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Title: "Tears in Winter"

Author: Darkover, a.k.a. TheQueenly1

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own "Band of Brothers," the miniseries. This is a work of fiction. I have the greatest respect for the men upon whom the miniseries is based; no offense is intended, and I fervently hope none is taken. I am not making any money from this, so please do not sue.

Characters: Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon

Summary: Nixon comes upon Winters at a vulnerable moment, and does what he can for him. This is friendship only, no slash.

He checks their perimeter at night. Dick does it during the day. One night—is it Christmas? Hard to tell, here at Bastogne—Lewis Nixon returns to an unbelievable sight: Dick Winters is weeping.

Nixon stops dead, staring. Dick is in their shared foxhole, one hand over his eyes, partly concealing his face. The cold is so intense that his tears are freezing. Nixon is unsure as to which is the more disturbing sight: frozen tears, or the fact that Winters is shedding them.

Nixon retreats slightly, coughs, stomps his feet before approaching the foxhole again. Instantly, the hand drops from Winters' face, he seizes his rifle and stands upright in the foxhole. His tone when he speaks is calm and professional as always. "Anything to report, Nix?"

Nixon shakes his head as he lowers himself into the foxhole. "Negative. We're still holding the line. Lipton says the Germans are quiet tonight." And then, unable to stop himself, he asks; "What were you thinking about just now?"

Winters blinks, mildly surprised by the seeming irrelevance of the question. "About the men. The ones who will never go home." He turns away from Nixon, watching the line.

Nixon is at a loss for a reply, although he realizes that he might have known; Winters thinks about the men, first, last, and always. It is always about the men. It occurs to him that it is not likely that any of them will ever go home, because there is no relief in sight, and if the Germans don't kill them, the cold and the deprivation will. He keeps this to himself, of course; while he feels certain Dick has had the same thought, and more than once, it is not the sort of thing either of them would say aloud. It occurs to him that there is one thing, though, that he can do to help his friend.

"Dick, come on over here."

Winters glances at him. "What for?"

Nixon gives his friend a look of mock exasperation. "Because in case you haven't noticed, Dick, I'm freezing. We can share body heat."

"I should watch the line," Winters says automatically.

"Dick, every man in Easy is watching the line. I'll watch the line. Just let me hold you, we'll both be a little warmer, and you can get some sleep."

Winters hesitates a moment, his over-developed sense of duty at war with his own needs.

"You won't be any good to the men if you're exhausted as well as frozen," Nixon warns, playing his trump card. He isn't the intelligence officer for nothing.

With a faint sigh that might have been resignation, might have been relief, Winters hands over the rifle, draws nearer to his friend, and allows Nixon to embrace him. Nixon pulls Winters as close as he can, trying to warm the other man as much as possible.

"That's better." Nixon isn't sure if he means for Winters, or for himself. It doesn't matter; looking down into his friend's face, he sees that Dick has gone instantly to sleep. Nixon gazes at his friend for a long moment, and then reluctantly looks back up to watch the line. As the intelligence officer, he knows all about the bigger issues, the tactical reasons why it is necessary for them to hold the line. But tonight, all he cares about is his friend. He will help Dick make it through the hell that is Bastogne for one more night. That is all that matters.