#lipluz

A kitten.

A damn kitten.

A damn kitten in a box in the middle of the path

Wait. No—

Just kitten. Sweet, tiny, fuzzy, more innocent than anything left in this world. It was early morning and he had just returned from a morning run—a habit that hadn't gone away since returning home. In fact, the urge to run at the crack of dawn had only grown stronger. George tried not to think about where he was running and why.

But also… damn.

He’d fought a war and somehow this was what cracked him open at the hour even milkmen complained about. The little thing was so small it barely weighed anything in his arms, warm and trusting and purring like it had been waiting for him exactly. Like it knew it belonged right there against his chest.

George Luz, sucker for tiny creatures. Add that to the list of things he’d never admit to in polite conversation. Or impolite conversation. Or any conversation, ever. Let alone this is what he’s wanted since he was a kid — his pet friend only. Though he wasn’t greedy or something… well, till it came to friends.

He buried his nose briefly in its fur—quiet, quick, because it felt like something private—and then the realization finally hit.

Presents don’t walk. Boxes don’t deliver themselves. And there hadn’t been a car or footsteps or anything except—

Oh. Right.

His gut twisted, real soft-like. Of course there was a note.

He reached back into the box like it might hit him harder than the war ever had, pulling out the too-familiar handwriting on a little slip of paper. He didn’t even need to read it. He could see the loop of the letters in his head before his eyes finished the job.

“The poor thing has no family. Had to deliver it there.”

He could hear the voice saying it. Calm, practical, like this wasn’t the most reckless, tender, insane thing to do in the middle of Rhode Island at dawn unnoticed.

He swallowed, barely able to think from the blood rush in his ears.

And then Luz looked up.

It didn’t take long. Carwood Lipton might not be technically tall enough to count as a watchtower, but he stood still and solid the way only Lip could—like the tree grew around him instead of him standing under it. Just a few steps away. Close, but not close enough to be suspicious. Not close enough for anyone to look out a window and start asking questions.

George’s heart did a funny, traitorous flip. Not the big dramatic swell they write in books but a small, tired flutter. Like it was saying, Oh. It's you.

Lip flash him a little smile. Just by the corner of his mouth (not that George was staring). Polite. Careful, as usual.

Like they all had to be now.

George pressed the kitten closer and walked over, making his steps casual, like morning chats by trees with former lieutenants and current ghosts-from-your-heart were the sort of thing people did daily.

“Hey,” he said, because hey was safe. Friendly. American. “You losing strays now, Lip? Didn’t think people from Virginia are all dog lovers now.”

Lip’s smile twitched. Soft amusement. Familiar. Acceptance that made Luz’s heart sting.

“Might be I’m just good at recognizing someone who needs looking after,” he replied, voice low and even.

George scoffed, but it didn’t land right. There was too much sorrow under it after all. He jerked his head toward the kitten.

“It gonna file paperwork? Pay rent? Because I gotta tell ya, I’m not running a boarding house. I don’t even know how you housebreak one of these. There a manual for this?”

“You’ll figure it out.” Lip’s eyes warmed. “You always do.”

Damn him.

Damn him and that steady voice and that way he had of talking like every ridiculous thing Luz did was some brilliant triumph instead of a panic attack with jokes taped to it.

The wind stirred a little. Lip tucked his hands into his coat pockets, like he was trying to hide the way his fingers shook. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe George imagined it. He’d been imagining a lot of things lately. Thank you very much, winter.

A kitten purred against his shirt, like a tiny engine that didn’t know about the world’s ugliness.

George cleared his throat. “So. You drove all the way out here just to drop off a cat. You running a courier service for vets now?”

“Didn’t drive,” Lip said.

“Walked?” Luz blinked. “From Virginia? Damn Lip, you might break some COs’ hearts.”

Lip huffed out something like a laugh. The kind of sound you hide inside your chest because laughter feels wrong. Or he’s too polite again even now.

“I’ve got a job in town to do,” he said simply. “Borrowed a couch. Didn’t want to… draw attention, you know?”

Yeah.

He knew. All too well. Thank you, winter, once again (not that he complained at this point).

People were watching everything these days. Too much quiet talk in bars. Too many headlines with words like investigation and morality and un-American activities. Too many whispers about men who behaved “wrong,” lived “wrong,” felt “wrong.”

George had learned how to live with guns pointed at him.

He was still learning how to live with being looked at.

For a second neither of them said anything.

Birds started. Somewhere a neighbor’s radio coughed to life through an open kitchen window, scratchy with static, full of cheerful voices telling everyone how good and right and normal everything was in America today.

George looked down at the kitten because it was easier than looking at Carwood.

“You know,” he said, voice a little too thin, “if you just wanted to check whether I’m still breathing, you could’ve— I dunno. Sent a postcard. Called. Knocked on the door like a civilized human being.”

Just to say something and for silence not to feel too heavy.

“Could’ve,” Lip agreed.

He didn’t apologize. Lip never used apologies like that. He just stood there with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressed into the dirt between them.

“You sounded exhausted in your last letter,” Lip added softly.

Of course he would notice. Damn Lieutenant’s perception.

“Not like that.”

Silence again.

And now George had to look at him.

Lip wasn’t in uniform anymore. No parachute rig, no helmet, no Easy Company hanging between them. Just a man in a neat coat, hair combed like he was trying to behave, face older than it had any right to be.

He had lines at the corners of his mouth now. George wondered if he’d helped put them there.

Just silence that spoke more than they could dare to.

“Things are… strange lately,” Lip went on. “People talking. Listening. Asking about who sees who. Who keeps company with who. Who doesn’t… settle down.”

Ah.

There it was.

The thing you’re not supposed to say.

George laughed too sharp. “Well, if they’re asking who I keep company with, then congratulations, you’re incriminating yourself right now.”

“That’s why I didn’t knock.” Lip’s voice stayed steady, but his jaw tightened. “Didn’t want your neighbors to see me. Figured a box on the porch at dawn was… quieter.”

Quieter. Safer. Sadder.

George swallowed and cursed internally. Weird timing really. The kitten wriggled. Tiny claws pricked through his shirt like a reminder to hold on to something.

“So, you brought me a furred accomplice,” he said lightly. “Gonna share a cell, me and this guy? Break rocks together? He can distract the guards. I’ll… I’ll tell jokes.”

Their eyes caught for just a breath longer than advisable.

There were rules now. Maybe there’d always been rules and he’d only started recognizing them once his heart had gotten inconvenient. You don’t linger. You don’t smile too deeply. You don’t stand too close to the wrong person under a tree at dawn because someone might see tenderness and call it treason.

He shifted the kitten again, mostly so his hands had something to do.

“So, this is… what?” he asked. “A replacement for—”

He didn’t finish that sentence.

Lip didn’t make him.

“It’s just something steady,” Lip said instead. “Something to take care of. Something alive that needs you. Might help both.”

George blinked hard against the sudden sting behind his eyes. Damn, that wasn’t fair. He could face the whole Bastogne thing again, not this.

“You always think I need something,” he muttered.

Lip’s gaze softened. “You do.”

“Do you?”

Lip looked away for a second. Toward the street. Toward windows. Toward the world.

“Doesn’t matter what I need,” he said quietly. “I got my work. Just matters we keep our heads down. For now.”

For now.

Luz grabbed onto that scrap like a drowning man to driftwood.

For now meant maybe someday…

He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Lip’s breath left him hurt. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Luz echoed, throat tight. “Probably.”

But neither of them moved.

A beat. Two. The kind you live a whole year inside.

Then Lip did something dangerous.

He stepped half a foot closer.

Not close enough to be scandalous. Not close enough to look like anything more than an earnest man talking to a friend.

Just… close enough.

His hand hovered for a brief ridiculous second—like he had to get permission from God and the United States Senate—before touching the kitten’s head instead of George’s shoulder.

Safe.

He stroked the tiny creature with a care that didn’t belong to the world they lived in anymore. The kitten looked up, blinked slow, trusted everything.

Lip’s hand trembled.

George could barely breathe; was sure his heart would stop any moment and swearing he could sense the warmth of this hand on his skin.

“Take care of him,” Lip murmured.

“Yeah,” George whispered back. “I will.”

He wanted to say I’d take care of you too if they’d let me. If you’d let me.

He wanted to say come in.

He wanted to say stay.

He wanted to say don’t walk away again.

Instead, he said, “You picked a good one. Strong purr. Good morale booster. General Patton’d approve.”

Lip huffed that almost-laugh again. “Not sure Patton ever approved of a cat.”

“Patton didn’t approve of me either and look how great that turned out.”

Lip finally stepped back.

The space between them felt suddenly huge.

He adjusted his coat like he was putting his armor back on (George had to blink to get rid of this image).

When he spoke again, the warmth didn’t leave, but it hid carefully.

“You write when you can,” he said. “Just… keep it about the cat.”

Is it hope?

“Sure,” Luz said. “Just me and my respectable domestic life, nothing suspicious. I’ll even get him a dignified name. Something proper. Senator Whiskers. Congressman Meow.”

Lip gave him the look.

George sighed. “Fine. General Purr it is.”

Carwood finally laughed, soft and quiet. George’s heart skipped a beat.

He hesitated. Then, soft: “You be careful too, okay?”

Lip’s eyes met his. And for just one instant, all the carefulness cracked. Just a hairline fracture. Enough for George to see worry. Affection. Something larger he didn’t dare name.

“I always am,” Lip said.

Lie?

Promise?

Prayer?

Maybe all three.

He gave him a nod and a smile and turned before the moment could last longer than necessary and walked away quiet, like he’d never been there. Just a shadow slipping back into a country that didn’t want to admit it had ghosts walking around in daylight.

George didn’t call after him.

He just stood there under the tree with the box and the kitten and the world pressing close, and he listened until even the idea of footsteps faded (if there were any even).

The kitten yawned.

He laughed wetly, because life insisted on being small and stubborn and ordinary even when his chest felt like it had been shelled by that damn broken thing.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, tucking the kitten closer. “Guess it’s you and me. You’re gonna be a troublemaker, ain’t ya?”

A soft meow.

George smiled.

Not big. Not loud.

But real this time.

Inside his house, the day would start. Neighbors would nod at him and radios would talk about good Americans and he’d play along like he always did. Like he always would.

But right now, morning still held its breath, and he let himself hope for a moment longer than was safe.

He turned toward the door.

Still, it was rare for people to be kept waiting for more than 100 years, although it had happened. The longest Lipton had ever heard of anyone waiting was for 259 years. And even so, most people met their soulmates within a few years of turning 20. The wait sounded lonely, but he hoped that in the end it was worth it—after all, this person completed the puzzle of your soul. His mama had told him that when she met his dad, it felt like something clicked into place and everything was right in the world, even before they knew for sure that they'd start aging again. They kept getting tugged back together, some unknowable pull guiding them, drawing them to each other. A few years into their relationship, when they'd both aged a bit, they knew with certainty they'd been right.

Lipton had probably only just hit the age where he stopped aging. It was difficult to tell when it actually stopped, since it would take a few years to notice either way, and it varied from person to person. He wasn't in any particular rush to find his soulmate, because he figured the whole purpose behind the way it worked was so that the right person could come along, and sometimes that took time. He could be patient, and he sure as hell knew a lot of the fellas here had been patient for far longer than he'd been alive.

Which brought him back to Lieutenant Speirs. They'd never met before, although Lipton had seen him around often. But now they were in Bastogne, and Lieutenant Dike had misread the map so Easy was a mile off from where they were supposed to be positioned, and Speirs looked none too pleased. This was the first time Lipton had ever been close to the man, who wore the rumors swirling around him like a second skin, and whose eyes looked far too old.

Lipton had gotten good at telling who was older than they appeared to be by now. He could always see it in their eyes, or on their faces whenever they thought no one was looking. For a moment, their faces wore years of grief after losing family and friends while staying the same. Lipton had seen that look in Luz's face a few times, although the radio technician had never told anyone just how old he was. He was all smiles, normally, but sometimes his eyes looked old and he'd stare off into space, and Lipton would be left wondering just how long he'd walked this Earth looking for the other part of his soul.

But Lipton had never seen eyes like Speirs'. They were sharp and calculating, but moreover, there was some kind of weariness behind that gaze. Lipton was captivated by his eyes, fascinated by this man who didn't seem to care about the deadly rumors surrounding him—and perhaps he'd been around long enough that they didn't matter to him in the first place. Here was a man who was clearly well-versed in warfare, and who seemed to have been made for it.

They didn't exchange any words in this meeting, just made eye contact with each other briefly before Speirs gave a huff of annoyance and directed Dike to where Easy was supposed to be stationed. Still, Lipton couldn't help but glance back at Speirs while Easy left. Speirs was looking back at him, unblinking, before abruptly turning around and speaking to one of his own men, ending the moment.

He was still thinking about Speirs later when he was in his foxhole with Luz. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something otherworldly about the man, but he didn't feel the fear that others in the company did around him. Lipton didn't give a shit about the rumors, and he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about a few dead Kraut when so many more of his men were dead at their hands. No, his curiosity was stemming from a place of genuine curiosity, of wanting to get to know the man behind the rumors rather than seeing what was available at the surface.

"Hey, Luz," Lipton asked, huddling closer to Luz for warmth as the man hummed but didn't reply, waiting for Lipton to continue. "What do you think about Lieutenant Speirs? From Dog Company?"

Luz cracked an eye open and looked over at Lipton suspiciously. "Why? Worried about the rumors?"

"No," Lipton said with a chuckle. "No, I'm just curious about him. He seems… antediluvian." It was the best word Lipton could think of, because old didn't quite cut it.

"Jesus, fancy word there, Lip," Luz said, barking out a laugh. "Yeah, he's been around for a while."

"How do you know? He doesn't seem the type to advertise it."

"Oh, he isn't," Luz said. "But I've been around for a while, too, and he and I have crossed paths a few times. And even I haven't been around as long as he has."

That only served to make Lipton more curious, but knowing that Luz was shut tight about his own past other than some Portuguese roots, he didn't press. If anything, he was just glad for the confirmation that he was reading Speirs correctly.

Lipton didn't think he'd get an answer to any of it anytime soon, so he made himself content with that fact. Still, it felt like his run-ins with Speirs increased after that first one, but they never exchanged any words. Lipton would just look into Speirs' eyes, and Speirs would stare at him, unblinking, before moving on to whatever he'd been doing.

And then there was the dud in his and Luz's foxhole, and it was the first of a series of seismic shifts in Lipton's world.

They stared at the unexploded shell for quite some time, waiting for it to go off, waiting for it to kill them. Lipton was glad, at the very least, that you started aging if your soulmate died before you met them. To be cursed to wander the world alone forever sounded horrible. At least if he died, his soulmate wouldn't have to be stuck behind.

But the shell didn't explode, and he and Luz realized at probably the same time that it was a dud. Luz lit a cigarette, and then Lipton stole it from his mouth, savoring the acrid taste of it.

"I thought you didn't smoke," Luz said, looking up at Lipton with a haggard expression.

"I don't," Lipton bit out, although he supposed he did now, but that was a fleeting thought more than anything else.

"Uh-huh." And then they sat in silence together for a few more minutes, Luz pulling out his own cigarette, contemplating the shell that could've, should've spelled their doom.

Out of nowhere, Luz let out a bitter laugh. "Jesus, can you imagine if I'd made it all this time waiting to meet my soulmate, and then I died before I even got the chance? Four hundred and fourty somethin' years down the drain, just like that."

"What?" Lipton asked, a bit incredulous. He thought that maybe Luz was exaggerating his age, but judging from the way his expression shuttered, like he realized he'd just said too much, it was probably the truth.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm old, Lip, been around a while. Nobody's ever been quite right for ol' Luz here," Luz said, his tone bitter in a way that Lipton had never heard before.

On some level, Lipton had been hoping that Luz was his soulmate. They seemed drawn together, for sure, but there had never been that click of just right between them that Lipton had expected. He wished he could be the one to complete Luz's puzzle so that he could finally move on, but it seemed it wasn't meant to be.

So, Lipton did the next best thing, and wrapped Luz in a one-armed hug. "That can't be easy."

"It isn't," Luz said, and he looked so sad in that moment. But, being the good-humored man he was, he grinned again. "But hey, now that you know how old I am, I can tell you something no one else here knows about me."

"What's that?"

"I used to be a court jester. In Portugal, when I was actually 23."

"No kidding? That explains a hell of a lot, Luz."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Lipton just laughed, and then he and Luz went silent and stared at each other with wide eyes. Well, even if they weren't soulmates, Lipton supposed it couldn't hurt. Although, it turned out it was Luz who made the first move, flicking own cigarette away and taking Lipton's from his mouth before closing the gap between them, their lips meeting in a tender kiss, more out of a mutual need for comfort in a comfortless place. Lipton could also admit, however, that he enjoyed the kiss quite a bit, and Luz smiled at him so warmly when they pulled apart that it made Lipton feel butterflies in his stomach, just a bit, like he had a schoolyard crush.

It was a moment of brief levity before reality came crashing back down upon them, and they were almost quite literally picking up the pieces of Muck and Penkala. Lipton was so busy missing them and worrying about Malarkey that it didn't even cross his mind until a couple of days later that if Luz was in his 440s, then Speirs had to be even older than that.

Antediluvian, indeed.

-----

There wasn't much time to process exactly what happened, not until a few days later at the convent in Rachamps. At one moment, Easy was being led into battle by a floundering Dike, who'd frozen up and was unresponsive, in spite of Lipton and Luz's best efforts to get him to just talk to Winters through the radio. At the next, Speirs entered the scene, moving with all the poise of a cannonball, looking very much like he was the weapon and not the Thompson gun he carried. Everything seemed to slot into place when Speirs called his name, when he gave clear and concise orders, when Luz patted Lipton's arm and uttered a relieved "Thank God."

The three of them moved as one, coming to rest behind a building, Lipton peaking around and getting a few pieces of concrete in his face for his trouble, and then peaking around again. Speirs understood the situation in an instant, and then he was off, untouchable. Lipton couldn't help but watch, a smile breaking out on his face that he wasn't even fully aware of. It was the most incredible thing, seeing him run fearlessly through gunfire and then back, to make sure they were able to hook up with I-Company. It was breathtaking, and when Speirs returned and they continued the attack, the back of Lipton's mind was screaming right right right.

But this was war, and there was work to be done in taking out a sniper and then Noville and then Rachamps. There wasn't time to dwell on it all, to think about why everything felt right all of a sudden, not until after Speirs had told Lipton that he was the only reason Easy stayed together and had given him news of his promotion. Speirs looked so incredibly fond of Lipton, his smile warm and inviting and open, and Lipton wasn't sure he'd ever seen that expression on Speirs' face. His old, old eyes were sparkling, and it made him look youthful in a way that Lipton knew for a fact that he wasn't. After Speirs left, Lipton sat back down in the pews next to Luz, who was giving him a contemplative and curious look, but didn't speak.

Lipton thought back to what his mama had said, about how things just seemed to click into place when you met your soulmate, and he wondered if that's what he'd felt when Speirs had run in. But that left another question: he'd met Speirs before. If that was the feeling Mama had talked about, wouldn't he have felt it during their first meeting? He told himself that it had just happened because of how relieved he was to have a competent CO, and fell asleep leaning against Luz's shoulder.

He woke up the next day with a sore throat, which turned into a cough, a wet one that spoke to fluid in his lungs. Instead of going back to Mourmelon, they were being shipped out to Haguenau, and Lipton felt god-awful, even though he was trying to hide it. He didn't suppose he was doing a good job at it, what with the way Luz was hovering over him, and when they stopped in a town for the night, Speirs was hovering as well. But by then Lipton had a fever, and he could hardly think straight. He let the two of them usher him up to a bedroom, mind foggy and feeling rather dizzy, trying extremely hard to not succumb to a coughing fit, which failed as soon as they made it into the room they were putting him up in and made him sit on the edge of the bed. He coughed so hard he could taste blood, and he couldn't tell what Luz and Speirs were doing around him, but by the time he came back to himself and managed to catch his breath, they were both crouched in front of him, wearing twin expressions of concern, and Lipton remembered Luz mentioning that he'd crossed paths with Speirs a few times before the war.

He wondered when they'd met, and in what context, and he guessed he might've accidentally said that out loud because Luz and Speirs exchanged looks—knowing looks, the kind that came from having known each other well for years, and then maneuvered Lipton so that he was laying down on the bed, not just sitting on the edge. His pack and boots were taken off, and he feebly made an argument that he should take the ground because Speirs should take the bed, but it was no use.

"You're sick," Speirs said, pursing his lips a bit and frowning.

"I'll be fine," Lipton said. "Just need to sleep."

"Uh-huh." Luz this time, standing close to Speirs. Lipton wanted to say more, but he couldn't, not with how he felt. He fell asleep within moments, feverishly cold but physically unable to stay awake any longer.

When he awoke, he was pressed between two warm bodies. He still felt like shit, but he wasn't cold, not in the way he'd been before. He knew without even opening his eyes that Luz and Speirs had settled down on either side of him, their soft voices filtering above Lipton in a language he couldn't understand. He tried to stay quiet, hoping they wouldn't notice that he'd woken up, but then a hard, hacking cough burst its way out of him. When it stopped, leaving him breathless and dizzy, he cracked his eyes open and saw Speirs and Luz once he did, who were indeed sitting on either side of him. They were both looking at him in concern, a more shocking expression when it came from Speirs because he felt like he hardly knew the man, although he wanted to get to know him better.

Lipton was going to ask them why they were both going through all this effort just for him, but he paused to let himself think for a moment, and felt something curling in his stomach, something that reminded him of that feeling out in Foy when Speirs had first run up. But Luz had been there, too, hadn't he, right by Lipton's side the entire time.

Of course.

"Oh," Lipton said, but he was tired and still very sick, and he could hardly get out his next words. "Do you think we're all soulmates?"

Speirs looked at him with those old, old eyes of his, and a pleasant smile grew on his face. "Maybe so. We'll just have to wait and see."

-----

Luz's theory was that things hadn't clicked between him and Speirs in the past because they'd been waiting on Lipton. That was what he presented to Lipton, when he woke up again and was considerably more lucid.

"Sparky and I, we're polar opposites. He's all dark and serious and I was literally a court jester, right? We met up, we had our fun, we hoped we were the one for each other—but it had never felt quite right, even if we kept running into each other over and over." Luz had been chattering and explaining his theory to Lipton since the moment Lipton had woken up. "But you, Lip? You're the perfect middle ground between us. Maybe you're the missing piece of our puzzle."

"If that's so, then I'm sorry I kept you both waiting so long," Lipton said, eyes flicking anxiously over to Speirs. He was a man of few words, and Lipton still didn't even know how old he was.

Speirs just regarded him carefully, but there was a loose smile on his face, the same fond one he'd worn when he'd praised Lipton in Rachamps and after Lipton had asked about soulmates. "It will have been worth the wait, if it's you."

Lipton smiled.

-----

It was at the Eagle's Nest, seeing Speirs stretched out languidly like a cat taking in the sun, where Lipton finally learned just how old his probable-almost-definite soulmate was. Poor Luz couldn't be with them—officers only up there—but Winters and Nixon went off together somewhere and Harry wandered off, saying something about writing to his beautiful and wonderful soulmate Kitty, which left Lipton alone with a slightly-drunken Speirs.

Lipton sat down on the edge of the same seat that Speirs was sitting in. Speirs was staring at him, as he often did, but there was something more intense behind that gaze, longing and want at the surface, but a deep-seated sadness underneath.

"Are you alright?" Lipton asked, leaning back into the chair and hoping that Speirs would get the hint to follow suit. He did, and their shoulders pressed together. They stared out at the blue sky beyond the balcony.

"I'm—" Speirs broke off, frowning a bit as he considered his next words. "I'm tired."

"It's been a long war," Lipton said.

"It's been a long life," Speirs agreed. "I've been around a long time."

"Luz said you're older than him," Lipton said. "By how much?"

Speirs was silent for long enough that Lipton turned to look over at him to make sure he hadn't said the wrong thing. Speirs didn't look upset; he just seemed contemplative.

"I think I'm a little over 2,100 years old," Speirs said after a little while. He said it far too casually, as if he was just relaying the weather and not mind-boggling, impossible information.

"What?"

Speirs looked over at him and smiled, and he really did look tired. "I'm from Carthage. I was there, when Rome took over all the way back… well, a long time ago. It's how I know—knew—Tercius."

"I've never heard of Tercius, other than from you."

"Not many would have. Maybe that's not a bad thing." There was something haunted in the way he said it, and Lipton wondered just what Tercius had meant to him. He wanted to ask so many more questions, but he refrained—he got the feeling that Speirs' loose-lips were alcohol induced, and he didn't want to make him share any more about himself than he thought was necessary.

But Speirs didn't seem to be done, and he hadn't looked away from Lipton yet. "I'm tired, and for a while I thought… if I didn't make it out of this war, it would be okay. I could rest. I've thought that every war that came up that I fought in. But then I met Luz again, and then you, and—I want to live. Even if my soulmates are not you and Luz, I'll live a little longer, for you two, if you'll have me."

"Of course I'll have you. And Luz would, too," Lipton said, turning to make eye contact with him, and he could feel Speirs' breath on his face, the distance between them shrinking until it was nonexistent and their lips were pressed together. Speirs' mouth tasted of alcohol, and it was heavenly.

When they pulled apart, Speirs' eyes were bright and he let out a little laugh. "Luz already has."

Lipton couldn't help his own laugh, either. "I'm not surprised."

-----

They went home from the war together, the three of them. Lipton was the only one of them with any living family, given that he was the youngest, so they went to West Virginia, to Huntington. Somehow, Lipton's mama wasn't all that surprised that he'd brought two fellas home from the war, as if she'd somehow always known he'd need two soulmates to keep him in line, even if it was rare for folks to have more than one soulmate. No, all Mama did was gripe that they were too skinny and immediately set out to make them a nice meal and pie. Luz was all in, turning up his charm all the way and wrapping Lipton's mama around his fingers immediately, but Speirs was quiet, seeming a bit bewildered by the entire interaction.

Later that night, up in Lipton's room, they all squeezed into Lipton's childhood bed—it was a full-sized bed, but they were still snug. Lipton was snuggled up in-between the other two. It was all a bit domestic in a shocking sort of way, after having spent so much time fighting for their lives. Lipton got the feeling that Speirs was more used to fighting than peacetime, too, and Lipton made eye contact with Luz, lifting his brows a bit to signal that he ought to start the conversation.

Luckily, Luz got the hint. "These mountains out here are even older than you, Speirs," he said, jabbing Lipton in the ribs with his elbow, which Lipton then did to Speirs so the chain was complete. Speirs smiled that lovely smile of his that was so rare to see, and Lipton thought that maybe the idea of something being older than him comforted him.

"They are," Speirs said after a brief pause. "You know, in all this time, I've never been to Huntington."

"Neither have I," Luz said. "It's nice out here."

"It's nicer now that I've met both of you," Lipton said, and Luz elbowed him again.

"You sap," Luz said, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

There was silence for a few moments, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It just felt like home.

Speirs was the one who broke the silence. "Your mother is lovely, Carwood."

Lipton knew he'd never tire of hearing Speirs or Luz say his name, and he smiled. "She is. She's a good woman."

Speirs nodded. "I'm glad you still have her. And your brother."

"Me too. You have them now, too," Lipton said. "Regardless of what our future holds, you're family. Both of you."

"Thank fuck, because I was planning on sticking around for a while either way," Luz said, but when Lipton turned to look at him, his expression was open in a way it so rarely was: he was relieved, and overjoyed. On his other side, Speirs still seemed to be in disbelief.

"I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky after all this time," Speirs said, "but I'm glad I stuck around long enough to meet you. It's nice to have family again."

Lipton was the first of them to say it, and maybe it was his own youth contributing to his boldness.

"I love you both."

Luz beamed at him and pecked his cheek with a quick kiss. "And I love you both, too."

Speirs smiled again, and shifted so that he could look both Lipton and Luz in the eyes as he spoke. "I love you, too."

-----

Lipton and Luz were lounging in the living room together, Lipton reading a book while Luz read a newspaper. Speirs was in the bathroom getting ready for the day, but came out looking somewhat pale and shaky.

"Is everything okay?" Lipton asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Luz did the same.

"I… I found some grey hairs," Speirs said, and from the tone of his voice, he clearly couldn't believe it.

They'd been together for ten years at this point, but it was hard to tell for sure if they were aging or not, just because they saw each other and themselves each day. But Lipton was pretty sure his hairline had gone back just a bit more, and Luz swore up and down he had a few new wrinkles on his face. Speirs, however, had refused to believe any evidence of it, unwilling to get his hopes up that his long wait truly could be over.

"Oh, you're definitely going to be a silver fox," Luz said, slapping his newspaper onto the table beside him and jumping up, beckoning Speirs over to inspect his hair for himself. Lipton smiled as he watched the scene, and Luz plucked out one of the grey hairs, making Speirs wince a bit.

"Yup! Only took you a couple thousand years, Ron, Jesus Christ." Luz showed the hair off to Lipton like it was a trophy. Lipton laughed and set his book down before standing up and wrapping Speirs in a hug and kissing him. Luz made an offended noise and pushed his way into the hug.

"The wait was worth it," Speirs said when they pulled apart, and Lipton could feel him smile against his shoulder.

-----

Luz was the first of them to die, in 1998. They were all older men by then, so it wasn't too shocking, except that it had happened in an accident rather than old age specifically. It was sudden, and they didn't have a chance to say goodbye properly. The first night they spent without a third person in their bed felt wrong. They slept closer together that night to try not to feel the sting of loss.

But if they knew Luz, he'd want Speirs and Lipton to continue to live happily together, so they did just that. Speirs, in his old age, couldn't walk like he used to be able to, but he never breathed a word of complaint. He told Lipton over and over that he was just grateful that he'd found the two of them, and that he could grow old with them. It was a privilege to him, nevermind the walker he needed.

Lipton could move a little easier, but ever since the first time he got pneumonia back in the war, it would crop up again every few winters. The older that he got, the more difficult it was to fight it off. When he got it again in December of 2001 and was so weak that he couldn't even bring himself to get out of bed, he felt a sense of finality. But Speirs was right beside him, at home and later in the hospital, as he always was.

"I'm sorry you're going to be alone again," Lipton managed in one of his last moments of lucidity.

"Don’t be. I got to grow old thanks to you," Speirs said, holding his hand, and although his voice was steady, he was shaking ever so slightly.

"I love you," Lipton said, looking into his eyes, still so old but more befitting of his age. Speirs leant down and kissed his forehead.