A First Time For Everything
Title: That Innocent Look Isn’t Very Innocent At All
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Band of Brothers”/“Generation Kill”
Pairings: Nixon/Winters, mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, Colbert/Fick, mentions of past Colbert/Caroline, Speirs/Lipton, mentions of past Lipton/Luz
Word Count: 3,767
Rating: PG-13
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. This is dedicated to redheadaholic and othersideoftime. Massive thanks go to melliyna, without whom this would not have been possible.
~x~x~
“I hate the holidays.”
Lewis Nixon uttered these words in a weary tone, sitting in his favorite chair with a lowball glass of Vat 69 on the rocks in one hand. A six foot tall Christmas tree stood on the other side of the living room, decked out with enough garland, ornaments, and blinking lights to give the one at Rockefeller Center a run for its money. A warm old recording of Judy Garland’s voice drifted out from the stereo system, telling everyone that they should have themselves a “Merry little Christmas” while snow swirled in the wind beyond the windows of his Central Park West domicile. It was a postcard perfect late afternoon in Manhattan, the kind that tourists came from all over the world to be a part of, but still Nix found something to complain about.
Brad Colbert’s ever-so-eloquent snort summed up his opinion on the matter. He sat diagonal from his friend, his towering figure folded into a loveseat meant for two but that fit him alone quite comfortably. “You’re not allowed to hate the holidays anymore, Nix,” Brad remarked. “You’re a family man now, remember? It’s all Santa Claus and claymation movies about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer from here on out.”
Nixon paused for a moment, the glass halfway to his lips, before quirking one eyebrow and twisting his mouth into something that didn’t quite resemble a smile. “Well, if you want to be technical, I was a family man before, too…”
“Oh that’s right,” Brad said, tilting his head thoughtfully. He sipped his own glass of whisky from the bottle he and Nix had just opened. “You were married before. What was her name? Carrie? Cassie?”
“Cathy.”
“Cathy, right, I’d nearly forgotten about that.”
“Yep.” Nix nodded. “You and me both.”
Brad raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“It’s only been four years since the divorce but already it feels like a whole other lifetime ago.”
“To be fair, kind of a lot’s happened in four years. You met Dick, got married again, and adopted a lovely baby girl who doesn’t scream, cry, shit, or puke nearly as much as most crotchfruit does.”
Nix had to chuckle at that. “Yeah, I just hope I don’t fuck things up this time around.”
“Then don’t,” Brad responded, completely serious.
Nix rolled his eyes. “You make it sound so easy, Brad.”
Brad shook his head and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I think you’re forgetting that this boat which you’re in happens to be the same one that I’m in. I may not have been married but I know how precious it is to be given a second chance, and I know the importance of not fucking things up again. Believe me.”
The sound of laughter drifted in from the dining room and while neither Nix nor Brad turned to look they both knew exactly what kind of scene they would find if they did. Two young men - the taller one with red hair and the shorter one a blond with floppy bangs - smiling and chatting happily to each other over mugs of peppermint tea, place settings, and one giggling infant in a bright red dress. Everything that Brad and Nix could have ever wanted from the world could be found on the other side of the wall and they both knew it.
“Point taken,” Nix conceded.
There’s a shift in the music and Judy Garland’s voice is replaced by Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on open fires. Dick always did appreciate the older renditions of classic songs better and Nix was all too happy to indulge his husband.
Thanksgiving that year had not been kind to the Nixon-Winters household. Richard Winters had gone off alone to see his parents at the family home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania in hopes of some kind of reconciliation. Seven years had passed since he’d left and things were different now; he was married, had a daughter. Dick had hoped that she could grow to know her grandparents and with the help of his sister Abigail had arranged for a tentative holiday truce. There would be dinner, hopefully peace talks. But Mr. and Mrs. Winters had their beliefs and would not bend for anything. For as long as Dick laid down with a man, for as long as he wore he ring of Lewis Nixon and not a woman, he was dead to them. Dick hadn’t talked much about Pennsylvania since he returned to New York City but Nix could tell the failed family reunion was bothering him.
That was the thing about family: it wasn’t the flesh or the blood but the heart that made people fathers and sons. Nixon tried to remember where he’d heard that quote before when a squeal of his little daughter’s laughter came from the dining room and he felt a pang in his chest the likes of which he hadn’t quite felt before.
“Cathy sent me a letter,” he announced abruptly. “She remarried, too. His name’s Mark, I think; some kind and decent upstanding man from Chicago who’s taking better care of her than I ever could. She says she’s happy.”
Brad nodded. “Good for her.”
If anyone understood Nix’s position, it was Brad. Somewhere in the Queens apartment that he still shared with three other bachelors Brad had an envelope of letters from Caroline, pictures of her and Frank and their three disgustingly cute children together. Sometimes the past was just like that: it didn’t matter how far you’d moved on, the sting still managed to find you every now and then.
“She says Charlie’s calling Mark ‘Dad’ now,” Nix said.
Another nod from Brad. “I see.”
“Yeah.”
“How old is he now?”
“My son?”
“No, Mark. Of course your son, Nix.”
Nixon half-smirked and sighed in the same breath, answering, “Charlie just turned six a couple months ago.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Good God,” Nix let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his alcohol. “We haven’t been in the same city at the same time since Cathy and I split. He was just a baby then. She sent me pictures, though, with her letter.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Nix smiled softly, sadly. “He looks a lot like my mother.”
“You should write him a letter,” Brad said.
Nix frowned and cocked his head to one side, unsure. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you should find a sheet of that nice expensive stationary that you have with your name on the header, pick up one of your fancyass Montblanc pens, and write your son a Goddamn letter one of these days,” Brad replied. “You owe him that much.”
“No, Brad, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Nix countered. “I mean, I’d thought about doing something like that before…but no, it wouldn’t work out.”
“Bullshit.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve screwed that poor kid’s life up enough as it is. I think it’s best if I just stay the hell out of things and leave him and Cathy to start a nice, happy new life without me. They’re better off that way.”
“Lewis,” Brad Colbert said, indicating his seriousness by using his friend’s first name instead of his customary nickname, “regardless of whether or not you’re in the boy’s life you’re still his father and you still owe him a fucking explanation. And either you get the balls together to provide him with some kind of message to remember you by willingly or one of these days the boy will become a man and he’ll come looking for it on his own.”
Uncomfortable silence lapsed between them for a moment before Nixon spoke again.
“Is that what you did?” he inquired. “Went looking for your biological father?”
Brad nodded firmly. “Hunted him and my biological mother down after I graduated high school. I figured it was about time I saw what had spawned me and then left me to my own devices in that orphanage.”
“Really? How’d that go for you?”
Brad shrugged. “It was what it was. I made my peace.”
Nix nodded, thinking things over.
“That’s really all it’s about in the end,” Brad went on to say, “making your peace. One day your son’s going to need to make his own peace and it’s only right that you make some effort to assist with that process.”
“Yeah.”
They were sipping their whisky when the noise from the dining room migrated in their direction.
“Come on, Ella Bella, let’s go see what Daddy’s doing,” Richard Winters cooed to the bouncing infant girl in his arms as he entered the living room.
Eleanor Isabella Margaret Nixon-Winters giggled and blurted out something in baby gibberish that she seemed very self-assured about. At six months old she was the apple of her fathers’ eyes and beloved by all her “uncles” - one lucky child if there ever was one. Dick’s parents might not have acknowledged her as their own and the Nixon clan may have still been too scandalized by their only son’s gay marriage to even contemplate an adopted daughter, but the family she’d gained in the sprawling network which was her fathers’ friends made up for those shortcomings.
“Hey sweetheart,” Lewis Nixon said, smiling at the approach of the two people he loved most in the world.
“And it looks like Daddy’s drinking,” Dick Winters remarked with a sigh, shifting their daughter from one arm to the other.
“I’ll have you know that this is still my first drink,” Nix pointed out, holding up the half-empty glass of Vat 69.
Dick raised an eyebrow and then turned to Brad Colbert to confirmation.
“No, he’s telling the truth,” Brad said. “He’s been nursing that one since we opened the bottle.”
Nix took one last sip of his whisky before setting the glass aside and reaching for Ella. “I think I’m done for the night anyway,” he said. “Come here, Ella Bella.”
“Daddy can hold Ella Bella after he brushes his teeth and doesn’t smell like Scotch blended whisky anymore,” Dick retorted, smiling and speaking in a cheerful voice even as his words poked at Nixon.
Nixon raised his eyebrows but Dick just leveled an even gaze at him. Nix sighed, hoisting himself out of his very comfortable chair.
“I think Papa’s a little cranky because he hasn’t had anything to eat yet,” Nix murmured.
“No, Papa just doesn’t want Ella to have to sit on Daddy’s lap while he reeks of a distillery.”
“Is there any particular reason why the two of you are referring to each other in third person noun form or is that just something that happens after you have kids?” Brad Colbert asked with a smile, looking back and forth between them.
Nix rolled his eyes and went off in the direction of the bathroom. “You keep laughing until Nate wants one of those.”
As if on cue, Nathaniel Fick wandered into the living room with a glass of Riesling and inquired lightly, “Until I want one of what?”
“Lew, I can’t believe you just referred to our daughter as ‘one of those,’ ” Dick called after his husband, in the meantime.
“Nix seems to have confused you with a woman whose biological clock is ticking,” Brad told Nathaniel as he made room on the loveseat for his better half to sit.
Nate Fick chuckled and said, “I have a cat and that’s good enough for me.” He curled up against Brad, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder. “Besides, I get the feeling that being little Ella Bella’s godfather is going to be more than enough of a responsibility.”
“Thank you for looking after her over Thanksgiving, by the way,” Dick said to his friend and former neighbor. “I really did appreciate that.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” Nate replied, waving the matter away. “My parents were thrilled to have her around, they love babies. You’re lucky they didn’t try to adopt her themselves.”
“Although I do believe they named little Ella an honorary Fick,” Brad supplied.
“Yeah, they did,” Nate chuckled.
Dick turned to the infant in his arms and smiled. “Do you hear that, Ella Bella? You’ve got a very large family. There’s Daddy and myself, and Auntie Abigail. There’s Uncle Nate and Uncle Brad and all the Ficks. There’s Uncle Ron and Uncle Carwood - who should be arriving here soon. And then there’s Uncle Harry and Aunt Kitty; Uncle Buck and Uncle George; Uncles Don and Skip and Alex…the list goes on and on. You’ve got such a big family, little girl, and they all love you.”
Dick sighed contentedly and hugged his little girl close, kissing her cheek as she made joyful cooing noises and more baby gibberish.
“She’s probably going to start talking soon,” Nate commented. “She’s at that age, you know?”
“Can you say ‘Papa,’ Ella?” Dick asked her, tickling her tummy. “Can you say ‘Papa?’ ”
“What about ‘Daddy?’ Do you think she can say ‘Daddy?’ ” Lewis Nixon asked as he re-entered the room. “I’m all minty fresh now,” he told Dick, grinning expectantly.
“Better than being whisky fresh,” Dick replied.
“Can I please hold my daughter now?”
Dick smiled. “Only because you asked so nicely, Lew.”
They kissed as he handed Ella off to Nix and Nate couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at the image: Papa, Daddy, and baby made three. Brad noticed and grinned contemplatively, kissing Nate’s temple and pulling his boyfriend close.
“We could have that,” Brad whispered into Nate’s ear, “if that’s what you want.”
Nate pursed his lips and looked up at Brad. “You don’t even like kids,” he finally said after a moment’s consideration.
“I like Ella,” Brad pointed out.
“Brad…”
“Anything for you, Nathaniel,” Brad uttered, his eyes soft but still intense. “You know that. Anything.”
Nate nodded slowly and breathed the words, “I know.”
Brad Colbert and Nathaniel Fick had known each other for seven years and dated for five, with a two year separation somewhere in the mix. It was a strange and incredible series of events that brought them together, split them apart, and then led them back together; and now that they were dating once more Brad was determined to never be sundered from Nate again. He’d been considering the merits of matrimony right around the same time that Nix had popped the question to Dick, but Nate was once bitten and twice shy about their relationship. Nate set the pace and he dictated that they move slow. Brad could only subdue his heart and acquiesce.
And then the doorbell rang.
Dick went off in the direction of the door, saying, “I’ll get it.”
“Ah, looks like the gang’s all here now,” Nix remarked as Ella bat his chin with one tiny hand.
Ronald Speirs and Carwood Lipton entered the apartment and everyone gathered around them in the foyer, saying hello, trading hugs and handshakes.
“There she is,” Carwood said, holding Ella up above his head as she squealed excitedly. “There’s the little lady.”
“We brought everyone gifts,” Ron announced.
“Aw, you guys didn’t have to do that,” Nix said.
“Right, but we did, so where should I put them?”
“Under the tree is just fine,” Dick said, patting Ron’s arm. “And thank you again, you really didn’t have to.”
“No, but we wanted to,” Carwood countered with a grin as they all gravitated back towards the living room. “And besides, this is Ella’s first Christmas and we couldn’t disappoint the little lady, now could we?” He tickled Ella again and she giggled, squirming. “No, we couldn’t.”
“Happy Hanukkah, by the way,” Ron Speirs told Brad Colbert. “You’ve got eight gifts in this bag here, okay?”
Brad smirked and shook his head. If ever there were two peas in a very interesting pod, it would be Brad and Ron. They understood each other implicitly, even if they were taciturn most of the time. Brad clapped his friend on the shoulder and sighed.
“Thank you, Ron,” he stated. “While Hanukkah isn’t until next week and I’m not what you would call a practicing Jew by any stretch of the imagination, your observational skills and efficient actions in the interest of others never cease to impress me.”
“I thought you said you actually put up a menorah this year?” Dick inquired.
“Only because I made him,” Nate spoke up.
There was laughter and again the party split. Dick took Ella back and carried her off, talking with Nate and Carwood as they drifted back into the kitchen. Nix, Brad, and Ron circled up around the bottle of whisky.
“Care for a drink?” Lewis Nixon offered.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Ronald Speirs said, picking up a glass.
“I take it that Carwood is driving?” Brad Colbert remarked.
Ron smirked. “He is now.”
They chuckled amongst themselves until Ron took a deep breath and declared, “This is it, gentlemen: I’m going to ask him.”
Nix and Brad exchanged glances before looking back to Ron.
“Seriously?” Nix inquired.
“Because you’ve been threatening to since May and I haven’t seen any progress in that field yet,” Brad added.
“Yeah, well, I booked a flight to Mourmelon, France for next week and Carwood’s coming with me,” Ron said. “I’m going through with it. I think we’ve waited a reasonable amount of time, we’ve been together long enough.” Another deep breath, followed by a small gulp of Vat 69. “Gentlemen, I’m going to ask Carwood to marry me.”
Nix laughed and cheered, slapping Ron on the upper back, while Brad kept an eye on the direction of the kitchen.
“Does Carwood have any idea?” Brad asked.
“Not that I know of,” Ron answered.
The sound of laughter from the other room was loud enough to drown out the conversation they were having so Brad shifted his attention back to his two friends.
“Well then good luck,” Brad said, shaking Ron’s hand and smiling.
“I hope he says yes,” Ron muttered.
“Of course he’ll say yes,” Nix said, his brow crinkling. “Why wouldn’t he say yes? We’ve had this conversation before, probably with alcohol involved. You’re being ridiculous Ron. You and Mr. Lipton are getting hitched and I demand to be your best man at the wedding.”
Ron’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. “Oh you demand it, do you?”
“Come on, who else could you possibly ask?”
“I have some people in mind,” Ron responded, slightly defensive.
“Yeah, but how many of them aren’t off in some Godforsaken country fighting a guerilla war or assassinating some shady third world political figure under sanction of the government in that ‘we deny everything’ kind of way?” Brad prodded.
Ron sighed. “Okay, so maybe some of them might be out of town for the ceremony…”
Nixon snickered, “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Who else is there? George Luz? You stole Carwood from him.”
“I didn’t steal Carwood…”
Nix snorted.
“It was a mutual break-up on their part and I simply stepped into the empty spot that George left at Carwood’s side.”
“Right, yeah, whatever, Ron, you’re totally convincing. So I’m your best man, right?”
Ron sighed and turned to his other friend. “Brad?”
“Not getting involved with that,” Brad quickly said, switching his attention back to their other halves. “Besides, I do believe our young men are approaching so I think it’d be best to derail this line of conversation.”
Ron chuckled. “Roger that.”
“Well, since everyone’s here now I think it’s time for us to sit down and eat,” Dick Winters proclaimed as he stepped into the dining room.
“Sounds good to me,” Carwood Lipton agreed. “I’ve been saving my appetite for this.”
Meanwhile, Ella Nixon-Winters made some interesting vocalization that sounded like they were very much leaning towards a word.
“Guys, I think she’s trying to talk,” Nathaniel Fick said.
There was a rapid flurry of movement as cameras were brought out and set to video for what might they hoped would be Ella’s first word. She sat in her highchair at the dinner table while her fathers cooed and encouraged her to say “Papa” or “Daddy” or something similar for ten minutes straight.
“What happens if she says ‘Dada?’ ” Nate inquired.
Dick and Nix exchanged glances before the former turned to Ella’s godfather and the latter looked back to Ella herself.
“Well, I suppose Lew and I will both be content with that one, Nate,” Dick replied.
And suddenly there was a little voice.
“Nate!”
The room went silent. A pin could have been heard dropping. All eyes focused on Ella, then Nate, then back on Ella.
“Did she just?”
Ella laughed and smiled, very proud of herself, and shouted her first word again with tiny hands outstretched to her godfather. “Nate! Nate, Nate Nate!”
Nate Fick smothered a smile and looked awkwardly apologetic to Dick and Nix.
“Well, gents, I think this is what you get for letting the Fick family dub Ella as one of their own,” Brad mused, putting an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders.
“Now we know who Ella’s favorite uncle is,” Carwood chuckled.
“At least her first word wasn’t anything vulgar,” Ron offered.
“Why? Was yours?”
Ron just smiled.
“Yeah, mine, too,” Brad laughed.
Nix, meantime, just gaped at Nate. “I’m speechless,” he said.
“Really? Wow, well, there is a first time for everything,” Ron teased.
“Sorry,” Nate commented. “I know you probably wanted her first word to be something in reference to one of you guys, you know, seeing as how you’re her parents.”
Dick sighed but then smiled. “Well, it would’ve been nice but at least she’s talking at all. Besides, they’ll be plenty of time for her to say Papa and Daddy from this point on because one word always leads to another.” He lifted Ella out of her highchair. “But in the meantime, I think someone’s asking for you.”
Nathaniel Fick laughed and held Ella Nixon-Winters, kissing her cheek as she giggled and repeated his name again.
“Just look at those two,” Brad remarked with a warm expression.
“Her favorite uncle,” Ron reiterated.
“Don’t let them fool you. Their innocent looks aren’t very innocent at all.”
Ron laughed. “Dick and Nix are going to have their hands full.”
“You can say that again.”
“Especially if she decides she wants to be like Uncle Nate.”
“You have no idea.” Brad shook his head. “Especially if she decides to start dancing like him.”
Ron and Brad exchanged glances, then turned to their friend and said, in tandem, “Nix…”
And in the background, Judy Garland sang again.
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Band of Brothers”/“Generation Kill”
Pairings: Nixon/Winters, mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, Colbert/Fick, mentions of past Colbert/Caroline, Speirs/Lipton, mentions of past Lipton/Luz
Word Count: 3,767
Rating: PG-13
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. This is dedicated to redheadaholic and othersideoftime. Massive thanks go to melliyna, without whom this would not have been possible.
~x~x~
“I hate the holidays.”
Lewis Nixon uttered these words in a weary tone, sitting in his favorite chair with a lowball glass of Vat 69 on the rocks in one hand. A six foot tall Christmas tree stood on the other side of the living room, decked out with enough garland, ornaments, and blinking lights to give the one at Rockefeller Center a run for its money. A warm old recording of Judy Garland’s voice drifted out from the stereo system, telling everyone that they should have themselves a “Merry little Christmas” while snow swirled in the wind beyond the windows of his Central Park West domicile. It was a postcard perfect late afternoon in Manhattan, the kind that tourists came from all over the world to be a part of, but still Nix found something to complain about.
Brad Colbert’s ever-so-eloquent snort summed up his opinion on the matter. He sat diagonal from his friend, his towering figure folded into a loveseat meant for two but that fit him alone quite comfortably. “You’re not allowed to hate the holidays anymore, Nix,” Brad remarked. “You’re a family man now, remember? It’s all Santa Claus and claymation movies about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer from here on out.”
Nixon paused for a moment, the glass halfway to his lips, before quirking one eyebrow and twisting his mouth into something that didn’t quite resemble a smile. “Well, if you want to be technical, I was a family man before, too…”
“Oh that’s right,” Brad said, tilting his head thoughtfully. He sipped his own glass of whisky from the bottle he and Nix had just opened. “You were married before. What was her name? Carrie? Cassie?”
“Cathy.”
“Cathy, right, I’d nearly forgotten about that.”
“Yep.” Nix nodded. “You and me both.”
Brad raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“It’s only been four years since the divorce but already it feels like a whole other lifetime ago.”
“To be fair, kind of a lot’s happened in four years. You met Dick, got married again, and adopted a lovely baby girl who doesn’t scream, cry, shit, or puke nearly as much as most crotchfruit does.”
Nix had to chuckle at that. “Yeah, I just hope I don’t fuck things up this time around.”
“Then don’t,” Brad responded, completely serious.
Nix rolled his eyes. “You make it sound so easy, Brad.”
Brad shook his head and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I think you’re forgetting that this boat which you’re in happens to be the same one that I’m in. I may not have been married but I know how precious it is to be given a second chance, and I know the importance of not fucking things up again. Believe me.”
The sound of laughter drifted in from the dining room and while neither Nix nor Brad turned to look they both knew exactly what kind of scene they would find if they did. Two young men - the taller one with red hair and the shorter one a blond with floppy bangs - smiling and chatting happily to each other over mugs of peppermint tea, place settings, and one giggling infant in a bright red dress. Everything that Brad and Nix could have ever wanted from the world could be found on the other side of the wall and they both knew it.
“Point taken,” Nix conceded.
There’s a shift in the music and Judy Garland’s voice is replaced by Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on open fires. Dick always did appreciate the older renditions of classic songs better and Nix was all too happy to indulge his husband.
Thanksgiving that year had not been kind to the Nixon-Winters household. Richard Winters had gone off alone to see his parents at the family home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania in hopes of some kind of reconciliation. Seven years had passed since he’d left and things were different now; he was married, had a daughter. Dick had hoped that she could grow to know her grandparents and with the help of his sister Abigail had arranged for a tentative holiday truce. There would be dinner, hopefully peace talks. But Mr. and Mrs. Winters had their beliefs and would not bend for anything. For as long as Dick laid down with a man, for as long as he wore he ring of Lewis Nixon and not a woman, he was dead to them. Dick hadn’t talked much about Pennsylvania since he returned to New York City but Nix could tell the failed family reunion was bothering him.
That was the thing about family: it wasn’t the flesh or the blood but the heart that made people fathers and sons. Nixon tried to remember where he’d heard that quote before when a squeal of his little daughter’s laughter came from the dining room and he felt a pang in his chest the likes of which he hadn’t quite felt before.
“Cathy sent me a letter,” he announced abruptly. “She remarried, too. His name’s Mark, I think; some kind and decent upstanding man from Chicago who’s taking better care of her than I ever could. She says she’s happy.”
Brad nodded. “Good for her.”
If anyone understood Nix’s position, it was Brad. Somewhere in the Queens apartment that he still shared with three other bachelors Brad had an envelope of letters from Caroline, pictures of her and Frank and their three disgustingly cute children together. Sometimes the past was just like that: it didn’t matter how far you’d moved on, the sting still managed to find you every now and then.
“She says Charlie’s calling Mark ‘Dad’ now,” Nix said.
Another nod from Brad. “I see.”
“Yeah.”
“How old is he now?”
“My son?”
“No, Mark. Of course your son, Nix.”
Nixon half-smirked and sighed in the same breath, answering, “Charlie just turned six a couple months ago.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Good God,” Nix let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his alcohol. “We haven’t been in the same city at the same time since Cathy and I split. He was just a baby then. She sent me pictures, though, with her letter.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Nix smiled softly, sadly. “He looks a lot like my mother.”
“You should write him a letter,” Brad said.
Nix frowned and cocked his head to one side, unsure. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you should find a sheet of that nice expensive stationary that you have with your name on the header, pick up one of your fancyass Montblanc pens, and write your son a Goddamn letter one of these days,” Brad replied. “You owe him that much.”
“No, Brad, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Nix countered. “I mean, I’d thought about doing something like that before…but no, it wouldn’t work out.”
“Bullshit.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve screwed that poor kid’s life up enough as it is. I think it’s best if I just stay the hell out of things and leave him and Cathy to start a nice, happy new life without me. They’re better off that way.”
“Lewis,” Brad Colbert said, indicating his seriousness by using his friend’s first name instead of his customary nickname, “regardless of whether or not you’re in the boy’s life you’re still his father and you still owe him a fucking explanation. And either you get the balls together to provide him with some kind of message to remember you by willingly or one of these days the boy will become a man and he’ll come looking for it on his own.”
Uncomfortable silence lapsed between them for a moment before Nixon spoke again.
“Is that what you did?” he inquired. “Went looking for your biological father?”
Brad nodded firmly. “Hunted him and my biological mother down after I graduated high school. I figured it was about time I saw what had spawned me and then left me to my own devices in that orphanage.”
“Really? How’d that go for you?”
Brad shrugged. “It was what it was. I made my peace.”
Nix nodded, thinking things over.
“That’s really all it’s about in the end,” Brad went on to say, “making your peace. One day your son’s going to need to make his own peace and it’s only right that you make some effort to assist with that process.”
“Yeah.”
They were sipping their whisky when the noise from the dining room migrated in their direction.
“Come on, Ella Bella, let’s go see what Daddy’s doing,” Richard Winters cooed to the bouncing infant girl in his arms as he entered the living room.
Eleanor Isabella Margaret Nixon-Winters giggled and blurted out something in baby gibberish that she seemed very self-assured about. At six months old she was the apple of her fathers’ eyes and beloved by all her “uncles” - one lucky child if there ever was one. Dick’s parents might not have acknowledged her as their own and the Nixon clan may have still been too scandalized by their only son’s gay marriage to even contemplate an adopted daughter, but the family she’d gained in the sprawling network which was her fathers’ friends made up for those shortcomings.
“Hey sweetheart,” Lewis Nixon said, smiling at the approach of the two people he loved most in the world.
“And it looks like Daddy’s drinking,” Dick Winters remarked with a sigh, shifting their daughter from one arm to the other.
“I’ll have you know that this is still my first drink,” Nix pointed out, holding up the half-empty glass of Vat 69.
Dick raised an eyebrow and then turned to Brad Colbert to confirmation.
“No, he’s telling the truth,” Brad said. “He’s been nursing that one since we opened the bottle.”
Nix took one last sip of his whisky before setting the glass aside and reaching for Ella. “I think I’m done for the night anyway,” he said. “Come here, Ella Bella.”
“Daddy can hold Ella Bella after he brushes his teeth and doesn’t smell like Scotch blended whisky anymore,” Dick retorted, smiling and speaking in a cheerful voice even as his words poked at Nixon.
Nixon raised his eyebrows but Dick just leveled an even gaze at him. Nix sighed, hoisting himself out of his very comfortable chair.
“I think Papa’s a little cranky because he hasn’t had anything to eat yet,” Nix murmured.
“No, Papa just doesn’t want Ella to have to sit on Daddy’s lap while he reeks of a distillery.”
“Is there any particular reason why the two of you are referring to each other in third person noun form or is that just something that happens after you have kids?” Brad Colbert asked with a smile, looking back and forth between them.
Nix rolled his eyes and went off in the direction of the bathroom. “You keep laughing until Nate wants one of those.”
As if on cue, Nathaniel Fick wandered into the living room with a glass of Riesling and inquired lightly, “Until I want one of what?”
“Lew, I can’t believe you just referred to our daughter as ‘one of those,’ ” Dick called after his husband, in the meantime.
“Nix seems to have confused you with a woman whose biological clock is ticking,” Brad told Nathaniel as he made room on the loveseat for his better half to sit.
Nate Fick chuckled and said, “I have a cat and that’s good enough for me.” He curled up against Brad, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder. “Besides, I get the feeling that being little Ella Bella’s godfather is going to be more than enough of a responsibility.”
“Thank you for looking after her over Thanksgiving, by the way,” Dick said to his friend and former neighbor. “I really did appreciate that.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” Nate replied, waving the matter away. “My parents were thrilled to have her around, they love babies. You’re lucky they didn’t try to adopt her themselves.”
“Although I do believe they named little Ella an honorary Fick,” Brad supplied.
“Yeah, they did,” Nate chuckled.
Dick turned to the infant in his arms and smiled. “Do you hear that, Ella Bella? You’ve got a very large family. There’s Daddy and myself, and Auntie Abigail. There’s Uncle Nate and Uncle Brad and all the Ficks. There’s Uncle Ron and Uncle Carwood - who should be arriving here soon. And then there’s Uncle Harry and Aunt Kitty; Uncle Buck and Uncle George; Uncles Don and Skip and Alex…the list goes on and on. You’ve got such a big family, little girl, and they all love you.”
Dick sighed contentedly and hugged his little girl close, kissing her cheek as she made joyful cooing noises and more baby gibberish.
“She’s probably going to start talking soon,” Nate commented. “She’s at that age, you know?”
“Can you say ‘Papa,’ Ella?” Dick asked her, tickling her tummy. “Can you say ‘Papa?’ ”
“What about ‘Daddy?’ Do you think she can say ‘Daddy?’ ” Lewis Nixon asked as he re-entered the room. “I’m all minty fresh now,” he told Dick, grinning expectantly.
“Better than being whisky fresh,” Dick replied.
“Can I please hold my daughter now?”
Dick smiled. “Only because you asked so nicely, Lew.”
They kissed as he handed Ella off to Nix and Nate couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at the image: Papa, Daddy, and baby made three. Brad noticed and grinned contemplatively, kissing Nate’s temple and pulling his boyfriend close.
“We could have that,” Brad whispered into Nate’s ear, “if that’s what you want.”
Nate pursed his lips and looked up at Brad. “You don’t even like kids,” he finally said after a moment’s consideration.
“I like Ella,” Brad pointed out.
“Brad…”
“Anything for you, Nathaniel,” Brad uttered, his eyes soft but still intense. “You know that. Anything.”
Nate nodded slowly and breathed the words, “I know.”
Brad Colbert and Nathaniel Fick had known each other for seven years and dated for five, with a two year separation somewhere in the mix. It was a strange and incredible series of events that brought them together, split them apart, and then led them back together; and now that they were dating once more Brad was determined to never be sundered from Nate again. He’d been considering the merits of matrimony right around the same time that Nix had popped the question to Dick, but Nate was once bitten and twice shy about their relationship. Nate set the pace and he dictated that they move slow. Brad could only subdue his heart and acquiesce.
And then the doorbell rang.
Dick went off in the direction of the door, saying, “I’ll get it.”
“Ah, looks like the gang’s all here now,” Nix remarked as Ella bat his chin with one tiny hand.
Ronald Speirs and Carwood Lipton entered the apartment and everyone gathered around them in the foyer, saying hello, trading hugs and handshakes.
“There she is,” Carwood said, holding Ella up above his head as she squealed excitedly. “There’s the little lady.”
“We brought everyone gifts,” Ron announced.
“Aw, you guys didn’t have to do that,” Nix said.
“Right, but we did, so where should I put them?”
“Under the tree is just fine,” Dick said, patting Ron’s arm. “And thank you again, you really didn’t have to.”
“No, but we wanted to,” Carwood countered with a grin as they all gravitated back towards the living room. “And besides, this is Ella’s first Christmas and we couldn’t disappoint the little lady, now could we?” He tickled Ella again and she giggled, squirming. “No, we couldn’t.”
“Happy Hanukkah, by the way,” Ron Speirs told Brad Colbert. “You’ve got eight gifts in this bag here, okay?”
Brad smirked and shook his head. If ever there were two peas in a very interesting pod, it would be Brad and Ron. They understood each other implicitly, even if they were taciturn most of the time. Brad clapped his friend on the shoulder and sighed.
“Thank you, Ron,” he stated. “While Hanukkah isn’t until next week and I’m not what you would call a practicing Jew by any stretch of the imagination, your observational skills and efficient actions in the interest of others never cease to impress me.”
“I thought you said you actually put up a menorah this year?” Dick inquired.
“Only because I made him,” Nate spoke up.
There was laughter and again the party split. Dick took Ella back and carried her off, talking with Nate and Carwood as they drifted back into the kitchen. Nix, Brad, and Ron circled up around the bottle of whisky.
“Care for a drink?” Lewis Nixon offered.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Ronald Speirs said, picking up a glass.
“I take it that Carwood is driving?” Brad Colbert remarked.
Ron smirked. “He is now.”
They chuckled amongst themselves until Ron took a deep breath and declared, “This is it, gentlemen: I’m going to ask him.”
Nix and Brad exchanged glances before looking back to Ron.
“Seriously?” Nix inquired.
“Because you’ve been threatening to since May and I haven’t seen any progress in that field yet,” Brad added.
“Yeah, well, I booked a flight to Mourmelon, France for next week and Carwood’s coming with me,” Ron said. “I’m going through with it. I think we’ve waited a reasonable amount of time, we’ve been together long enough.” Another deep breath, followed by a small gulp of Vat 69. “Gentlemen, I’m going to ask Carwood to marry me.”
Nix laughed and cheered, slapping Ron on the upper back, while Brad kept an eye on the direction of the kitchen.
“Does Carwood have any idea?” Brad asked.
“Not that I know of,” Ron answered.
The sound of laughter from the other room was loud enough to drown out the conversation they were having so Brad shifted his attention back to his two friends.
“Well then good luck,” Brad said, shaking Ron’s hand and smiling.
“I hope he says yes,” Ron muttered.
“Of course he’ll say yes,” Nix said, his brow crinkling. “Why wouldn’t he say yes? We’ve had this conversation before, probably with alcohol involved. You’re being ridiculous Ron. You and Mr. Lipton are getting hitched and I demand to be your best man at the wedding.”
Ron’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. “Oh you demand it, do you?”
“Come on, who else could you possibly ask?”
“I have some people in mind,” Ron responded, slightly defensive.
“Yeah, but how many of them aren’t off in some Godforsaken country fighting a guerilla war or assassinating some shady third world political figure under sanction of the government in that ‘we deny everything’ kind of way?” Brad prodded.
Ron sighed. “Okay, so maybe some of them might be out of town for the ceremony…”
Nixon snickered, “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Who else is there? George Luz? You stole Carwood from him.”
“I didn’t steal Carwood…”
Nix snorted.
“It was a mutual break-up on their part and I simply stepped into the empty spot that George left at Carwood’s side.”
“Right, yeah, whatever, Ron, you’re totally convincing. So I’m your best man, right?”
Ron sighed and turned to his other friend. “Brad?”
“Not getting involved with that,” Brad quickly said, switching his attention back to their other halves. “Besides, I do believe our young men are approaching so I think it’d be best to derail this line of conversation.”
Ron chuckled. “Roger that.”
“Well, since everyone’s here now I think it’s time for us to sit down and eat,” Dick Winters proclaimed as he stepped into the dining room.
“Sounds good to me,” Carwood Lipton agreed. “I’ve been saving my appetite for this.”
Meanwhile, Ella Nixon-Winters made some interesting vocalization that sounded like they were very much leaning towards a word.
“Guys, I think she’s trying to talk,” Nathaniel Fick said.
There was a rapid flurry of movement as cameras were brought out and set to video for what might they hoped would be Ella’s first word. She sat in her highchair at the dinner table while her fathers cooed and encouraged her to say “Papa” or “Daddy” or something similar for ten minutes straight.
“What happens if she says ‘Dada?’ ” Nate inquired.
Dick and Nix exchanged glances before the former turned to Ella’s godfather and the latter looked back to Ella herself.
“Well, I suppose Lew and I will both be content with that one, Nate,” Dick replied.
And suddenly there was a little voice.
“Nate!”
The room went silent. A pin could have been heard dropping. All eyes focused on Ella, then Nate, then back on Ella.
“Did she just?”
Ella laughed and smiled, very proud of herself, and shouted her first word again with tiny hands outstretched to her godfather. “Nate! Nate, Nate Nate!”
Nate Fick smothered a smile and looked awkwardly apologetic to Dick and Nix.
“Well, gents, I think this is what you get for letting the Fick family dub Ella as one of their own,” Brad mused, putting an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders.
“Now we know who Ella’s favorite uncle is,” Carwood chuckled.
“At least her first word wasn’t anything vulgar,” Ron offered.
“Why? Was yours?”
Ron just smiled.
“Yeah, mine, too,” Brad laughed.
Nix, meantime, just gaped at Nate. “I’m speechless,” he said.
“Really? Wow, well, there is a first time for everything,” Ron teased.
“Sorry,” Nate commented. “I know you probably wanted her first word to be something in reference to one of you guys, you know, seeing as how you’re her parents.”
Dick sighed but then smiled. “Well, it would’ve been nice but at least she’s talking at all. Besides, they’ll be plenty of time for her to say Papa and Daddy from this point on because one word always leads to another.” He lifted Ella out of her highchair. “But in the meantime, I think someone’s asking for you.”
Nathaniel Fick laughed and held Ella Nixon-Winters, kissing her cheek as she giggled and repeated his name again.
“Just look at those two,” Brad remarked with a warm expression.
“Her favorite uncle,” Ron reiterated.
“Don’t let them fool you. Their innocent looks aren’t very innocent at all.”
Ron laughed. “Dick and Nix are going to have their hands full.”
“You can say that again.”
“Especially if she decides she wants to be like Uncle Nate.”
“You have no idea.” Brad shook his head. “Especially if she decides to start dancing like him.”
Ron and Brad exchanged glances, then turned to their friend and said, in tandem, “Nix…”
And in the background, Judy Garland sang again.