Inside every cynic is a broken romantic.
His name was Claudius. Everyone else called him Dee, but Charles wasn't the type to butcher a name in that fashion. His hair was a golden blonde that shimmered in the sun, and he had a physique that would rival Adonis. At least, Charles thought so. At fifteen, Charles was smitten. Of course, he would never tell anyone so. It never did for a Winchester to be smitten over anyone. Smitten was something that happened to girls, and low class ones at that.
Their friendship was hesitant at first, and even in those first innocent days, Charles was secretive. Claudius was not the sort Charles' family would approve of. They had money, of course, but theirs was the wrong sort of money, or so Charles' father said when the boy's name came up at dinner one evening.
So Charles kept things secret, meeting with Claudius in places they would never be found out. It was mere friendship at first - based on mutual interests, both men wanted to be doctors. Charles knew it was his destiny, but for Claudius it was a passion, and, after a time, Claudius was Charles' passion.
It was Charles' birthday and his best friend arrived at Charles' flat with a bottle of fine port to celebrate. He never knew how it started then, which hesitant young man made the first tentative move, but slow, drunken fumbling soon gave way to a passionate, if messy, coupling.
Being as they were both scientists, and neither given to flights of hysteria, the next day they'd talked about things. Was it just the drink? Did they enjoy it? And did they want it to happen again? They discussed things for some hours - Charles admitting his long-time feelings for the other man, feeling a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
They continued their gentle affair, even as the men parted ways to attend school. They sent gifts, carefully worded letters, and met when they could. In spite of the difficulties, the months spent apart, the awkward times when they were together but had to mask everything, the jealousy when Claudius appeared at some Boston High society ball with the next In a string of lovely young ladies. In spite of all this, Charles had never been happier. He happily endured the gentle barbs and urgings to find a woman to make his wife. He hid behind the Winchester arrogance that he hadn't yet found a woman to meet his exacting standards.
In 1939 everything began to go wrong. War had broken out in Europe, and while the United States was blissfully uninvolved, many thousands of its young men were more than willing to fight. Claudius was one such young man, and when Charles told him he planned to make his way to Europe and fight with anyone who'd have him, Charles took the news with Winchester stoicism, but inside a part of him died. When they parted that day, only weeks before Claudius left, Charles knew he would never see the young man again.
Claudius wrote, and Charles would write back, but the letters got shorter, and father between, and finally no letter came.
It was his beloved sister, Honoria who told him the sad news. Claudius had been in the French resistence when he died. His cell was uncovered by the Nazi's, and everyone executed publically as an example. This had happened some months ago, and Honoria - who had long ago guessed the truth of Charles and Claudius' relationship - had managed to seduce the information out of some of their father's contacts, which included members of the war department.
A part of Charles had died when his love left him … the rest died with Claudius. Following this news, Charles threw himself into his schooling, and developed a tough, rigid Winchester shield that rivaled his fathers. Nothing got in again, Charles would not be hurt again. There wasn't enough of him left to entrust to someone else.
When his country called him to war, Charles wanted to ignore it. But he couldn't. Claudius wouldn't let him. He had lost his heart in one war, perhaps he could lose himself in another.
