Oh, What Memories
Title: Days Gone By
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Band of Brothers”/“Generation Kill”
Pairings: mentions of Nixon/Winters and Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 1,020
Rating: PG
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. The following is dedicated to melliyna and othersideoftime for being such lovely sources of creativity and inspiration in my life.
~x~
Richard Winters couldn’t help but smile. The sound of a child’s laughter brought it all back, memories as clear as the day they happened.
He could remember being in the old red barn that his grandfather’s grandfather had built on the family farm, tending to the horses as he did every day. It was hard work but Dick never minded, he loved those horses and took pride in being able to help care for them. The Winters family went back for generations in this part of Pennsylvania, had roots that went down deep to the Colonial days. One day this would all be his…but until then, he had chores to do.
Dick’s mother must’ve been in the house, more than likely making one of her amazing triple berry pies. Oh, the scent of those pies was a hint of heaven. She made them every summer for as long as the berries were in season, handing them off as gifts to friends and promising that the family never went without dessert during that time. If she wasn’t baking then his mother was crafting another of the necklaces or bracelets that she was slowly becoming famous for. Already some of the more fashionable ladies in town were wearing Mrs. Winters’ jewelry.
His sister Abigail was squeezing the kittens. Little Abby, all pigtails and freckles, was sitting on a bale of hay with the newest litter of kittens, hugging them as they mewled and giggling as they did so.
“Remember not to hurt them,” Dick cautioned. “They’re smaller than you are, you know? Kittens can be fragile.”
“I know that,” Abigail said, holding one of the little calicos in her lap. “I never hug them too hard. I love the kitties, I’d never hurt them.”
“I know you love the kitties, Abby, but sometimes you can hurt things without even realizing it; even the things you care about.”
Abigail sighed and gathered up the kittens again, holding the squirming balls of fluff as close as she dared. “But I’m not squeezing them too hard, see?”
Dick raised an eyebrow but let it slide. The kittens weren’t in any real distress.
And then he heard his father’s booming voice coming in from across the way. Dick peered out of the barn to see what the commotion was. Abigail followed on his heels, carrying no less than three tiny kittens in her wicker basket.
There was their father, out in the field…shouting at the cows in Deitsch.
Abigail laughed and looked up at her brother. “What’s he saying, Dick?”
Dick tried not to smile, knowing full well that some of the words coming out of his father’s mouth were less than family-friendly. He put a hand on his little sister’s shoulder and began leading her back towards the house.
“I don’t know, Abby,” he said, “but if Mom asks, we never heard him say those words.”
And Abigail just giggled.
“Look Papa!”
Dick Winters blinked. He almost expected to hear his father again, cursing at the cows in Deitsch, but instead of the Winters family farm in Pennsylvania his eyes looked upon the Upper West Side apartment that he shared with his husband and their daughter.
“Look Papa,” Eleanor Nixon-Winters repeated. She was sitting on the couch beside his cat Esme, grinning with mischievous glee at the bright red doll’s dress that she had somehow managed to get on the feline. “Esmeralda’s all pretty now.”
He sighed and smiled. “Ella Bella, how did you get Esme into that dress?”
Ella just giggled.
~
“Oh give me a break, with your bone structure and figure you’d look amazing in drag.”
Nathaniel Fick sighed and shook his head again, eyeballing the ruby red sequins dress being presented to him. It was a sassy little number that would’ve fit him like a glove in the event that he’d agreed to wear it but at the moment strutting out on stage in drag to sing a number from the musical “Chicago” was the last thing on his mind. Really, what Nate wanted to do was run screaming from the garment and hide under a bed somewhere. After all, that was what he used to do whenever his sisters wanted him to put on a dress.
It wasn’t easy being the youngest child of the Fick household. When his sisters Maureen and Stephanie weren’t bickering with each other they were united in their cheerful torment of baby brother Nate. The way they figured it, it was his own fault for being the perfect size to play dress-up with. From the ages of two up through nine Nate was the subject of his sisters’ dress-up games and cosmetic experiments. Somewhere hidden in the family’s Baltimore house there was a shoebox of incriminating photographs of little Nate Fick in a lilac princess gown, tiara included. When he came out of the closet a decade later Stephanie used to joke that she’d had a hand in turning him gay. Nate never confirmed nor denied the statement.
“Come on, Nate, it’s for a fund-raiser,” George Luz prodded. “Think of the children. Won’t somebody please think of the children?”
Nate chuckled under his breath and backed away slowly. “Sorry, George, but I can’t.”
“What? Why not? Jesus Christ, it’s not like it’s an affront to your masculinity or anything.”
“Gay as I may be, I don’t do drag…at least not willingly.”
George blinked. “What?”
Nate shook his head again. “Nothing. Seriously, though, I can’t.”
“Aw, you’re such a party pooper.”
“Actually, I’m declining as a means of preserving your life and the lives of others.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George said, looking utterly confused.
Nate arched one eyebrow. “Have you met my boyfriend?”
“Yeah…”
“Just imagine what kind of hell would break loose if Brad Colbert found out that I was going to be singing on stage in that?”
George looked at Nate, looked at the dress, and looked back at Nate. “Okay, good point. No drag for you, then.”
Nate Fick hoped that his sigh of relief wasn’t too loud. He still had the urge to run away screaming, though.
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Band of Brothers”/“Generation Kill”
Pairings: mentions of Nixon/Winters and Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 1,020
Rating: PG
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. The following is dedicated to melliyna and othersideoftime for being such lovely sources of creativity and inspiration in my life.
~x~
Richard Winters couldn’t help but smile. The sound of a child’s laughter brought it all back, memories as clear as the day they happened.
He could remember being in the old red barn that his grandfather’s grandfather had built on the family farm, tending to the horses as he did every day. It was hard work but Dick never minded, he loved those horses and took pride in being able to help care for them. The Winters family went back for generations in this part of Pennsylvania, had roots that went down deep to the Colonial days. One day this would all be his…but until then, he had chores to do.
Dick’s mother must’ve been in the house, more than likely making one of her amazing triple berry pies. Oh, the scent of those pies was a hint of heaven. She made them every summer for as long as the berries were in season, handing them off as gifts to friends and promising that the family never went without dessert during that time. If she wasn’t baking then his mother was crafting another of the necklaces or bracelets that she was slowly becoming famous for. Already some of the more fashionable ladies in town were wearing Mrs. Winters’ jewelry.
His sister Abigail was squeezing the kittens. Little Abby, all pigtails and freckles, was sitting on a bale of hay with the newest litter of kittens, hugging them as they mewled and giggling as they did so.
“Remember not to hurt them,” Dick cautioned. “They’re smaller than you are, you know? Kittens can be fragile.”
“I know that,” Abigail said, holding one of the little calicos in her lap. “I never hug them too hard. I love the kitties, I’d never hurt them.”
“I know you love the kitties, Abby, but sometimes you can hurt things without even realizing it; even the things you care about.”
Abigail sighed and gathered up the kittens again, holding the squirming balls of fluff as close as she dared. “But I’m not squeezing them too hard, see?”
Dick raised an eyebrow but let it slide. The kittens weren’t in any real distress.
And then he heard his father’s booming voice coming in from across the way. Dick peered out of the barn to see what the commotion was. Abigail followed on his heels, carrying no less than three tiny kittens in her wicker basket.
There was their father, out in the field…shouting at the cows in Deitsch.
Abigail laughed and looked up at her brother. “What’s he saying, Dick?”
Dick tried not to smile, knowing full well that some of the words coming out of his father’s mouth were less than family-friendly. He put a hand on his little sister’s shoulder and began leading her back towards the house.
“I don’t know, Abby,” he said, “but if Mom asks, we never heard him say those words.”
And Abigail just giggled.
“Look Papa!”
Dick Winters blinked. He almost expected to hear his father again, cursing at the cows in Deitsch, but instead of the Winters family farm in Pennsylvania his eyes looked upon the Upper West Side apartment that he shared with his husband and their daughter.
“Look Papa,” Eleanor Nixon-Winters repeated. She was sitting on the couch beside his cat Esme, grinning with mischievous glee at the bright red doll’s dress that she had somehow managed to get on the feline. “Esmeralda’s all pretty now.”
He sighed and smiled. “Ella Bella, how did you get Esme into that dress?”
Ella just giggled.
~
“Oh give me a break, with your bone structure and figure you’d look amazing in drag.”
Nathaniel Fick sighed and shook his head again, eyeballing the ruby red sequins dress being presented to him. It was a sassy little number that would’ve fit him like a glove in the event that he’d agreed to wear it but at the moment strutting out on stage in drag to sing a number from the musical “Chicago” was the last thing on his mind. Really, what Nate wanted to do was run screaming from the garment and hide under a bed somewhere. After all, that was what he used to do whenever his sisters wanted him to put on a dress.
It wasn’t easy being the youngest child of the Fick household. When his sisters Maureen and Stephanie weren’t bickering with each other they were united in their cheerful torment of baby brother Nate. The way they figured it, it was his own fault for being the perfect size to play dress-up with. From the ages of two up through nine Nate was the subject of his sisters’ dress-up games and cosmetic experiments. Somewhere hidden in the family’s Baltimore house there was a shoebox of incriminating photographs of little Nate Fick in a lilac princess gown, tiara included. When he came out of the closet a decade later Stephanie used to joke that she’d had a hand in turning him gay. Nate never confirmed nor denied the statement.
“Come on, Nate, it’s for a fund-raiser,” George Luz prodded. “Think of the children. Won’t somebody please think of the children?”
Nate chuckled under his breath and backed away slowly. “Sorry, George, but I can’t.”
“What? Why not? Jesus Christ, it’s not like it’s an affront to your masculinity or anything.”
“Gay as I may be, I don’t do drag…at least not willingly.”
George blinked. “What?”
Nate shook his head again. “Nothing. Seriously, though, I can’t.”
“Aw, you’re such a party pooper.”
“Actually, I’m declining as a means of preserving your life and the lives of others.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George said, looking utterly confused.
Nate arched one eyebrow. “Have you met my boyfriend?”
“Yeah…”
“Just imagine what kind of hell would break loose if Brad Colbert found out that I was going to be singing on stage in that?”
George looked at Nate, looked at the dress, and looked back at Nate. “Okay, good point. No drag for you, then.”
Nate Fick hoped that his sigh of relief wasn’t too loud. He still had the urge to run away screaming, though.