July 25th, 1943 (00:21)

The fact that Grace is naïve enough to think that Will will do as he's told because Grace is his commanding officer is funny as hell, Will thinks.

Will isn't just going to give up on Nico, not when he's spent so much time learning about the man and the amazing feats he's accomplished. Nico doesn't deserve whatever the army is going to do to him. It's up to Will to make sure Nico gets out of this war alive.

He knows what the soldiers in his squadron say about him when they think he isn't looking. They say he's too weak to be in this war; that a man who says he can't find it in himself to hurt someone, even if it's for his country, shouldn't be here. He's too soft, too weak of will, too much of a pansy. Will's heard it all, and as he straps on his boots in the middle of the night, he thinks about the pocket knife his mother saw him off with.

It's sitting in the bottom of his duffle, still in its sheath. Will's moral code had prevented him previously from using it for anything, but the more he thinks about it, the idea of taking it with him becomes an increasingly better one.

He rifles through his bag, his fingers closing around the cool enamel of the knife casing. He breathes out slowly through his mouth before slipping the knife into one of the pockets of his jacket. There's not much noise in the tent, except for the soft snores of the men around him. Will tries to pick the path to the door that will cause the least amount of noise, but Travis, who isn't sleeping much these days, rolls over and squints through the dark at him.

"Where ya goin'?" Travis asks, voice thick with sleep and the kind of mucus that settles in your throat when you cry yourself to sleep.

"Latrine," Will whispers. Travis nods, rolls over again, and settles back down.

Will steels his nerves, takes another deep breath, and heads out the door.

He's memorized the changing of the guard schedule. If he's timed it right, he should be able to sneak around to the back of the mess tent, where Grace set up Nico's impromptu prison.

There's very little light in camp at almost 00:30; they can't risk any extra light, whether it be a fire or a lamp. The only light Will has is the last sliver of moon that's in the sky. It's slow going to the mess tent, and Will doesn't have a whole lot of extra time.

The camp is quiet; it's the kind of quiet that reminds Will of calm Texas nights back home where he'd sit on the front porch with his Ma and drink lemonade. It's hard to believe that home is half-way around the world.

The next set of guards ready to stand watch are talking with the last set, so none of the soldiers in the front of the tent pay any attention to the slight rustling sound as Will sneaks around the trashcans to the back of the tent. It's a tight squeeze between the bushes and the frame of the tent, but Will's lost enough weight in this war that he can manage.

He finds Nico easily enough. The man is sitting on the floor of the tent, on a small pallet he was given. There's a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he's humming softly. Will can't place the tune, but it sounds like something you'd sing in a church—a hymn. His head is resting against the frame of the tent, and in his hands he's holding his family Bible.

"Nico," Will whispers as loudly as he dares, "Nico di Angelo."

Nico turns his head and looks around before finally locating the source of the voice. In the dim light, Will can see Nico break out into a smile. Will takes a few steps closer to Nico and crouches on the ground. There's on a few millimeters of netting between them, but it may as well be a steel wall.

"Will," Nico sounds elated, "I did not think I would see you again." His palm is pressed against the side of the tent. Will, in a decision he thinks he won't ever regret, presses his palm against Nico's. Even with the netting in the way, he can feel the warmth coming from Nico's skin. Nico is so alive, and yet he may not be for much longer if the U.S. Army has anything to do with it.

But that's why Will's here, to make sure that Nico di Angelo can live out the rest of his days.

"I couldn't stay away. This shouldn't have happened to you." Will says, "It's all my fault and—,"

He stops when his voice breaks. He didn't think he was going to cry, but now that he sees Nico, he can't help it.

"Shh, caro, it's alright. I'm alright, thanks to you. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. You gave me three days more." Nico says. It's funny, Will thinks, because he came here to comfort Nico.

"Did you come to break me out, caro?" Nico says, laughing softly like being held captive is just a funny joke. There's a soft smile on his face, and the moonlight catches in his eyes.

(Will doesn't want to call it love, he doesn't. But it has to be love if he can't imagine living in a world without Nico di Angelo in it.)

He thinks to the pocket knife in his jacket. Maybe, that was the original plan, but now he just wants to keep Nico safe.

"What does caro mean?" Will asks instead, butchering the pronunciation he's sure. At the question, Nico colors a little, but doesn't drop his hand that's still pressed against Will's.

"It means 'darling'. Because you are dear to me, Will." Nico says, quieter than before. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the netting of the tent. Against Will's hand, Nico's fingers scrabble for purchase as though they're trying to close around Will's.

Will does the only thing he can and offer his comfort. He leans his forehead against Nico's and let's himself breathe the same air as the revolutionary.

"You're dear to me, too, Nico," Will says.

(This has to be love. This has to be.)

He loses track of how long they stay like that, five minutes or maybe ten, pressed as close as they can, given the circumstances. Finally, Nico breaks the silence.

"Thank you for your efforts in trying to free me, but…it is almost one, yes? I have that taken care of."

As if on cue, there's a slight grunting noise from the front part of the tent. Will can't see anything that far ahead, but Nico is smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"One thing that you Americans seem to do is underestimate women. Never underestimate a woman with a goal." Nico says. He pulls away from Will's touch and gives him a softer smile.

"Meet me out front, caro. I'll be right there." Nico says. He stoops to gather his things before striding to the door of the mess tent.

Will hesitates maybe three seconds before sprinting around to the front of the tent. The scene there is nothing of what Will expected; Bianca is standing over two unconscious guards (thankfully just unconscious, Will can see them breathing) with a rock in one hand. She's dressed in a stolen U.S. Army uniform and her hair is twisted tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck.

At the sight of Will she lunges, and Will immediately braces for impact. He's already recoiled by the time Bianca has a hold on his jacket collar.

"Fermare, Bianca," Nico's voice splits the tension, and at the sound of it, both Will and Bianca freeze. Bianca drops the rock in her hand dangerously close to Will's feet before turning on a dime to face her brother. They hug one another tightly. In their embrace, Nico smooths over Bianca's dark hair and kisses her temple.

They talk quietly between themselves for a minute or two. Will can't help but look away. He doesn't want to get between them, considering they're talking privately. The beautiful language they talk in still falls deaf on Will's ears, but Will does catch one word: caro.

Finally, Nico pulls away from Bianca. She looks disgruntled about something, but keeps quiet as Nico approaches Will. Nico looks a little bit breathtaking in this light; the waning moonlight catches his dark hair and makes it look silver. He's so caught up in the image of Nico that when the Italian reaches to clasp their hands, Will's fingers fumble.

They revert back to their position from earlier; Nico leans his forehead against Will's, and his freehand comes to cup Will's jaw. Nico's thumb makes a swipe at the corner of Will's mouth and Will parts his lips enough to let a breath of air escape.

"You have given me a wonderful three days, Will." Nico says. "I can't ever thank you enough for saving my life."

"Don't…It's just my job, Nico." Will takes a deep breath to keep from crying, "You-You have to go off and save your people now."

Will feels Nico's laugh more than he hears it. It rumbles in Nico's chest and makes Nico's bow-shaped lips break out into a smile. "No. You do. Go be a hero, and save the world. You don't need me for that."

"If. If you're ever in Austin. Texas, I mean. If, if you ever there, look me up, won't you?" Will says.

Nico pulls away from their embrace enough to nod. "Of course, Will. I look forward to it." It's a silly little lie, Will thinks. There isn't any possibly way for them to see one another again, and so this really is good bye. He doesn't want this moment to end.

"I have to go now, Will. But have faith we will see each other again. This has proved it to me."

"Take care of your stitches." Will stays stupidly.

There's a quirk at the corner of Nico's mouth. Nico leans in just a bit and presses a warm kiss to Will's forehead. It warms him from the inside-out, and he finds his eyes closing in complete contentment.

"We will see one another again," Nico says, "Don't lose faith."

With a final squeeze of his hand, the Italian man leaves Will standing there. Will watches Nico and his sister leave in the opposite direction. He's sure they'll be far away by dawn, and in his heart he hopes they'll be far enough away to be rid of this international mess.

He wipes at the moisture collecting in his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. With one final, shuddering breath he trudges back to his tent. He won't be sleeping for the next several hours, he's sure.

1949

Will's been ignoring the date on the calendar well enough for the last six years, he doesn't know why this year has to feel any different.

He's antsy. The brownstone that he bought after the war is hot, even with all the windows open. It's the kind of hot that gets into your skin and you can't get rid of no matter how high you turn the fans up and how much you strip down. It's usual Texas weather, but Will feels that he never acclimated again after the war.

He gets out of his recliner, throwing the day's paper on the floor beside the chair. The radio is doing the static-thing again, and Will's not enough of a handy man to fix it. He thinks about calling Leo, that man can fix anything, but the idea of human companionship right now is enough to make Will's stomach turn.

He sighs, going to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He downs it in one go before leaning against the counter and groaning. His skull hits the wood cabinets with a dull thud. He hates this day. He wants it to be over. Going upstairs and going to bed sounds appetizing, but it's even hotter up there and Will doesn't think he can stand the close feeling of sheets on his skin.

There's a quiet knock on the door. So quiet that Will almost thinks he's imagined it in his heat-addled brain. But there it is again.

Will doesn't want company, but talking to the neighbors is better than having them think he's some sort of recluse.

He undoes the deadbolt and cracks open the door.

He has to be hallucinating.

Cautiously, Will opens the door a little wider and for a moment, forgets to breathe.

Nico di Angelo, the Italian revolutionary, is standing on his front stoop.

"Nico." Will says.

"Buonjourno, Will. What did I tell you, hm? I knew we'd see one another again."

Will gets out of the doorway and lets Nico inside. Nico takes a few steps inside before looking around the small living room.

When Will is done closing and locking the door, he draws the curtains for good measure. Then, after a deep breath, he allows himself to really look at Nico.

Nico's grown maybe an inch in the last six years. He's got to be what, 25 by now? Christ, Will just turned 30.

He's broadened a bit, too, and gained some weight and muscle back. His hair is shorn short, but it's still as dark as it ever was. There's a new scar that Will can see, cutting over the edge of his jaw and creeping up towards his cheek. The ones that Will remembers, the ones on Nico's arms, are peeking out from the sleeves of his t-shirt. They've healed over quite nicely in the last six years.

Nico only has one bag, and it drops the floor with a heavy thud.

"Nico." Will says again.

"Will," Nico says dryly. He extends his hand, offering to Will. Without hesitation, Will twines his fingers with Nico, who takes it as leverage to pull Will closer. He's just as warm as Will remembers.

"I missed you," Will says in one breath. They lean in, pressing their foreheads together in a comforting, familiar gesture.

I love you.

A soft smile breaks out on those bow shaped lips. Nico's eyes close and Will finds himself staring as those lashes that are still just as long.

"I missed you, too, caro."

I love you, too, darling.

And this time, Will makes the promise to never let go.