The Way Back

- 24 -

After Ron had walked Lia back to the place officers were billeted, he stayed by her until she fell fast asleep. Not in the bed with her. No, he wouldn't unless she asked him to. But she didn't. She just rolled over underneath the covers and allowed her pain to follow her deep into her nightmares. 

She had stopped crying then, but spoke no words. Not to him or Piper. Not to Winters or Welsh. Lia just stood out of Speirs' grasp and walked back out through the front door, not daring to look at the dried mass of blood that her family once laid upon. 

Lia woke that next morning and felt all too much. Her head pounded with the tears shed the day before. Her chest ached from the memory of a loving family. It just all hurt too much. She knew pain, better than most, but it was running hot on her heels and catching up each hour that went by. 

She didn't want to feel anything at all. For one day, she wanted to feel nothing. 

With a bottle of stolen whiskey in hand, she had found her way to Lewis Nixon's room. He would drink with her. He would understand her need to feel nothing at all.  

The moment Nixon laid eyes on the woman standing at his door, whiskey in one hand and dark eyes, he pushed the door open further to let her inside. She didn't speak as she stumbled through the room and dropped herself onto the couch. 

Nixon crossed in front of her and grabbed his glass, placing himself on the end of his bed. He watched as the lieutenant downed a quarter of the bottle in her grasp. So, he raised his glass and took another drink with her. 

"What are we drinking to?" He asked quietly, arching an eyebrow in question. 

Lia stared at him with those dark eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her this cold. 

"Do I need a reason?" Even her voice was cold. It brought Nixon back to Bastogne. 

He shrugged his shoulders, taking another drink. "We all have a reason. Lost my entire plane. Blew up somewhere over Germany." Nixon waved his hand out, causing the liquid in the bottle to slosh around. 

Lia furrowed her eyebrows. Typically, she would be distraught by the information. It would've dredged on her for a while over the loss of good soldiers. It was hard to feel anything for them, though, with the alcohol burning in her system and the memory of death raging behind her eyes. 

She pursed her lips and nodded her head absentmindedly. Squinting her eyes at the man before her she spoke lowly, "Well that fucking sucks."

Nixon laughed bitterly. "That it does. Now, what's your reason?"

The lieutenant bit down on her lip and glanced around the room. "My family was murdered here in this town. The house hasn't been touched and their blood still stains the floor."

The memory burned. Relentless pain flowed like a wildfire through Lia's body. She didn't want to feel it. She needed it erased. Another drink slipped down her throat. 

"Jesus Christ." Nixon whispered, watching the lieutenant closely. 

Lia waved her hand in the air. "Ah no big deal." She held up the near empty bottle in her hand. "Nothing a bit of whiskey can't fix."

In his own intoxicated state, Nixon cracked a smile. He too brushed off the gravity of their situations and shared another drink with the girl in front of him. In the deepest parts of their own hell, they found something there. A friendship forged through whiskey and pain. The pair drank on, mostly allowing Nixon to chat on whatever came to mind. Lia sat listening as best as she could with her muddied brain.