Work Text:
Klaus figures it probably says something about him that he finds happiness thrown back in time right in the middle of a bloody, needless war that goes down in history as one of America's biggest fuck-ups.
Not that the happiness came from the situation itself, more in spite of it. Klaus figured once the dust had settled and he had time to breathe, he'd get the briefcase out and try his luck.
Sure, it wasn't a good plan. Could've sent him to a shittier time and place, or blown up, or something less than ideal. But Klaus wasn't soldier material, he figured that out a long time ago. He was a coward and proud, thanks. Soldiers didn't exactly lead the glamorous life; they got fucked about by their superiors, sent off to live on the goddamn moon like Luther or get killed for no good reason like most of the poor schmucks he was surrounded by then. No, he planned on getting the hell out of dodge.
But then came Dave.
Dave, with his kind eyes and his big gentle hands and those All-American boy-next-door good looks. Looking at him like he was the best damn thing that came out of the war. Looking at him at all, really, which is fucking pathetic and not at all in line with Klaus, okay, he's no blushing virgin, he's been around the block a couple times. He's a hot mess, but he's still hot and people have noticed.
But Dave. Dave noticed the scars and bruises on his body the first couple of days and asked about them with ridiculous sincerity, like he gives a shit about some weirdo who turned up out of nowhere a few days ago. Klaus, hoping to be freaky enough to scare him off a bit, had said, “Two hit-men in animal masks tied me to a chair and tortured me for two days.”
“Huh,” Dave had said. “Well, glad you got out okay. You should take better care of yourself. I can clean those cuts for you, make sure they don't get infected.”
Klaus had just blinked and then, after a beat or so, took him up on the offer.
Dave noticed his shaking hands after a bad battle and had caught them in his own, held them steady and urged him to breath in-sync with him.
Dave stopped him from getting too high – not that there was a good supply in the ass-end of Vietnam, but hey, he made do – had told him that he had to stay alive and that if he was high as a kite that would be considerably more difficult. Klaus figured that was reasonable and listened to him.
It was only after he sobered up a little after that had happened that he realised what a miracle that was; he wasn't reasonable and he never listened, not to anyone ever. Back when the Umbrella Academy were a team, he fought high all the time, despite his dear father's disapproving glares and orders not to. But apparently Dave and his stupid genuine concern was enough to turn him sensible.
But apparently Dave was also enough to keep the ghosts away.
They weren't gone completely, of course, and he still smoked weed to blur them out, but before that wouldn't have been enough to block them out. And maybe the gunfire and bombs helped drown it out too, but Klaus couldn't help but think it was Dave's presence, steady and reliable, a lighthouse in the midst of a storm, giving him something to focus on.
Or maybe Klaus was just being a gross romantic. Who knows?
Dave noticed when he slipped away in the night, followed him out of the tent and had grabbed his hand to stop him.
“Where are you going?” he had said.
“Needed a smoke. Couldn't sleep,” he lied, voice flippant and not meeting his eyes.
“Okay,” Dave said and then, reaching out, grasped his chin and turn his face so their eyes met in the darkness. Which just wasn't fair, really.
“Dave,” he started, a little desperately, stupidly conflicted; his family was a pain in his ass, just as he was a pain in theirs, but God, they were facing the apocalypse. And sure, he was no great help, but they were fractured enough as it is and shit, apparently he was taking responsibility now or something –
"Where will you go?" Dave said, understanding in his voice but desperation in his eyes. Klaus stuttered and gaped for a bit, because it wasn't as though he could say 'oh, you know, fifty years or so into the future,' and it's not as though he had a cover story. Dave saved him the trouble though and filled the silence for him.
“I get it,” Dave said softly, relaxing his grip on Klaus's chin but not pulling away. “I hate it here too, but Klaus – “ and that also wasn't fair, saying his name like that, especially saying his first name when no-one else here did, “I... need you here, with me. I don't think I can – you're kinda my rock, here, okay. I need you.”
Looking back, that was the final nail in the coffin. Klaus had no chance after that and the fact he followed this man, his man, to the frontlines proved that. A total sucker. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed about it.
He regretted not telling Dave sooner, how gone he was for him, that he would follow him anywhere.
They kissed during R&R in that club, only months before Dave was hit. The whole night felt as though it was leading to it, their eyes catching across the dance floor while they danced with random girls until they gravitated closer to each other, until they were dancing with each other instead of near each other.
It was inevitable, when they kissed. Dave's hand on his cheek, looking at him with those honest eyes of his, heart on his sleeve and achingly sincere in a way that from the very start laid Klaus bare. The kiss was gentle and oddly chaste and unlike any kiss Klaus had ever experienced before.
The kisses they exchanged later that night were less chaste, in a motel room they rented, fucking on a creaky motel bed, Klaus's legs around Dave's waist and Dave's thumbs tracing circles on Klaus's hipbones and Klaus's fingernails raking down his back and Dave's mouth kissing randomly and sloppily across Klaus's chest. It was less gentle and less chaste and still unlike anything Klaus had ever experienced before. More lingering kisses, more eye contact, more sighs of each other's names, more awkwardly sincere, dopey grins. Neither of them left in the morning; Klaus woke up curled up against Dave, head tucked into the crook of his neck and Dave's fingers tracing lazily across Klaus's body, brushing across his scars and tattoos.
“I want to stay here forever,” Klaus sighed and then, because sincerity was kind of a new thing to him and he wasn't entirely comfortable with it yet, grinded his dick against Dave's hip in an effort to distract him.
It got his attention, earning Klaus a slow hungry kiss good morning that tasted like stale booze and sleep, but Klaus didn't even slightly care. It hadn't distracted Dave though, because when they broke apart, Dave smiled, lopsided and sweet, and replied, “Me too.”
They didn't stay forever, couldn't stay forever, but they stayed for the next few hours until they were kicked out.
Klaus wished, more than anything, that they had just had a bit more time.