Nixon - December 1943

Nixon hadn't intended to walk in on her like that. In fact, it was his worst nightmare and as soon as she had looked up at him with tear streaked cheeks he had had to fight against every instinct to turn around and run. Why had he gone looking for a blasted glass? He hadn't needed one before! But here he was, caught half-drunk in the little HQ kitchen with Emily crying at the table.

"What are you doing?" she snapped at him.

Nixon's eyes widened in surprise, "What? Wha-what am I doing?"

"It's so late," Emily wiped furiously at her cheeks, as if just now realizing the presence of her tears.

"Uh, yeah, I could point out the same to you," Nixon gave her a wide berth as he walked across the room to the cabinet to retrieve a high ball glass.

"I couldn't sleep," she mumbled, "came down for some tea." Her fingers tapped against the mug in front of her.

"And to cry?" Nixon asked bluntly.

Emily's face twisted in embarrassment but there was no hiding it, "I suppose so."

Nixon stood awkwardly beside the table, his glass in one hand and a bottle of Vat 69 in the other. Emily looked up at him with reddened eyes and pity washed over him. Whatever the hell was wrong, he hated seeing her like this. He'd grown fairly fond of his shadow over the past two and a half months. Although she was still a pain in his butt, he enjoyed their witty banter and found her naivety of certain subjects endearing.

The cold, selfish side of him wanted to rush out of the room and leave her to her own privacy. But looking down at her he couldn't bring himself to do that. He slid the glass across the table then retrieved another from the cabinet.

"Drink," he commanded, filling her glass.

"Whiskey?" she wrinkled her nose.

"Don't be a snob," he repeated words that she had delivered to him on many occasions.

Cautiously, she lifted the drink to her nose for a little sniff.

"Bad idea," Nixon said, "just drink it. Trust me," and he knocked back a glass of his own.

Following his example, Emily swallowed the foul brown liquid in one gulp. Her face immediately twisted in pain and Nixon chuckled, "well not all at once," he said refilling her glass.

"You did!" she retorted.

"Do as I say, not as I do."

They sat in a quiet, heavy silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"So, you gonna tell me whats wrong, kid?" Nixon finally asked.

Emily exhaled a shuddering breath, "it's ridiculous really. I don't know why I'm crying." She took another drink and Nixon topped her off. He sat patiently waiting for her to continue.

"It's John."

"What? Is he okay? Or did he end things?" Nixon sat forward in concern.

Her barking laugh startled him, "I almost wish he did end things." She pressed her eyes into the palms of her hands, "wait no, no I don't wish that," she backtracked, "I just meant that, that it would be easier. I don't know what I'm saying."

"What would be easier?"

She looked up at him with watery eyes, "I never hear from him ya know? He rarely writes. I know there's a war on and everything but I see other soldiers getting and sending out letters more frequently than me and it just feels…well and then when he does write it just feels so impersonal." Nixon nodded attentively. "And sometimes I have a hard time picturing how I could ever marry him when all of this is over. I feel like I don't even know him anymore," her lip quivered, "and that breaks my heart."

"Why are you engaged to him anyways?"

Emily's frown deepened, "I have to be."

Nixon moved to fill her glass again, "why do you have to be?"

She waived her hand dismissively, clearly not wanting to answer the question.

"Do you love him?" Nixon pressed on.

Emily shrugged, "yeah."

"Okay but do you actually love him? Is that what's breaking your heart? Or is it breaking your heart thinking you have to marry someone who you don't feel close to?"

Emily looked thunderstruck as she considered his questions. Her mouth opened to respond but nothing came out.

"Just think about it." Nixon sat back in his chair. He didn't know what qualified him to give marriage advice considering the state of his own union but maybe that's why he wanted her to be cautious, thoughtful, before she took the dive.

"I have too much to think about," Emily's voice was low.

"What do you mean?" Nixon asked. He could tell by her red nose and heavy eyes that the liquor was starting to take hold of her. Oh how he envied her easy access to oblivion.

Emily didn't respond right away, her gaze was far away. She smiled slightly and shook her head which caused Nixon's impatience flared in him like wild fire.

"What are you thinking?" he insisted.

"I just- I just wonder sometimes is all."

"What? Wonder what?" Trying to get her to confess her inner thoughts was proving harder than it should have been with how much whiskey she had consumed in such a short time. Nixon didn't even know why he cared except that he did. He felt he was on the edge of discovering something tantalizing, something that would give meaning to this godforsaken army world he found himself in. He felt as if he was about to find out where her heart truly lay, a piece of information he unexpectedly was desperate to know.

"All I want is to do something important with my life. I'm so afraid that if I lose focus then I'll lose all my credibility, my chance ya know?" Emily said cryptically.

No, Nixon didn't know. "What do you mean lose your focus?"

"I don't love John, not like I'm supposed to," Emily shook her head sadly, "I don't think he loves me either he's just following through because he's a gentleman. And sometimes I wonder what it would be like to fall in love, properly." Emily rested her chin in her hand and gazed off into space.

The curiosity in Nixon grew as it dawned on him that something, or better yet someone, must have prompted this confusion in Emily.

"Do you think there is someone who you could fall in love with?"

Emily sat back in her chair, suddenly seeming more sober than she had moments ago. She eyed him with a playful suspicion. A half smile curled up the side of her face and she tapped the side of her nose with her finger, "nice try, Lew. I don't have any secrets for you to mine."

Nixon wasn't so sure about that. Emily was turning out to be a much more complicated woman than the innocent girl she appeared to be.

A few days later, Nixon slid onto the mess hall bench where Welsh and Emily sat eating lunch.

"So, did you hear the news?" Nixon's face was impassive but the tone of his voice got their attention. Their conversation immediately halted and they turned to face him.

"No, what?" Welsh asked. Emily's clever gray eyes flit between the two men in anticipation.

"Dick got court-martialed," Nixon paused, "by Sobel."

Welsh dropped his fork angrily, "you're kidding?"

"Nope, bastard couldn't even spell court martial correctly but he still did it."

"What's going to happen?" Emily asked in confusion.

"Until it gets resolved, Dick is going to be with battalion mess."

Welsh released a string of expletives.

"What was it even over?" Emily asked bewildered, "I can't imagine Dick did anything worth-,"

"No of course not," Nixon said, "the man's a damn boy scout. Apparently it's over failure to delegate or some bullshit like that."

"Bullshit," Harry repeated in disgust.

Nixon caught Emily's eye and shrugged. All we can do is wait and see, his gaze said. She returned his look with one that said wait and hope for the best.

The winter holidays came and went and Nixon was surprised by how little nostalgia he felt for his home in the states. A better man would have grieved the lost time with his family but Nixon wouldn't have even realized the approach of the holiday if it hadn't been for Emily. A few days before Christmas he had been greeted by a little brown paper wrapped box on his desk.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up. Battalion staff worked all around him but his question was directed at Emily, who sat perched on the edge of her desk clutching a clip board and wearing a knowing smile.

"Open it!" she said eagerly.

Nixon cocked an eyebrow at her then tore into the brown paper. "Cigarettes?" it was clearly a cigarette box but it weighed heavy in his hand, heavier than a normal pack of cigarettes.

"Open that!" Emily hid her grin behind her clipboard.

Nixon tipped the cigarette box into his open palm and out fell a brass lighter. He rolled it around in his hand and saw on the other side was stamped a screaming eagle head.

"A lighter?" he asked dumbly.

"Yeah! With the screaming eagle head!"

"I see that," Nixon said, "so you took out all the cigarettes but gave me a lighter?"

Emily hesitated, "well, yeah, the box was easier to wrap. Plus I thought it was kind of a cute idea! But now I see how that doesn't make a lot of sense…" she trailed off.

Nixon chuckled and Emily continued, "but you've got plenty of cigarettes, so you'll be fine."

"Thank you," there was a questioning inflection to Nixon's voice, "um, what's the occasion?"

"Christmas, you dolt!" Emily smacked his arm lightly with her clipboard.

"Right," Nixon wadded up the brown paper and threw it into the bin beside his desk.

"Hey, nice lighter," Harry Welsh said approaching them.

"Thanks," Nixon said, "Em gave it to me."

"Very nice," Welsh took the lighter from Nixon's hand, "nice stamp. Where'd you find that?"

"I have my connections!" Emily said coyly.

"Are you two going to the officers dinner tomorrow night?" Welsh asked.

"Not invited," Emily said.

"Lucky you," Nixon grumbled.

"Personally, I'm looking forward to it," Welsh said, "might actually get some good chow. I'll save you a treat if I can, Em."

Emily blushed and giggled, "so thoughtful, Harry." Nixon observed their exchange wearily.

"You're at least going out with the men aren't you? After dinner?" Welsh asked Emily.

"Yeah, I was planning on it. George convinced me to, said I couldn't be alone on Christmas Eve."

"Good friend that George Luz," Welsh winked at her.

Nixon noticed how Emily's face fell slightly as she blushed again. "No, it's not like that," she said quickly.

"You sure?" Nixon couldn't resist, "you do spend an awful lot of time together."

"He's a close friend and nothing more!"

"And do all your close friends follow you around like a love-sick pup?" Welsh grinned.

"Need I remind you two that I'm taken?"

"Yeah but let's say you weren't taken," Nixon was on dangerous ground and he knew it. But who knows, he thought, she may not be by the time this war is over. It was as if Emily could hear his thoughts because when he looked at her he saw hurt in her eyes.

"I don't support hypotheticals," Emily said stubbornly refusing to give into the men's teasing.

Nixon snorted, "don't support hypotheticals, you work in military intelligence. That's basically all we do!"

Harry grinned completely missing the rising tension between Emily and Nixon, "that's reassuring," he chuckled.

Emily shot Nixon a withering look. "Well my romantic life is not a hypothetical."

"Poor Luz, he'll be heartbroken when he realizes that," Welsh said. "Anyways, can I get that TM 5-248 tech manual? I need to review some things before maneuvers this afternoon."

Emily quickly retrieved the TM 5-248 Foreign Maps manual and gave it to Welsh. Nixon's guilt set in as the lieutenant exited the room and he was left with Emily.

"Thanks for the lighter, Em," he attempted to smile at her, but her reaction was far from warm.

"You're welcome," she said curtly. She was uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the day. All the while, Nixon's mind ran in an endless loop of being angry at her for being so pointedly quiet, feeling bad because he knew why she was mad at him, and then feeling defensive again. These silent battles churned in his head through meetings, map-readings, and paperwork so by the time lunch came around he was exhausted. And though he didn't want to admit it, he missed her. They sat only feet away from each other but he felt a great distance between them, distance created by his exploitation of her freshest wounds all for the sake of a joke.