In Which Nixon and Webster Drink and Discuss Intellectual Matters (meaning their boyfriends)
I swear, I have the attention span of a five year old with a juice box when it comes to writing sometimes. But that's not the point. The point is, does everyone remember this drabble? Because it got expanded to a full length fic - with more than one chapter, no less. Nixon and Webster talk too damn much, but they sure are entertaining.
Title: College Boy Cowardice, Part One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairing: implied unrequited Winnix and Webgott
Word Count: 1,246 for Part One
Rating: PG
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
~x~x~
“He just gets so angry sometimes that I don’t know what to do. You can see it in his eyes, Nix. It’s as if there are things eating away at his soul that you and I could never begin to comprehend, and I…I only wish there was a way for me to make things better for him. Do you know what I mean? I just want to hug him sometimes, which makes no sense at all. First of all, I’d probably just get punched for my trouble and second of all, I seriously doubt that something as trite as a hug is going to be sufficient comfort considering the horrors of war that he’s experienced.”
Lewis Nixon nodded sagely and took a swig from his flask before letting out a loud, deprecatory laugh.
“What?” David Webster shrugged, putting his hands up in some universal gesture of not getting what the hell someone else is laughing about. “What’s so funny?”
“You want to know what’s funny? I’ll tell you what’s funny.” Nix grinned crookedly. “What’s funny is it that all our conversations seem to start off with a semi-intellectual discussion of something like Kierkegaard only to deteriorate into one or both of us bitching about the pathetic excuses that we call love lives.”
Web opened his mouth and wagged his index finger in preparation for a witty comeback but only sighed and chuckled under his breath when nothing sprang to mind. “Damn it, Nix, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”
Nixon and Webster sat in a partially bombed-out bar in a small town with a nearly unpronounceable name somewhere near the German border. In the morning Easy Company would be moving out for Germany itself but until then they were occupying the town of…whatever it was. There were umlauts involved as well as one of those “ß” letters, the kind that looked like a “B” but sounded like an “S” and generally confused everyone except for Liebgott and Webster.
Nixon could probably say the name correctly if he really tried but didn’t care enough to bother. Webster could definitely pronounce it without a problem but he was too busy lamenting his situation with a certain Corporal, a particular Technician Fifth Grade.
Nix glanced over at the random group of soldiers playing a very vocal game of darts on the other side of the room. A few of them were from Fox Company but they were mostly from Dog Company. Not an Easy Company man among them; there was something comforting about that. No one was listening to Webster and Nixon’s conversation and they were speaking quietly but not having familiar faces around was one less thing to worry about. The relative anonymity of the environment somehow made it easier for the two Ivy leaguers to talk about the things that they never mentioned to anyone else.
“So remind me again why you’re spilling your guts to me and not Liebgott himself?” Nix inquired.
“Probably the same reason why you’re sitting here with me and not curled up next to Captain Winters whispering sweet nothings in his ear,” Web countered with a smirk.
“That’s Major Winters to you,” Nix replied before taking another swig. “Dick’s a Major now; just got promoted the other day. So I’ll thank you to address him with the proper rank and corresponding respect.”
Web nodded, still smirking. “My mistake, won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. Didn’t they teach you manners at Harvard?”
“Better than they taught sobriety at Yale, apparently.”
Nix arched an eyebrow, flask still halfway to his lips. “Touché.”
“I do try.”
“Yeah well only the first one’s free, don’t think you’ll slip another past me so easily.”
A century of rivalry and competition between the alma maters in everything from the Regatta to the Game did not fade easily. The sons of Yale and Harvard still found ways to one-up each other even during wartime.
Web drank from his beer and cast about the room, watching the handful of other soldiers in the run-down bar enjoy themselves as best they could. There wasn’t any music and not a single local girl could be seen, but the beer and dart board in the back were better than nothing. Besides, it was warm, dry, and they weren’t dodging mortar rounds while scurrying between buildings in Haguenau so that was a distinct improvement.
Nix, meanwhile, had taken to staring out the window they were sitting next to. There was a funny sort of glassiness to the Captain’s dark eyes and Web didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what - or rather, who - Nix was thinking of.
“You do realize that you should try and get him in bed before they make him a Colonel, right?” Webster remarked. “Because once that happens then he’ll be way out of your league.”
Nix chuckled morosely, dropping his gaze to the flask in hand. “Dick’s already out of my league,” he muttered under his breath. “Hell, I’m starting to think he’s been out of my league since Officer Candidate School.”
“Oh I’m sorry, is this a private pity party or can anyone join in?” Web commented with mock-innocence.
Nix arched one dark eyebrow. “This coming from the man who once spent an hour and a half expositing about how he felt guilty for having missed the frozen hell on earth that was the Belgian forest because of a few biting remarks from Liebgott. Mister ‘it changed Joe.’ Mister ‘it drove a wedge between us.’”
“No, no, no…see, that was different.”
“Not by much. You drank so much that night it looked like you were doing an impression of me.”
“Oh please. First of all, that is a gross exaggeration.” Web shook his head. “And second of all, you had best keep your mouth shut because I can clearly recall the time you were almost moved to tears describing the ‘perfect blue/green/grayness’ of Maj. Winters’ eyes.”
Nix gave Web a sour look. “Shut up.”
Web just laughed. “My point exactly.”
A moment passed in silence as Web gulped his beer and Nix took another swig of whisky. On the other side of the bar the group of soldiers alternately cheered and booed their darts game. It was still early in the night and thus it wasn’t long before more men from the 101st Airborne began filtering in.
“I thought we agreed to change the subject whenever we inevitably began talking about them,” Nixon groused.
“You’re right, we did,” Webster answered, and then promptly launched himself head-long into a dissertation on the views of Heidegger.
Talk of Heidegger gave way to Descartes which was then followed by lively discourses on Galileo, Bertolt Brecht, Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Frankenstein, and Milton. Milton, however, led to Webster mentioning the Bible and the long-debated relationship of David and Jonathan contained therein.
At which point Nixon remarked, “You know, sometimes I feel like I’m Jonathan to Dick’s David,” and they found themselves right back where they started.
“So much for not talking about them,” Web lamented.
Nix just nodded and knocked back another mouthful of Vat 69. “Yeah.”
“You know, Nix, according to the story, Jonathan dies in battle,” Webster eventually mentioned, trying to be casual about it.
“I know,” Nixon replied in barely more than a whisper.
But the idea hit a little too close to home. They started talking about Ernest Hemingway for a while for the sake of changing the subject.
Silly college boys.
Title: College Boy Cowardice, Part One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairing: implied unrequited Winnix and Webgott
Word Count: 1,246 for Part One
Rating: PG
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
~x~x~
“He just gets so angry sometimes that I don’t know what to do. You can see it in his eyes, Nix. It’s as if there are things eating away at his soul that you and I could never begin to comprehend, and I…I only wish there was a way for me to make things better for him. Do you know what I mean? I just want to hug him sometimes, which makes no sense at all. First of all, I’d probably just get punched for my trouble and second of all, I seriously doubt that something as trite as a hug is going to be sufficient comfort considering the horrors of war that he’s experienced.”
Lewis Nixon nodded sagely and took a swig from his flask before letting out a loud, deprecatory laugh.
“What?” David Webster shrugged, putting his hands up in some universal gesture of not getting what the hell someone else is laughing about. “What’s so funny?”
“You want to know what’s funny? I’ll tell you what’s funny.” Nix grinned crookedly. “What’s funny is it that all our conversations seem to start off with a semi-intellectual discussion of something like Kierkegaard only to deteriorate into one or both of us bitching about the pathetic excuses that we call love lives.”
Web opened his mouth and wagged his index finger in preparation for a witty comeback but only sighed and chuckled under his breath when nothing sprang to mind. “Damn it, Nix, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”
Nixon and Webster sat in a partially bombed-out bar in a small town with a nearly unpronounceable name somewhere near the German border. In the morning Easy Company would be moving out for Germany itself but until then they were occupying the town of…whatever it was. There were umlauts involved as well as one of those “ß” letters, the kind that looked like a “B” but sounded like an “S” and generally confused everyone except for Liebgott and Webster.
Nixon could probably say the name correctly if he really tried but didn’t care enough to bother. Webster could definitely pronounce it without a problem but he was too busy lamenting his situation with a certain Corporal, a particular Technician Fifth Grade.
Nix glanced over at the random group of soldiers playing a very vocal game of darts on the other side of the room. A few of them were from Fox Company but they were mostly from Dog Company. Not an Easy Company man among them; there was something comforting about that. No one was listening to Webster and Nixon’s conversation and they were speaking quietly but not having familiar faces around was one less thing to worry about. The relative anonymity of the environment somehow made it easier for the two Ivy leaguers to talk about the things that they never mentioned to anyone else.
“So remind me again why you’re spilling your guts to me and not Liebgott himself?” Nix inquired.
“Probably the same reason why you’re sitting here with me and not curled up next to Captain Winters whispering sweet nothings in his ear,” Web countered with a smirk.
“That’s Major Winters to you,” Nix replied before taking another swig. “Dick’s a Major now; just got promoted the other day. So I’ll thank you to address him with the proper rank and corresponding respect.”
Web nodded, still smirking. “My mistake, won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. Didn’t they teach you manners at Harvard?”
“Better than they taught sobriety at Yale, apparently.”
Nix arched an eyebrow, flask still halfway to his lips. “Touché.”
“I do try.”
“Yeah well only the first one’s free, don’t think you’ll slip another past me so easily.”
A century of rivalry and competition between the alma maters in everything from the Regatta to the Game did not fade easily. The sons of Yale and Harvard still found ways to one-up each other even during wartime.
Web drank from his beer and cast about the room, watching the handful of other soldiers in the run-down bar enjoy themselves as best they could. There wasn’t any music and not a single local girl could be seen, but the beer and dart board in the back were better than nothing. Besides, it was warm, dry, and they weren’t dodging mortar rounds while scurrying between buildings in Haguenau so that was a distinct improvement.
Nix, meanwhile, had taken to staring out the window they were sitting next to. There was a funny sort of glassiness to the Captain’s dark eyes and Web didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what - or rather, who - Nix was thinking of.
“You do realize that you should try and get him in bed before they make him a Colonel, right?” Webster remarked. “Because once that happens then he’ll be way out of your league.”
Nix chuckled morosely, dropping his gaze to the flask in hand. “Dick’s already out of my league,” he muttered under his breath. “Hell, I’m starting to think he’s been out of my league since Officer Candidate School.”
“Oh I’m sorry, is this a private pity party or can anyone join in?” Web commented with mock-innocence.
Nix arched one dark eyebrow. “This coming from the man who once spent an hour and a half expositing about how he felt guilty for having missed the frozen hell on earth that was the Belgian forest because of a few biting remarks from Liebgott. Mister ‘it changed Joe.’ Mister ‘it drove a wedge between us.’”
“No, no, no…see, that was different.”
“Not by much. You drank so much that night it looked like you were doing an impression of me.”
“Oh please. First of all, that is a gross exaggeration.” Web shook his head. “And second of all, you had best keep your mouth shut because I can clearly recall the time you were almost moved to tears describing the ‘perfect blue/green/grayness’ of Maj. Winters’ eyes.”
Nix gave Web a sour look. “Shut up.”
Web just laughed. “My point exactly.”
A moment passed in silence as Web gulped his beer and Nix took another swig of whisky. On the other side of the bar the group of soldiers alternately cheered and booed their darts game. It was still early in the night and thus it wasn’t long before more men from the 101st Airborne began filtering in.
“I thought we agreed to change the subject whenever we inevitably began talking about them,” Nixon groused.
“You’re right, we did,” Webster answered, and then promptly launched himself head-long into a dissertation on the views of Heidegger.
Talk of Heidegger gave way to Descartes which was then followed by lively discourses on Galileo, Bertolt Brecht, Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Frankenstein, and Milton. Milton, however, led to Webster mentioning the Bible and the long-debated relationship of David and Jonathan contained therein.
At which point Nixon remarked, “You know, sometimes I feel like I’m Jonathan to Dick’s David,” and they found themselves right back where they started.
“So much for not talking about them,” Web lamented.
Nix just nodded and knocked back another mouthful of Vat 69. “Yeah.”
“You know, Nix, according to the story, Jonathan dies in battle,” Webster eventually mentioned, trying to be casual about it.
“I know,” Nixon replied in barely more than a whisper.
But the idea hit a little too close to home. They started talking about Ernest Hemingway for a while for the sake of changing the subject.
Silly college boys.