Nixon - January 1945
"Lewis," there was a terrifying tone to Winter's voice that immediately got Nixon's attention. He stood up abruptly, discarding his blanket to the cold floor of his foxhole.
"What? What is it?" A range of scenarios ran through is mind, the first thought being who died, the next was had the regiment headquarters hit.
"It's Joe Toye, and Bill Guarnere. They've been hit, it's bad." Winters delivered the news with his usual stoicism but Nixon could tell he was rattled.
"How bad?" Nixon crawled out of his foxhole.
"Doc thinks they'll live, but they're not coming back."
"Damn," Nixon didn't know what else to say.
"There's something else, well, a few other things."
"Okay," Nixon waited for Winter to continue.
"Buck Compton. He was there when Toye and Guarnere were hit. He's pretty shook up. He's- he needs to come off the line."
Nixon nodded, "sure."
"Think you can write up a report for me? With Harry gone-,"
"Yeah, I'll take care of it. I'll say he's got trench foot or something. Probably does anyways."
"Great, and will you go back with him to Nix? Make sure he gets to a safe place." Winters had been fidgeting with his glove but chose then to look up.
Nixon placed his hands on his hips, "uh, I mean I can but surely there's a medic or someone who can go."
Winters looked back down at his fraying glove, "I want you to check on Emily while you're there. She's gonna take the news about Joe pretty rough."
Clever how he worked that in, Nixon thought. "I don't know, Dick. I shouldn't leave the line for that. She's tough, she, she doesn't need me."
"You need to check in with her Lew, if you want any sort of relationship with her you need to be there for her in this moment." Never had Winters taken such a strong stance on Nixon's life before. Winters disapproved of a lot of Nixon's choices but never once had he been so firm in his counsel. This was not advice, this was a request from one Captain to another.
It was the respect for his friend that got Nixon into the jeep beside Buck. He did want to see Emily. He hated knowing she was out there probably hurting. He wanted to take away her pain if only he could. But at the same time he dreaded seeing her. What was he meant to say?
Nixon pushed aside the canvas flap of the last tent at the end of the long row that made up a section of regimental headquarters. When he had reached the camp he saw Buck off to a cot and into the care of the nurse he had seen Emily with in Normandy. The nurse had grilled him before finally, begrudgingly, telling him where he could find Emily. The nurse had also oddly furnished him with ginger candies with instructions to give them to their mutual connection.
It was dark inside the tent; a single oil lamp burned on the table. At the far edge a dark figure was huddled on a cot. Although only an imperceptible silhouette it had to be Emily. "Em?" his voice was quiet.
"Back-," she had to clear her throat. She had obviously been crying, "back here." Nixon carefully wove between the makeshift furniture that filled the tent. He sat down gently beside her, careful to leave an appropriate distance between them. There was no saying where they stood now. He had behaved erratically and treated her poorly since they had set off for Bastogne, he knew that. Nixon couldn't be sure she even wanted him there.
She sat with her legs tucked up to her chest. Only her swollen eyes were visible from where her chin was propped on the fold of her knees.
"How you doing?" Nixon bit his lip. What a stupid question. It was apparent she was not in a good place but he had no idea what else to say. He cursed Winters for making him come here.
"Not well," Emily lifted her chin to speak. Her lip quivered as fresh tears filled her eyes, their wetness glinting off of the weak lamplight.
"Can I- can I do anything?" Nixon asked.
Emily's glare threw Nixon off guard. She looked up at him only to scowl and once again Nixon damned Winters for guilting him into this situation.
"What can you do huh?" Emily spat, "you can fuck off, Captain Nixon," she paused, "sir."
Nixon winced at her words. He gritted his teeth in an effort to keep his own temper from rising. She was hurting, and he had done nothing but add to that hurt recently.
"Emily, I,-"
She held up a hand to stop him, "I- I don't have the energy to deal with your bullshit right now Nixon, so please just fuck off!"
Nixon resisted the urge to comply with her request. He heard Winters words in his head; if he wanted any sort of relationship with Emily Rooney he had to stay by her side. He was determined the cushion her pain even if it meant taking her blows.
"I'm not going anywhere. I won't say a word, but I'm not leaving you until I know you'll be okay."
Emily's chin quivered violently as the tears that had been building finally fell down her cheeks in fat drops. Nixon sat silently, just as he promised, with his forearms on his knees as sobs rocked Emily's body. He ached to reach out to her, to hold her as she cried but she was grieving something fierce that could not be healed by his touch.
Emily eventually wore herself out with the crying. Maybe she simply had no fight left in her but she allowed Nixon to take off her boots when she laid down on the cot. She let him drape a blanket over her shoulders without protest and when he got up to leave she caught his hand.
"Don't go," she whispered hoarsely, her eyes closed.
"No," Nixon murmured. His heart swelled with love, with grief, with regret and in that moment he needed her as much as she needed him. "I'm not going anywhere. Just making room for you to sleep."
Nixon pulled a canvas chair up to her bedside then took her hand once more. He cradled it between his own two palms, occasionally stroking it with a thumb, until after she had fallen asleep. Her skin was warm pressed against his. Her face was noticeably swollen even in the semi-darkness but Nixon had never found her more beautiful than she was right then, sleeping peacefully. There was nothing in the world that could pull him away from where he sat now. He sat there all evening and through the night.
At one point, the nurse he now knew as Marwa entered the tent bearing a cup of coffee and some biscuits. Nixon accepted them from her gratefully.
"How is she?" Marwa murmured.
"Okay," Nixon's voice cracked from disuse, "she's been sleeping."
"Mm poor thing," Marwa clicked her tongue sympathetically, "of all the people to get hit," she trailed off.
"They were that close?" Nixon could hear the sadness in his own voice. He had had a lot of time to think since Emily had fallen asleep. There was no saying what would become of Joe Toye now but if he could make Emily happy, Nixon wanted that for her.
"Mmhm," Marwa murmured, "from what I could see."
Nixon couldn't resist, "how close?" he asked quietly.
Marwa was perched on the edge of a desk with her arms folded across her chest. Nixon had offered her his seat when she had entered but she had insisted she wasn't hanging around for long. "You believe in soulmates?" she asked plainly.
"No, I don't," Nixon wasn't looking forward to where she was going with this.
"Well, I believe people have lots of soulmates. Soulmates aren't only lovers but friends, people who come into one's life and, and are simply cut from the same cloth."
"Okay," Lewis said expectantly.
"Joe and Emily," Marwa held her palms up, "soulmates."
"Just cut from the same cloth?" Nixon asked thoughtfully.
"Simple as that," Marwa smiled kindly, "nothing more, nothing less." Nixon nodded, considering her words. "You let me know if you need anything else," Marwa squeezed his shoulder before leaving the tent.
Nixon watched as Emily's chest rose and fell. Her eyelashes fluttered with the visions of dreams. Nixon wondered what exactly she was dreaming of, he hoped something sweet. He hoped they were pleasant dreams that would usher her into a better day with news that her friend was healing safely at home. Nixon didn't know what the morning meant for him but he relished in the momentary peace in which they coexisted.
