Chapter Text
The summer had been kind in the mountains of Austria. After the war was done in Europe, most of the men had enjoyed the peaceful quiet that the Alps offered, sure in the knowledge that they would not get to see this part of the world again. That was, of course, when they weren’t too busy hunting, drinking themselves into a stupor or chasing German-speaking women who would kindly decline their advances.
In the town of Zell am See, American soldiers walked around as they pleased since the dying days of spring. Major Winters had even gone through the trouble of setting up a rotating system so that a different platoon got to luxuriate in the ski lodge nearby every three days. They were clean shaved, good-spirited, had warm food in their bellies and a roof over their heads, all things they would never again take for granted. The soft alpine sun was finally melting away the last remaining ice spikes of Bastogne.
Carwood put the book he’d been reading down and smiled to himself, letting the breeze soothe his skin. He was sitting with his back against a beech tree, Lake Zell painting a breathtaking picture in front of him. Though maybe it was just the sight of Ron coming out of the water, pushing his wet hair back that really made his heart hammer in his chest.
He looked so young now, Carwood thought, as Ron sprinted slightly to get to where he was. He looked alive in a way Carwood had never seen before, full of hope and laughter and eager like a man in his twenties is supposed to be, only traces left to be found of the battle-hardened commander that had sat in his place only a couple of months ago. Carwood had been freshly out of bed that morning when he’d shown up riding a German BMW R75, waking any late birds on his way. Carwood had given him an astonished look and asked, “Where on earth did you even find that?”, but Ron had simply flashed him a grin and gestured for him to get into the sidecar, where he had put together some essential breakfast supplies and a bottle of red wine. Ron had speeded as much as the decaying motorcycle allowed and taken them both to a small clearing among the woods south of Zell am See.
“The water’s just perfect now,” Ron was saying then, as he slid down next to him and threw his head back, the morning sunbeams highlighting his features and waterdrops dancing on his skin. “You sure you don’t wanna go for a swim?”
“I think I’m good,” Carwood replied, side-eyeing him. Ron caught his gaze briefly, before tilting his head and resting it on Carwood’s shoulder. “You’re gonna soak my shirt.”
“One might even think I’m trying to get it off you,” he said, looking up at him innocently. Carwood rolled his eyes, almost annoyed at how insultingly enthralling Ron managed to be without even trying. He grabbed his face gently and Ron pouted, then moved his lips to Carwood’s palm. There was a ridiculous smile threatening to form on his face, so he quickly kissed Ron before he could tease him about it. Ron hummed indulgently but chided, “So risky, Lieutenant.”
“True. The birds might snitch. And then where will we be?”
“You want me to take care of ‘em?” Ron offered in a solemn tone, a dead serious frown on his face. Carwood just shook his head and then let go of him in favor of rummaging through the small carton bag Ron had brought along.
“What’s this?” Carwood asked, pulling out a small box that he opened to reveal small pieces of baked dough. Ron took a breath.
“It’s… huh. It’s called kaisersja— kaiserman— Kaiser-something. Apparently one of some emperor’s favorite desserts, that’s where the name’s said to come from. Tried one and thought you’d like ‘em,” he smiled, taking a bite then offering it to Carwood, “I think we were supposed to eat them while they were still warm, though.”
Carwood took a bite, smiling softly. Ron had seen fit not only to get him something he knew he’d like, but to make a little day trip out of it. And it was all for Carwood’s delight only.
They ate in companionable silence. “You still haven’t told me where the hell you found that bike,” Carwood pointed out after a minute.
“I’m afraid that’s classified information, Lieutenant,” came the easy reply, as Ron took a piece of kaiserschmarrn from Carwood’s hand. Lip flicked the leftover sugar icing on his fingers at him, scoffing at the fake outraged look that earned him.
They spent the morning lounging by the lakeside, the gentle water flow and birdsongs the only sounds that disrupted the quiet. Ron felt absolutely blissful. It had been so different, loving Carwood in the heat of the war. Whatever little time they could snatch for themselves then they had spent holding each other hungrily, the tension palpable in the air and their battle wounds still fresh. They had kept warm in whatever way they could, finding any excuse for closeness, but both had been ultimately aware that the fire they had ignited threatened to consume them at any moment if they weren’t careful.
Now, in the serenity that Austria and the end of the war promised, they could afford this. This tenderness, this fondness, this long awaited peace. They reveled in each other’s company, allowed themselves the luxury of spending the night together and they could afford to let their guard down at moments like these. Maybe the change was most obvious in Ron. He would laugh hard and loud, spend time with his men for the sake of it and roll his eyes at any mention of the rumors that had once clouded his character, now fading from memory. But what he noticed the most, of course, was the change in Carwood’s demeanor. He had always been nothing but kind and caring, but in the mountains Ron could appreciate a carefree attitude he hadn’t seen in him before. He had even gotten the upright Carwood Lipton drunk on more than one occasion by then, which he found to be just an absolutely delightful experience.
(“You’ve corrupted me, Captain,” Lip slurred once, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Ron had laughed soundlessly and put aside the bottle of Vat 69 he had managed to purloin from Nixon, then tipped Carwood back into the mattress, pressing down on him as he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. “God, the things you do to me,” Carwood breathed, his lips just shy of Ron’s.)
Ron looked up at Carwood then. He had been lying with his head on his lap for a while, content to bathe in Carwood’s mere presence as he read. It was past midday and a bottle of Château d’Something laid empty beside them. Ron’s cheeks were coloured pink and he felt lightheaded in that deeply satisfying way only wine could incite. His lips kept unwillingly curving into a smile.
Carwood caught him staring a little too much and touched his cheek lovingly. “What’s on your mind?”
Ron closed his eyes. “That I want it to be like this, always,” he purred, rubbing his cheek against Carwood’s hand. Carwood’s smile widened and he threw his head back. The sunlight shone directly into his eyes and he could barely make out the shape of far away mountains, with little obstinate patches of snow here and there that still refused to melt even in the summer heat. He felt Ron press his head against his stomach, taking a deep breath as if to capture Carwood’s scent.
“Maybe we should stay here forever,” Carwood ventured, “barricade ourselves in the ski lodge and wish the world away.” Ron looked up at him tenderly and put his hand on the side of Carwood’s neck, urging him down.
“Sounds good, darling. I’m in.”
❦
In the early morning, the sunlight shone through the arched windows bathing the room in a golden warmth. The hotel room was quiet except for the distant sound of water and the slowly waking town. Of course, Captain Speirs had secured a nice suite for himself the moment they arrived. It had a small balcony overlooking the mountain range to the north, and to the left you could see the lake and make out the far-off traditional wooden houses on the other side. The walls were painted a nice antique white that contrasted the olive green furniture. A huge king size mattress sat in the middle of the room, soft and comfortable as a cloud. In front of it there was a little hickory brown coffee table surrounded by a pair of regal-looking armchairs, in which two army uniforms were neatly folded.
Carwood’s eyes flickered open as the light hit them. Slowly, his barely awake mind started to make out the room and he felt Ron shifting closer, one of his arms loosely hanging around Carwood’s waist. He was breathtaking like this, Carwood thought, it was just not fair that someone could look like that so effortlessly. He was sleeping soundly with his hair sticking up messily over the pillow and his mouth slightly agape. The sun kissed his skin and made it look glowy and his shallow breathing was the only sound filling the room.
He smiled at the sight. Waking up by Ron’s side was a privilege he enjoyed having all to himself. He brought one hand up to stroke his hair softly, careful not to wake him. He sat up a bit and stayed there for a few minutes, absent-mindedly petting his head and thinking about nothing but the warmth in his chest. Here, in this hotel room somewhere in the middle of Europe, amongst people whose language he didn’t speak and surroundings he was still unfamiliar with, Carwood felt unexplainably at home.
When he looked down at Ron again, he was staring up at him through half lidded eyes. Carwood’s hand motion didn’t stop, he just tilted his head and let his gaze travel through Ron’s face for a long minute.
“See something you like?” Ron half yawned. He had meant for it to come out playful but his sleepy voice just made him sound rather adorable. He had only his skivvies on, an avid defender of sleeping with as little clothes as possible no matter the weather.
Carwood put his lips to Ron’s forehead. “It’s still early, baby, if you want to get some more sleep.” He stretched and twisted in the bed sheets, and threw an arm around Carwood. Then he innocently slid a hand under his shirt, almost as if it was an afterthought, and palmed the muscle there softly before he started to slowly push up the hem of his shirt. Carwood watched him closely, a smile painted on his face that seemed to be ever present whenever he was alone with Ron.
“I think I have a better idea,” he grinned, moving to straddle Carwood. Carwood let out the ghost of a laugh, knowing he couldn’t resist Ron even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.
“Hm? And what could that idea possibly be?” Carwood teased back, sitting up to meet him and running his hands along Ron’s flanks, bucking his hips up slightly. Ron’s grin turned more devious then and he put his arms around Carwood’s neck. Sometimes it felt like he was a demon in disguise, sent up to the world of the living to test Carwood’s limits specifically, and he was miserably failing each and every test.
“How about,” he whispered as his face came closer to Carwood’s, “I just keep you here all day,” his right hand was now cradling Carwood’s face, his thumb tracing the scar on his cheek before he roughly run it down his lips, “and show you just how many ideas I have?”
Carwood didn’t reply, just flashed him a quick smirk before kissing him, strong and open-mouthed. Ron’s lips were intoxicating, ever so soft be it in the cold winter, in the spring breeze or now, in the alpine summer. He was holding Carwood’s head with both hands, his fingers tangling in his hazel hair as he sat atop of him like he had just conquered something. He pressed down against Carwood and it made him exhale hotly, his head lolling back. Ron took the chance to start working on getting his shirt off, almost offended that it was still on.
Carwood wanted to remind him that they did actually need to get up. That there was a training exercise that Ron had scheduled, mind you, at midmorning. That they couldn’t exactly show up to it late and already flushed and worn out. But Ron was mouthing at neck, his hands grabbing as much of Carwood as he could reach, and soon enough he could hardly think of anything that wasn’t how right Ron’s body felt pressed against his own.
Later, Ron would look at the time and say “Shit”, nearly yelling, “Why the hell didn’t you remind me?” while he stumbled into his clothes as fast as humanly possible. Carwood looked on smug as a cat, because the advantage of dating your captain was that you could sometimes miss a training exercise or two. But Ron threw his uniform at him, pointing a finger in his direction as he moved around the room, “Oh you’re not getting out of this one my sweet. Get dressed fast, we don’t have much time.” But that would be later.
❦
By the time August rolled around, almost every D-Day veteran was gone. Some were already back in the states, others were preparing to make the journey back, some were taking furloughs in England. Easy Company had unofficially come to an end in Zell am See, and they’d disbanded unorderly. A part of Carwood felt the loss like the passing of a close friend, though he knew better fates awaited all of them. As sad as it was to see his comrades go, he knew that Easy would live on in their hearts, bonding them together for a lifetime even if they were to never meet again.
They spent much of August in the same fashion as they did the prior months. Occasional training exercises to keep the men in shape were eclipsed by baseball and football games, though for the officers the paperwork seemed to be never-ending. Everyone held their breath as news of the atomic bomb started coming in, unaware of just how devastating the effects had been, yet horrified at the lengths their leaders were willing to go to in order to force a quicker surrender. Such indiscriminate slaughter of civilians seemed far too inhumane. They were growing more eager to go home by the day, ready to not be associated with the army anymore.
The remaining members of Easy found themselves being moved around France as they awaited Japan’s official surrender, but they were now practically certain they wouldn’t be needed in the Pacific. Speirs and Lipton had agreed to remain with the men, and now that most of the Toccoa men were gone, they tended to spend most of their afternoons with Winters, Nixon and Welsh, some of the other few officers they knew that hadn’t gone back yet.
“I must admit, I’m surprised that you’re still with us, Harry.” Nixon said one evening over a poker game, the moon slowly making its way up the sky. “I thought you might just jump at the first chance of going back home to your Kitty.”
He meant to mock him, of that Harry was well aware, but he just grinned, “Oh, I am in no rush, my dear Lewis,” he said, the alcohol clear in his voice. “We’ll have all the time in the world once I’m back for good. I am a very lucky man, after all.”
“I take it I’ll see all of you gentlemen at the wedding, then,” Nix said. Harry made a disgusted face.
“As long as you,” he said, pointing a finger at Nixon, “don’t embarrass the hell out of me, I guess I’ll allow it.”
“How charitable,” Ron chimed in. “Taking us savages to such a classy event.”
Lipton laughed softly, amused. They were always like this, a constant back and forth which he was glad not to partake in, content to just watch. Though Nixon and Welsh often found a way to turn the conversation to him if they felt he’d had it easy for too long.
“I’m counting on our beloved Lip here to make sure you behave, Sparky.” Ron rolled his eyes. Carwood knew he didn’t particularly enjoy the nickname. Winters looked at him in solidarity, shaking his head slowly. Lipton smiled, returning the gesture.
“I’ll put on my best behavior just for you, Harry,” Ron said. “Just make sure not to screw up yourself before you officially tie the knot,” he added, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he put his cards down.
“I sincerely wish all of you to find a love as pure as ours,” Harry announced, always so blissfully unaware. The rest of them had to hold back a laugh, feeling like they were all in on a joke Harry could never be a part of. “Only Lip here will understand, I’m sure. I bet you’re also dying to see your wife, ain’t that right?”
Ron’s face changed so fast. They were silent for a few seconds until Lipton nodded and said, “Of course,” in a small voice.
Ron drowned what was left of his drink. They never talked about this. Sure, they’d established there’d be an after the war, of that Ron was sure— he was sure as hell not going to lose Carwood now, not after persevering through all of this— but the reminder that Carwood did have someone to go back home to threw him off. He felt the sudden urge to get right on out of there, but ended up simply reaching for the bottle of whiskey by Nix’s side.
“Where were you from again, Lip?” Winters cut in, relieving some of the tension in the room. Harry had looked confused by Lip’s lack of enthusiasm, but let it go quick enough.
“Huntington, West Virginia,” he replied, avoiding Ron’s eyes. “It’s nothing fancy but I could do with the peace and quiet it promises.”
“Maybe we’ll come and visit you sometime too then, Lip,” Nixon said. “You mentioned your family had a boarding house, right?”
“You don’t let any of these troublemakers anywhere near your home, Lip,” Harry added before he could reply. “You might come back to no boarding house at all.”
“You wound me, Welsh. We’re Easy’s finest.” Nix said, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Yeah, easy for you to say that now that most of Easy is gone,” Harry shot back, and the room erupted in laughter.
They spent the next twenty minutes reminiscing about the good times they had spent with the men who were now back stateside. Grant, Johnny, Compton, Randleman, anyone but Norman Dike. Ron pointed out that he had to be glad they’d had Foxhole Norman, otherwise he might have never ended up with Easy.
“Aww, Sparky, you’re getting soft on us now,” Nixon said then, making silly eyes at him.
“Can’t ever win with you lot,” Speirs uttered, then stubbed out his cigarette on the asher. “And I’m exhausted, so I’m out of here.” Harry and Nix protested, trying to keep him around, before Winters and Lipton also announced they would be following shortly after.
“You’re all downers,” Nix and Harry seemed to agree on something at last. They disbanded then and Ron made his way to his room as fast as he could, although he wasn’t exactly sure why.
He’d just gotten off his boots and jacket and was sitting on the side of the bed, seemingly lost in thought but thinking about nothing at all, when he heard a soft knock on the door. He knew who it was straight away and said, “Come on in.”
Lipton opened the door and closed it behind himself in a single practiced movement. He gave him a sheepish smile, obviously far less affected by the booze than Ron was. “C’mere,” he mumbled, holding out his hand. Carwood locked the door and took Ron’s hand as he sat down next to him on the bed, tucking away his curls with his free hand.
“You feeling alright, baby?” he asked quietly, resting his hand against Ron’s cheek. He immediately leaned into his touch. He could feel Ron’s smile against his palm. He melted everytime Carwood called him a pet name like that.
“’m fine, yeah,” he touched Carwood’s chest lightly. “You’re staying with me, yes?” And he just meant whether he was going to spend the night there with him, but unconsciously he was asking you’re not going to leave me when we go back home, right?
“Yes, of course,” Carwood smiled, putting his lips to Ron’s hair. He didn’t seem to have read into the question much and added, “Just let me take off my boots and I’ll join you.”
Ron let his hand go, but still he felt uneasy. He tried to stop his mind from wandering. Carwood wouldn’t leave him. Carwood loved him.
When he lifted his head again Lip was watching him from the other side of the bed, which apparently he had just opened. Ron gave him a quick smile and started to climb into bed himself. Carwood lay down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“You’re sure you’re okay? You seem to be miles away,” Carwood inquired softly, hooking his finger around Ron’s chin to make him look at him.
“No, yeah, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he blurted out. Then, realizing that maybe it hadn’t come off exactly reassuring, he added, “It’s all fine Car, I’m still just a little drunk,” he promised, slurring his words for effect, and Carwood clucked his tongue disapprovingly.
Ron knew, deep down, that he was only postponing an inevitable conversation. However, it was one he didn’t think himself fit to be having at that moment, so he allowed himself to push it to the back of his mind. But the uncertainty made him feel so small. A voice inside him screamed, terrified, what if there is no after?
He didn’t want to keep thinking about it. He decided that no matter what, they were going to be okay.
“You oughta stop trying to keep up with Nixon’s drinking pace, dear,” Carwood chided, pulling him out of his head.
“God, I know. How on earth does he do it? The man just doesn’t have a liver. Or taste buds, for that matter. That shit he drinks tastes awful after the first couple of drinks.”
Lipton chuckled and shook his head. “Everything we drink tastes awful. I’m finding you just have to get used to it.”
“Point taken. Wine’s better, though. It’s sweet.” He stopped and smiled drunkenly at him. “You’re sweet.”
Carwood smiled back, a disbelieving look on his face. After all these months together, Ron still managed to surprise him by being so open with his affection. “So corny, Captain” he said, but pulled him closer and nosed his cheek. “You’re ridiculously endearing, you know that?”
Ron made himself comfortable against Carwood’s chest and hooked his legs around Carwood’s. They fit together so well. Carwood was slightly bulkier than Ron was, which he delighted in, and his broad shoulders made just the perfect nest for his head. He slept better wrapped around Carwood in a rusty twin-sized bed than he did by himself on the most comfortable double mattresses Austrian hotels had to offer. And Carwood indulged him every time, grateful for each chance he got to hold him close.
“And no one will ever believe you,” he grinned, kissing him to shush any possible comeback. Carwood took his bottom lip between his teeth, making Ron sigh softly. He rested his forehead against Carwood’s. “You’re so pretty. I should tell you more. You’re so pretty.”
Carwood caressed his jaw, always happy to get Ron’s undivided attention. He was normally sweet to him, but had no filter once a drop of alcohol touched his lips. Carwood adored how utterly comfortable Ron was with him and reveled in the fact that he was the only one who got to know him like that, to love him like that. Tough luck for everyone else, really.
Ron’s head came to rest in Carwood’s chest and he looked at him through hazy eyes. He was getting sleepier by the second, probably more as a side effect of the booze than out of tiredness. “I love you, you know that?” Carwood whispered, his fingers drawing circles on Ron’s nape.
Ron felt warm all over. There was no place safer in the world than Carwood’s arms. He had everything he needed right there. “I love you too, Car,” he said fondly, placing a small kiss on Carwood’s chest, “so much…” he trailed off, struggling to keep his eyes open.
Carwood put his lips to Ron’s temple, whispered “Goodnight, dear,” and then closed his eyes, letting sleep take him too.
That night they both dreamed of home, but their concepts of exactly what home was were very far apart from each other’s.
(Ron saw a place he didn’t recognize. A small apartment though he couldn’t say exactly where it was. “Anywhere,” Carwood had told him in the dream, the outside world clouded by fog. “We could be anywhere and it wouldn’t matter. I’m here, am I not?” Ron had smiled, before the line that separated one dream from the next had blurred, and then he had seen a small boy, standing in front of a white house with a maple tree on the side, feeling very scared.
The boarding house hadn’t changed while he’d been away. Almost 4 years since he last saw it, and it was as warm and cozy as it had ever been. Or was it? Something was off. Carwood could feel it. He walked in, the moon high up in the sky, and no one welcomed him home. Why did no one welcome him home? He crossed the threshold to the kitchen and instinctively knew. Little Eddie saw him and looked away. Maggie was sitting with her head in her hands, Carwood’s mother’s arms were wrapped around her protectively. Leave, they said, their mouths unmoving. We don’t want you here.)
❦
The Japanese officials signed the documents of surrender on the second day of September and their time in Europe was drawing near its end. The point system had been an authentic administrative nightmare and it elicited a range of reactions from the moment it was first implemented. It would be a very long time until all troops found their ways back home.
However, it was declared that all officers were allowed to leave by the 15th of the month if they wished. Lipton sighed in relief, having had more than enough war to last a lifetime— though any amount of war seemed more than enough. His thoughts would often wander to the places that were now only finding peace after five, or even eight years of bloody fighting or occupation. With all they had seen, he could only feel lucky that he got to go home at all.
He resolved to write to his mother as soon as he heard the news. If he’d had a choice, he would’ve returned with the 101st Airborne Division, but by that point there were only a couple dozen men he even recognized, so there was nothing holding him back from going home as soon as he could. Except, of course, the main reason he’d stayed on this long.
He shook his head and started writing.
September 2nd, 1945
Dear Mom,
I am sure the news will reach you before this letter does, but I just got word that Japan finally signed its surrender. All officers are to be dismissed from service by the 15th of this month if they desire. I expect I will be on my way to you by the time you’re reading this. I hope this letter finds you, and Eddie, and Maggie all in good health. I am safe and well. I will see you soon.
Love,
Carwood
At that point, most of his words seemed artificial and prearranged to him. He’d written so many variations of them it no longer rang believable to his ears. It was all true, of course, he did hope they were okay and he was safe and well. But he had been less than honest since Bastogne. There was no point worrying his family back home. And then again, he couldn’t exactly tell them what was going through his mind.
Carwood sighed. He knew he had to talk to Ron and it seemed pointlessly cruel to delay it any longer. He had his heart in his mouth, unsure what Ron would want, unsure what he was going to tell him. He had no idea what the future had in store for them, but every possible outcome scared him in its own special way. He was so fucked.
Scattered memories found their way into his thoughts. Margaret’s long hair cascading down her white summer dress, the June heat burning as they strolled along the riverside. A picnic in the forest, her twinkling blue eyes when he proposed. How happy she had been and how happy he’d been to see her so full of joy. Their wedding day, his mother’s tears, how welcoming her parents had been. They had known Carwood since he was a boy, he was one of the best men in town, his mother-in-law had declared. The heartbroken look on Maggie’s face when he told her, vaguely a month after the ceremony, that he was joining up, that it was good money, that he’d write as much as he could. It had been months since his last letter to his wife by then; he was sort of expecting to get a Dear-John that never came. He knew she was well because of what his mother wrote, but feared the worst. What if she had grown tired of waiting for him to return?
But thoughts of love all seemed to ultimately lead to Ron. Lord, Ron. If he was honest with himself, he’d never felt anything like he felt for Ron. Sure, he had loved Maggie, but it had been kind of expected from him. They’d grown up together, they were always together and, well, they were a man and a woman. Falling for Ron had been a completely different experience. Ron had been patient and kind, ever so understanding of the fears that held Carwood back. He never pushed him, never resented him, never expected anything from him except what he was ready to give. Ron loved like the world was ending; he was fiercely loyal and gave all or nothing. He let Carwood know parts of himself that he had decisively hidden away from everyone else— and Carwood had become more of himself with Ronald Speirs.
But he felt something else when thinking about Ron then, a feeling that had become a stranger to him those last few months. Something that crept near his heart, threatening to burn it and shrink it to ashes. Shame, and a paralyzing fear. And he wondered whether it had all been a carefully put together illusion, as he felt it slip away from his grasp.
❦
The sun had gone down by the time he heard a knock on the door. He hadn’t moved in hours.
“There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Ron said, letting himself in. “You heard?”
“Yes, I heard.”
“We’re going home at last,” he stated, smiling. “Why are you already in bed? Do you feel well?” Ron asked, a worried look on his face as he sat down next to him.
“Yes, of course, I’m okay,” he reassured him, and then put his arms around him when the look on Ron’s face didn’t change. “Come here.”
Ron let Carwood pull him towards his chest, indulging in his affections. Carwood’s hands were always so gentle, even when they had been cold and dry they sparked fire wherever they came in contact with Ron’s skin. One of them was wrapped possessively around Ron’s waist then, while the other cradled his hair. They stayed like that for some time, content in each other’s presence and comfortable in the shared silence. Then Ron moved his head and put his chin on Carwood’s chest, looking up at him with such a loving look in his eyes Carwood felt like someone was pulling at the strings of his heart.
“What are we going to do, Car?” he whispered, finally breaking the quiet and all pretensions they had let grow around that very question until then. Carwood let his eyes fall close for a second.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled honestly. Ron said nothing. He knew Ron was letting him decide. He knew whatever happened next, it was all on him.
He put a hand to Carwood’s cheek then, cupping his face tenderly and Carwood opened his eyes slowly. “We can’t keep putting it off, darling. Let’s figure it out. Together. Yes?” Ron offered kindly, smiling softly.
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. He could see the hope in Ron’s eyes. He needed to say something, and he needed to do it fast. “Look, Ron, I— I think we should— ” Carwood’s heart was loud even to his own ears. Ron was looking at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to find the words. Carwood knew there were no right words. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I— I don’t think we can keep doing this back home.”
Ron looked like Carwood had just punched him in the stomach. He sat up and opened his mouth to speak, shut it, opened it again only for a broken whimper to come out. “This?” he finally managed, turning to face him. Carwood couldn’t bear to look at him then. His gaze fell on the desk, the door, the wardrobe, anywhere but on Ron’s face. “Look at me. This? Are you serious?”
Carwood kept his head down, then faced Ron at last. “I just think it’s best if we don’t—”
“This is a goddamn relationship, Carwood. That’s what it is. Not a fucking wartime hobby,” he barked, the pain obvious in his voice as he tried to steady it.
“I know, Ron. God, I know. Believe me when I tell you this is the last thing I want, but I see no other way around it,” he lamented. Ron’s gaze fell to his own hands. He was only distantly aware of himself. Carwood scooted closer and put his hand on Ron’s neck and very slowly said, “Look, darling, I love you— ”
Ron huffed out a painful laugh. “But,” he finished and Carwood reckoned barely missing a mortar shot had hurt less.
“But we both know how this goes,” Carwood whined. “I say I want you to be with me and then what? Ask you to agree to an affair? Knowing that we’d barely get to see each other a couple times a year? I can’t do that to you. It’s not fair.”
Ron wanted to scream. He wanted to snap back that this was not fair, that he didn’t have to be just a fling, that Carwood could choose him. That if really wanted to, he would put him first. Instead he took a deep breath, his voice threatening to break with every word as he mumbled, “But I don’t want to lose you.”
“And you won’t,” Carwood promised, meaning it as much as he could, “I will write. I’ll see you when I can. We’ll stay in touch. But it’s better if we… move on.”
Ron closed his eyes then. A single tear escaped him. “You have already decided, haven’t you? There’s nothing I can say to change your mind.”
“It’s for the best, Ron,” Carwood didn’t believe a word he was saying. He didn’t really think he’d be happier without Ron, though he was trying to believe it would be easier. Ron deserved someone who he could rely on, of that he was sure, someone who would never doubt. He was almost convinced Ron would be better off finding someone else at that point. He held Ron’s face with both his hands. “It’ll be worse if we keep do— if we stay together than if we just rip off the bandaid. We’ll just hurt each other more.”
Ron’s head felt so dizzy. This wasn’t how he was expecting this conversation to go. He’d walked into this room with the intention of asking Carwood whether he would like to come with him to Boston, foolish enough to think he’d consider that. He hadn’t even gotten a chance before Carwood had left him. He hadn’t had a chance at all.
“Since when—?” Ron’s voice broke off. “When were you planning on telling me this if I didn’t ask? When we reached New York?”
Carwood let his hands fall on Ron’s shoulders, his touch incessant.
“No. God, no. Ron, please listen to me. I wasn’t planning this. I never meant to hurt you. I mean it when I say this is the last thing I want, and I wished it could be different,” Ron shook his head. Carwood held onto him tighter. “I do. But you have to understand. It’s better this way. And I am sorry.”
His eyes were watery, although he was surely trying not to let it show. Carwood had never seen him break down like this before, not even the night Grant was shot. He hated himself immensely knowing he was the one who’d tore him up like this.
Ron felt defeated. There was no coming back from this. “Better for who?” he whispered, so quietly Carwood barely caught it. But he didn’t get a chance to reply before he gave in and snapped, “No. You’re right. Neither of us wants an affair. Since that’s all it appears to be, there’s not much we can do, is there?”
“Ron. You were never just an affair to me. You mean the world to me,” Carwood made him face him again, even when the expression he was wearing threatened to take all his resolve away, “You do. And I wished I could be who you need me to be, I really do, but I’m trying to be realistic here.” Ron’s anger left him as fast as it had come, and he wrapped a hand around his wrist. Fire was eating him up from the inside.
“You already are,” Ron whined, his voice wavering. He had been happy enough just living out of hope and promises, hoping that when this day came Carwood would choose him, hoping that he’d say something like you’re all I’ve ever wanted. He’d been so naive to let himself dream he’d be enough to keep Carwood by his side. He felt ridiculously small.
Carwood had to close his eyes. “You know what I mean, dear. What we’ve had— it’s been wonderful, and I’ll always hold it close to my heart. But it just couldn’t last.”
“I know, Car,” he said, not knowing but not finding it within himself to fight back either. He felt light-headed. At what point exactly Carwood had decided that he was not worth the trouble he couldn’t say. “I know. I just— I don’t know what you want me to say. I understand? I think I understand. But— I—,” he kept trailing off, and Carwood’s heart was breaking with every word. Ron sighed, “I’ll still be there. You’ll have me.”
For lack of better words, Carwood moved his lips to Ron’s. He tasted like salt and his mouth was firmly shut even as he let Carwood kiss him. “I’m sorry,” he bawled against Ron's lips.
You don’t have to be. Just stay with me. The words just wouldn’t come out. Ron grabbed a fistful of Carwood’s shirt and pulled him closer. They looked at each other through pained eyes. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Ron pulled away first, wiping his face with the back of his hand and running it through his hair in one motion. He was trying hard to recompose himself. “But I can see you, yes? I can write?”
“Of course,” Carwood said with a sad grimace. The idea that Ron would think he wanted him out of his life hurt him the most. “We can stay friends. I want us to be. I’ll write to you as soon as I get home.”
Friends. Ron had never hated a word quite like he did the word friends right there and then. “Friends. Yeah,” it tasted bitter in his mouth. It felt wrong. Carwood was not his friend. But now he wasn’t anything more. “The only thing I’ll ask of you is that you don’t ask me to pretend we never happened. Please.”
Carwood could already feel a wave of regret crashing over him. “No, no, I would never ask that of you. I don’t want to lose you either.” Ron nodded silently. Pushing Ron away had to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and he’d survived a goddamn war.
“Do you want me to leave now?” Ron asked after a minute.
“No,” Carwood replied, far too quickly. “No. Please stay. I mean, if you want. We don’t have to… yet.”
Ron sighed. He thought of spending the next week or two until they left knowing that it was over but still together. The rational part of him knew it was a terrible idea, that it was better to just end it there for good. But, as usual, he opted not to listen to himself. Instead he looked sadly at Carwood and saw the hurt in his eyes then too, although that didn’t help or comfort him at all, and he lay back against his chest. Carwood’s hand immediately came around him, pulling him in. They shifted until Carwood found his back against the wooden headboard and Ron was lying between his legs with his head on his torso, a hand distractedly tracing his ribcage.
Ron closed his eyes, trying to engrave the memory of every brush of Carwood’s skin against his own. Now their days were numbered. The idea made him sick.
“I am going to miss you, Car,” he whispered, his voice low even to his ears. “I just wasn’t expecting this. Not now, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Carwood said again, and Ron looked up at him. He didn’t know when it had happened, but now his face was like a wet weekend and he looked exhausted. Carwood didn’t keep his eyes on him for long, “I’m sorry, Ron.”
And goddamn, Ron couldn’t find it in himself to be upset anymore. He felt like Carwood had just thrown him away. Like a toy that doesn’t amuse a kid anymore left out with the waste. To him, Carwood had basically said that well, yeah, he had been good fun for a while, but let’s be serious now.
Maybe he had flown too close to the sun, Ron thought. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have something like this. Maybe he had already gotten more than he deserved, and should be grateful Carwood graced him with his affection at all.
Despite every contradictory feeling bubbling up inside him, his hand found Carwood’s face. He instinctively leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and indulging in Ron’s touch.
“What are you going to do? Back stateside?” Ron asked him, his voice gentle.
“I think I'll just help my family with the boarding house for the time being,” Carwood replied. “You'll be going back to college, I assume?” He was trying to sound like himself and mock him lightly, because Ron would often go on and on about his degree, and Carwood would listen keenly as he ranted for the hundredth time about the disastrous consequences of the industrial revolution. But his voice just came out downhearted.
“Eventually, yeah. I think I just need some rest when I get back. Had a pretty intense last couple of years, you see,” he said, and Carwood laughed softly. He appreciated Ron's efforts to comfort him, because he really had no reason to.
Carwood put his hand on Ron’s chest and felt his rapid heartbeat, how hard he was breathing. He looked at him apologetically, but Ron didn’t acknowledge it at all.
“I’ll be returning home two weeks from now,” Ron announced as calmly as he could. “Do you know when you’re going back yet?”
Carwood nodded slowly. “I'm sailing next week,” he informed him. “Wednesday.”
There was a pause. Then, “Good,” Ron shuddered. “Good, that’s good. Wednesday. Yeah.” As he said this, the clock struck 8p.m. It was eight o’clock on Sunday night.
They stayed there, tangled together and speaking in soft whispers, until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore.
❦
To be physically with someone you know you’re inevitably going to be separated from soon hurts in such a subtle way. Because at the moment you have them, but the truth of it is that they are already gone. It was a strange thing to experience, like admiring the beauty of a butterfly for a second before it flies away forever. It would be crueler to keep it where you could always see it, so you let it find its own path.
Ron let his eyes fall shut. Sleep had avoided him for a very long time that night and the first signs of dawn were starting to make themselves known. He didn’t move, afraid that Carwood might just fly away from him if he happened to wake him. So there he was, still tucked safely under his arm, watching him sleep peacefully.
Ron stared at Carwood for a long time. His eyelashes were long from up close and his eyebrows were such a light beige they almost looked blonde in the light. He wanted to reach up with his hand to trace the fading scar on his cheek. His stubble was barely noticeable and he breathed loudly through his nose as he slept. He looked ever so kind even then.
Carwood moved suddenly, until he was lying on his side with an arm decisively around Ron’s waist. What was he going to do when he didn’t get to wake up to this anymore? He moved closer to Carwood, running his hand softly along his upper arm. He was staring at the freckles on Carwood’s shoulder and followed the way down to his belly with his gaze, attempting to memorize every detail. His chest tightened. Hardly two more days of this.
When Ron’s eyes moved back up to Carwood’s face he found him staring back at him. “Sorry,” he uttered. “Didn’t mean to wake you. It’s very early.”
Carwood touched his cheek. God, he hated this. He felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and was tense. Carwood wasn’t even being cold or distant. Ron told himself he was just overreacting.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he mumbled. Ron shook his head lightly, not looking at him. “C’mere,” he whispered and opened his arms, allowing Ron to make himself comfortable against his chest just how he liked best. “You should get some rest, dear.”
The name smoldered in his chest. “Don’t wanna,” he grumbled. “Too little time.”
Carwood placed a kiss on the top of his head and ignored the second part. “I heard there is a small lake east of the village. Would you like to go for a swim?”
That was so wrong, Ron decided. It felt so normal, so harmless, but there was a formality in the way he said it he might as well have been reporting to him back in Foy instead of holding him close in a bed. It burned. He pressed his head against his chest.
“Sounds good.”
Carwood caught his dry tone and added, “Only if you want to.”
“Please stop that.”
“Stop what?” Carwood asked, clearly taken aback.
“Trying to appease me like that. You don’t have to. It’s okay. It’s still just me.”
Carwood fell silent then. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to— Sorry.” It was subtle, but you could have cut the tension in that small room with a knife. After a moment of hesitation, he took Ron’s hand and brought it to his lips, not quite kissing it but holding it close, as if for safekeeping. He had Ron in his arms but it was a broken sort of intimacy that they shared then, one that had an expiration date on it and that made them feel as if they were already a world apart.
They were quiet for a few minutes then. It wasn’t quite comfortable. They could hear some military vehicles making their way around the tiny village, disrupting its peace. Carwood was focused on Ron’s breathing, the way his chest rose and fell. He wasn’t looking at him but Carwood couldn’t take his eyes off him.
“God, I hate this,” he confessed in a small voice and Ron finally lifted his gaze, “This tension between us. I mean—” He shut up abruptly, feeling that he had no right to complain about that then. He could see the very same thought written in Ron’s face and it almost broke a smile out of him. Ron was like an open book, you could read everything on his face. Or maybe Carwood had just learned his tells all too well by then. He couldn’t really say anymore.
Ron just made a noise of recognition but offered no reply. He freed himself from Carwood’s arms just enough so that he could sit up and fish his pack of Lucky Strikes from his jacket. Carwood watched him closely. He took a cigarette and offered the pack to Carwood, who shook his head, his arm still around Ron’s waist, unmoving.
Ron lit the cigarette and started to caress Carwood’s arm with his free hand. His finger traced mindless circles on his forearm, lingering a little longer on the small scars that were almost completely healed up then. It made Carwood’s skin tingly.
Ron thought of the first time he’d touched Carwood like that. Hagenau seemed so far away now, both physically and in his memories. Carwood’s body had been wrecked with fever and Ron had been crouched down next to his bed for about fifteen minutes, telling himself he just cared for his Second Lieutenant who wasn’t so yet the way any other captain would, that was all. Just a normal amount of abusing his rank to borrow more blankets than he was allowed to and waking poor Eugene in the middle of the night more than once. He had been about to leave when Lipton had opened his eyes, barely managing to murmur “Sir…? Wait, don’t…” before a coughing fit had ripped through him and then he drifted off to sleep again. Ron hadn’t left his side until the next morning, and whenever Lip woke up he found himself soothing him in any way he could. The memory painted a small smile on his face.
Carwood looked at him with kind eyes then. “What is it?”
“I was thinking,” he started, his smile widening as he tried to find the words, “Do you remember, back in Hagenau, one night when you were sick that I stayed with you—”
“You were with me like every night. I remember that clearly, but you're gonna have to be more specific,” Carwood interrupted him, a soft ring in his voice.
Ron took a drag from his cigarette and met his eyes, “Oh, I know that,” he breathed. When they first got together, Carwood used to tease him about it often. So irresponsible of you, Captain. “I meant that the first night I did, I was trying hard to convince myself I had no feelings for you but professional admiration.” Carwood’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at him with amusement. “I know, I know. But you know how I was back then.”
Carwood perfectly knew what he meant. When he’d first been appointed to Easy, he would never see him talking to any of the men other than to give an order or receive one from his superiors. He would often find him by himself, devoting most of his scarce free time to paperwork or going over maps again and again. He had been relieved that they finally had a competent, hard-working CO that would throw himself head-first into battle then. But the more time he spent with him, the more he realized Ron was just terribly lonely.
He decided to overlook that part and instead sat up, taking the cigarette from Ron’s hand. “So you had feelings for me?” he joked, making sure his tone was the right one as he tilted his head to rest it on Ron’s shoulder.
“Fuck off,” Ron shifted his upperbody as if to push him away, but the smile was clear on his voice and then he lowered his face to kiss Carwood’s nose. Ah, that was better.
Carwood quickly put his hand on Ron’s head, his black hair still messy from sleep, and brought him down into a kiss. He tasted like smoke and his short stubble brushed against his own. When they pulled back, they finished the cigarette in silence, and kept caressing each other with greedy hands.
“C’mon,” Ron said after a minute, tugging on Carwood's shirt, “Let’s go and find this lake.”
Because, well, if Ron was to never see Carwood again, at least he was damn sure going to make the most out of those last two days they had left.
❦
It didn’t take them long to find the lake. Well, lake was quite a generous term. What they were staring at was a rather big pond that looked like it would barely cover them up to their shoulders. There were a couple of trees that gave it a little shadow and the water wasn’t exactly what you would call clean. Behind it, only an endless sight of plain French countryside extended beyond the horizon. It was about ten minutes from the small town that was hosting them, and there was a little pathway that led to the main road. It wasn’t exactly secret, but they doubted anyone would be coming there. The sun was rising, which at least made the view look a bit more alive, and the early birds sang in the distance.
“Well. It’s not Zell am See, I’ll give you that,” Carwood admitted, disappointedly. The middle of nowhere, France was very different from the middle of nowhere, Austria. Back there they would have found a breathtaking view without even trying. And he was about to offer that they leave, feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d brought them there, when he noticed that Ron was taking off his shirt.
“Join me for a swim?” he asked, a smile on his face, and Carwood knew how hard he was trying to act like he hadn’t broken his trust and his heart just last night. He silently thanked him for it, and started to strip down to his underwear. It was fairly chilly, but that might’ve been just because it was barely seven in the morning.
When Carwood complained that the water was too cold after putting a single foot in it, Ron just rolled his eyes at him and ran in, splashing him on his way, then dived head-first into the deepest area. He came out pushing his hair away from his face, grimacing even as he pretended the water wasn’t that cold. “Come on now!” he called at Carwood, “This was your idea after all!”
Carwood wasn’t convinced. As he was trying to slowly get used to the temperature, Ron made his way over and tried to topple him into the water. “No,” Carwood warned, pushing him away. “No, don’t you dare—” but it was too late because Ron was throwing himself at him, sending them both into the water. Carwood came out for air as soon as he could, the water freezing. “Oh you little—!” he yelled, but he was smiling. Ron let him grab him and put his arms around his neck, laughing sweetly. It was his turn to force Ron underwater with him then, but he just pulled him close and kissed him in return, bubbles escaping from both their lips.
They lingered there for a brief half an hour, because they had to be ready by midmorning. What was left of their outfit would be making its way to Brest later in the day and they were expected to reach it by nightfall. That would be their last stop before they boarded a ship back home.
❦
The next couple of days were quite intense. The city of Brest was full of other soldiers eagerly waiting to sail back to the states and the locals weren’t exactly thrilled about their presence. Not that anyone, anywhere was particularly excited when a bunch of American soldiers winded up on their doorstep, but there the air was frenetic as everyone was reaching the limits of their patience.
Everything Carwood owned could fit into the small army-issued duffle bag he’d been dragging through half of Europe. He was done packing in no time and looked at it, a funny feeling on chest. It wasn’t exactly excitement, nor anxiety or nervousness, just a sort of dread mixed with a forced feeling of joy. He was looking forward to going home, to seeing Huntington and his family and Maggie, but he felt that he was leaving behind a part of him in this side of the war. The bonds that he could not explain to his folks even if he tried— his boys, those he had lost and those he had found, and the one who had mattered to him most—, were something he was not quite ready to let go of just yet. He took a deep breath and tried not to think too much about anything at all.
He had found himself billeted in a small hotel near the city port with the rest of the company, who were only little over a dozen men by then. Nixon had left them a few days ago, and Carwood had taken notice of the change in Winters’ mood. Neither him nor Ron had said anything to him, but they offered him their presence as comfort.
He remembered a night about five months ago, when they had been billeted somewhere in Germany and he had asked Ron about them. He had let out a dry laugh, as if it was completely obvious that they also had something of their own going on and said “Is that really a question?” when he got a confused look from Carwood. It just wasn’t as obvious to him. Later, in Austria, after Winters let them know he would be joining Nixon’s family company when they returned to the States, Ron had whispered “See? Good friends,” in his ear, and Carwood had laughed a bit too loud.
The only personal thing he was bringing back from Europe was a small photograph of himself, Ron and Welsh some private had snapped of them at Eagle’s Nest. It wasn’t exactly what you would call flattering, but that hadn’t mattered back then at all. Harry was smiling wide, clearly drunk and leaning over the balcony railings for support, the mountains standing imposing behind him though you could hardly make them out. Ron was in the middle, a hand barely covering his smirk and Lipton to his left, half standing at attention and half laughing at the two of them. He didn’t remember what they were grinning about, but recalled it had been something stupid Harry had said. It now sat on its bag, waiting to cross the Atlantic.
He sighed. The following day he would be on a New York bound ship, slowly making his way home. If he was a better man, he would feel lucky and thankful. Instead, he just looked at his bag with something close to resentment, and headed out of his room to find Ron’s.
❦
Ron had found himself sitting alone at the hotel bar at around 5p.m, one hand supporting his head. He drowned the whiskey he had ordered and decided against drinking any more. It would do him no good.
Instead, he went upstairs and tried to find his way to his room, not being used to the place. He wasn’t sure Carwood would want to see him then, but he had to see him. He couldn’t say he wasn’t a little positively surprised when he saw him knocking on his door, a duffle bag tucked under his arm that served as a painful reminder.
“Don’t think he’s in there,” he called, approaching him. Carwood smiled sadly and stepped aside to let Ron open the door. Once they were both inside and the door had closed behind them, Carwood looked around as if to make completely sure they were alone, then turned to Ron and reached for his hand. Ron’s instantly tightened around his.
Neither of them was sure what to say, but Carwood broke the silence first, “I was thinking,” his voice was but a whisper and he cleared his throat before continuing. “That I have that photograph of us and Harry you let me keep. But I want you to have something of mine, too,” Ron tilted his head in confusion like a small puppy. Then Carwood let go of Ron’s hand to reach for the chain that sat around his neck. He took off his dog tags and wrapped them around Ron’s neck instead. “I know it’s stupid, but—”
He stopped talking when he saw the look on Ron’s face. Ron immediately touched his hand to their dog tags and was staring down at them, a sad smile mixing with the broken look on his eyes. And he felt a bit broken, too. While he appreciated the gesture, it was too much of a goodbye, too little of a see you later. His heart started beating faster and he put his hand to the underside of Carwood’s jaw.
“That’s very sweet. Thank you. I’ll make sure to keep them safe,” he mumbled sadly, then put his lips to Carwood’s. He pulled away only to have Carwood pull him closer, but he didn’t kiss him again, just kept him there, a hand tangled his hair and the other on his back as Ron nosed the side of his neck.
Ron felt such a range of emotions it would’ve been a pointless effort to even attempt to name them. But at the forefront of it all was just love, all the love he had for Carwood, all the love he would be taking to Hungtinton with him. A little piece of him would stay forever entrenched in Europe, but the bigger part of him was traveling back to the States tomorrow without him, leaving him to lick his wounds alone.
“Write to me when you get home. You have my address with you, yes?”
“Yes, of course,” Carwood said, his hand running up and down his spine, “You let me know when you make it home safe as well, please.”
“Will do. Yeah,” he said absent-mindedly. Ron trembled in his arms. Carwood’s heart ached.
Shortly after, Ron went back downstairs to find them something to eat and a bottle of wine. He chose a fancy-looking bottle of rose wine and got a salad for them to share. When he got back he found Carwood looking out the window, though there wasn’t honestly much of a view as half of it was blocked by the building in front of the hotel and they were only on the second floor. He turned around to face him when he heard the door shut behind Ron, and looked at the bottle in his hand, a quizzical look on his face.
“Thought you might like some,” Ron said, holding up the bottle, “It’s rose. Probably very soft stuff.”
“You think I’m that much of a lightweight I can’t even handle red?” he laughed.
“That’s because the one time you had anything other than wine you ended up in a singing competition with Nix and Harry, dear,” Ron reminded him softly, settling what he’d brought on the end table by the side of the bed.
“And it was beautiful,” he remarked and got a side-eye look from Ron, “I would make a wonderful singer.”
“Watch out, Broadway,” he teased and Carwood shoved his head to the side before running his hand through his hair and sitting cross-legged next to him.
“You’re just jealous, really,” he shot back and Ron reclined against the headboard, setting the salad plate between them.
“I’m just glad we got you to let go of your well-behaved good-boy ways, even if for a moment,” Ron said mockingly. Carwood rolled his eyes, still smiling at him.
They sat together eating, chatting and passing the pink-colored bottle back and forth for a lack of wine glasses. Once they finished their meal, Ron lay back and stretched out his arms, opening his legs and gesturing for Carwood to move closer. Carwood didn’t hesitate, just scooted over and made himself comfortable as Ron wrapped his arms around him.
Ron didn’t say anything, just kept smiling at him before he pulled him in and tangled both his hands on Carwood’s short hair. Then he whispered, “C’mere, I want you.” And immediately his lips landed on Ron’s.
Carwood’s mouth was wine-sweet and Ron took his time just holding him there, his hands grabbing his waist, his nape, his shoulders, as if he could possibly be any closer. Then Carwood untucked his shirt from his pants, sliding a hand under it, and Ron decided he was not about to wait any longer. It wasn’t like they had much time.
Things moved on fast after that. They separated only to help the other undress, all hungry kisses and greedy hands. Both their dog tags rattled on Ron’s bare chest and Carwood couldn’t look away. He let Ron settle between his legs, watching as his lips traveled from his neck to his chest, then his stomach and down to his navel before landing on the pattern of scars on his inner thigh. Close, but not quite where Carwood wanted him. He carded his fingers through his hair until Ron took him into his mouth.
Ron teased him with his tongue until he was cursing and incoherent beneath him, then pulled off, licking his lips in a ridiculously suggestive way. Carwood laughed and dragged him up into an open-mouthed kiss, and Ron moaned into it when Carwood finally touched him, his lips buzzed and red.
Carwood tried to memorize every detail about Ron then, suddenly afraid he’d forget anything about him. He could feel his teasing grin against his lips, how his body moved against his own. The way he grinded their hips together roughly, urging him to touch him. How obediently he let Carwood turn them around and pin him to the bed, and how he looked underneath him. The velvety inside of his mouth when he pushed his thumb inside, how he managed to appear simultaneously innocent and sinful. The way he stared at Carwood, mesmerized, all pleading eyes and rosy cheeks as he slowly pushed into him. The quiet sounds that came from his mouth, his back arched, his labored breathing as he sought more of Carwood. How he whispered against his mouth, his voice incredibly wanton, “You feel so good,” with his nails buried in Carwood’s back, shortly followed by “please, Car, harder, yes, yes.”
And Carwood would have pulled the moon down from its place on the sky just for him if he’d asked, but knew that all Ron wanted from him was what he could never give.
They lay side by side afterwards trying to catch their breaths. Ron was tracing circles on Carwood’s chest and he couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. It was almost midnight by then. Neither could bear the thought that their last night together was coming to an end, so they showered together in the en suite bathroom and set themselves to rights before ending up lying face to face again.
“You’re so beautiful,” Carwood felt inclined to say as he looked at Ron, who just sighed softly.
“God, I’m going to miss you like hell,” Ron whispered. Carwood looked at him with sad eyes. And he thought what the hell, he had nothing to lose at that point. “Okay. I’m only gonna say this once. But Carwood, please. We can still have a chance. We can figure it out. Together.”
Carwood’s chest tightened. Here Ron was, short of begging him to stay with him, his eyes wide and kind and pleading, and Carwood wanted to give in with all his heart. Better for who?
Instead he just sighed, “Ron,” before touching his hand to his face and seeing the defeat instantly written all over Ron’s face. He avoided his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I’m so in love with you. Why can't that be enough?” Ron uttered, more to himself than to him. And Carwood felt like he’d just been stabbed, but it was just the pain in Ron’s voice.
“Baby,” he murmured, nosing Ron’s cheek, “I feel endlessly lucky that I got to love you like this. I always will. But we just have to let it go.” The words tasted like poison in his mouth. But he had to do this— it was the right thing to do. Ron would find happiness in someone else who was ready to love him like he deserved to be loved, and Carwood would spend the rest of his days lying to himself. He probably didn’t see it then, but in due time Ron would agree it was for the best too.
Ron looked so utterly ruined, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. Let it go. Right,” he mumbled quickly. He was silent for a moment, and then, “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”
“So do you.” Ron closed his eyes. Jesus, Cupid was one cruel bastard. Carwood forced a soft smile, “God, I adore you. Come here.”
Ron moved closer still. And they stayed there, wrapped around each other, whispering promises and sweet words that meant nothing and faded away the moment they were uttered, until the first rays of sunlight broke through the horizon.
❦
It was barely five in the morning and it was just starting to get light outside. Ron had fallen asleep on his chest about an hour ago but Carwood had just been lying there, lost in thought and holding him like he was gold.
He wondered what Ron was dreaming about. He had witnessed his worst nights and could tell when he was having a nightmare at that point, but at that moment he looked peaceful, his breathing quiet. He had never admitted it, but Carwood loved to watch him sleep. He felt like he was guarding him, secure in the knowledge that no harm would be coming his way because he was there, and it made him feel that they were both safe in their own bubble. And he was about to shatter all of it.
He sighed. Carwood felt so endlessly guilty. But truth be told, his options were very limited. He could either go through with this or, what? Get a divorce and ask Ron to move in with him? That was absolute nonsense. He couldn’t just ask Ron for that much. Let alone the amount of questions his family would ask, why did you leave your wife and move to Boston with a war buddy as soon as you came back from Europe, what’s going on? Carwood was certain he would break under scrutiny. The pressure would be too much. There was also the question of where would that leave Maggie. He couldn’t hurt her like that. He couldn’t make his life go up in flames like that. No, cross that out, it was simply not an option. And he could not ask Ron to just wait indefinitely until he figured his shit out, so cross that out as well. He’d had no choice, really.
He wanted to give in. Wanted so desperately to do the easy thing and tell Ron, let’s run off back to Austria, or settle in Switzerland, or stay here in France, anything, anywhere, let’s go. That would be easier. And a part of him was almost convinced Ron would follow him anywhere if he let him— Ron loved devotedly, as if he was a priest blinded by faith. Carwood felt blessed to be the subject of such relentless affection, but he wasn’t selfish enough that he’d let Ron suffer just to hold on to that. His heart beat like a drum in his chest as he looked down at him, distractedly stroking Ron’s cheek. Let no one say it’s painless to do the right thing.
Ron started to slowly open his eyes, taking a deep breath and unconsciously nudging his head against Carwood’s chest. Carwood let his eyes fall closed and his heart sunk in his chest. He didn’t want to leave him there, he didn’t want to leave him.
“Morning,” Ron smiled automatically, his voice drowsy. Then his eyes went wide when he realized what that meant, “Morning. I fell asleep. Fuck. What time is it?”
“You just slept for a little over an hour, baby,” Carwood tried to sound comforting. “It’s almost 5:30. I’ll have to get going soon.”
The ship sailed at eight o’clock, but the city was in such disarray they’d been advised to get there two or even three hours before departure time.
Ron opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he just tightened his grip around Carwood’s waist and swallowed hard. He had no idea how to deal with this. He’d have no time to prepare, it had all happened too fast. It wasn’t fair.
They were silent for some minutes, just breathing each other in, keeping each other close. Neither wanted to let go of the other, but someone had to leave first. Someone always has to leave first.
Carwood backed off slightly, saying, “I should probably get dressed,” and Ron closed his eyes, but let go of his grip on Carwood’s back only to have him pull him into a desperate kiss. Ron put both his hands on Carwood’s face, his thumb tracing the scar on his cheek as he had a thousand times before— for what would probably be the last time. He felt his heart heavy on his chest and didn’t let go for a long minute.
Carwood looked at him from up close, his hand still incessantly caressing the side of his neck, the other stroking his hair softly. “Let’s go,” Ron whispered. “It’s not gonna get easier no matter how much we delay it. Let’s get dressed.”
They let go of each other for the first time then. Ron eyed the bag Carwood had brought with him and felt a sting in his chest. This was really happening— it wasn’t a bad dream, it wasn’t up to chance, it wasn’t an order he could undo— Carwood was leaving, for good, and there was nothing he could do about it.
They dressed up in silence, efficiently, having put on and taken off these very clothes a hundred times before. Carwood was standing at the door by the time Ron finished putting on his boots, looking at him with a sad smile on his face. Ron walked over and just wrapped his arms around him. One last time— they stayed there embracing each other for a couple of minutes, before the closeness became too much and threatened to tear them both apart.
“Let’s—” Ron’s voice quavered and he took a shaky breath, his eyes finding their way to and away from his face. He seemed to be incapable of looking at Carwood for long then. So Carwood just claimed his lips a final time, Ron’s body coming flush against his immediately, his hands sliding up to his jaw, his hair, his neck. Carwood pulled back but stayed where he was, nuzzling his face.
“Thank you, Ron,” he said, his voice hoarse. “For everything. I just— You mean so much to me. I hope you know that.”
“I know,” Ron smiled. “So do you, Car. And I’ll see you soon,” he told him, and he almost believed it to be true. Almost.
Carwood just nodded. They let go of each other a second time and walked out of Ron’s room, silently making their way to the harbor.
The place was packed with soldiers trying to get first into the ship, as if that would make it sail earlier or the journey faster. It took them almost twenty minutes to just make their way to the front. As they approached an unruly queue, they saw Winters coming up to them.
“Hey boys. Are you both leaving today? Just gonna abandon me out here with Harry?” he joked.
“Just Lip. I don’t leave until next week, Dick, I’ll protect you from Welsh,” Ron tried to joke, but it came out dry and pathetic and wrong, and he was thankful that Winters just gave him a sheepish smile, his eyes kind and understanding. He looked at Lipton.
“Well, Lieutenant, it’s been an honor,” Winters said, holding out his hand. Carwood shook it firmly.
“Likewise, sir. I hope we’ll all get to meet in better circumstances.” Ron was astonished at the composure Carwood had shown since they left his room. You could take one look at Ron and see the misery on his face clear as day, although he was trying hard not to let it show. Carwood seemed to do it naturally. Maybe he would end up on Broadway after all.
“Hopefully, yes. Good travels, Lipton.” They were close to the check-in area then. Ron understood it was also time for him to say goodbye.
“Be safe, Lip,” was all he managed, his voice strained as Lipton offered his hand. Winters looked away, feeling like it was too intimate of a moment even if they were surrounded by people.
“Captain,” and he was about to say something more, but Ron shook his head and pulled him into a quick hug, patting him on the back and whispering a quick but gentle, “Take care of yourself, Car,” before he pulled away. It almost sounded like an order. So risky, Captain, he wanted to say. Instead, he just smiled and said, “Yessir,” as Ron let go of him for the third and last time.
The three of them said their goodbyes and Carwood boarded as Winters and Ron walked back to the harbor in silence. Ron pulled out a cigarette when they were out of the crowd.
“Are you alright, Speirs?” Winters asked, ever so caring.
“Yes. Just— He’s just left. Completely, I mean. It’s fine. I’m just—” he let out a dry laugh. “Almost jealous of you right now.”
Winters’ mouth opened and closed as he understood what he meant. “Oh,” he whispered, a pitiful look on his face. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Yeah. So am I,” Ron whispered.
Winters put his hand on his shoulder and left shortly after without another word, understanding that Ron didn’t care for anyone’s company at the time.
He sat there, smoking in silence until the ship was ready to sail. He ran his hands through his face as it picked up the anchor and the horn let out one long blast of sound that rang through the early morning quiet. Ron watched it sail away until he couldn’t see it anymore in the distance, a sudden feeling of loneliness creeping over him.
He stayed there for a very long time after it disappeared over the horizon, as if he could will it to come back, to bring Carwood back to him.
All he got was the cold, vast ocean staring back at him, inflexible and unforgiving. Ron could’ve sworn the waves were ablaze.
❦