#jackcurt real

[meyerlansky]

@sweaterkittensahoy curt gets a game face the SECOND bryan makes the crack about "something for the higher ups" to jack and doesn't blink through this whole shot either, so he's on the offensive immediately [and also stops JUST BARELY short of giving bryan a chin flick when he leans forward lol]

and he is right up on jack's shoulder and has all of jack's attention through the next shot which like. jack cannot be blamed. but still fun :3

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Titles are for official AO3 posting

Here's 8800 words of JackCurt from Jack's POV where Curt survives the Algeria mission but is also real beat up.

Watching Buck glide in to land in Algeria, Jack feels a lump grow in his throat. He looks over Buck's fort and stares hard at the sky. It's empty. Curt's last words on the radio was that Dickie was hurt, and they were down two engines. 

Jack watches Bucky jog over to meet Buck as he stumbles out of his fort, and the lump gets larger. He clears his throat and swallows, but it doesn't go away. He watches Bucky cup Buck's face and has to turn his back, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

They hadn't told anyone yet. Jack had only just realized Curt was courting him a couple of weeks ago. After several weeks of hurried fucks and hot kisses, Curt had stopped Jack before he could slip out of the hayloft they'd climbed into for a little alone time and handed him a small box. 

*

"What's this?" Jack asks.

"Just a little something for my fella," Curt replies. 

Jack stares at him for a moment. "Your fella?"

"Yeah." Curt taps the box. "Come on. Open it up." 

Jack opens it. Inside is a cream-colored scarf with brown wheels of various sizes. He takes it out and runs it between his hands. It's silk. A flying scarf. "Where'd you find this?"

"Ma's a seamstress sometimes. I wrote her a little while ago, asked her to pick something nice. Told her you weren't the flashy type, but you probably wouldn't mind a little pattern."

Jack turns the scarf over, His initials are monogrammed in the bottom corner. "I…" He looks at Curt who's meeting him with a clear-eyed curiosity, clearly waiting for Jack's reaction. "I didn't realize we were…seeing each other?" He says. 

Curt squints at him. "What?" 

"I thought we were–" Jack shrugs. "You know I don't have a lot of experience."

"Too busy being all brains," Curt says. He taps Jack's temple, and Jack smiles at him. "Hey, it's okay you didn't know. I wasn't real sure, either. But I figured a gift would make it clear."

"It does," Jack replies. He folds the scarf and tucks it back into the box. He reaches out and takes Curt's hand. "We should probably try to have a proper date soon," he says. "If you wouldn't mind."

"You kidding? I'd love it," Curt says, and his smile is extra-wide as he leans in and kisses Jack. "You got any free time before the next sortie?"

Jack snorts. "I barely had time to jerk you off right now," he says. Curt laughs and tucks Jack's tie snugly between his buttons.

"We'll find a time," Curt says. "Count on it."

*

And now here Jack is, Curt's gift around his neck, and Curt's fort nowhere to be seen. 

"Hey, Jack," Buck says, voice low as he approaches. He holds out his hand. Jack shakes it on reflex. "Good to see you in one piece."

"You, too," Jack says. He thinks of Curt's story of no engines Cleven, and he feels something ache deep in his chest. "All your boys all right?"

"Good as they can be," Buck says. His mouth quirks. "We made sure to let the kid out before we dropped the bubble in the channel."

Jack finds a small laugh. "Nice of you," he says. 

"Come on," Bucky says to Buck, tucking a hand at his elbow. "Let's get you settled in." 

Jack watches them walk away, shoulder-to-shoulder, Bucky's hand slipping from Buck's elbow to his shoulder, and then his entire arm slung around Buck's neck. Jack thinks of how Curt drapes himself all over him when they're together. Compact and muscular, warm like an oven.

He might be cold now. Icy cold in the Channel or his dead body cooling in some German field. 

Jack rubs the back of his hand hard across his eyes and repeats the mission details over and over in his head until he feels a little more in control. When he walks back to the boys, Blakely comes over and cocks his head. 

"You okay?" he asks in an undertone. 

Jack considers saying nothing. Saying he's fine. But he and Blakely know each other too well. They've been in each other's back pockets since flight school. "I was seeing Curt," he says. "Couple of months."

Blakely's eyes go wide. "Oh, fuck," he says. "How serious was it?"

Jack feels the brush of the scarf against his neck. Thinks of Curt showing up in his office and grinning at the sight of Jack wearing it. Of pushing it down on one side and pressing a kiss to the side of Jack's neck. 

"Keep that warm for me," he'd said, face full of mischief. 

Jack had pulled him in close by the back of his neck and shared air for a few moments. "Get in your fort, Biddickk. We've got a long drive today."

"It was getting serious," Jack says. 

Blakely takes a long, hard drag of his cigarette. "He might be okay," he says. 

Jack snorts. "Don't say that shit to me, Ev. You heard him on the radio same as me."

Blakely's brow furrows. "Anyone else know?" he asks. 

"No." Jack looks down and feels a weight settle in his spine. "I thought–I didn't know exactly what we were until a couple of days ago."

"Jesus." Blakely grabs Jack's shoulder and squeezes hard. "Fuck, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Can you play distraction for a few minutes?" Jack asks. "I just need…" He isn't sure what he needs. 

"Yeah, I've got you covered," Blakely says. "Take ten."

Jack nods and walks away. He climbs into the belly of Just-A-Snappin' and grunts at the heat of it. He takes off his flying scarf and stares at it in the shadowy light. He folds it into a neat square, then tucks it into the chest pocket of his flight suit, making sure to button it closed. 

He cries silently for a few minutes, palms pressed against his eyes. When he comes out of his fort, he strips off his flight suit and throws it back in the hatch. He can't think about Curt right now. There's a mission to finish, and he's Air Exec, whether he wants to be or not. 

*

Blakely keeps an eye on him, and Bucky gives him a squinty look that means he can tell something's off. Buck's the only one to actually approach him. It's the day before they fly back, and they're all trying not to show nerves for having to make such a long flight back. 

"You're not great, Jack," Buck greets. He leans on the wall next to Jack and takes out a toothpick. Jack's smoking a cigarette as slow as he can. Trying to get himself ready for a flight that's already making his stomach drop out. 

"It's too fucking hot," Jack replies. 

Buck hums in agreement and looks out at the vast desert they're in. The rest of the boys are scattered elsewhere, roughhousing or talking or writing letters. "Bucky send you?" Jack asks, because it'd be like him. He cares so much, but he's not always great with the actual conversation part. Buck's not better, exactly, but he and Jack have a similar wavelength. A conservation of words rather than Bucky's effusive concern. 

"No," Buck says. "He's busy herding the other boys." He rolls his toothpick in his mouth. "Curt's clever and stubborn," he says like it's not odd to bring him up. "He may be waiting for you."

Jack shakes from head to toe. "How…"

"He came to me about your scarf. Wanted to know if I thought it was an appropriate gift to make his intentions clear. I said it was. Asked me to keep it between us since he wasn't sure how it'd be taken. He showed it to me when his mother sent it."

"Fuck," Jack breathes out. He takes his cigarette from his mouth with unsteady fingers. "He didn't mention he told anyone about us."

 "Like I said, he wasn't sure how you'd take it. But I saw you wearing it when we loaded up, so I figured you took it fine."

Jack nods. He flicks ash from his cigarette. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. It was…he gave his mom some instructions on what sort of style I might like."

"Big heart on Curt," Buck says. 

Jack can only nod again. He finishes his cigarette, Buck quiet and relaxed beside him. "We haven't been together all that long," Jack says. "Only since we got to England."

"Any particular reason for that?" Buck asks. 

"I've never dated much," Jack admits. "And Curt's a tomcat when he wants to be. I figured I wouldn't be his type."

"But?"

Jack smiles at the memory. "But one day he decided to go for it. Just grabbed me and kissed me and told me we could have some fun. It was after our first sortie. I figured it was just us helping each other out, you know? Finding a way to relax and forget a little."

"Curt's tricky like that," Buck says. "The way he has fun and the way he loves, it all blurs together."

Jack wants to tell Buck to stop using present tense, but it soothes something inside him that Buck of all people is using it. Keeping Curt alive until they know. Until they really know. "Bucky's the same way," he says. 

"They're two peas in a pod," Buck agrees. "When he showed up, I thought it might be about the time Bucky got bored of me, but he didn't."

Jack looks at him. In the desert light, he almost blends in with his sandy hair, but his eyes are so blue, he stands out sharply. "You really thought Bucky would get bored of you? Fuck, he named you."

Buck laughs and ducks his head. "That's true. And I never doubted him, but when Curt showed up full of fire and energy, I worried for a few days."

"What happened?" 

"Bucky caught me out and made it clear there was nothing to worry about. That fun's fun and love's love, and if I didn't know which way he looked at me, he'd make sure I knew."

Jack looks at the desert again. The quiet pleasure and contentment on Buck's face makes him feel hollow. "He's probably dead, Buck," he says. "And all I'll have of him is a scarf."

"You had his heart, Jack. He didn't get the chance to say it to you, but trust me."

Jack nods and reaches for another cigarette. They stand side-by-side in silence as he smokes that one slowly down just like the one before. 

*

They're doing a small bombing run on their way back, aiming for an airfield in Bordeaux. But they're having to double up in the forts to get everyone back. Jack has to assign the men to forts, and he hates every second he spends writing out who goes where. He wishes Bucky's fort had taken less damage so he could just pile Buck's boys in with him. But neither of their forts are in flying condition, so he has to split them up. 

Bucky listens to the assignments when Jack reads them off and stands when a few of the boys grumble. "Hey, we don't back talk the Air Exec," he says. 

"Egan, you fucking liar," Jack says without thinking, and everyone laughs, Bucky the one to start them off. 

"Jack, I'll never thank you enough for taking this job," Bucky says quietly when it's just the two of them left in the room. 

Jack wonders how much it hurts him to not have Curt there with them. He doesn't ask. They need to be wheels up in an hour. He pats Bucky's back and lets Bucky pull him into one of his casual hugs. 

When Jack sits in the co-pilot's seat, Blakely gives him a questioning look. "Yeah, I'm okay," Jack says. He reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out his scarf. He tucks it under his flight suit collar and watches Blakely smile at it. 

*

Jack does what he needs to do to keep his fort in the air as they bomb Bordeaux. He calls out fighters and runs checks. He stays cool and easy on the mic hoping it'll keep the extra fellas who can't do anything but wait at least a little more at ease. 

"Direct hit," Douglass says, and Jack sees Blakely grin. Proud of his bombardier. Proud of his fella. 

He'd never gotten that chance with Curt, to brag with just a look on his face. He grips tight on the controls and checks their corners, determined to make it back to England all in one piece. It's the least he can do for the ten boys crowded in every open space, wishing so hard they could be in their own forts that Jack can practically hear their inner monologues.

*

Jack doesn't say anything when they land. He lets everyone else clamber out first and climbs into the truck, proud that the rest of the Just-A-Snappin' crew stay quiet. Even Harry, who takes a moment to touch foreheads with Bubbles but doesn't so much as murmur. Jack wonders how he and Curt would have greeted each other if they'd had the chance to be serious for awhile. He remembers Curt blowing kisses to Bucky. He thinks he'd have gotten those, too, if he'd asked. 

He crowds at a table with his boys and reports. Blakely sits next to him and knocks their knees together every now and again when Jack drifts a little. He doesn't usually need help staying focused, but now that he's back in England, he's bone tired and just wants to be left alone to sleep away some of his grief. 

"Major Kidd," Harding says just after the interrogator dismisses him and his boys. "A word."

Jack walks over, ready to answer any of Harding's questions. He's Air Exec. This is part of the job. "Sir," he says. 

Harding holds up a pass. "All the boys are getting three days. You included. You'll want to stay at the hotel next to the military hospital."

Jack glances at the pass, then back at Harding's face. "Sir?"

"Biddick made it back two days ago. His memory of how is vague, but he had a raging infection from a bad cut on his torso. Smokey got him stabilized, then sent him to London to keep him as clean as possible."

Jack blinks, unable to believe what he's hearing. "I don't–"

"Your fella's mouthy all by himself. On morphine, he sings like a sparrow. He asked for you a lot. We told him you were flying, but he was running a high fever, so who knows what he remembers. We put your name down at the hospital. Should be able to go right in and see him whenever you get there."

Jack takes the pass and shivers from head to toe. "Thank you, Sir," he says. 

"Just piling up some goodwill before I make you do more Air Exec work," Harding says. 

Jack manages a chuckle. "Noted," he says. Before he can step away, Harding touches his elbow. 

"None of the rest of his crew made it back," Harding says. "And he had Snyder's tags in one hand. We don't know how much he knows about any of that."

Jack's heart twists hard, and he nods. "Appreciate the information, SIr," he says. He feels guilty at how light he feels at such bad news. It's terrible, nine men gone. But Curt's alive. Curt's alive.

*

He showers and shaves and puts on a clean uniform. He packs a rucksack and joins the other boys for the ride to the train station. Bucky runs up to him, eyes bright with hope. 

"Curt?" he asks. 

Jack feels himself smile. "Alive," he says. 

Bucky whoops and claps Jack on the shoulder. "Can we see him?" he asks. 

"I'll be checking with his doctors when I arrive," Jack says, and just over Bucky's shoulder, he sees Buck grin and tuck his chin to hide it. "I'll send word."

"You're the best," Bucky says and pulls Jack into a quick, hard hug. He runs off to spread the word, and Jack hears small bursts of cheer as Buck approaches and offers his hand. 

"Happy for you, Jack," he says.

"Thanks, Buck," Jack replies. 

Blakely runs up and nearly tackles Jack to the ground. "JACK!"

Douglass is a few steps behind him, confusion all over his face. "Not sure why he's accosting you," he says. 

Jack huffs a laugh a shoves Blakely off of him. "Get him out of my hair, and I'll pretend he didn't attack a superior officer," he says. 

Blakely laughs and squeezes Jack's bicep. As Douglass pulls him away, Jack hears him questioning Blakely for the sudden physical affection. 

"I'm just happy!" Blakely says. "It's great news!"

"He knows, huh?" Buck asks. 

Jack nods. "Can't keep anything from a co-pilot like him. He's too damn nice."

Buck chuckles and gives Jack a warm look before slipping back into the crowd.

*

The boys behave on the ride to London. Jack's proud to watch them talk amongst themselves, minding their manners even as they pass around a few different flasks. When they arrive, he leads the way off the train, then steps to one side to watch them gather in loose clusters before breaking off in different directions. Once he's alone, he takes a slow, deep breath and walks towards the hospital. 

He gives his name at the front desk and gets direction to a nurse's desk. When he arrives and gives his name again, the nurse pulls out a folder and reads for a moment. 

"Yes, here you are," she says, tapping a telegram that's been clipped inside the folder. "Jack Kidd, Major." She lifts the telegram and looks at a page under it. "And the letter from Colonel Harding requesting you have constant access. I've got the approval signature here." She closes the folder and stands, gesturing Jack to follow. She leads him forward, then left, and then stops at room 214. 

"He's mostly been sleeping. We expect he'll wake up in the next day or so. He wakes up a little, but nothing you can rely on. Between the infection and fever, the injuries, the exhaustion, and the morphine, this is all expected."

"Okay," Jack says, though his stomach rolls in fear. "He's stable, though?"

"Very much so," the nurse says. "His fever broke last night and hasn't come back. That's a very good sign."

"Does he say anything when he's awake?" Jack asks. 

"He mumbles, but we can't understand it," the nurse says. "That's very common."

"Thank you," Jack says. 

"A nurse will be in every few hours to check his vitals. If you notice any changes in him, please push the call button."

"I will, thank you." 

"Major," the nurse says and walks away. 

Jack stands outside of the door for a moment, centering himself. He's never seen Curt sleep or even be still for any point of time. He jiggles his knee or taps his fingers or bobs his head. Jack's had the urge at times to reach out and stop him. Put a hand on his knee, or hold his hand, or lean in and kiss his cheek. He never has. He promises himself he will the next time they're side by side. 

He opens the door.

The lights are off, but the curtains are open. The sun is going down, but there's still sunlight coming in and brightening the room. There's a chair by the bed, and in the bed, Curt himself. He looks waxy and wan, and it's only that Jack can see his chest moving up and down that keeps him from panicking. 

He walks over to the chair and sets his rucksack on the floor. He places his hands on the railing and looks at Curt from head to toe. His hair's been shaved close. There are stitches in two places on his scalp. He has plasters scattered over his arms and face and neck. Glass cuts, Jack bets. The sheet is folded down to his waist, and his chest is covered in a large, thick bandage. There are small spots of blood all the way along the bandage, starting just under Curt's left pec and trailing down in a curve, ending a few inches to the right of his navel.

There's an IV in either arm, and Jack can't help but reach out and touches his fingertips to Curt's slightly curled hand. 

Curt's fingers twitch, and he makes a quiet sound. It doesn't sound painful, so Jack tucks his fingers against Curt's palm and squeezes lightly. 

"Just me," he says. "It's Jack, Curt. Made it back. Came to see you."

Curt makes another sound, and his hand tightens on Jack for a moment. He doesn't wake up. Doesn't even move besides the squeeze, but that's fine by Jack. The touch is enough. Curt's breath moving the sheet is enough. The sunlight brightening the room is enough. 

Jack's breath shakes as he breathes out. He feels shaky-legged suddenly and has to let go of Curt's hand so he can take the two steps to the chair. He drops down hard, then shifts, pulls the chair closer to the bed so he can slide his hand between the railing slats and touch Curt's bicep. He watches him as the sunlight fades, then turns on the bedside lamp so he can keep looking. 

A nurse comes in and nods as she walks around the bed. She has a tray with fresh bandages on it, and Jack watches in silence as she checks his pulse, and then listens to him breathe and then unsticks the tape to remove the bandage. 

Jack swears under his breath. "Sorry," he says immediately. 

"It's a shock, I'm sure," the nurse says as she opens a bottle of alcohol. The sharp smell of it helps clear Jack's head, lets him actually take in the extent of the injury Curt had apparently walked back to base with. 

It's not a cut. That undersells it. It's an enormous, jagged gash, stitched together but red and ugly still. He's also bruised all over his torso, dark purple and puffed up in places. 

"It's bad," the nurse says as she carefully cleans the stitched skin. "But believe it or not, he's doing very well."

"Is he?" Jack asks, unable to look away from her hands as she keeps working. 

"No broken ribs. No issues with his organs. It'll take several weeks for him to move comfortably again, but once the blisters on his feet heal, he'll be able to walk out of here without a problem."

Jack glances at Curt's feet. He's wearing socks and slippers. "Blisters?"

"From the walking," the nurse says. "The doctor says it was likely thirty or forty miles in wet boots and socks."

Jack turns and stares at Curt's face. Thirty or forty miles with his chest gaped open and blisters building on his feet and glass cuts and two different head wounds. "Were the head wounds bad?" he asks. 

"We'll know more when he wakes up, but being able to walk all that way is a good sign."

A good sign. Thirty or forty miles. While wet. And bleeding. With Dickie's dogtags with him.

"Thank you," Jack says, not sure what else to say. He rubs his thumb on Curt's bicep and pulls his hand back, then stands up. "I need to check into my hotel," he says. "Do I need to do anything special to come back in?"

"Just check in at the nurse's desk on this floor," the nurse replies, glancing up to give Jack a polite smile. "I understand you have 24-hour access."

"Yes," Jack says. 

"Well, see you soon, then," she says.

Jack watches her rub some sort of salve onto the puffy spots on Curt's chest, then he turns sharply and leaves. His blood is rushing in his ears, and he feels like he can't breathe, though he knows he can. He focuses on that–breathing evenly–as he walks to a hotel just down the road from the hospital. 

"Visiting a friend?" the desk clerk asks as Jack signs the register. 

"My fella," Jack says because he needs to do something to deal with the feeling of a vise around his chest. The tightness loosens a little.

"Oh, we've got a few others staying for the same," the clerk says. "How's he doing?"

"As fine as he can be," Jack says. He meets the clerk's gaze and there's sympathy there. Concern. It loosens his chest more. "Thank you for asking."

"You Yanks seem to need it," the clerk replies. "If you were one of our boys, I'd not have even made eye contact."

Jack feels himself smile at the clerk's pleased grin. "Well, I appreciate the cultural adjustment." He takes the key the clerk holds out and goes to his room. It's a small, clean room with a pitcher and basin and an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. Jack sits on the bed and sighs deeply. He needs to send a message to Bucky and the others. He'd promised he would. But it's getting dark, and he doesn't want to send someone out into the dark streets. 

There's a phone in the hall, so he calls from there. He's told no one is answering in Major Egan's room, so John leaves a message. Curt's fine. Mostly sleeping. Will update.

He goes back to his room and gets a book and a flashlight from his rucksack, then leaves the hotel from the back door. Every window is covered, and the lamps are barely lit. People are moving about with flashlights with only slits of lights showing through covers. Jack's flashlight has a similar cover, and he uses his narrow beam of light to find a restaurant. 

He sits and reads his book and makes sure to clean his plate. When he finishes, he walks back to the hospital and goes to Curt's floor. He gives his name to the nurse at the desk, and she checks the folder like the first one did. She nods and waves him by. 

Curt's curtains are closed and the bedside lamp is still on. Curt hasn't moved, but Jack hadn't expected him too. He sits in the chair and opens his book. He scoots the chair close to the bed again and touches Curt's bicep while he reads, turning pages with his thumb. A nurse comes in and checks Curt's vitals. She gives Jack a small smile as she leaves. He returns it and goes back to his book. 

At some point, he falls asleep, book open in his lap, Curt breathing but otherwise not moving on the bed. He wakes up in the wee hours as bombs drop, and he stands up and walks to the window, peeking through the side of the curtain. Each time a bomb drops, he can see the silhouette of London. He turns from the window after a few seconds, unable to keep watching, to keep wondering how many people are hurt or dead. 

When he looks at Curt again, his eyes are open, shining and bright in the low light of the lamp. 

Jack doesn't speak, not certain if Curt's actually awake or just awake in that way the nurses have mentioned. He walks over slowly, not wanting to spook Curt. When he gets to the bedside, he curls his hands on the railing and meets Curt gaze. He looks properly awake, eyes clear. 

"Your hand," Curt says, voice a rasp. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Jack reaches above him to press the button for the nurse, then he places his hand on Curt's shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth. 

Curt smiles and closes his eyes. When the nurse walks in two minutes later, he's asleep again. 

"He remembered I was holding his shoulder," he says when the nurse asks him if Curt had said anything. 

"Did he know who you were?" 

"I think so," Jack says. "He wasn't scared."

"That's good," the nurse says. She pauses and turns. "Bombing's stopped," she says. "They'll be back before long, if you need to leave."

Jack shakes his head and sits back in his chair. "No, I'm fine here if that's okay."

"I can bring you some water," the nurse offers. "You can give him some if he wakes up again, but only small sips."

"I can do that," Jack says. 

The nurse leaves and returns with a pitcher and two glasses on a tray. She has a small pillow and a blanket tucked under one arm. Jack feels embarrassed when she hands him the pillow and blanket. It feels too personal, like she can read him through and through. 

"Thank you," he murmurs as he shakes out the blanket. 

He falls asleep again, hand back on Curt's shoulder, and when he wakes up the next time, the curtains are open and the sun is coming up. He yawns and shifts, the blanket falling into his lap. He looks at Curt. He's sleeping, but his head is turned towards Jack, like maybe he woke up again and fell asleep looking at him. 

Jack stands and stretches, wincing as his back pops. He pours himself a glass of water and drinks it slowly, watching Curt until he's finished. Curt doesn't wake up. He doesn't move. Jack folds the blanket and sets it and the pillow on the chair. He picks up his book from the floor but leaves the flashlight. He knows he'll be back before he needs it. 

The nurse at the desk greets him with the slightly bleary eyes of someone who is not a morning person. Jack can't relate, but he knows that look in his boys. "I'm going to leave for the morning," he says. "Would it be okay to leave a note in case Lieutenant Biddick wakes up?" The title feels odd in his mouth, but it comes out automatically. He always falls back into formality when he isn't quite sure how he feels.

She passes him a pad of paper and a pencil without a word. Jack writes his notes and tears it from the pad, then folds it in half and writes Curt name on the front. He walks back to Curt's room and sets the note on the table under the lamp. He looks at Curt's face one more time, then leans down and kisses his forehead between two plasters. 

"I'll be back after lunch," he murmurs against Curt's skin. "Maybe you'll wake up again."

He walks back to the hotel, and the clerk–different from the one the night before–hands him a message. 

Thanks for the update. Let me know if I can do anything. Thanks for checking on him. - Bucky

Jack tucks the note into his book. He walks to his room and lays his book on his rucksack, then strips out of his clothes. He drops onto the bed and turns to the clock, setting the alarm for two hours. He falls asleep almost instantly, waking up at the first buzz of the alarm. He feels a little more rested, and the hot shower he takes makes him feel like he's actually getting some real leave. 

He grimaces at that thought. It is real leave. He'd rather be in Curt's hospital room for the few days he has than have a month alone with him gone. No question. 

He comes his hair and puts on a fresh uniform, then dials the hotel the boys are at and asks for Cleven. 

"Hello?" Bucky answers, sounding like he was just chewing gravel. Jack doesn't even want to guess how late he was out.

"Pass the phone," Jack says. 

There's rustling and a murmur, and then Buck's on the line. "Jack?" he greets. 

"I'm surprised he could tell," Jack replies. "How hard did he tie one on last night?"

"Easier than usual," Buck answers. There's a scuffle, and Buck chuckles, mouth clearly away from the phone. "He's just tired."

"YOU KNOW WHY JACK," Bucky yells into the phone. 

Jack sighs and can't help his laugh. "Buck, you had so many other choices."

"Well, I've made it," Buck says, sounding resigned but also very fond. Jack closes his eyes at the tone, imagining himself and Curt using a tone like that. It's a nice thought. "Just wanted to give you a fresh update. Curt woke up a little last night. He seemed to know who I was."

"Of course he did," Buck says like it's nothing. "How's he look?"

"Rough," Jack replies, and for a moment, he can't speak. He can only feel the fear he felt when the bandages came off the night before. "The doctors say he's as good as he can be," he gets out, glad his voice sounds even.

"Rumor mill says he's the only one to make it," Buck says, and Jack knows that information comes from Bucky. Jack wonders, as he always does, how Bucky knows everything all at once. 

"He brought back Dickie's tags," he says, and he hears a small, sharp exhale. "That's all I know."

"Glad he has you, Jack," Buck says. "He needs someone who can help him with that."

There's no exclamation on Buck's end. "You told Bucky, huh?" 

"He guessed, actually," Buck says. "Or, close enough I couldn't deny it."

Jack huffs. That sounds about right. "I have his blessing?" There's a muffled conversation, and Jack hears a squawk, then Buck's back on the line. 

"He's insulted you even have to ask," Buck says, the laugh clear in his voice. 

Jack feels warmed, comfortable in the easy way Buck and Bucky can talk to him. "Thank you both," he says. "I'll keep you updated."

"Appreciate it, Jack. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Jack says and hangs up. 

He hopes he gets to invite them to see Curt before they all leave London. Because Curt will be awake and need company to keep him occupied.

He retrieves his book and has breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then he takes himself for a meandering walk over several blocks to see a little of the city. If he was just here for a regular leave, he'd find a bookstore and maybe a movie theater. See what's still hanging in the National Gallery and maybe even take a run in the park. He wonders if Curt would go to a bookstore with him. He's never asked. 

Jack sits on a bench and watches people go by. He thinks of all the things he nearly didn't have with Curt. Moments and conversations. How no one really even knows about them. How he has a lovely gift from Curt but hasn't had the chance to reciprocate. He thinks about that the longest, his flying scarf tucked in his rucksack. An outward sign of Curt's affections. A sign of the courage he carries, to not just get Jack a gift, but to ask Buck if it'd be right, to ask his mother for help in getting it. 

Jack's always kept his own counsel, and he keeps it now, thinking about Curt and his scarf and what sort of gift he could find to show Curt he cares just as much. He has an idea, so he stands and goes to look for a pawn shop. He'd buy new, but he doubts he could find what he's looking for new. Not in war time. But it's something he'd seen in a lot of pawn shops growing up, something useful but not as useful as money for food or a place to sleep. 

He visits three shops, and he finds exactly the right one at the third. He buys it without haggling, and when the shop clerk offers to polish it for him for an extra ten pence, Jack agrees. The clerk does an excellent job, digging into the small rivets that dot the outside casing. The brass shines dully when the clerk hands it to him, and Jack gives him a satisfied nod and slips it into his pocket. 

He walks back to the hospital and finds the same nurse from when he left still on duty. She smiles at him, a genuine smile, and leans forward as he approaches. 

"Your fella woke up again," she says in an excited whisper. "Fell back asleep almost right away, but he asked Lindy if a very tall fellow had been in. She said yes, and she says he looked very pleased."

Jack ducks his head. "Well, it's not an inaccurate description," he says, though he feels the same sense of embarrassment as when the nurse brought him the pillow and blanket. Like this nurse can see through him, too. He's not used to it. Being so observed. 

"Doctor checked him over as well," the nurse says and reaches for Curt's folder. She flips through a few pages. "Vitals are stronger. Wounds look good. We changed the bandages on his feet just after you left. The blisters are clearing up just like we want. No seeping through the bandage on his chest. That's very good."

Jack nods along, unsure if he's supposed to say anything. When she finishes reciting Curt's vitals and assuring Jack they're what they want, she looks at him, and her whole face softens. "Go on in," she says. "Sure he'll be happy to know you're there even if he doesn't wake up for awhile."

Jack makes his exit, trying not to hurry down the hall but unable not to walk a little faster than usual. Just knowing that Curt woke up and remembered him being there. It makes his heart stutter, and he feels bright as the sun. 

Curt's asleep, the bright, mid-morning light putting some color on his skin. Jack walks to the bed and sits in the chair. Someone's moved the pillow and blanket to the bottom shelf of the table that holds the lamp. His note is gone from the table, but then he spots it in Curt's hand, held between two fingers, like Curt wanted to keep it close but didn't want to crumple it. 

"I'm back," Jack says. "Took a nap and called the Buckys. They're glad to hear you woke up. I didn't tell them how bad you look. I don't think I could describe it, honestly. Buck told me you talked to him about my scarf, and he told Bucky about us last night because Bucky apparently guessed close enough he couldn't keep it secret. I told Everett when we were in Africa."

Jack reaches through the bed railing and curls his hand over Curt's forearm. He leans and lays his free hand and forearm on the top level of the railing, then rests his chin on his wrist. "I wish we'd had the chance to figure out how we wanted to tell people before all this happened. I'm guessing you don't care who knows, and neither do I. Not now. Not…" 

Jack breathes in slowly and watches Curt breathe in and out. "When you didn't show up in Africa, I felt like I was emptied out." He presses his mouth to his sleeve, trying to stay calm. "And then a week of wanting to hope but being afraid to, and now here you are." He clears his throat, but it doesn't remove the lump that's lodged there. "And here I am." He rests his cheek against his arm. "I'm here, Curt."

He watches Curt's face. He's relaxed, mouth partly open, no creases or furrows lining his face. He thinks of the first time he really noticed Curt, way back when Curt showed up for flight school. Jack and Buck and Bucky had already worked their way up to assistant instructors, and Jack hadn't thought a thing about Curt the first time he'd seen him. Stocky, he'd thought. With an energy that he knew instantly would delight Bucky. 

But then he'd seen him in class, scribbling notes and squinting at the board equations. He'd wondered if Curt had somehow lied during his vision test, but then a week in, as everyone was starting to get used to working equations on the fly, Curt's gaze had relaxed. He'd been concentrating, Jack had realized, staring down the equations to memorize them.

It'd been easy to make friends with him outside of class. They both boxed. Curt wasn't intimidated by Jack's reach, and Jack was nothing but impressed with Curt's tactics. Some nights, when he and Buck and Bucky and Curt were all out together, Jack would sit quietly with Buck and watch Curt and Bucky hold court. But some nights, Bucky's attention would be wholly on Buck, and Curt would turn his attention to Jack, asking him what he'd been up to and even getting him to dance a few times. 

Looking back at it all now while sitting here with his hand on Curt's still arm, Jack knows he's been gone on Curt for a long time. Not in love, not exactly. But enamored and beguiled. The bright, bright spark of Curt making him warm all over. 

And then Curt had kissed him finally, after their first sortie, and they'd tumbled into bed together. But it'd never felt casual. Not to Jack, at least. It had felt like something important and needed, a spark to keep him feeling alive even as he shook with fear.

Curt's sense of fun and Curt's heart, both overlarge, Jack thinks. He's been devoted to the set for a very long time.

"I'm in love with you," Jack says. For a moment, he can't breathe. He hadn't meant to say it aloud. He's not even sure he meant to think it. But it's out now, and Jack isn't the type to take such things back. "I hope you don't mind." 

He chuckles at himself. What a ridiculous thing to say. He watches Curt sleep for another few moments, then leans back from the railing, leaving his hand on Curt's arm. He stares out the window, watching the clouds cut around buildings. Curt sleeps, and Jack sits, and he's so content to simply be there even as an hour ticks away that he doesn't even startle when the nurse comes in to check Curt's vital signs.

She stops short at Curt's bedside, and Jack stares at her. She looks surprised, but then she smiles. "Lieutenant Biddick," she says, "are you with us?"

Jack's gaze snaps to Curt, and his eyes are open. He's looking at Jack, and as Jack watches, a smile spreads across his face. 

"Yes, ma'am," Curt says, voice as raspy as last night. He turns his head to look at the nurse at the same time as he twitches his fingers, then lifts his hand. "This is my fella," he says. 

The nurse smiles. "Yes, we know," she says. She slips her fingers under Curt's wrist to check his pulse. "Could you pour him a glass of water?" she asks Jack. 

Jack moves like it's an order, pouring a few inches of water from the pitcher. He leans over the railing and offers the glass to Curt. When Curt lifts his head to sip, the nurse tucks an extra pillow behind his head. Curt sips and swallows, and the nurse holds up her hand to keep Jack from giving him more. 

"How does it feel?" she asks Curt. 

"Fine," Curt says, his voice more his own. 

"Let's try to sit you up," she says. She leans a little sideways, and there's a small set of clanking sounds before the head of the bed starts to move upward. When it's at forty-five degrees, she stops. "Relax into it, and you can have another sip of water," she says. 

Curt makes a show of sinking into the pillows, and Jack can't help his smile. He waits for the nurse's nod, then tips the glass for Curt again. This time, Curt reaches up and presses his fingers to Jack's wrist. 

"Good," the nurse says. "I'll page the doctor. No more water until he sees you."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack says, pulling the glass out of Curt's reach. 

She leaves, and Jack puts the glass on the table. When he looks at Curt again, Curt's watching him with bright eyes, though his shoulders slump with tiredness. 

"I just woke up," Curt says, more a groan than a sentence. 

"You have no idea how beat up you are," Jack says. 

"Tell me," Curt says. 

Jack recites all the injuries he knows about and watches the way Curt looks at the ones he can see. When he puts his hands on his chest bandage, Jack reaches out and stops him from pulling on it. "They change it regularly," he says. "You'll see it eventually."

"Okay," Curt says, and Jack can't believe Curt's not fighting to see more, but then Curt closes his eyes, and Jack is certain he dozes off for a couple of minutes before the doctor shows up.

The doctor repeats Curt's injuries, then completes an exam. When he takes off Curt's slippers and socks, Jack sees how bandaged his feet are, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. 

"Hey," Curt murmurs, and it takes Jack a moment to meet his gaze. "Hey, I'm here."

Jack nods and tries to step closer. He hits the bed railing, and the loud rattle makes his ears ring. 

"Oh, here," the doctor says and points to a button on the side. "There's one at the top, too. Press it, would you?"

Jack presses it, and the doctor presses the other, and the railing drops down. Curt beams like he wants to say something daring, but he only holds out his hand, Jack's note still tucked between his fingers. 

The doctor keeps talking, and Curt answers questions, but Jack is focused on setting the note on the table and taking Curt's hand in both of his. 

"Can I get off this damned bedpan?" Curt asks when the doctor says he's happy to answer questions. 

"No," the doctor replies, and Jack likes the way the flat answer makes Curt snort in amusement. "You don't want to be on your feet yet, trust me."

"I'll stay put," Curt says. 

"You can have more water," the doctor says. "We'll see about solid food in a few hours."

Curt nods, and the doctor leaves, and Jack turns to get the water glass. When he turns back, Curt's sagged hard against the pillows, eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he murmurs, then yawns. 

"Quiet," Jack says and puts the glass down. He rubs his thumb over Curt's knuckles. "Go back to sleep. You need it."

"Jack," Curt says, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. "Jack, I don't mind that you love me. Love you, too."

Jack can only stare as Curt falls asleep, fighting it the whole way. He hadn't thought Curt could hear him. He sits in the chair and pulls it right up against the bed. He lays his head on the bed and stares at his hand holding Curt's. He should call Bucky and Buck and let them know Curt has woken up and knows where he is, that everything looks as good as it can given the situation. 

But then Jack closes his eyes, and the next time he opens them, he has a crick in his neck, and Curt's laid his hand on Jack's head. When Jack sits up, Curt's fingers tighten for a moment. 

Jack checks the time. It's been an hour. Curt's clearly only half-awake. He gives Jack a sweet smile, then closes his eyes again. 

Jack has a glass of water and a good stretch. He goes to the hall and uses the payphone, leaves a message for Bucky and Buck, then goes back to Curt's room. He reads his book for an hour, then goes to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. When he gets back, Curt's still asleep, so Jack reads more.

*

Jack's finishes his book and leaves the hospital to find another. He has dinner and goes by the hotel to check his messages. Bucky and Buck have sent best wishes, and there's a telegram from Red, asking him to send any news he hears. Curt hasn't said a word about the crash, so Jack just sends back a period and goes back to the hospital. It's just after midnight when Curt's hand shifts in his, and when Jack looks up from his book, Curt's watching him. 

"Dickie's gone," Curt says. 

Jack drops his book and stands so he can lean over the bed and be as close to Curt as possible. "You remember?" he asks. 

Curt blinks away tears, but one falls anyway. Jack presses his thumb to it. "Told him to stay with me. He tried."

"He did," Jack agrees without hesitation. He has no doubt Dickie did everything to stay with Curt. They were joined at the hip since before they'd flown together, some understanding of one another coming out from the moment they'd met. 

"I had his tags," Curt continues. "I took them off after I crashed. I was in the water. The channel. Almost to shore."

"You carried them back to base," Jack says. "You brought him home."

Curt sniffles and more tears fall. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he shakes from head to toe. "I don't remember anything else," he says. 

"You walked back to base, somehow," Jack says. "Thirty or forty miles. You walked it while you were bleeding all over, and you showed up to base with Dickie's tags, and then Smokey got some morphine in you, and you told everyone who'd listen I'm your fella." Jack smiles at that last part, hoping to coax a smile from Curt. "You might be chattier than Bucky," he says. 

Curt gives him a shaky smile that doesn't last, but it's there for a moment. "Dickie knew," he says. "Told him I was gonna kiss you before I did it. Told him everything about you. He was the one who made me see how I felt for you."

"What'd he say?" Jack asks, intrigued. 

"He said I talked about you like I thought about you all the time. He was right." Curt stares at Jack for a long moment. "Jack, I love you. I really do."

Jack touches the side of Curt's face and barely touches a plaster on his cheek. "I had a week without you," he says. "I hated it."

Curt chuckles wetly, then tries to raise his arm to wipe his nose. He winces and glares at the IV in his arm. 

"Hold on," Jack says. He grabs a tissue from the box by the bed and holds it to Curt's face. "Blow," he says. 

Curt does, then falls back against the pillow and sighs heavily. "Not very romantic to have to blow my fucking nose for me after declarations," he says. 

Jack tosses the tissue in the wastebasket and pulls another from the box. He folds it over and wipes the tears from the corners of Curt's eyes. "I don't need romance right now," Jack says.

Curt closes his eyes, and for a moment, Jack thinks he's going to fall back asleep, but then he opens them again, and he's still clearly awake. "Gonna romance the hell out of you when I'm back at base," Curt says. "Bring you flowers and take you dancing. Brag to everyone that I got my hands on the Air Exec."

Jack smiles and leans in. He kisses Curt's cheek, between two spots of plaster. "I'll let you," he says. "I'll enjoy it."

Curt turns his head so his lips touch Jack's chin. Jack meets him for a kiss, soft and careful, but it makes something light up in Jack that he realizes had tamped down hard when he'd thought Curt was dead. 

Jack pulls back and looks at Curt, still so bruised and banged up, but giving Jack a bright smile that lights up his whole face. He doesn't know what to say. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the gift he'd found. He holds it out to Curt.

"A compass?" Curt asks. He lifts his arm very slowly, very aware of his IV, and he manages to pluck the compass from Jack's hand and open it. It's a miniature one, and Jack wonders if Curt will see the heart stamped onto the inside of the cover, but then he smiles and looks at Jack, and Jack knows he has.

"In case you need a back up to get back to me again," Jack says, feeling a little silly saying something so flowery, but watching Curt close the compass and tuck it under the blanket to keep it safe, he's glad he's said it.

"Jack..." Curt says, and he shakes his head. Clearly lost for words.

Jack is too. He reaches for the note he wrote that Curt held in his hand, and he presses it into Curt's palm. 

"Yeah," Curt says. "Me, too."

Jack sits again and lays his head on the bed. Curt strokes his cheek, and Jack closes his eyes, and he thinks it's not entirely fair he gets a second chance out of everyone, but he's going to fucking grab it and refuse to let go. 

He hears a crinkle of paper and opens his eyes. Curt's reading the note again. He's smiling. 

Dear Curt: 

I'm so glad you're alive. I have other things I want to say to you, but I want to say them to you, not just write them down. I'm just so damn glad you're alive. 

Yours entirely,

Jack

[sweaterkittensahoy]

6k of JackCurt, half Curt character study, half romance; established relationship; no queerphobia; everyone lives

They're barely across the channel when they're hit hard. Curt hears Dickie grunt, and when he looks over, there's red seeping from under his cap and red pooling in his sheepskin. There's smoke billowing from two engines, and after a second strafing, Curt's got glass all over himself.

"Dickie, you with me?" Curt asks as he maneuvers so his gunners can get some shots in.

"Here, here," Dickie murmurs. He straightens up. He tries to reach for his controls, but his left arm doesn't move right, and his right doesn't move at all. "Curt–"

Smoke starts to billow from a third engine. One of the side gunners yelps into his mic. Curt's not even sure they're over France yet, and they're supposed to make it all the way to Africa.

"We're chewed up," Curt says into his mic. "Three engines smoking, glass in my fucking face, Dickie's bad off–"

"I'm fine," Dickie huffs.

Curt reaches out and grabs his right hand, gives it a squeeze. "Merrick's down, gonna turn her around and try to make it back to base."

There's confirmation from the lead, and then a long moment of silence as Curt starts to turn back, the Germans on his ass. 

"Biddick, we'll see you back at base," says Jack, calm and cool as he always is on the radio. No sign he's thinking of anything but adjusted logistics with Curt out of the game already.

"Safe travels, boys," Curt replies. "No one be an angel today, you hear me?" 

"We hear you," Jack says, and there's a little warmth there, just for him. Curt's sure about it. 

His boys do their best to keep the Germans off their asses, but then the fourth engine goes, and all Curt can do is aim for the water. 

They hit hard and at an angle, and Curt feels something twinge hard in his chest and his leg, and then something hits him in the head and things go real hazy before they go black. 

*

He comes to on a cot next to a fire. There's a splint on his leg and bandages around his torso, and when he turns his head, it hurts like fucking hell. He groans.

"Easy, son," a voice says, and then an older woman comes into view. She has a long braid and a nice smile, and she touches Curt's cheek in a way that reminds him of his mother. "You're still half-frozen from the water. Just stay right where you are and warm up."

"My boys?" Curt manages. He's out again before he hears her answer. 

*

When he comes to a second time, he's in an ambulance with two medics. There's a needle in his left arm, and his head still hurts like fucking hell. 

"...the fuck am I?" Curt asks, but the medics don't hear him over the sounds of the vehicle. He wonders if Dickie's okay, says a prayer for him and all the other fellas. 

His last thought before he fades out again is that he hopes Jack makes it back. 

*

The third time, he wakes up properly, coming to sluggishly, but once his eyes are open, he's awake. He's staring at the ceiling, and there's sounds of men around him. He puts his hand on the mattress to push himself up, and grunts when it makes pain cut through his chest. 

"Careful, Biddick," Red says. He's in a chair next to Curt's bed. He reaches over and helps Curt finish sitting up, stealing a pillow from the empty bed next to him to give him extra support. "You've got two broken ribs and a broken leg and a bump on your head, plus you went down in the water, so you were about half-frozen when they found you."

"The boys?" Curt asks. "Dickie?"

"Had to send 'em all to London once we found you," he says. "The locals did a good job keeping you all alive, but you're the best off of everyone."

Curt considers that. "Shit," he says. "How hard did I land?"

"It was the Germans, not your landing," Red says. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Can you give me a short recap? The other boys couldn't say much." 

Curt blinks and stares at his leg in the bed. It's in a cast now, bright white. He remembers a kid breaking his arm in the neighborhood, how they all scrambled to sign their names. "You gonna sign my cast?" he asks. 

Red huffs and scoots his chair a little closer. "You'll have my signature before I leave. I promise."

Curt nods. "Okay," he says. "Yeah." He closes his eyes and thinks about the mission. "We were over the channel when they got us the first time. Fucking nailed us good. Two engines shit the bed, and something got Dickie…"

"Shrapnel," Red fills in. "In the neck and in the head. They sliced, didn't stick, that's why there was so much blood."

The details make Curt relax a little. "Those cuts get infected?" he asks. 

"Shockingly, no," Red replies. "Like I said, the locals did a good job."

"Should thank 'em when I'm on two feet again," Curt mutters. He thinks of the face of that woman, her long gray braid. 

"What happened after the shrapnel?" Red asks. 

"One of the side gunners took a hit. Merrick. His arm, I think."

"They'll have to amputate," Red says. 

"Fuck me," Curt replies. He crosses himself. "I radioed we were turning around after that. Germans followed us, and they got the other engines. There was glass at some point. I don't know how I hit my head."

"Awning collapsed on landing," Red says. "A rivet smacked you good."

"Huh," Curt says. He lifts his hand and feels around until he finds the knot. "How long I been gone?"

"Two days. You went down, and you were rescued by boat. They sent word they'd pulled men from Escape Kit. We took the other boys before we grabbed you, since you were doing all right where you were. Smokey went out himself to make sure."

"Nice of him," Curt says. "How'd the other fellas do?" he asks. "They make it to Africa?"

"Not all of them," Red replies, and Curt feels sympathy for him, having to track things like that. "Just-a-Snappin got there with no major injuries reported."

Curt sags against his pillows and says a prayer of thanks. "The Bucks?" 

"Both made it, though Cleven had to glide in."

Curt snorts. "No engines Cleven strikes again."

"He does," Red agrees. He puts his hand on Curt's arm. "We can't send word out that you're here, but I'll make sure Jack knows before interrogation."

"Thanks, Red." Curt opens his eyes, though it's hard. "I'm fading," he says. 

"Get some sleep, Biddick. You did a good job. You got your men back home."

Curt nods, closing his eyes again. He hopes Jack isn't worrying too much. He wishes they could send word, but he understands. The less information that goes over the radio, the less the Germans could possibly know. It's the way it's gotta be.

*

He wants to get up and move around the next time he wakes up, at least take a piss without using a bottle, but the nurse explains in very clipped tones that he has a broken leg and broken ribs, and he's lucky he didn't puncture a lung.

"I'm wrapped up like a mummy," Curt says. "How could my ribs move to get me?"

"You slip, you fall, and they move," she says. "So piss in the bottle and be grateful you can."

Not the sweetest way to talk to him, but it makes Curt smile all the same.

*

Harding shows up after dinner. He shakes Curt's hand and congratulates him on making it back. He asks how he's feeling, and Curt admits he's pretty doped up. 

"I broke some ribs playing football," Harding says. "Trust me when I say doped up is better."

"Yes, Sir," Curt replies. He's never really talked to Harding, and Jack's only just started working with him as Air Exec, but Curt can see why Jack thinks highly of him. He's friendly in a real way, the type of guy who is gonna really care about them. After what he's already survived, Curt's glad to have him as their CO. 

"I'll get you back in a fort as soon as I can," Harding continues. "I know you boys don't like staying on the ground, but it's gonna depend on you listening to Smokey about that leg."

"He says it's a greenstick fracture," Curt replies. "It'll heal up fine if I don't jiggle it too much."

"Well, do what he says, and we'll get you flying again."

Curt nods. "Yes, Sir."

*

The next day in the late afternoon, he wakes up and Bubbles is there. He's writing a letter, but he puts it aside when Curt yawns. 

"Sorry it took me so long to stop by," Bubbles says. "I came to check on you a few times, but you were always sleeping, and then I'd have to get back to work. But I had some extra time today, so I figured I'd stay a little bit."

"Appreciate it," Curt says. He doesn't try to sit upright. He aches from his head to his toes. "How's our boys?" he asks. 

"Still in Africa," Bubbles replies. "Nothing new to report."

"Well, that's probably best," Curt says. He glances at the letter Bubbles has set aside. "Who were you writing?" 

Bubbles goes a little pink. "Jean," he says. "I promised Harry I would while he was gone." 

Curt grins. "Careful. You don't wanna get busted writing another man's wife."

"Well, it was at his request, so…" Bubbles goes pinker. 

Curt turns his head. The bed next to him is empty. The bed behind Bubbles is empty, too. "You three seeing each other?" he whispers. "I can't ever tell."

Bubbles stares at him. "What?"

"Been trying to figure it out for awhile," Curt says. "If you and Harry are just close or if there's a whole…thing…going on."

Bubbles looks shocked. "I don't–whatever they gave you for the pain really opened your mouth, and that's saying something."

"Yeah, and you're saying nothing," Curt replies. He waves a hand. "Eh, not my business. Not really. I've just been curious."

Bubbles glances at the letter. "Kind of," he says very quietly. "It's…well, you gotta basically speak in code in letters anyway. And we want to keep this private while we figure it out. But. Maybe."

Curt grins. "Heh. That's how it felt with Jack for awhile. Maybe."

"Really? Jack doesn't seem the type to be a maybe."

"Nah, I was the maybe," Curt says. "Not on purpose, but I didn't present my feelings in a typed report with three signatures, so it took him a little while to realize I was serious about him."

Bubbles chuckles. "Okay, that does sound like Jack. How'd you convince him?"

"No idea. One day he just looked at me and said, 'Oh, so we're serious'? And I about lost it when I realized he didn't know. So, I made sure he knew." Curt gives Bubbles his best rakish grin. "You can fill in the details. Send a few to Jean if you want."

"Pass," Bubbles says. "I can't even begin to figure out how to tell her any of that on top of what I'm already trying to say."

"Make up a girl," Curt says. "Say you met a Jean here you really like. Or call her Jane or June. Something with a J. Underline it. She'll get it."

"You write a lot of complicated love notes?"

"Nah, I've got my J. I can be direct. I just like figuring out puzzles."

Bubbles thinks for a moment. "That might work, honestly," he says. "Jane, I think. Like in Pride and Prejudice. It's Jean's favorite book. She'll put it together."

"She's gotta be smart to fall for Harry," Curt says, and he likes the way Bubbles goes a little soft at his words. "You are gone," he says. 

Bubbles nods. "Yeah, I sure am," he replies. "But so are you."

"Damn right," Curt replies. "I got a smart one, too." He laughs. "Hey, me and Harry, we've got all the smart Js. Jean. Joseph. Jack."

"What about Buck and Bucky? He's a John."

"We'll ask Buck on a good day and a bad day, see if the answer changes." Curt says. "I bet it does."

*

A nurse–Nurse Upton, she says–helps him into a wheelchair the next day and wheels him all the way down to the hardstand to see his new fort. Kenny comes over when he spots him. He shakes his hand and welcomes him back, then turns and gestures to the fort. 

"We haven't named her yet," he says. "Any ideas?"

Curt looks at the big, empty space where the name should go. He thinks of Jack, who's still in Africa. Who doesn't know yet that Curt made it back. He hopes he's okay. "You feeling romantic, Kenny?"

Ken laughs. "Sure," he says.

"Wild Card," Curt says. "With a Jack of Hearts at the end."

Kenny looks up at the fort, and Curt can see him picturing it. "Yeah," he says. "I can work with that." 

Curt watches him scramble up onto the wing and start sketching. He grins when he sees how big Kenny makes the card, and grins even bigger when he sees Kenny scrawl initials into the two hearts next to the Jack's two heads. A C in the top one, and a J in the bottom. 

"Perfect," Curt calls.

"I'll have the brass okay it before we paint it," Ken hollers down to him. When Curt nods, Ken turns back to the fort and scribbles some detail on the card. 

"Lieutenant, we should head back," Nurse Upton says. "You'll want lunch soon."

"See you, Kenny!" Curt calls. 

"Heal up fast!" Kenny replies. 

Nurse Upton turns him around and starts pushing him towards the hospital again. "How many days is a guy an invalid in my condition?" he asks her.

"As many days as it takes not to be," she replies. "If you didn't have broken ribs, we'd have you on crutches already, but you had to go and break your ribs, so here you are."

Curt huffs a laugh at her description. "All right, all right, I'll try not to be a problem."

"Lieutenant Biddick, I've heard enough about you to know that is not true."

Curt laughs for real this time. It makes his ribs ache. "I'd be disappointed if my reputation did not precede me."

"Did you really punch out an RAF officer?" 

Curt grins thinking about that night. About Jack not even blinking when Curt said he was taking the fight. About Jack leaning in close and saying, 'No kicking him when you knock him down,' and the way Jack had looked soft and sweet when Curt had replied with 'Hey, come on, I wouldn't do that in front of you, sweetheart. You like a fair fight.'

Bucky had carried him down the street in victory, but the moment he'd put him back on his own feet, Curt had circled back to Jack at the end of their straggling parade of drunken pilots and navigators and offered Jack his elbow. 

"Fair enough for you?" he'd asked. 

And Jack had stopped in the middle of the street to turn Curt towards him and kiss him full on the mouth. "Exactly fair enough," he'd replied. 

"Dropped him in one punch," Curt says to the nurse. 

"How do you do that? Is there a trick to it?"

"Distract him first," Curt says. "Play the fool. It brings their guard down." He tips his head back so he can see her. "You getting into fights behind pubs?" he asks. 

She giggles. "No, I'm just curious. I read a book about boxing last week."

"We've got books on that?" Curt asks. 

"Just the one, but I can bring it to you."

"Sure," Curt says. "Why were you reading it?"

"I've read all the others," Nurse Upton says. 

Curt snorts. "You read fast or just a lot?"

"Both," Nurse Upton replies. "What about you?"

"I just read sometimes. I like it all right, but I like to be up and doing things."

"Like punching RAF officers?"

"When the occasion calls for it, yeah."

*

Curt reads the boxing book. It doesn't teach him anything new, but it's well-written and takes up his time. Bubbles visits again, as does Red. Curt's bored, but the sooner his ribs heal, the sooner he can be up and around, so he makes himself stay put.

Smokey comes by when Curt's reading. He unwraps his ribs and pokes him hard. Curt grits his teeth and doesn't call him a son of a bitch. 

"I'm going to leave them unwrapped for now," Smokey says. "I'll keep you on the same amount of painkillers, but if you're careful, we shouldn't need to do more than that."

Curt takes a deep breath very slowly, just to feel how things feel. There's a twinge but it's manageable. "Okay," he says. "Can I get crutches yet?"

"No, not until I'm sure your ribs will stay put. But I will give you free range with a wheelchair as long as you don't talk any of the boys into anything stupid."

"I don't need a nurse?" 

"Not if you behave."

Curt grins, appreciating that Smokey knows him so well. "I'll behave like the nuns are watching," he says. "Best Catholic boy you ever did see."

Smokey snorts in response and pats Curt's shoulder. "Right," he says, so dry it makes Curt giggle. 

*

It's nothing to get Red to push him down to the control tower when the boys come back from Africa. Curt sits up straight and smooths his hair and wishes he could stand on his own two feet, but he figures he's alive and looking all right, so that's enough. 

Bucky spots him first and gives a whoop, then rushes over to check on him, Buck hot on his heels. They both pat his shoulders and tell him he looks great, but Red clears his throat when they ask after Dickie and the others and points to the trucks. 

"See you after!" Bucky yells and blows Curt a kiss. Curt blows one back. Buck gives Curt a broad smile and a wave as he climbs into a truck with his own crew. 

A few of the other boys also take a moment to give Curt their best and promise to catch up with him, and then he's got Harry beaming at him with Douglass and Blakely on either side, and it's nice enough to see them but it also means Jack is close. 

"Come on, boys," Blakely says, "Let's give Jack a moment." He herds Harry and Douglass away, and Curt sees Bubbles approach from the side, grabbing Harry's arm and pressing their foreheads together for a moment before he lets go. Curt looks away as Douglass and Blakely and Harry step into the truck, and there Jack is, hovering near Just-a-Snappin', staring at Curt like he's seeing a ghost. His curls are loose and wild, and he looks the grimiest Curt's ever seen him.

"Get over here," Curt says. 

Jack blinks and steps forward, wobbling for a second. He goes still, then stands straighter, and Curt watches the way determination seems to rise up from his toes. It makes his heart ache to see it. That determination was one of the first things he liked about Jack, and seeing it used because he can barely stand up at the sight of Curt alive. Well.

"I made it," Curt says when Jack gets close. 

"I see that," Jack says, and his voice is even and smooth. His command voice. He clears his throat and leans down, and then he's crouched next to the chair, both hands holding Curt's arm. "Dickie?" he asks. 

Curt expects Red to clear his throat, but he doesn't. He glances over, and Red's over by the truck with the rest of the Just-a-Snappin' crew, watching them but giving them a moment. 

"He's in London," Curt says. "I haven't heard from him yet, but Smokey hasn't said he's dead, so he's probably all right."

"I'll check after interrogation," Jack says, and his voice breaks a little. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his hands on Curt's arm. "I told myself you would make it back, but I didn't know."

"Look at me," Curt says. It takes Jack a moment, but he lifts his head. "I'm right fucking here, Jack. Kiss me hello and get on the goddamn truck."

Jack laughs wetly, and he stands. He leans over and cups Curt's face and kisses him softly. There's a whoop from the truck–Douglass, Curt is pretty sure. 

"I'll find you when I'm done," Jack says. 

"You fucking better," Curt replies. He grabs Jack's flight suit and gets one more kiss, then lets him go. When Jack gets into the back of the truck, he keeps his gaze on Curt. Curt blows him kisses, and Jack licks the corner of his mouth and doesn't look away until the truck turns to go to headquarters. 

Bubbles takes Curt back to the hospital. They don't talk. Curt wonders if Bubbles feels as exhausted as he does. It takes a lot to see a man come back from a sortie, it turns out. Curt closes his eyes and falls into a doze that he can't quite shake when they step back into the hospital. Bubbles helps him into bed and covers him with a blanket. Curt mumbles his thanks and falls fully asleep. 

When he wakes up, Jack's at his bedside, still grimy and looking exhausted. He's watching Curt with sharp eyes, and when Curt meets his gaze, he leans in and takes his hand. 

Curt is silent as Jack kisses his knuckles and presses the back of Curt's hand to his cheek. His stubble is harsh against Curt's hand. He's never seen Jack with so much scruff. 

"You look like a delinquent," Curt says. 

Jack turns Curt's hand over, and Curt happily cups his cheek. "You'd know," Jack replies. He closes his eyes when Curt drags his thumb along his cheek.

"You hurt?"

"Cuts and bruises."

"You sleep?"

"Some." 

Curt wriggles over on the bed. "Come on, sit here."

Jack sits in the little space Curt has made. He keeps hold of Curt's hand and runs his other hand up and down Curt's arm. "Checked with Smokey before I came in. He says your ribs are doing all right, and your leg should heal fine. He's not worried the bump on your head did too much."

"Yeah, my thick Irish skull wins again."

Jack looks at him, seeming to drink him in. "Leave me a spot to sign your cast?" he asks. 

"Right over my knee where you like to steal a nibble," Curt says in an undertone. Jack looks away, cheeks pinking the slightest bit. Curt grins. "It's your favorite spot."

Jack squeezes his hand. "One of many," he murmurs. He meets Curt's gaze again. "I'm having a cot moved into my quarters. Smokey's going to have a nurse make up a schedule for your medications, and you'll have a wheelchair for your use whenever you want."

"You don't gotta–"

"Shut up," Jack says.

Curt shuts up. He looks at the dust on Jack's face and arms, the small tears in his undershirt peeking out through the open zipper of his flight suit. "You need a shower, a shave, and a shot," Curt says. "Maybe two shots." 

"Maybe three." Jack sighs and closes his eyes. "They found you in the water. You could have frozen to death."

"Didn't," Curt says. 

"Dickie's doing fine, but the shrapnel hit a nerve or something. He can't hold a pen right now, but the doctors say it's fixable."

"I'll write him tomorrow," Curt says. "Been waiting until you all got back since I knew he'd ask."

"How is it you're the only one who didn't have to get sent away?" Jack mutters, more to himself than Curt. 

"Lucky, I guess," Curt says. "And I'll take it if it means I get to stay here with you."

Jack leans in and kisses his forehead. His lips are dry and cracked and chapped. Curt closes his eyes and memorizes the touch. "I'm grounded for this week at least," Jack says against Curt's skin. "We'll have a week."

Curt lifts his free hand and curls it around the back of Jack's neck, keeping him close when Jack shifts to press their foreheads together. Curt thinks of Harry and Bubbles doing the same on the runway. He hopes they're getting a moment like this, maybe getting to talk about Jean and whatever the plans are there. 

"Get cleaned up," Curt says. "Then come back and spring me. I wanna eat in the mess tonight."

"Okay," Jack replies. He pulls away slowly until he's sitting up. "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Yeah, you fucking better," Curt says. He's glad to see it make Jack smile. 

*

Jack's back in forty minutes, showered and shaved and in a fresh uniform. He's combed his curls back but there's no pomade in them, and Curt thinks of the first time he saw those curls like that. After they'd sparred for the first time and he'd learned Jack had way more strength behind his punches than you might think to look at him. He'd come out of the shower with his curls combed back like now, and Curt remembers then, thinking how it made him look younger, a little looser, more like the kind of guy Curt'd have on his side in a scrap. 

"What?" Jack asks after a long moment of silence. He's standing by Curt's bed, hands behind his back. They're waiting for a nurse to bring a wheelchair and Curt's medication schedule. 

"You look better," Curt says. Jack's lips are slightly shiny, no doubt coated in Vaseline to help with the chapping. "What was it like in Africa?"

"Hot as hell," Jack answers. "Bucky brought a fez with him."

Curt snickers. "Yeah, I helped him pick that out."

Jack looks pained. "Of course you did." 

Nurse Upton comes over with the wheelchair. She hands Jack a small paper bag with an envelope taped to it. "Medication and the schedule," she says. "We're tapering him off the painkillers right now, so he may be a beast in a couple of days."

"I've seen him at his worst," Jack says. 

Nurse Upton smiles at Curt. "You need to use the wheelchair if you're taking more than a few steps, but the doctor says if it doesn't hurt your ribs to stand and use them, you can walk short distances with crutches starting tomorrow."

"Can I stand now?" Curt asks. 

"No. And we won't be giving you the crutches until tomorrow just to make sure."

Curt cuts Jack a look at the way he stifles a laugh. "A guy has to try," he says to Nurse Upton.

"One of the nurses will be coming by your quarters to check on him a few times a day," Nurse Upton says to Jack. "If he tries to pull any stunts, we'll take him back until he learns some manners."

"I have been nothing but polite since I got here," Curt argues.

Jack glances at Curt, then at Nurse Upton. "How accurate would you say that statement is?"

"We expected him to put up a lot of fight," Nurse Upton says, "Given his reputation."

Jack looks at Curt. His eyes are soft. "The reputation is earned, but he's smart enough to know when not to use it." 

Curt ducks his head, suddenly shy under Jack's proud gaze. "Come on, bust me out. I want mess hall food."

"We serve the same meals here," Nurse Upton says. 

"It tastes different," Curt says because it has. 

"Come on," Jack says, holding out his arms for Curt. He helps him into the chair, paying close attention as Nurse Upton shows him how to raise the left leg support and use the brakes. She gives Curt one last smile, then leaves them alone. Jack drops Curt's medications into his lap and  maneuvers the chair very carefully, clearly worried he's going to bounce Curt off a bed. 

"You're not gonna re-break me," Curt says. 

"I can't imagine a broken bone against a metal bedpost feels good," Jack replies. 

He's got a point, so Curt doesn't argue. He lets Jack push him slowly down the aisle between the beds and then out into the early evening light. He sighs in relief at being outside and not having to go back to the hospital for another night. 

Jack pushes him to the mess hall and parks him at the end of the table, left leg out of the way, then sits to his right so they can see each other. They're joined in a few minutes by Harry and Bubbles, then Bucky and Buck. Blakely and Douglass come along, and by the time everyone's sitting and eating, Curt feels like the head of a family, sitting where he is at the table and everyone filling out both sides. 

They talk about Africa, telling Curt about the fight to get there, teasing Buck about having to glide in. Jack watches him eat, and Curt wonders if he's tracking pain or calories. When he's finished eating, Curt shakes his head when Jack asks if he wants to go rest. 

"Have a cup of coffee," Curt says. "I can sit here." 

Jack gives him one of his measuring stares, then turns and requests coffee. He sits with the boys and just talks a little while. Curt listens and looks at all of them. He sees the little cuts and scrapes they'd gotten. Bucky's got sunburn across his nose, and Harry missed a spot shaving. It'll be weeks before he's up with them again. He hates the thought of having to wait. 

Before they all call it a night, Bucky comes over and hugs Curt tight, then kisses his cheek. "Save a little luck for the rest of us, huh?" he says, smiling but his eyes are so serious. He was worried too, Curt knows. He didn't know if Curt was okay, either. 

"Won't need any for awhile," Curt says. "It'll be stocked up by the time I go up again."

Bucky holds his face in both hands, then steps back. Buck steps forward and taps Curt's cheek with a soft palm. "I'll drop by tomorrow, okay? We can play some cards or something." 

Curt nods in agreement. He knows without asking that Bucky will be with Buck. If Jack's not there to be the fourth player, they'll pull someone else along. 

Harry and Bubbles wave as they leave together. Douglass and Blakely stay for another cup of coffee. Jack pushes Curt out the door with a quiet goodbye to the two of them, and then it's just the two of them making the trek to Jack's quarters. 

"Gotta say, banging the Air Exec has a few perks," Curt says when he can see Jack's private hut. 

Jack groans and flicks Curt on the top of the head. "Don't call it that," he says.

Curt tips his head back and grins up at Jack, whose gaze is focused on the road in front of them. He wants to joke some more, but there's something about being like this, getting cared for in Jack's quiet way that stops any further jokes he has. "Hey," he says. "Stop a second." 

Jack stops and looks down. "You okay?" he asks. 

Curt nods. "Just. I love you. You know that, right?"

Jack smiles at him. "Yeah, I do," he says. "And I love you, too." 

Curt nods again. "Okay. Good." 

They reach the hut, and the second cot is set up next to Jack's, positioned so Curt's left leg will be on the outside edge. There's a night stand set up, too, with a lamp already plugged in. 

Jack leaves Curt in the chair for a moment and walks over to inspect things. He takes the blanket off of both cots, then pushes them together. 

"Like the way you think," Curt says with an exaggerated leer.

Jack gives him an amused look, then walks back over to wheel Curt right up to the bed. He helps Curt shift to the bed, then covers him with the blanket. "Give me a minute," he says. 

"You're coming to bed already?" Curt asks, surprised.

"Not for the whole night," Jack says. "I just want to lie down with you for a little while."

"Okay," Curt says. "Good." He watches as Jack strips down to his shorts and takes in the scrapes and bruises he hadn't seen before. He's banged up more than Curt expected, but he's moving all right, so Curt decides not to point it out.

Jack gets into bed next to him and rolls onto his side. He slides an arm around Curt's waist and lays his head on Curt's shoulder. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah," Curt says, resting his cheek on Jack's curls. "You doing all right?" he asks. 

Jack breathes out slowly, and Curt feels some tension leave him. "Better than I've been all week," Jack says. "Jesus," he says. "Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you were dead."

Curt cups the side of Jack's head. He wants to roll over and gather Jack into a bear hug like he's done before when they've had this moment, but the injuries make it impossible. "I'm not, though," he says. "If I've got breath in my body, I'm not leaving you, Jack."

Jack shudders, and Curt feels dampness on his shoulder. He tucks his hand under Jack's ear and lets it be a soft weight on his jaw and neck.

"Had to name my new fort," Curt murmurs after a minute. Jack's still crying, and Curt doesn't want him to stop until he's good and done, but he wants to help in some small way. "You seen her yet?"

Jack strokes Curt's waist and sniffles. "No," he says. "What'd you choose?"

"WIld Card," Curt says. "With a Jack of Hearts."

"Shit," Jack mutters. "We can't use it."

Curt goes still. "Huh?"

"Wild Cargo made it back," Jack says. "It's too close for the radio."

"Aw, fuck," Curt says. He laughs a little. "This is why I don't do romance."

"Bullshit," Jack replies. He lifts his face from Curt's shoulder. He's got tear tracks on his cheeks, but he's giving Curt the sweetest look. "It's romantic whether it works on the radio or not." 

Curt rubs his thumb over Jack's cheek, wiping away the tear track. "Guess so."

"And we can keep the card, that won't be a problem," Jack says. "Just need a different name."

Curt chews on that for a moment. Jack sits up and reaches for the tissues on his side table. He wipes his face and blows his nose, then gets up and pours a glass of water from the pitcher by his desk. He drinks half and brings the rest over to Curt. 

"Heart's Wild?" Curt suggests before taking the glass. He takes a sip and watches Jack open the envelope with his medication chart. Jack takes out a series of pill bottles and reads the labels, then taps two different pills into his hand and holds them out to Curt. Curt takes them and swallows them down with the rest of the water. 

"Jack's Heart," Jack says as he lies down next to Curt again. 

Curt stares at him. "You don't gotta claim me quite so hard, Jack. Everyone already knows we're a set."

"That a no?"

Curt beams and reaches for Jack. "No fucking way is that a no. You wanna yell it from the rooftops, I'll meet you up there."

Jack kisses him and noses his cheek. "Go to sleep," he says. "I'll tell Ken in the morning." 

Curt tips his chin for one more kiss and thinks about what Bucky said about saving some luck for the rest of them. How could he ever be short of it with a guy like Jack by his side, he thinks as he falls asleep.