Happy Birthday, omphale23!

I know you gave me this prompt like forever ago. The timing of this may or may not be intentional. ;)

Title: Crossroads
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 891
Disclaimer: Based on the characters portrayed in the Band of Brothers miniseries, not the veterans themselves.
Summary: He watches Winters enter the hotel room, Nixon stuck in his own metaphorical crossroads.

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The train stops at Paris to pick up soldiers before bringing them to the boats that would get them to London. Nixon, in his Class A's, looks across the city anxiously, knowing that somewhere in the City of Lights, Dick Winters is attempting to relax and probably doing a piss-poor job at it. He considers Aldbourne, considers his mistress waiting there who doesn't even know he's coming, and then Nix considers Dick, his best friend, attempting to navigate Paris's rail system, and Lewis finds himself on the platform with the train pulling away before he even registers that he's moved his feet.

The sun has already dipped below the horizon, nearly dark, so Nixon heads for the hotel. He knows where Dick is staying, had the address in the back of his mind since Winters had left earlier that morning, and he walks along the river, ignoring soldiers and civilians alike as well as the salutes some of them send his way. He looks for a familiar flash of red hair, for the specific way Dick carries himself. It's possible that he's already back at his hotel room, but Lewis doesn't want to miss his friend if he's still out and about.

The ding-ding of a bicycle bell pulls his gaze to the other side of the river, and Nixon finds himself stopping in his tracks. He sees Winters walking slowly, casually along the water, taking in the skyline and the architecture of Paris. They're heading in the same direction, Nix notes, but he can't bring himself to start walking again. Words in French start to fill his head, and it takes him a minute to realize it's remembered poetry and not the Parisians passing him by. Dick looks content, peaceful, and Lew feels like he's intruding, that he shouldn't be intruding on his friend's hard-earned and well-deserved 24 hour pass, but it's too late to try and make it to Aldbourne or even back to the 506th, so he might as well spend the night.

Nixon crosses the river at the next bridge he comes to, tailing his friend but not getting too close. He isn't sure, suddenly, how Dick will react to seeing him. Their relationship had always been a strange one, codependent since meeting at OTS, and Nixon wouldn't be good at his job if he wasn't aware of the jokes Easy Company had been making about the two of them since Toccoa. What the men hadn't known was the truth behind some of the jests, that over time Lewis came to realize that the admiration and respect he felt for the other man had evolved into something more, and that Dick was waging a war within himself over the same feelings in return.

He watches Winters enter the hotel room, Nixon stuck in his own metaphorical crossroads. He sits at a bench, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands, uncertain on how to continue. He can go into the hotel, get his own room, and head back early with Dick never knowing he'd been there. Or he can go to his friend's room, give a hearty "Fuck you" to what was supposed to be right and wrong, and, Winters permitting, take advantage of being completely alone together for the first time since they'd met.

It takes Nix an hour to make a decision, speaking to the desk clerk, his usually perfect French shaky, but the man seems impressed that Lewis is an American who is actually trying, and gives Nixon what he needs. He makes a point not to sprint up the three flights of stairs and is at least a little proud on himself for knocking politely instead of trying to kick the door down. Lew wishes he had some sort of forewarning, however, when Dick opens the door a crack and through the narrow space Nixon can make out the way Winters's eyes widen in surprise and that he's dripping wet, wearing nothing more than his dog tags and a towel that's wrapped around his waist.

"Maintenant tu marches dans Paris tout seul parmi la foule," Lewis says, the first thing he can think of to say. "Des troupeaux d'autobus mugissants près de toi roulent." Dick clearly doesn't understand what Nix is saying, but he opens the door further and steps aside, allowing Lew to enter. It's the part of a poem he'd recalled earlier, ripping its way out of his throat. "L'angoisse de l'amour te serre le gosier..." Nixon pauses, aware of their proximity to each other, of droplets of water running down pale, freckled skin. "Comme si tu ne devais jamais plus être aimé."

"Nix?" Winters asks, too many different questions in that one syllable for Lewis to answer, so instead of trying to vocalize anything, Nix places his hands at Dick's hips, wiping out those few inches between them as he slowly, tentatively, kisses his friend, a gentle brush of lips, nothing more, but this moment has been years in the making, and Nixon soon feels his garrison cap fall to the floor followed by Dick's fingers in his hair, trying to pull him closer still.

Now you walk through Paris all alone in the crowd
Herds of bellowing buses roll by near you
The agony of love tightens your throat
As if you could never be loved again