Winters/Nixon Fic: "A Few Degrees Warmer"
Title: A Few Degrees Warmer
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick Winters/Lewis Nixon, Eugene Roe
Word Count: 3,299
Summary: Hurt/comfort in Bastogne as Dick and Lew inch closer together. Dick has trouble shaving. Lew has trouble of his own. Here in the black belly of the frozen earth, Dick thinks he must be dreaming again.
Thanks to fenwic and mcfeste for betas! xo
It takes four tries to crack the slab of ice on top of the pan, and the bristles of his brush are frozen stiff as Dick pulls off his helmet and slaps on the soap with shaking hands. He’d thought he was alone in the fog-shrouded dawn in this corner of the Ardennes, but boots crunch on the fresh snow, and he reaches for his weapon.
His wet fingers fuse with the metal, pulse pounding as he wheels around. He exhales as Lew’s familiar gait comes into focus through the mist, followed by his tired grin as he nears. Lew speaks softly. “You can lower your weapon, Captain. I’m pretty sure I’m not a German.”
Dick sits back down on the fallen log, bracing himself with his left hand, gun still in his right. He regards it for a moment. “I don’t think I can.”
Lew drops down beside him, tossing his helmet aside and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He peers at where Dick’s fingers are stuck to the frozen metal. “Son of a bitch. Don’t suppose we can make a fire to warm up some water.”
They both ponder the situation, heads close together. “Wouldn’t be so bad if I could reach the trigger.” Dick grimaces as he tries to pry himself free.
“Jesus, don’t do that. You’ll rip your skin off.” Lew’s hands feel amazingly warm on his as he pokes gently. “A-ha! I’ve got it.” He pulls out the flask from his inside pocket and unscrews the lid. “Should be a few degrees warmer, at least.”
“Not much left.” Lew had complained about it just the night before. “You sure?”
“Well, just this once.” Pouring carefully, he coats Dick’s fingers and eases them free of the frigid metal, inch by inch.
The sigh of relief catches in Dick’s throat as Lew lifts his hand and sucks Dick’s index finger into his mouth. It’s hotter than any fire, and a bolt of something like desire rattles him from head to toe. His gaze locks on his friend’s mouth as Lew takes in each finger in turn.
Lew’s tongue swirls, licking up every last drop of whiskey, sending shivers up Dick’s spine that have nothing to do with the cold. He should yank his hand away and tell Lew to stop messing around, but it feels so warm and soothing and good, and nothing’s felt like this since that bath in Paris.
Once Dick’s little finger is clean, Lew releases him, licking his lips with a crooked grin. “Colonel Sink did say not to let a drop of our rations go to waste.”
Dick knows he should chuckle or at least smile back, but he can’t seem to do anything.
Lew’s eyebrows draw together. “Dick?” He picks up Dick’s hand again, turning it over and inspecting the skin.
“I’m fine.” With effort, Dick pulls away and reaches for his shaving kit.
“Christ, why the hell are you still shaving? If you don’t slice yourself to ribbons first, you’ll get stuck to your gun again.” He rubs the growing stubble on his face. “We need all the warmth we can get.”
“We’re officers, Nix.”
Lew barks out a laugh. “What the hell are they going to do? Even ol’ Ike wouldn’t expect us to shave here in the arctic circle.”
Slapping on the soap again, Dick ignores him and reaches for his razor. His hand trembles as he lifts the blade to his cheek.
“Oh, give it here. If you slit your own throat they’ll make Dike Battalion XO, and we’ll really be in trouble then.”
Lew takes the razor and drops to his knees, nudging Dick’s legs apart as he inches in. His dark eyes narrow in concentration as he slides the blade over Dick’s icy skin. His breath fogs the air between them, and Dick realizes he’s holding his. He exhales, turning his chin when Lew taps him softly.
In the utter stillness, there’s only the scrape of the blade and whisper of their breath. As Dick tips his head to the side, Lew threads a hand through his hair, holding him still, and Dick’s eyelids flutter as he leans into the strong warmth. He opens his legs a bit farther, and it seems to happen so naturally that Lew leans in until they’re right against each other.
Lew’s still deep in concentration, shaving Dick with a gentleness that only adds to the confusion spinning through Dick’s mind. He flinches as the blade nicks his neck, and Lew winces in sympathy, sucking his thumb for a moment before pushing it against the wound to staunch the bleeding.
They’re so close, and Dick’s heart thumps when Lew’s lips replace his thumb, pressing lightly. He nuzzles Dick’s neck with his stubbly cheek, his hand dropping to Dick’s thigh, where he squeezes gently. For a moment, Dick doesn’t breathe as he processes the touch of Lew’s lips and hand, his body so near.
Then he surrenders, closing his fingers around Lew’s upper arms, light-headed with affection and a longing he’s kept locked away since before they crossed the Atlantic.
“Uh, excuse me, sirs?”
Lew shoots to his feet as Eugene Roe steps out of the fog. “Hey, Doc.” Lew motions to Dick. “Stubborn bastard cut himself shaving. Thought I was going to have to call you, but the bleeding’s stopped now.” He leans down and playfully slaps Dick’s cheek. “Don’t wanna waste bandages, right?”
Roe regards them with his usual serious, even expression. “No, sir. Not many bandages left.” To Dick he adds, “Sure you’re all right, Captain? I can take a look at it.”
Dick covers the tiny nick with his palm and clears his throat. “That’s not necessary. Did you need something, Roe?”
“Morphine. Have any syrettes you can spare?”
He and Nix both hand over the morphine from their aid kits, and Roe thanks them and carries on, disappearing back into the world of white. Their eyes meet for a long moment, and Dick wonders if he’s still asleep somehow, because all he wants to do is pull Lew back down, close against him again.
Lew grabs his helmet and shoulders his rifle. “Well, better get over to HQ and report in.” He turns on his heel with a smile tight with tension.
Then Dick knows this isn’t a dream, because if it was, he wouldn’t be frozen, watching Lew fade away.
*
As he stares at the dark sky, Dick muses that he can’t remember the last time he saw the stars beyond the wall of clouds. He’s sure it wasn’t so long ago, not really, but it feels like they’ve been in Bastogne for months. Starving and freezing and dying.
When Lew materializes, he’s only a few feet away, and Dick realizes belatedly that his guard was down as his heart skips a beat. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he tells himself. Then his stomach flip-flops as Lew sits down beside him on the fallen log where he left him that morning.
“Did Sink drop by?”
Dick nods. “Uh huh. Told us to hold the line.”
“Oh, that’s very helpful. Hold the line. Guess we’ll have to cancel that trip to the Bastogne Rivoli to see the new John Wayne flick. Damn, I was looking forward to the popcorn.”
Dick feels a pleasant sense of relief at Lew’s typical banter. No reason things should be different. “Yeah. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Well, in the meantime….” Lew pulls a chocolate bar from his pocket and holds it out.
For a moment, Dick’s overcome with the urge to tear it from Lew’s hand and rip into it, swallow it whole. He breathes in deeply and blows it out. “Give it to the men.”
Lew’s face is in shadow under his snow-dusted helmet, but Dick knows he’s rolling his eyes. “Yeah, give it to the men. Like you give all your rations to the men?”
“Not all.”
“You need to eat.”
“So do you. I’m fine.”
Lew tears open the wrapper. “I traded my back-up flask for this, and you’re gonna eat it.”
“We’ll share.”
“All right, fine.” Lew breaks off a square and holds it up to Dick’s mouth. “Am I gonna have to do a choo-choo train? Open up.”
Lew’s thumb grazes Dick’s bottom lip as he takes the piece of chocolate. He crunches into it.
“No, no, you’ve gotta suck. Warm it up first.” Lew pops a piece into his mouth.
Dick does as he’s told, saliva flooding his mouth as he dissolves the sweet candy. He swallows, suddenly aware of just how hungry he is, and gratefully takes another piece. Lew tries to give him two squares for every one he eats himself, but Dick glares until Lew relents, and they sit there in contented silence, sharing the chocolate bar square by square until it’s gone.
Taking out a cigarette, Lew taps it against the side of his lighter.
“Nix, you shouldn’t.”
“Why the hell not? I like to pretend it warms me up.” He puts the cigarette between his lips.
“The light.”
He barks out a laugh, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “It’s not like they don’t know we’re here. It’s a tiny flame.”
“It’s protocol. Especially after Harry.”
“Ah, good ol’ protocol. Just like shaving?” He stands and turns to face Dick, his back toward the line. He strikes the flint with his thumb, once, twice, three times, without a single spark. “Christ, give me a break.”
“Here.” Dick stands and takes the lighter from Nix’s frozen fingers. Not that his hands are any more functional, but he manages. He leans in close, protecting the flame with his hand, fingertips brushing Lew’s cheek, helmets touching with a clink. Lew inhales, the tip of his cigarette igniting.
Dick steps back, releasing his thumb from the wheel. The cigarette glows red in the darkness, and Lew turns his head and exhales as he takes back the lighter, dropping it into his pocket. “Excellent work, Captain Winters.”
“They didn’t promote me for nothing.”
Lew’s grin lights up his face, and it’s not until Dick hears a distant cry of “Incoming!” that he realizes a tracer is illuminating the night, sailing high above them. Artillery explodes and a nearby treetop detonates as Lew topples Dick to the ground, rolling them over the log and away from the line.
In a tangle of limbs, they brace themselves as another volley of explosions rock the forest, one far too close for comfort. They race back, diving into Lew’s foxhole, Lew swearing the whole way. “Always have to be right, don’t you?”
“It’s a curse,” Dick replies as the barrage continues, moving closer to the line, where he can hear someone - Lipton? - shout for the medic. He hopes Roe has enough morphine, but knows he doesn’t.
“Aw, hell.”
“What? Aside from the obvious.” Dick’s gaze is trained on the bursts of fire amongst the trees, the shouts of the men growing louder.
“Think I’ve got a splinter.”
“Maybe it’ll be your ticket home, Nix.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Something in Lew’s voice tugs Dick’s eyes away from the line. His gut clenches as he takes in the jagged, three-inch long chunk of wood jammed into the side of Lew’s neck. Lew’s reaching for it, and Dick snatches his hand away, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t.”
Where before the night was shrouded in darkness, now it pulses with light. There’s a thick drip of blood down Lew’s neck, and once the wood is removed, Dick envisions it will be a waterfall.
“Jesus, quit looking at me like that.” Lew yanks off his helmet with one hand, the other still locked in Dick’s grip.
Dick thinks of the scorch mark on Lew’s forehead in Holland. It had healed in a few days, and he’d gotten a new helmet. “Good as new,” he’d declared as he clumsily rolled it up his arm, as a cowboy might his Stetson, before slapping it on his head.
Dick’s voice is a croak as he calls out. “Medic!”
“Shit, is it really that bad?” Dick still has hold of Lew’s left hand, so Lew reaches around for his neck with his right.
“Don’t touch it, Nix.”
Lew lowers his hand, curling his fingers into a fist. “It doesn’t hurt. Is that good or bad? If it hit the artery I’d have bled out all over my foxhole by now.”
The thought would bring Dick to his knees if he wasn’t on them already. Despite the cold, sweat breaks out on his forehead under his helmet. “Medic!”
But he knows Roe can’t hear him amid the thunder of artillery, that he’s too far away with the men. Dick would have to go get him, and the terror that Lew will be dead when he returns curdles his stomach, threatening to send the pilfered chocolate back up.
“Dick?”
He can see in Lew’s face that he’s scaring him, making everything worse. He tosses his helmet aside and rubs his free hand through his hair. “It’s okay, Lew. Everything’s okay. Let me take a look. Probably just a scratch. Keep still, okay?”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
With what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze, Dick lets go of Lew’s fingers. He cradles Lew’s head, angling it to give him better access to the wound. He remembers the gentle pressure of hands on his head and face that morning as the razor scraped across his skin.
Focus. The jagged piece of wood narrows at the end that’s thrust into Lew’s neck. Dick touches it tentatively, and it wavers. “Good, that’s good.”
“My cologne? You like it? It’s called Eau du Woodland Hell. I’ll get you some next time I’m in town. It’s flying off the shelves.”
“It isn’t in too deep, I don’t think.” Dick opens his jacket and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. He tears off a wide strip of fabric from the tail.
“Well, that’s a relief, because I was about to go get my coins for the ferryman.”
Another nearby explosion rocks the forest, and they duck. Lew curses as he sits back up, sucking in a sharp breath as he steadies the swaying chunk of wood. “Okay, that hurt. Christ, get this thing out.”
More trees burst toward the line, and the men’s shouts echo amid the cacophony, including fresh calls for Roe. As if reading his mind, Lew nudges Dick with his knee. “He’s busy. C’mon, it’ll be fine. I trust you.”
“I might be wrong - it could be worse than I think.”
Lew smiles, but it’s more of a grimace. “You’re always right, remember?”
Something about Lew still joking sends a bloom of warmth through Dick’s chest. Taking a deep breath, he gently, carefully, eases out the sharp wood. Tossing it aside, he presses the folded piece of his shirt against the wound, which bleeds freely now.
His lungs burn and he realizes he’s holding his breath. As he exhales, he holds the wound firmly. “Looks good, Nix.” Actually, it looks like far too much blood for Dick’s liking, but the flow slows after an eternity that's probably only a minute.
Lew pats Dick’s hip, his breath warm on Dick’s face. “Thanks." They rest their heads together, Dick’s hand still clamped over Lew’s neck.
Dick’s not sure how long they sit there like that, but he realizes the attack is over when he hears footsteps approaching in the absence of sound. “Captain? Thought I heard you calling earlier.”
Lew and Dick both straighten up a moment before Roe leans over the foxhole. “Yes. Captain Nixon was hit by a piece of wood. Lodged in his neck.” Dick lifts up the blood-soaked piece of his shirt to check the wound. “I think the worst is over.”
He stands and scoots over, letting Roe take a look. The piece of bloody wooden shrapnel rests in the snow beside the foxhole. Dick picks it up gingerly, as if it’s a grenade. Realizing his hands are red, he tries to clean them off, but it’s no use.
Roe whistles. “Boy, oh boy, you got lucky, sir. Half an inch to the right and….” With quick economical movements, Roe sprinkles some sulfa and tapes on a small bandage. “Don’t get this wet if you can help it.”
Lew’s eyes sparkle. “Hell, no shaving, I guess. Doctor’s orders.”
Dick almost laughs, but sobers as Roe stands. “The men?”
“A few injuries, but nothing too serious. One fatality. A replacement….” Roe’s eyebrows draw together. “I can’t think of his name. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be.” Dick claps Roe on the shoulder. “Good job as always, Eugene. Thank you.”
Roe nods toward Lew as he hops out of the foxhole. “You too, Captain Winters.”
The cloudy night is impenetrable once more, and Roe soon disappears from sight. Lew drinks from his flask and points toward the space beside him. “Better stay. I may rip off the bandage in my sleep and start bleeding all over the place again.”
Although the odds of that happening seem rather slim, Dick doesn’t argue. Lew’s foxhole is nicer and deeper than most, with a tarp on the bottom and the top. Dick settles in beside him and pulls the plastic tightly over the hole. As he squirms in the inky darkness, trying to get comfortable without taking up too much room, Lew chuckles. “I think this will be the most effective use of space.”
He nudges and tugs and shifts Dick until they’re both on their sides facing each other, breath mingling. He says, “Lift up,” as he slides something padded under their heads.
It feels like the softest pillow, although it’s probably a folded-up old piece of canvas. Then Lew spreads out a thin blanket, pressing it down over Dick’s back. Dick smiles. “Well, this is a five-star establishment you have here, Nix.”
“No expense spared at Château Nixon, monsieur.” Lew inches closer, and even though the battle is over for now, Dick feels alive with adrenaline as Lew throws his leg over him. Their bodies seem to fit together like puzzle pieces, and Dick hasn’t felt this safe in forever.
He moves closer until it seems like he can feel Lew’s heart beating. Here in the black belly of the frozen earth, Dick thinks he must be dreaming again. They take turns advancing, an inch here, an outstretched arm there. He’s floating, outside his body yet aware of it in every pore. He clutches Lew to him with bloodstained hands.
Their noses touch on the makeshift pillow, and Lew’s fingers trace Dick’s cheek and neck, coming to rest on his pulse point. When their lips meet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. They explore softly, slowly, marking new territory.
As their tongues finally slide together - so warm and wet and wonderful - he pants quietly, and Lew answers with a moan that sends a jolt straight to Dick’s groin. The ground shakes, and it takes Dick longer than it should to understand the tremors are from a fresh attack. Artillery hammers the night, and he and Lew break apart and push themselves to sitting, yanking off the tarp.
The men do their jobs and try to survive another night, and Dick can only wait and watch with Lew at his side. He knows he should be grateful for the interruption, for the chance to write it all off as temporary insanity. Frozen desperation. He knows there are a million and one reasons that what just happened should never happen again, from sin to disgrace and everything in-between.
He knows these things.
The forest is alive again with light and terror as a flare arcs above the trees, and their eyes meet. Dick allows himself the smallest of smiles as Lew’s steady, open gaze tells him the first kiss won’t be their last.
Read the sequel: Too Far Along
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick Winters/Lewis Nixon, Eugene Roe
Word Count: 3,299
Summary: Hurt/comfort in Bastogne as Dick and Lew inch closer together. Dick has trouble shaving. Lew has trouble of his own. Here in the black belly of the frozen earth, Dick thinks he must be dreaming again.
Thanks to fenwic and mcfeste for betas! xo
It takes four tries to crack the slab of ice on top of the pan, and the bristles of his brush are frozen stiff as Dick pulls off his helmet and slaps on the soap with shaking hands. He’d thought he was alone in the fog-shrouded dawn in this corner of the Ardennes, but boots crunch on the fresh snow, and he reaches for his weapon.
His wet fingers fuse with the metal, pulse pounding as he wheels around. He exhales as Lew’s familiar gait comes into focus through the mist, followed by his tired grin as he nears. Lew speaks softly. “You can lower your weapon, Captain. I’m pretty sure I’m not a German.”
Dick sits back down on the fallen log, bracing himself with his left hand, gun still in his right. He regards it for a moment. “I don’t think I can.”
Lew drops down beside him, tossing his helmet aside and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He peers at where Dick’s fingers are stuck to the frozen metal. “Son of a bitch. Don’t suppose we can make a fire to warm up some water.”
They both ponder the situation, heads close together. “Wouldn’t be so bad if I could reach the trigger.” Dick grimaces as he tries to pry himself free.
“Jesus, don’t do that. You’ll rip your skin off.” Lew’s hands feel amazingly warm on his as he pokes gently. “A-ha! I’ve got it.” He pulls out the flask from his inside pocket and unscrews the lid. “Should be a few degrees warmer, at least.”
“Not much left.” Lew had complained about it just the night before. “You sure?”
“Well, just this once.” Pouring carefully, he coats Dick’s fingers and eases them free of the frigid metal, inch by inch.
The sigh of relief catches in Dick’s throat as Lew lifts his hand and sucks Dick’s index finger into his mouth. It’s hotter than any fire, and a bolt of something like desire rattles him from head to toe. His gaze locks on his friend’s mouth as Lew takes in each finger in turn.
Lew’s tongue swirls, licking up every last drop of whiskey, sending shivers up Dick’s spine that have nothing to do with the cold. He should yank his hand away and tell Lew to stop messing around, but it feels so warm and soothing and good, and nothing’s felt like this since that bath in Paris.
Once Dick’s little finger is clean, Lew releases him, licking his lips with a crooked grin. “Colonel Sink did say not to let a drop of our rations go to waste.”
Dick knows he should chuckle or at least smile back, but he can’t seem to do anything.
Lew’s eyebrows draw together. “Dick?” He picks up Dick’s hand again, turning it over and inspecting the skin.
“I’m fine.” With effort, Dick pulls away and reaches for his shaving kit.
“Christ, why the hell are you still shaving? If you don’t slice yourself to ribbons first, you’ll get stuck to your gun again.” He rubs the growing stubble on his face. “We need all the warmth we can get.”
“We’re officers, Nix.”
Lew barks out a laugh. “What the hell are they going to do? Even ol’ Ike wouldn’t expect us to shave here in the arctic circle.”
Slapping on the soap again, Dick ignores him and reaches for his razor. His hand trembles as he lifts the blade to his cheek.
“Oh, give it here. If you slit your own throat they’ll make Dike Battalion XO, and we’ll really be in trouble then.”
Lew takes the razor and drops to his knees, nudging Dick’s legs apart as he inches in. His dark eyes narrow in concentration as he slides the blade over Dick’s icy skin. His breath fogs the air between them, and Dick realizes he’s holding his. He exhales, turning his chin when Lew taps him softly.
In the utter stillness, there’s only the scrape of the blade and whisper of their breath. As Dick tips his head to the side, Lew threads a hand through his hair, holding him still, and Dick’s eyelids flutter as he leans into the strong warmth. He opens his legs a bit farther, and it seems to happen so naturally that Lew leans in until they’re right against each other.
Lew’s still deep in concentration, shaving Dick with a gentleness that only adds to the confusion spinning through Dick’s mind. He flinches as the blade nicks his neck, and Lew winces in sympathy, sucking his thumb for a moment before pushing it against the wound to staunch the bleeding.
They’re so close, and Dick’s heart thumps when Lew’s lips replace his thumb, pressing lightly. He nuzzles Dick’s neck with his stubbly cheek, his hand dropping to Dick’s thigh, where he squeezes gently. For a moment, Dick doesn’t breathe as he processes the touch of Lew’s lips and hand, his body so near.
Then he surrenders, closing his fingers around Lew’s upper arms, light-headed with affection and a longing he’s kept locked away since before they crossed the Atlantic.
“Uh, excuse me, sirs?”
Lew shoots to his feet as Eugene Roe steps out of the fog. “Hey, Doc.” Lew motions to Dick. “Stubborn bastard cut himself shaving. Thought I was going to have to call you, but the bleeding’s stopped now.” He leans down and playfully slaps Dick’s cheek. “Don’t wanna waste bandages, right?”
Roe regards them with his usual serious, even expression. “No, sir. Not many bandages left.” To Dick he adds, “Sure you’re all right, Captain? I can take a look at it.”
Dick covers the tiny nick with his palm and clears his throat. “That’s not necessary. Did you need something, Roe?”
“Morphine. Have any syrettes you can spare?”
He and Nix both hand over the morphine from their aid kits, and Roe thanks them and carries on, disappearing back into the world of white. Their eyes meet for a long moment, and Dick wonders if he’s still asleep somehow, because all he wants to do is pull Lew back down, close against him again.
Lew grabs his helmet and shoulders his rifle. “Well, better get over to HQ and report in.” He turns on his heel with a smile tight with tension.
Then Dick knows this isn’t a dream, because if it was, he wouldn’t be frozen, watching Lew fade away.
*
As he stares at the dark sky, Dick muses that he can’t remember the last time he saw the stars beyond the wall of clouds. He’s sure it wasn’t so long ago, not really, but it feels like they’ve been in Bastogne for months. Starving and freezing and dying.
When Lew materializes, he’s only a few feet away, and Dick realizes belatedly that his guard was down as his heart skips a beat. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he tells himself. Then his stomach flip-flops as Lew sits down beside him on the fallen log where he left him that morning.
“Did Sink drop by?”
Dick nods. “Uh huh. Told us to hold the line.”
“Oh, that’s very helpful. Hold the line. Guess we’ll have to cancel that trip to the Bastogne Rivoli to see the new John Wayne flick. Damn, I was looking forward to the popcorn.”
Dick feels a pleasant sense of relief at Lew’s typical banter. No reason things should be different. “Yeah. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Well, in the meantime….” Lew pulls a chocolate bar from his pocket and holds it out.
For a moment, Dick’s overcome with the urge to tear it from Lew’s hand and rip into it, swallow it whole. He breathes in deeply and blows it out. “Give it to the men.”
Lew’s face is in shadow under his snow-dusted helmet, but Dick knows he’s rolling his eyes. “Yeah, give it to the men. Like you give all your rations to the men?”
“Not all.”
“You need to eat.”
“So do you. I’m fine.”
Lew tears open the wrapper. “I traded my back-up flask for this, and you’re gonna eat it.”
“We’ll share.”
“All right, fine.” Lew breaks off a square and holds it up to Dick’s mouth. “Am I gonna have to do a choo-choo train? Open up.”
Lew’s thumb grazes Dick’s bottom lip as he takes the piece of chocolate. He crunches into it.
“No, no, you’ve gotta suck. Warm it up first.” Lew pops a piece into his mouth.
Dick does as he’s told, saliva flooding his mouth as he dissolves the sweet candy. He swallows, suddenly aware of just how hungry he is, and gratefully takes another piece. Lew tries to give him two squares for every one he eats himself, but Dick glares until Lew relents, and they sit there in contented silence, sharing the chocolate bar square by square until it’s gone.
Taking out a cigarette, Lew taps it against the side of his lighter.
“Nix, you shouldn’t.”
“Why the hell not? I like to pretend it warms me up.” He puts the cigarette between his lips.
“The light.”
He barks out a laugh, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “It’s not like they don’t know we’re here. It’s a tiny flame.”
“It’s protocol. Especially after Harry.”
“Ah, good ol’ protocol. Just like shaving?” He stands and turns to face Dick, his back toward the line. He strikes the flint with his thumb, once, twice, three times, without a single spark. “Christ, give me a break.”
“Here.” Dick stands and takes the lighter from Nix’s frozen fingers. Not that his hands are any more functional, but he manages. He leans in close, protecting the flame with his hand, fingertips brushing Lew’s cheek, helmets touching with a clink. Lew inhales, the tip of his cigarette igniting.
Dick steps back, releasing his thumb from the wheel. The cigarette glows red in the darkness, and Lew turns his head and exhales as he takes back the lighter, dropping it into his pocket. “Excellent work, Captain Winters.”
“They didn’t promote me for nothing.”
Lew’s grin lights up his face, and it’s not until Dick hears a distant cry of “Incoming!” that he realizes a tracer is illuminating the night, sailing high above them. Artillery explodes and a nearby treetop detonates as Lew topples Dick to the ground, rolling them over the log and away from the line.
In a tangle of limbs, they brace themselves as another volley of explosions rock the forest, one far too close for comfort. They race back, diving into Lew’s foxhole, Lew swearing the whole way. “Always have to be right, don’t you?”
“It’s a curse,” Dick replies as the barrage continues, moving closer to the line, where he can hear someone - Lipton? - shout for the medic. He hopes Roe has enough morphine, but knows he doesn’t.
“Aw, hell.”
“What? Aside from the obvious.” Dick’s gaze is trained on the bursts of fire amongst the trees, the shouts of the men growing louder.
“Think I’ve got a splinter.”
“Maybe it’ll be your ticket home, Nix.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Something in Lew’s voice tugs Dick’s eyes away from the line. His gut clenches as he takes in the jagged, three-inch long chunk of wood jammed into the side of Lew’s neck. Lew’s reaching for it, and Dick snatches his hand away, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t.”
Where before the night was shrouded in darkness, now it pulses with light. There’s a thick drip of blood down Lew’s neck, and once the wood is removed, Dick envisions it will be a waterfall.
“Jesus, quit looking at me like that.” Lew yanks off his helmet with one hand, the other still locked in Dick’s grip.
Dick thinks of the scorch mark on Lew’s forehead in Holland. It had healed in a few days, and he’d gotten a new helmet. “Good as new,” he’d declared as he clumsily rolled it up his arm, as a cowboy might his Stetson, before slapping it on his head.
Dick’s voice is a croak as he calls out. “Medic!”
“Shit, is it really that bad?” Dick still has hold of Lew’s left hand, so Lew reaches around for his neck with his right.
“Don’t touch it, Nix.”
Lew lowers his hand, curling his fingers into a fist. “It doesn’t hurt. Is that good or bad? If it hit the artery I’d have bled out all over my foxhole by now.”
The thought would bring Dick to his knees if he wasn’t on them already. Despite the cold, sweat breaks out on his forehead under his helmet. “Medic!”
But he knows Roe can’t hear him amid the thunder of artillery, that he’s too far away with the men. Dick would have to go get him, and the terror that Lew will be dead when he returns curdles his stomach, threatening to send the pilfered chocolate back up.
“Dick?”
He can see in Lew’s face that he’s scaring him, making everything worse. He tosses his helmet aside and rubs his free hand through his hair. “It’s okay, Lew. Everything’s okay. Let me take a look. Probably just a scratch. Keep still, okay?”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
With what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze, Dick lets go of Lew’s fingers. He cradles Lew’s head, angling it to give him better access to the wound. He remembers the gentle pressure of hands on his head and face that morning as the razor scraped across his skin.
Focus. The jagged piece of wood narrows at the end that’s thrust into Lew’s neck. Dick touches it tentatively, and it wavers. “Good, that’s good.”
“My cologne? You like it? It’s called Eau du Woodland Hell. I’ll get you some next time I’m in town. It’s flying off the shelves.”
“It isn’t in too deep, I don’t think.” Dick opens his jacket and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. He tears off a wide strip of fabric from the tail.
“Well, that’s a relief, because I was about to go get my coins for the ferryman.”
Another nearby explosion rocks the forest, and they duck. Lew curses as he sits back up, sucking in a sharp breath as he steadies the swaying chunk of wood. “Okay, that hurt. Christ, get this thing out.”
More trees burst toward the line, and the men’s shouts echo amid the cacophony, including fresh calls for Roe. As if reading his mind, Lew nudges Dick with his knee. “He’s busy. C’mon, it’ll be fine. I trust you.”
“I might be wrong - it could be worse than I think.”
Lew smiles, but it’s more of a grimace. “You’re always right, remember?”
Something about Lew still joking sends a bloom of warmth through Dick’s chest. Taking a deep breath, he gently, carefully, eases out the sharp wood. Tossing it aside, he presses the folded piece of his shirt against the wound, which bleeds freely now.
His lungs burn and he realizes he’s holding his breath. As he exhales, he holds the wound firmly. “Looks good, Nix.” Actually, it looks like far too much blood for Dick’s liking, but the flow slows after an eternity that's probably only a minute.
Lew pats Dick’s hip, his breath warm on Dick’s face. “Thanks." They rest their heads together, Dick’s hand still clamped over Lew’s neck.
Dick’s not sure how long they sit there like that, but he realizes the attack is over when he hears footsteps approaching in the absence of sound. “Captain? Thought I heard you calling earlier.”
Lew and Dick both straighten up a moment before Roe leans over the foxhole. “Yes. Captain Nixon was hit by a piece of wood. Lodged in his neck.” Dick lifts up the blood-soaked piece of his shirt to check the wound. “I think the worst is over.”
He stands and scoots over, letting Roe take a look. The piece of bloody wooden shrapnel rests in the snow beside the foxhole. Dick picks it up gingerly, as if it’s a grenade. Realizing his hands are red, he tries to clean them off, but it’s no use.
Roe whistles. “Boy, oh boy, you got lucky, sir. Half an inch to the right and….” With quick economical movements, Roe sprinkles some sulfa and tapes on a small bandage. “Don’t get this wet if you can help it.”
Lew’s eyes sparkle. “Hell, no shaving, I guess. Doctor’s orders.”
Dick almost laughs, but sobers as Roe stands. “The men?”
“A few injuries, but nothing too serious. One fatality. A replacement….” Roe’s eyebrows draw together. “I can’t think of his name. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be.” Dick claps Roe on the shoulder. “Good job as always, Eugene. Thank you.”
Roe nods toward Lew as he hops out of the foxhole. “You too, Captain Winters.”
The cloudy night is impenetrable once more, and Roe soon disappears from sight. Lew drinks from his flask and points toward the space beside him. “Better stay. I may rip off the bandage in my sleep and start bleeding all over the place again.”
Although the odds of that happening seem rather slim, Dick doesn’t argue. Lew’s foxhole is nicer and deeper than most, with a tarp on the bottom and the top. Dick settles in beside him and pulls the plastic tightly over the hole. As he squirms in the inky darkness, trying to get comfortable without taking up too much room, Lew chuckles. “I think this will be the most effective use of space.”
He nudges and tugs and shifts Dick until they’re both on their sides facing each other, breath mingling. He says, “Lift up,” as he slides something padded under their heads.
It feels like the softest pillow, although it’s probably a folded-up old piece of canvas. Then Lew spreads out a thin blanket, pressing it down over Dick’s back. Dick smiles. “Well, this is a five-star establishment you have here, Nix.”
“No expense spared at Château Nixon, monsieur.” Lew inches closer, and even though the battle is over for now, Dick feels alive with adrenaline as Lew throws his leg over him. Their bodies seem to fit together like puzzle pieces, and Dick hasn’t felt this safe in forever.
He moves closer until it seems like he can feel Lew’s heart beating. Here in the black belly of the frozen earth, Dick thinks he must be dreaming again. They take turns advancing, an inch here, an outstretched arm there. He’s floating, outside his body yet aware of it in every pore. He clutches Lew to him with bloodstained hands.
Their noses touch on the makeshift pillow, and Lew’s fingers trace Dick’s cheek and neck, coming to rest on his pulse point. When their lips meet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. They explore softly, slowly, marking new territory.
As their tongues finally slide together - so warm and wet and wonderful - he pants quietly, and Lew answers with a moan that sends a jolt straight to Dick’s groin. The ground shakes, and it takes Dick longer than it should to understand the tremors are from a fresh attack. Artillery hammers the night, and he and Lew break apart and push themselves to sitting, yanking off the tarp.
The men do their jobs and try to survive another night, and Dick can only wait and watch with Lew at his side. He knows he should be grateful for the interruption, for the chance to write it all off as temporary insanity. Frozen desperation. He knows there are a million and one reasons that what just happened should never happen again, from sin to disgrace and everything in-between.
He knows these things.
The forest is alive again with light and terror as a flare arcs above the trees, and their eyes meet. Dick allows himself the smallest of smiles as Lew’s steady, open gaze tells him the first kiss won’t be their last.
Read the sequel: Too Far Along