t startle away from Lewis or try to talk his way out of it. No, he’s made a decision, he is going to tell Lew how he feels. It’s only a matter of time.
“I know, yeah, go,” Nix may have come to a conclusion of his own, or he really can just read Dick that easily, as he caresses a thumb down Dick’s cheek before giving him a soft smile.
Winters gets up and crawls over Lew, wishing over all else he could just kiss him goodbye.
It’s only a matter of time.
+1
“I got a present for you, come on,” Dick announces, gesturing for Nix to follow him, and Lew isn’t quite sure how his feet are working with the amount of champagne he’s consumed and the absolute whammy that Winters had just dropped on them.
“Did they really surrender?” Nix asks as he follows Dick dutifully and hops in the jeep. It’s a rhetorical question, really, he trusts everything Dick says, especially when it comes to any sort of orders.
“No more front lines, Nix,” Dick agrees cheerfully from the driver’s seat as he maneuvers them back to town and Nix itches to touch him the whole time. After that night in Landsberg, something seems to have changed between them, but they’ve both been too damn busy to really talk, much less think about it. But now that it’s just the two of them Lew wants .
“What is this present, anyway?” He asks as he trails after Winters into their shared billet, saluting as he’s saluted by all the men along the way. He expects Dick to lead him to Lew’s room, that he’s stashed something there like a special bottle of champagne or stolen cigars, or even a dog to replace the one Kathy took, because that would be so like him.
But before he can even process what’s happening Dick is leading him into his own room, locking the door, and slamming Lew up against it.
“Dick, wh-”
Dick’s lips are on his in an instant and the sound Lew lets out in response is positively unholy.
They kiss like they’ve been doing it their whole lives, like they’re falling back into a routine that they’ve had for ages, fitting back into well-worn grooves that are comfortable and familiar and safe.
Where Nix is exuberant, Dick is reserved, and Lew wonders why he ever thought it would be different. Dick lets Nix chase his lips, lets him lick warmly into his mouth and lets out a contented hum as their tongues mingle. A laugh rises unbidden from Nix's chest as they battle for a moment before he bites Winters’ lip, dragging it between his teeth.
Dick lets out a gasp and grabs Lew’s uniform like he’s about to shove him away, only to drag him somehow closer, pressing one of his long legs in between Lew’s own as he crowds him back against the door. Nix’s own hands travel across Dick’s strong back, his hips, his chest, he just wants to touch everywhere. They finally settle, with one wrapped around the back of Dick’s neck, playing with the short cropped hairs there, and the other hooked into the waistband of his pants at the hip, pulling Dick’s shirt out of its neat tuck.
“Dick,” he breathes, sucking in precious air before diving back in and latching onto Winter’s neck. He mouths at the Major’s strong jaw line like he’s wanted to for years now, teeth scraping against his pulse point as Dick tilts his head back, baring the long, pale line of it. Nix has the sudden memory of holding Winter’s face in his hands and a razor at his neck in Bastogne, reverently following through with every motion and contemplating the trust Dick was putting in him.
“Oh my god, I love you,” he whispers next to Dick’s ear, and it’s definitely not the amount of ceremony that Lew wanted to reserve for this moment, but it’s finally, finally, happening, and he can’t contain himself any longer.
Dick does push him back this time though, and Nix almost whimpers, his stomach dropping. But then Dick’s lovely hands are framing his face, thumbs arcing tenderly across his cheekbones so he can look Lew in the eye.
“I love you, Lewis Nixon,” Dick says it like he’s taking a vow and those may be the best five words Nix has ever heard or will hear in his entire life. Something between a laugh and a sob escapes his throat and Dick smiles sweetly at him before leaning forward to press his lips against Lew’s forehead, just like he did all those nights ago.
“I love you, Richard Winters,” Lew breathes out against Dick’s neck and he can feel Winters smile into his skin.
“Are you ready for the second part of your present now?” Dick asks and Lew’s eyes fly open.
“There’s more?” His mouth suddenly goes dry as Dick begins to unbutton his uniform.
“Oh, there’s much more.”
“Winters!” Speirs' voice is suddenly yelling from the other side of the door from where Nix is pressed up against it, and they both startle. “What’s this I hear about a wine cellar?”
“How much of that do you think he heard?” Nix whispers as they stand there in each other’s arms, frozen, waiting to see what Ron will do.
“Oh we heard enough,” they both blanche before Speirs growls and says, “come on Carwood, let’s leave them to it.”
They look at each other in utter relief and before Lew knows what's happening they’re both laughing, letting out a war’s worth of pent up tension and longing at the same time.
They make it to the bed eventually, once the giggling subsides.
