Chapter Text
Dick had routinely thought he was better than the other men selected to be officers. Not that he would admit it out loud. Though he did dance with that truth during his prayers. It was the only time he ever allowed himself genuine honesty. Dick had thought Nixon was a little too loud at first. Too smug. Too frivolous. Maybe even a little naive of the real world. Not at all what Dick would’ve personally selected for an officer. Though Nixon was well educated, which landed him in Officer Candidate School in the first place. He was impressed by Nixon’s lackadaisy smarts. The man would lean back in his seat, watching clouds float by through the nearby window or shuffling through papers and idly doodling in the margins when an instructor would call upon him and he could respond- correctly- without so much as looking up.
It was as if Nixon took one look at him in April of 1942 at Fort Benning, and thought ‘You and I, we’re gonna be friends.’ Nothing Dick did seemed to shake or deter the brunet. He turned down invitations to join the men on their weekend pass (Dick much preferred to stay in and study) and Nixon still invited him every time. Still, he consistently sidled up beside him or across from him in the mess hall even if Dick didn’t speak. Nixon liked to talk anyway, always filling that space. About Yale, about his dog, about what he got up to on weekend passes.
(“Ya should’ve seen her, Dick, gorgeous, worth almost missing that last bus back.” Nixon plopped onto his cot and Dick only rolled his eyes, but his friend continued anyway, “Shit, maybe you knew her, had this mane of red hair, like yours. Maybe a distant cousin? You Mennonites practically have litters, right?”)
Dick had surmised that Nixon was from a wealthy and influential family and that he was married, but neither were topics that Nixon breached on his own. Even with his affinity for hearing his own voice.
Maybe it was to keep a distance Dick thought. No one really knew where they were headed after OCS. No sense in getting too attached to a friend that was only going to be ripped away from you one way or another. Yet somehow Dick found himself exchanging letters with Nixon while his friend was stationed in California with a bunch of MPs. He mentioned signing up for the paratroopers and next thing he knows, Nixon has too.
AUGUST 1942
I can’t ignore that I only landed in California because my mother pulled strings to assure I was within her grasp, He had written to Dick. Of course I understand her worry and desire to keep her baby boy on U.S soil, but I didn’t join the army for pride or admiration. The paratroopers will promise some use of me.
Let me know your plans before we’re due in Toombs. If I have to ride all the way from California alone, it would be nice to catch my last train with you. Fill you in on everything that these damn desk jockeys would otherwise censor.
Dick had been sitting with an uncertainty digging deeper and deeper into his gut ever since graduation at OCS. A cocktail of anticipation, excitement and anxiety. He had read that ‘Currahee’ meant ‘Stands Alone’ but he was secretly grateful that he wouldn’t be, not with Nixon at his side. So he agrees to await Nixon at a station so they can make the last leg of their journey to Toombs together.
Nixon let out a low whistle when he looked at the gold bar pinned to Dick’s collar,
“Seeing is believing…Were mamma and daddy Winters proud?” He teased and reached a hand out to smooth a thumb over the Second Lieutenant pin. Before he pulls away his thumb brushes up against Dick’s smoothly shaven throat.
“Of course.” Dick replied in all seriousness. Nixon rolled his eyes. Of course they were. Of course Dick had a picturesque little country bumpkin family. Where Dick did his best and it was immediately more than enough. What was that like? Nixon wondered. To be enough, to excel so effortlessly.
“And how was California?” Dick asked as they found their seats on the train, facing one another, their knees brushing as they settled in. Nixon immediately took a pull from his flask.
“Kathy’s pregnant.” He said it so unimpressively that Dick casted him a look with hidden concern,
“That’s great Nix, congratulations.” His words are almost cautious.
“She wants the name ‘Michael’ for a boy or ‘Nancy’ for a girl.” Nixon grimaced at both names.
“They sound like perfectly good names to me.”
“Nancy Nixon? Names don’t need alliteration.” He shook his head, “And I already know she would call the poor boy ‘Mikey’” He stuck his tongue out as if gagging. Dick frowned, he thought Nixon might be a little more excited to hear that he was going to be a father.
They disembarked from the train and boarded a truck to take them into Toombs. They sat across the aisle from each other like they had on the train, duffle bags stuffed beneath their legs. Neither of them could ignore as they passed by a factory, and digested what the sign had indicated. Coffins…a coffin factory sitting just adjacent to the train station, situated on their way to a life mission that might never see them home. They exchanged uneasy glances, both men’s minds hoping against hope that it wasn’t an omen.
Their gut feelings didn’t improve when they deposited their belongings into their officer housing. Little more than impressive wooden shacks with no electric lights.
“Suppose we ought to get used to roughing it at some point.” Nixon lamented and tossed his bag onto the cot beside where Dick had made his claim. That night they laid facing one another in their respective beds as mosquitos buzzed about. Dick considered pulling his thin blanket over his head to block them out but even at night the summer Georgia heat was still stifling. At least for the time being.
“Think there’ll be any part of us left by morning or will we get eaten alive?” Nixon whispered into the dark and fellow officer, Moore, shushed him from across the room. Still, an annoyed roommate was worth the faint smile he could make out in the darkness coming from Dick.
They learned quickly that Sobel was not to be trifled with. Or rather, Dick understood immediately, while Nix tested his limits. One afternoon Nix entered their hut with a scowl. His PT clothes were entirely drenched with sweat and covered in the orange-red tinge of Georgia dust.
“It’s like you’re asking to be put through that course twenty times a day. You missed dinner entirely.” Moore shook his head as they watched Nix retrieve a fresh change of clothes and his toiletries. Dick looked over the top of one of his military manuals to appraise Nix’s condition. Red faced and breathing hard. Dick tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the way his soaked through shirt clung to his body.
“Could always bow out.” Matheson, who bunked on the other side of Dick, shrugged, “How many of us showed up to Benning? 1,800? Where are we now? Less than 1,000 I think.” Matheson had a great tendency with numbers and, with the way his eyes flicked around, Dick was sure that Matheson could see them appear before him in the air.
“Fuck that.” Lewis reached one hand behind his head and pulled his sweaty shirt up and off, exposing the contrast of dark body hair against pale skin, “I’m not gonna transfer out. I’m gonna transfer up. Just you wait. Sink and Strayer have heard my name plenty of times by now, like a planted little seed.” He slammed the lid of his footlocker down, “Just you wait, boys.” Nix was all confidence, even glancing up to send a wink in Dick’s direction before striding out and heading to the showers. The image of Nix standing there shirtless, aiming a well crafted wink his way sticks in Dick’s mind more than he wanted it to.
When Nix returned, Matheson and Moore had fallen asleep but Dick waited up, the tiny lamp light dwindling. Nix didn’t need to speak when he tilted his head slightly and twitched a bold brow to ask what Dick was still doing awake. He was usually the first asleep. Dick silently produced two dinner rolls from his coat pocket, that hung just beside his cot and tossed them over to Nix. Nix pretends to be scandalized, mouth dropping open and feigning a gasp. Dick -who otherwise was a stickler for the rules- had stolen from the mess hall, for him. It was no feast but to Nix, Dick might as well have handed him a golden goose. He moved a hand over his heart and tapped twice in appreciation before tearing one apart and popping the piece into his mouth. Dick merely gave his signature mouth twitch of a smile and leaned over to turn out the lamp.
While Nix goaded Sobel into assigning him more physical training, Dick took such discipline upon himself. He knew Sobel’s best time for Currahee and he was going to find a way to beat it. Even if he knew Easy would be running the mountain that day, Dick still rose with the sun and ventured up the mountain. Most days he ran, pushing himself to exhaustion. Once or twice until he threw up bile onto the dusty path.
“Jesus Christ, Dick.” Nix’s voice caught Dick’s attention as he leaned beside a supply shed, heaving into the grass, having finished his first run of the day. He craned his head to look up from where his hands were braced on his knees to see Nix looking down at him, concerned and with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Nix patted his body down before landing on the canteen in his leg pocket and handed it over.
“Four…” Dick tried to speak but paused to rinse his mouth and spit into the grass once more. “Forty four minutes…” he panted, “There’s no way he can do it in any less.” Dick didn’t need to elaborate on who.
“You are a glutton for punishment.” Nix laughed, sending smoke to curl into the pink morning sky.
“You’re one to talk.” Dick quipped back and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
The next morning when Dick stepped outside their tent and began his limbering up process, he was shocked when Nix trailed after him. His eyes were still full of sleep and hair was a ruffled mess, but he insisted,
“Maybe if I burn out first thing in the morning, I won’t be begging for Herr Black Swan’s attention.”
Dick usually preferred the quiet of his solo runs. But if there was silence, Nix was likely to fill it.
“Did you hear ‘bout Skinny?” Nix asked as they jogged. With Nix, Dick was forced to slow his pace to accommodate his friend and allow himself enough extra lung capacity for strained conversation. Dick only hummed in inquiry. “Sobel caught him in the middle of some heavy petting with one of his girlfriends down by the train tracks. Know what he said?” Nix preemptively laughed, “Said something like ‘well, sir, the train was coming, she was coming, I was coming…” Nix isn’t perfect at mimicking Sisk’s voice, but it was good enough that Luz would've been proud. Dick chokes on his own laugh. He couldn’t imagine having the audacity to respond to a Captain like that.
“Sobel’s gotta let up on these weekend pass restrictions.” Nix shook his head, “Gotta give the guys some kind of reprieve to sow their oats. Otherwise he’s gonna find bigger scandals than guys sneaking broads around. ” Dick almost asked what could be worse than getting caught sneaking a woman onto the base but snaps his mouth shut again. Maybe it was best if he didn’t ask for clarification. He tucked his head down and picked up his jogging pace.
Nix didn’t always wake early to run with Dick. When he did, he eventually didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet. Especially after Nix was sure that Dick stopped pushing himself to the point of dry heaving. Some days Nix would stumble out their tent and trail after Dick and admire the way the sun slowly graced the Georgia woods, painting everything in gold. Nix wouldn’t ever say he enjoyed running Currahee, but he couldn’t deny that the sight of a misty morning from atop the mountain was a beautiful one. Maybe Dick was onto something with it, he thought.
Somehow Nix was always just there, appearing out of thin air at Dick’s side. Like the morning after that awful night march,
“Why them?” Nix asked as they sat.
“It was their turn.” Dick replied simply. Nix laughed,
“Sobel’s a genius. Had a headmaster just like him in prep school. I know the type.” Nix usually took his coffee black but this sludge that passed for coffee made him cave, and grab the sugar to pour a considerable amount. Dick usually did the same, secretly giving into his hidden sweet tooth.
“Lewis, Michelangelo’s a genius. Beethoven’s a genius…” Dick leaned forward, keeping his voice lowered. Nix tried to ignore the satisfaction of Dick addressing him by his first name instead of his abbreviated last name. Of course, goody two shoes Dick would never allow himself to be caught speaking ill of a superior officer. Nix was honored that he was allowed to privy to such innermost thoughts. Lewis took a brief glance around before also leaning in, their hands brushing on the tabletop between their trays. The gentle brush sends a tingle up Lewis’s arm,though as far as he could tell, Dick felt nothing. Nix continued anyway despite his nerves,
“You know a man in this company who wouldn't double time Currahee with a full pack just to piss in that man’s morning coffee?”
Dick didn’t respond but the look he gave instead was all the confirmation he needed that Dick agreed.
Dick knew that Nixon liked attention. That much was clear from the way he joked and drank and always had that mischievous look on his face. He would never know how much of it was all just for Dick to notice him.
“Captain, are personal letters to be considered contraband?” Dick couldn’t help the retort before it slipped past his lips. Maybe Nix was becoming a bad influence after all. It wasn’t an overt clapback at Sobel but enough that Nix feared that Winters would easily become his next target so when Sobel held up a can and asked,
“What is this? Anybody?” Sobel shook the can and its contents mildly sloshed around inside. Nix jumped at the opportunity to redirect Sobel’s heat to himself rather than Dick,
“It’s, uh, a can of peaches sir.” The resulting twitch of Dick Winters holding back a boyish grin was worth Nix losing his weekend pass. He intended to stay on base with Dick anyway.
“Lieutenant Winters.” Sobel’s voice, though now a normal decibel once again, didn’t stop Nix from stopping in his tracks and turning in tandem with Dick. Apparently getting his weekend pass - and each officer’s pass- revoked was not enough to deter Sobel’s interest in making Dick’s life miserable. He only watched Dick join Sobel outside the barracks. Nix’s effort to take on Sobel’s wrath was short lived; they soon would discover Sobel’s sabotage as all of Easy vomited spaghetti all over themselves as they ran Currahee the next day.
Nix was content to watch Dick do just about anything. It didn’t matter that it made him feel like shit compared to Sink’s golden boy. Despite only being a first lieutenant, Nix could see that Sink had his sights set on making a career-man out of Dick. He was every military propaganda’s wet dream. Not that Nix had any wet dreams about his friend…none that he’d admit to, anyway. He stood on the sideline with the other men as they watched Dick single handedly wipe out the other competitors in Sink’s Junior Olympics.
“Would’ja look at that.” Sink was clearly impressed as they gathered to watch the men compete. Nix didn’t need telling twice. Dick was well ahead of the other’s on the obstacle course. Poised much like a sloth -though without an ounce of the sluggishness- Dick was carefully maneuvering himself over a wet, muddy, pit. When he reached the end he hardly allowed himself a breath before he was running towards the wall that had caused so many men to be transferred out of the paratroopers. Momentum was key, and the determination on Dick’s face was clear as he hurled himself up the side of it and jumped off the other side. It was less than three minutes before Dick crossed that finish line. He walked in circles as he caught his breath, hands on his hips but still found the energy to smile when Nix approached him to congratulate him on a job well done.
“Push ups, chin ups and this course,” Nix claps him on the back, “Conquer this one last hill and glory is yours!”
“Big hill.” Dick huffed with exhausted humor. Wally Moore gave him a good run, literally, just barely beating Dick on their race of Currahee. Nix felt a little bad, like if he hadn’t slowed Dick down most mornings running up that hill, maybe he would’ve excelled even more. Maybe he would’ve beaten Wally. Dick still won the honor of being the first jumper, in the first stick to make their initiating jump at Toccoa.
Dick had expected that first jump to feel exactly like what it was, falling. Like their practice jumps off towers. Instead, it was exhilarating beyond words. His stomach flipped and he thought it kin to the sensation of just before a child jumps from their swing at its highest point. Suddenly he was on the ground then and that moment of excitement was over in a blink. He had begun to address his gear and parachute when another body landed roughly beside him with a “Whoop!” Nix stumbled as wind caught his chute and jerked him a few steps. Dick reached out to steady him and for a moment they both clung to one another’s forearms, laughing as their adrenaline tapered.
“Helluva feeling.” Nix smiled wide, though he himself wasn’t entirely sure what feeling he was referring to.
Dick allowed himself to actually celebrate that night. He still didn’t drink but Nix assured him that he would drink enough for the both of them. Dick had no doubts about that. All the men who jumped celebrated together, officers and enlisted men.
“Lieutenant Winters!” Liebgott exclaimed, Striding over to the two men. “The hell you doing here, sir?” Only Joe Liebgott could make such an informal statement sound appropriate by simply tacking on ‘sir’. Maybe it was just Joe's charmingly rough edges or the fact that he was two years older than Dick and Nix. Either way, it didn’t bother Dick in the slightest.
“On a mission to socialize the poor man.” Nix chuckled.
“A little pool can fix that.” Joe suggested and before Dick could interject about his desire NOT to gamble, Lieb rolled his eyes, “bragging rights only, alright?”
Nix started to arrange the worn and dented balls while Joe glanced around to grab another player. He gripped the back of another man's collar, yanking them backwards.
“Hey!” Webster, an enlisted man from Fox company, yelped as he stumbled backward, spilling half his mug of beer down the front of his uniform, “The fuck Liebgott?” He was one of the few men who called him by his full last name instead of shortening it to Lieb, which Webster refused to do.
“Oh shut up, Web, I’ll get you another.” Liebgott wraps an arm around the younger man's shoulders to stop him from squirming away. Once his eyes land on Winters, Webster blinks and straightens,
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” but Dick waves it off.
“You ivy leagues vs us honest working men.” Joe gave Webster a push towards where Nix stood, satisfied with the line up.
“There’s no eight ball.” Dick noted.
“No, but there is an extra cue. Just keep an eye on the actual cue ball.” Nix shrugged and handed him a stick, “No chalk either but we make do. Wanna do the honors?” Both Dick and Webster are poor players and spent most of the game with their backs to the wall, making idle conversation. Dick had noticed Webster early on despite being in separate companies. He related to Webster, more quiet and reserved. He also clocked Webster’s ever so slightly effeminate nature which made him an easy target for bullies like Joe Liebgott. At least Webster’s demeanor could be excused by his upper crust education and wealthy upbringing. Much like Nix’s own background. For someone like Dick, hiding in plain sight was much trickier. His athleticism, staunch religious conformity and introvertedness were his saving graces to throw off the hounds. When he looked at someone like David Webster it was a wonder how the other man got through life. Wasn’t he aware of how blatant he was? It was asking for trouble. He supposed that was the advantage of being as high in society as Nix and Webster were, the ability to make problems disappear.
Nix made a show of making fancy shots. His dark eyes calculating trajectory and angles to execute perfectly, or leaning in such a way to slide the pool stick behind his back instead of awkwardly leaning over the table. Dick found it amusing the way that Nix subtly liked to be the center of attention. Though it was a challenge to not stare every time Nix leaned over the velvet table. His class A’s fit him in such a way that threatened to make Dick blush.
Liebgott rolled his eyes and proceeded to make the similar shots with significantly less flourish. Joe watched Webster lean over the table when he huffed and handed Dick his stick,
“It’s painful watching this fool.” Joe quickly approached behind Webster, placing a hand on his back, “Widen your stance.” Joe stuck his freshly shined shoe between Webster’s and knocked it back and forth between his ankles. David’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped at the audacity that Joe had to try and manhandle him like that.
“What do you think you’re doing?” David snapped, Nix rolled his eyes as David pulled away from the table. Nix looked across the space to Dick, his expression silently screaming make the damn shot already, Web!
“You look like an idiot standing like that.”
“An idiot? Might I remind you which one of us-”
“Yeah, yeah, there you go again with your Harvard bullshit.” Joe reached over to where David’s replacement beer sat and grabbed it for himself, managing several long gulps before David realized what was being done and tried to rip it out of his hands.
Nix drifted over to Dick’s side, “ I don’t think this game is getting finished.” Nix stuck a cigarette between his smirking lips, “Someone outta tell them to get a room.” he chuckled and ducked his head a bit to meet his lighter. They stood there a little while longer as Joe and David bickered. Somehow they managed to finish the game, though not without it falling into slight chaos. Liebgott and Nix both became increasingly drunk. Nix would make some kind of comment to prompt Webster to talk about Harvard, which in turn would infuriate Liebgott, who would then target Webster, much to Nix’s delight. It was utterly childish, Dick thought, all of them were.
“Would you quit stirring the pot?” He chided to Nix, though his friend only seems to grin wider at the reprimand. Something about the more intoxicated that Nix became, the more he looked for some kind of sharp edge. This self destructive need to poke and prod and bicker. It wasn’t malicious per say. Nor was it violent. In Dick’s eyes it was completely heedless and puerile. Like picking at a scab.
“Oh come on,” Nix let his shoulder bump against Dick’s, “Loosen up a bit, hm?” The suggestion immediately had the opposite effect, making Dick stand a bit taller and square his shoulders. He heavily considered turning in for the night but for some reason he was compelled to stay. He told himself he wasn’t babysitting Nix, wasn’t making sure one of his little jokes didn’t go too far. Dick was Nix’s anchor for the evening. Nix would drift off, another drink, another game, another joke but still somehow float back to Dick’s side. Eventually Dick wasn’t sure if he was checking in with Nix or Nix was checking in with him. It was as if they both stayed and felt responsible for the other somehow. Either way, Dick ends up having to sling Nix’s arm over his shoulder and lead him back to the barracks.
He deposited Nix unceremoniously onto his cot. Nix grunted as he sat, toed off his shoes and began fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. Dick had seen toddlers undress themselves more efficiently. He told himself he’s only concerned about the state of Nix’s class A’s when he leaned down and undid the buttons for him and helped him out of his jacket. He could feel Nix’s eyes follow him, squinted with that scrutinizing calculating look as he placed the jacket onto its hanger. Nix started on his tie next, fingers fumbling until Dick sighed and swatted his hands away. Nix’s hands were shaking, Dick realized, too much drink too quickly sending a shock through his system. He was promised a hangover in the morning. Though Dick knew Nix was fond of some hair of the dog.
His fingertips brushed up against the scruff that Nix always seemed to sport whether he shaved that morning or not. He slid the tie up and off before fully undoing the knot and taking the time to fold it up and trying his best not to glance over to where he knew Nix was still observing him.
“What?” Dick demanded calmly and met Nix’s glassy and unabashed stare.
“You know what-” Lewis cocked a lazy smile “We're the same, you and me.” For a moment Dick feels panic swell inside of him. Was he just as transparent as Webster? What had given him away? Then again, what made him think -hope- that Nix was the same? Dick couldn’t think that. Not after Nix’s well known womanizing and flirting. Not to forget that he was indeed married with a baby on the way. This could simultaneously be the best and worst manifestation of Dick’s innermost guilty wishes.
“The same?” Dick asked hesitantly before unintentionally holding his breath.
“I wasn't gonna say it but goddamn Dick, you're one bull headed son of a bitch.” Lewis laughed at the face Dick made. Aghast and offended. He laid back on his cot and tucked his hands behind his head. Forever the image of ease and casualness no matter how much of a lie the facade was. “Maybe I'm full of myself because of my family or Yale or whatever else you've tacked against me. But you, Dick Winters, are so self righteous.” Dick blinked. Where had this come from? Nix was gleaming for a prickle from Dick. Some reaction to goad from him, Dick just wasn’t sure what reaction Nix wanted from him.
“With your abstinence and faith. Pride.” Lewis pointed a finger “that's your sin. Dont get me wrong, you wear it well. Pride suits you. The stoic unwavering hero. So self assured. The confidence is attractive, really. Think whatever you want about me, but you're just the same as I am.”
Dick’s first instinct was to argue, he opened his mouth to retort when he looked down at Nix’s relaxed and smug expression. There was no point in trying to make a counterpoint now. It would give Nix too much satisfaction. Dick only shook his head and turned to ready himself for bed.
Nix had been lulled to sleep by his drunkenness in a manner of minutes. Dick laid there in the dark and listened to their other bunk mates slowly filter in through the night. You’re just the same as I am. Dick mulled his words over and over again. Did he really give off an air of feeling morally superior to the other men? He knew he was a prideful man and he always thought it a positive trait. Nix was right, it was indeed a cardinal sin. But did that make him the same as Nix? Dick didn’t talk big like Nix did, but he silently reserved himself to think himself bigger. Somehow, Nix could see into Dick in a way that even his own self reflection tried to hide away. Sleep evaded him long after the other officers returned and drifted off. Dick had to submit that there was no hiding himself from Nix, not when Nix saw through him so plainly.
At the beginning of December the 2nd Battalion of the 506th are told to gear up for a march. From Toccoa to Atlanta. Three days, 586 men, roughly 115 miles -give or take-.
“Apparently,” Matheson’s teeth chattered as he spoke “Sink’s got it in his head that the Japs can march 100 miles in 72 hours.”
Dick and Nix glance at each other, a silent agreement of, there he goes with those numbers. Roughly two and a half hours after 2nd battalion left Toccoa they were graced with a flurry of snow. Wet and heavy, it mixed with the Georgia dirt into a sloppy mess.
On the third night, Nix shimmied into his sleeping bag beside Dick, “Makes you miss that first night in Toccoa, huh?” His smile was buried into his layers but the crinkle of his eyes gave it away.
“I think I’ll take the cold over being itchy.” Dick replied. Though by morning he questions that opinion when he found himself literally frozen to the mud and had to rip his equipment out of the solid ground, hardened boots included.
By the end of the march to Atlanta even the cheeriest of men looked empty. Lipton was usually full of hopeful optimism and even he stayed relatively silent for the last 48 hours. Easy blends with Dog company for a time and both Nix and Dick share a concerned glance when they notice how a member of Dog, Speirs, seemed to thrive amongst the misery. The train that would take them back to Toccoa and then to Fort Benning was a godsend.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel my goddamn toes again.” Skip Muck griped as the men fell into their seats on the train. He pulled his muddied boots off with a sigh of relief.
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Malarkey gagged beside him, “Your feet are gonna stink up the whole car!” Skip only laughed and lifted a leg to wiggle his socked toes at his friend.
Dick found himself seated across from Nix and Lipton. Lip quickly settled in and dozed off, his head resting against the window, his breaths created a small circle of fog on the glass. Nix looked across to Dick and they shared an amused grin at their friend. It had to be exhausting to keep up the positive persona he always touted. Soon they’d find themselves too being lulled by the gentle rock of the train. The men slowly thawed and gradually the last few days seemed to thaw too. Mud and stink and sweat covered everything. Still they slept.
Just before the New Year most of the men are granted furlough. Dick was relieved to return home to ring in ‘43, even if for only a short time. Yet when he arrived at the cozy snow laden house, he felt almost like an intruder. His parents and sister were shocked by his appearance. His mother set to rectify as much as she could in a short time, feeding him hearty home cooked meals. His childhood bedroom had become an eerie ghost town of dusty athletic trophies and long forgotten books. At night he could hardly stand the silence. He’d grown too used to the chirp of insects or howl of the wind. Too used to the shuffling and snoring of the other men. He’d changed immeasurably in the last couple of years. He hadn’t even set foot on a battlefield yet and already he was no longer the 22 year old that entered the army in October of 1940. Ann looked at him so curiously and where he had been a warm and lighthearted older brother before, he struggled to find common ground with her. Though it didn’t seem to deter her, and he was grateful to sit patiently while she showed off her latest projects and gossiped about her classmates.
He attended church with his family on Sunday. He was welcomed back so warmly, yet every pair of eyes on him felt prying. He sat in that creaky wooden pew and tried his best not to wonder what Nix was doing that same morning. He prayed for God to remove these thoughts. It wasn’t useful to linger on something -someone- that only occupied mental space that could be used for something more significant, more useful, and less agonizing. Perhaps Nix was sent to him for a reason, he had to be. Pride, that’s your sin. If he could get a handle on his pride maybe Nix wouldn’t invade his thoughts like they did.
When he reported to Camp Mackall after the New Year he immediately sought out Nix. He hadn’t even realized it until the pair seamlessly drifted to the other’s side, patting each other’s shoulders in greeting.
“How’s the farm?” Nix asked between puffs of his cigarette. Dick only rolled his eyes because he’s already told Nix several times that his family didn’t have a farm, nor was Lancaster considered to be rural.
“Felt a bit odd to be honest.” Dick admitted, “How’s Kathy?”
“Ginormous.” Nix replied simply, Dick tried to remember how far along Kathy was in her pregnancy. She was likely due soon. “Bloated and cranky. Nearly bit my hand off anytime I tried to touch her. Apparently, I missed the insatiably horny part of pregnancy hormones. I was allowed to feel the baby move though.”
“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” Dick pointedly ignored the mention of Kathy’s libido or lack thereof.
Nix hummed for a moment as he considered it, “If it’s a boy it’ll satisfy Stanhope’s need for a Nixon heir. Especially given the circumstances.” He gestured to his uniform. Dick could see that Nix was trying his best to act blasé about the reality that this might be the only hope at furthering the Nixon name. Dick thought maybe he could see through Nix just as much as Nix could see through him.