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He's Doing Just Fine
At Lewis' graduation party, his father got drunk and smacked his mother in the kitchen when he thought no one was looking. She hadn't made sure there was enough gin to last the afternoon, or so he claimed. The problem was that he kept spilling the drinks on the rug by accident. Lewis' friends were on the lawn playing badminton and they wanted him to join, but he found he would rather sneak sips of whiskey out of the decanter that sat on the grand piano his mother had played every afternoon, once upon a time.
He watches Dick dress, and he doesn't think Dick notices. Maybe he does. Nix is in the Major's quarters to refill his flask and the man had just gotten back from a patrol he hadn't needed to make. It was raining out and the wet undershirt sticks to his back as he finds a dry uniform. Nix thinks about his father and how he spilled the drinks on the rug. He thinks about how much he hated him. He wonders if Dick thinks the same of him sometimes.
The redhead turns finally to see his friend standing at the top of the stairs. "Lew," he says easily as he buttons the dry shirt over damp skin. Without another word, he gestures with one long fingered hand to his foot locker.
"S'why I'm here," Nix lies as he forces his right foot forward and starts the laborious process of crossing the room. He realizes, when his vision blurs for a second, that he's already very drunk. It doesn't stop him. The whiskey feels like water across his numb tongue as he empties the flask before filling it again. The bottle is cool in his hand and he holds it up to look dazedly at the label, as he almost always does, as though he has to reassure himself he's drinking the right stuff.
Only the finest.
"How was the rain," he asks as he twists the top back on the flask and slips it away. The lid of Dick's footlocker closes with a thump. Dick is buttoning his cuffs.
"Good," he says amiably, carefully folding his collar. Regulation, Nix thinks, damn fastidious. He resists the urge to reach out and muss Dick's neat hair, drag his fingers through it. After a moment of this line of thought, he realizes Dick was still talking.
"...almost too quiet, but I can't let myself think about that too much, right?" He looks to Nix expectantly and his friend nods once, starting to reach for his flask again. Nix stops himself and slides his hands into his pockets instead.
"I'm almost out," he says casually. Too casually. Dick sighs a little, but says nothing, just crosses to the far wall and sits on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees. Nix watches him, wants to sit next to him, wants to hand his flask over and watch as Dick empties it all out the window, giving some poor, unsuspecting patch of grass a taste of very good whiskey. He shrugs and looks away from Dick's unassuming gaze. "Goodnight." Nix turns back to the stairs.
"Lew," Dick says quickly, then goes quiet, as though he had only thought as far as saying the name. After a minute it's, "you're all right." He says it even though he doesn't sound as if he means it.
Nix just shrugs again and gives his friend that same miserable stretch of a smile. "Yes, sir."
He hates himself for it, but doesn't amend it, just turns and goes back down the stairs.
He watches Dick dress, and he doesn't think Dick notices. Maybe he does. Nix is in the Major's quarters to refill his flask and the man had just gotten back from a patrol he hadn't needed to make. It was raining out and the wet undershirt sticks to his back as he finds a dry uniform. Nix thinks about his father and how he spilled the drinks on the rug. He thinks about how much he hated him. He wonders if Dick thinks the same of him sometimes.
The redhead turns finally to see his friend standing at the top of the stairs. "Lew," he says easily as he buttons the dry shirt over damp skin. Without another word, he gestures with one long fingered hand to his foot locker.
"S'why I'm here," Nix lies as he forces his right foot forward and starts the laborious process of crossing the room. He realizes, when his vision blurs for a second, that he's already very drunk. It doesn't stop him. The whiskey feels like water across his numb tongue as he empties the flask before filling it again. The bottle is cool in his hand and he holds it up to look dazedly at the label, as he almost always does, as though he has to reassure himself he's drinking the right stuff.
Only the finest.
"How was the rain," he asks as he twists the top back on the flask and slips it away. The lid of Dick's footlocker closes with a thump. Dick is buttoning his cuffs.
"Good," he says amiably, carefully folding his collar. Regulation, Nix thinks, damn fastidious. He resists the urge to reach out and muss Dick's neat hair, drag his fingers through it. After a moment of this line of thought, he realizes Dick was still talking.
"...almost too quiet, but I can't let myself think about that too much, right?" He looks to Nix expectantly and his friend nods once, starting to reach for his flask again. Nix stops himself and slides his hands into his pockets instead.
"I'm almost out," he says casually. Too casually. Dick sighs a little, but says nothing, just crosses to the far wall and sits on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees. Nix watches him, wants to sit next to him, wants to hand his flask over and watch as Dick empties it all out the window, giving some poor, unsuspecting patch of grass a taste of very good whiskey. He shrugs and looks away from Dick's unassuming gaze. "Goodnight." Nix turns back to the stairs.
"Lew," Dick says quickly, then goes quiet, as though he had only thought as far as saying the name. After a minute it's, "you're all right." He says it even though he doesn't sound as if he means it.
Nix just shrugs again and gives his friend that same miserable stretch of a smile. "Yes, sir."
He hates himself for it, but doesn't amend it, just turns and goes back down the stairs.