#interactions that make your heart explode out of your chest and melt the floorboards

[zoobus]

This week was so bad I clocked out and immediately scheduled time off.

[writersmacchiato]

Red | Dick Winters

Prompt: “No, I don’t want to say goodbye. Not now.”

Requested by: @croatianbagudna (she wanted it angsty but I couldn’t do it, so you’re welcome)

Warnings: none that I can think of, some angst

———

Red.

That’s the first thing you see when your eyes sweep over the company.

A vibrant, burnt red that stands out against the white t-shirt of his PT uniform. It’s shining under the Georgia heat, carefully and meticulously styled with pomade.

He isn’t the only one with hair like that, a few other men in the company have the same unusual shade, but he catches you with those eyes of his.

A shocking dose of blue that has you freezing. It’s something you find yourself thinking about later on; how the light catching off them looked like a lake, rippling and catching twinkles of sun. Face inexpressive, but those eyes said it all.

You don’t formally meet him that day, or the next, or even the day after that. And, yet somehow that simple look you exchanged in a brief passing has your dreams hazy with purple.

His hand is warm, calloused, firm in yours. “Richard Winters, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

You return the sentiment, wanting to linger but a training ground is no place for such matters. Not when you’re being called away for another exercise; another class to teach; another technique to learn; another test to study for. It’s strenuous, but you find yourself filling with it until there is little else to think or remember about. Including a certain Richard Winters.

The time passes; months fly by until the tests slowly creep away and more responsibility is placed on your shoulders. Trees go from green to yellow to red to orange to brown, the wind losing its oppressive warmth.

Your fingers twitch, dropping the hold on the pen you’d held captive for a good hour. Boxes lie neatly in front of you; their description and inventory written precisely on your clipboard. It was frustrating, how little of importance it seemed, but then you remembered the face of a combat nurse — passing through on her back from the active field — and all irritation floats away.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Your eyes find him. Richard Winters, looking bashful and uncertain as he wanders into the room.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Winters.” You find a smile on your face, your interactions with the man far and few between. “Congratulations on the promotion.”

His cheeks seem to be pinker than they were a moment before, eyes cast down. “Thank you, Captain L/N.”

It’s formal, every exchange tinged with hesitation.

“What can I do for you?”

“I was told at 1300 hours to find you and help you with...”

You laugh softly. “Office things. Funny how being promoted just seems like a whole bunch of paperwork.”

His lips twist into a small smile that lights up his face. You decide that you like it.

“I suppose that’s true. Where do you want me?”

“I’m done with this report, but I have to conduct an inventory of the remaining crates over there in the corner.”

That becomes apart of your new routine. Spending time with Dick —

“Call me Dick.” He says quietly as he’s leaving one day. “We’re friends.”

“Okay Dick, call me Y/N.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

— quickly starts to be the focus of your thoughts; unknowingly counting down the hours until you’d see him again.

Lewis Nixon finds the budding friendship amusing; teasing Dick about it until the latter’s ears are red.

Then you’re scheduled to ship out to England.

It’s quiet throughout the camp as everyone packs for New York; the dawning realization that this was real, the last two years of training would be put to use, the last days on American soil.

You’re in the medical room, eyes looking over the grooves on the floor where the crates previously were. His knock is quiet on the doorframe, throat clearing as he enters.

“Thought I’d find you here.” He says.

You smile halfheartedly, “feels odd to be leaving.”

“Yeah, it does.”

His eyes watch you, swimming with uncertainty as words he wants to say linger on the tip of his tongue. The sun catches the back of his head, turning it into a halo of fire. Your fingers creep up to the nape of his neck, running over the hair found there. He swallows, turning to face you. His mouth opens but he never gets a chance to say what he wants, because you’re closing the distance between you. Lips brushing over his, giving him a chance to pull away and stop whatever this was.

His hand cups your cheek, pulling you in closer, as he places a soft kiss to your lips.

You see him as often as you can in England. Looking for a splash of red among the grey before it disappears.

“Captain L/N.”

You look from your paperwork, smiling instantly. “Lieutenant Winters.”

“Permission to enter?”

You glance at the empty room, raising a brow. He only smirks, closing the door behind him.

“To what pleasure do I owe this?”

He hands you a paper. “It’s a report of the supply crates that were dropped off today. I wanted to make sure you got them immediately.”

“That is very kind of you, Lieutenant Winters. Thank you.” You watch him stand at attention before your desk; see the curve of his throat as he swallows, the clench of his hand, his eyes watching you...

It was a game, between you both, that you enjoyed immensely.

“If there is nothing else, ma’am.”

“There is.”

He pauses, eyes lit up as he watches your next move.

“I am in need of your assistance.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Tonight, 2100 hours. My quarters.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

-

“Genie, go.” You tap his shoulder, meeting his defiant gaze. “I got this.”

His mouth moves to protest, but a mortar sounds off nearby. The ground shakes, dirt flying up.

“Medic!” With that cry, Roe is on his feet and running with a fleeting glance back at you.

The man beneath you is calmed now, soft whimpers falling from his lips.

“You’re alright, soldier.” The words are empty as every shake of the ground jostles his injured leg, but he nods his head.

“Medic!”

It comes from the opposite direction of where Roe went, you look at the soldier, thoughts racing faster than your heart.

“I’m okay.” He grunts.

You manage to drag him to a foxhole, darting off into the trees. The cry grows louder and louder, a couple more yards revealing a man with a tree branch lodged through his shoulder. Miraculously, it missed his heart but the bleeding is profuse.

Dropping to your knees, you fumble in your bag.

“Hey, solider.” You look at his eyes, seeing the terror that rocked his being as he looked at the wound. “No, don’t look.”

His eyes drift to you, breathing labored. “It hurts.”

“I know, honey. We’ll get you patched up.”

You hear the whistle of a mortar, meeting the gaze of the wounded solider. The blue of his eyes are the last thing you see before the earth explodes around you.

-

His eyes snap open, staring up at the ceiling. Sweat condensed on his forehead, it wipes with warm and slick. The murmur of his heart is beating fast, pushing against chest. Hands automatically reach out for you, fingers trailing over nothing but cold sheets.

The steps of his feet lead him to a cracked door, light spilling out into the hallway. He can hear the gentle humming and the quiet creaking of the floorboards.

You meet his gaze, your little girl in your arms, a smile pursed at your lips. Despite how tired you look, exhaustion creeping over every feature of your face, Dick feels his heart melt at the sight.

His hand settles on your shoulder, fingers drifting over the scars, looking down at the alertness of Violet. Her tiny hand curls around his outstretched finger, babbles falling from her mouth as blue eyes recognize her father.

The dream, a memory that had almost began to be dormant, is slipping from mind as he carefully scoops Violet into his arms. She was so small, especially when compared to him. Your arms settle around his waist, head leaning against his shoulder.

“You’re dreaming about it again.” You whisper, watching Violet’s face move up and down as she curls up on Dick’s chest with a tiny yawn.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t need to, because you understand.

It’s something he thought about a lot during the war, not knowing whether he would see you again. If your condition was stable enough to go home, if he could have done something to save you before the medic got there. He wasn’t there. Getting your letter in the mail, seeing the scrawl of his name in your handwriting, broke the impasse he had built. His fingers shook opening the envelope, tracing each word and hearing your voice as he read through it.

You were okay.

You were alive.

Even now, years after the war has ended and he’s married you, started a life with you — he thinks about it.

It was little baby Violet Winters that had stirred up the wretched memory that was perfectly engrained in his mind. Seeing your face twisting in pain, breathing labored, the blood. You were completely safe during the birthing, but it brought him back to the woods of Bastogne. Your hand clenched around his, a cry of pain ripping out.

Holding his daughter for the first time brought him back, fully wrapped in the moment as he looked at the baby you had created.

Nights were spent wide awake. He hardly slept the first month Violet was brought home and it wasn’t because of her fits. His nightmares were becoming bad, awful enough that he started to sleep in the living room until he drearily woke up to you sleeping next to him. “We do this together.” You said.

Violet was starting to fall asleep on her own, sleeping through the night more and more often. Still, his nightmares persisted.

“I keep thinking about you...and that day.” He finds himself saying, finally taking the burden off his shoulders.

That day.

It started like any other. The days blurred together in one bleak, snowy hell that was counted by the breaks between warfare.

Your face twisted in pain, trying to stop the wounded solider from moving, while ignoring the bleeding seeping through your coat.

Red.

There was too much.

The white snow was ridden with blood, metallic iron mixing with the smoke and dirt.

“No, no.” He whispered, stroking your hair from your face. “I don’t want to say goodbye. Not now.”

You had long since fallen unconscious, face slack but smeared in that red.

It’s the last time he sees you during the war. Driven off in a jeep with a stained bandage wrapped around your shoulder and chest. The image of you like that sticks to him, always coming to him at night when he shuts his eyes.

“I’m right here.” You say looking at him, face tinged with exhaustion but love.

He feels himself return your smile, Violet’s grip on his shirt loosening as she drifts off to sleep.

“Let’s get some sleep before this one decides to wake up again.”

His arm is wrapped around you, chin resting on your head. It’s not comfortable, but you don’t mutter any complaints. Running your fingers down his arm in slow motions.

“I love you.” You whisper, eyes drifting shut.

The last thing you see is the sky turning red as the sun starts to rise over the horizon.

———

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