#jock mcdiarmid x oc

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

forgive me for this very last-minute entry to the @blind-dates-fest! allow me to introduce lucy 'luca' torrio to you all - my favourite partisan and jock mcdiarmid's deeply unhinged future wife

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communion

Music filled the midnight air as someone thumped out a tune on the piano the SAS had commandeered in Augusta. The clumsy playing almost entirely drowned out by the din of voices, the partisans belting out an old Italian song, its lyrics as familiar to her as the pages of a childhood book.

Luca liked to drink - she liked to sing - and neither activity was in short supply tonight. Yet there she was, sitting on the church steps and watching on in motionless silence.

In the hours since news of Mussolini's arrest had made its way over the radio waves, her comrades' celebration had been impossible to avoid. The alcohol stores had been swiftly depleted - much to the eventual chagrin of those not involved - and she didn't doubt that the Irishman would have some choice words about it come morning. But for now, things were good; many of the SAS men joined with the music where they could, emptying their cups just as swiftly as the Italians. McDiarmid's deep, Scottish tone rang clear as it cut through the song, warbling along off-key and without any knowledge of the words in a reckless merriment that made an involuntary smile tug at her lip.

Her glass had been empty for a while. Too long.

Her boot scuffed against the stone steps as Luca hauled herself to her feet, glass balanced between her fingertips, scraping a few stray strands of red hair away from her face. The night breeze was cool against alcohol-flushed cheeks as she turned towards the church door, the din from outside muffled the moment she stepped inside. Each footstep echoed against the arched ceiling, throwing each inch of her intrusion back at her, amplified. It had been a long time since Luca had felt God had any place in her life - a long time since she hadn't felt betrayed.

The communion wine perched high upon the altar, a glimmer of moonlight catching against the glass as it streamed in through one of the narrow windows, glittering silver in the dark. It looked good. Perhaps more importantly, it looked easy to take.

Luca ran a hand across her face, tugging slightly at the skin, fighting against exhaustion with what may have also been a subconscious effort at snapping herself out of what she was about to do. The wine sloshed slightly as it was decanted into the chalice, the red pool almost black in the dark. She stared at it; a moment's hesitation. She could hear her father's voice from the long-ago days of her childhood, chiding her for any tiny misbehaviour in such a holy place. How his face would run pale to see her now. And yet, the wine slid down her throat as smoothly as any other.

"What would God say?" A Scottish accent rang out from the far end of the aisle, Jock's voice growing steadily familiar to her as their days of proximity ticked by.

His arrival had startled her. She didn't let it reach her expression. "Well are you gonna tell him?" Luca glanced back over her shoulder, offering a smirk.

He chuckled, a slight grin parting his lips. "Not if you share." Letting out a snort, she held out the bottle to him, using her free hand to lift the chalice to her lips again.

A yawn escaped Luca between sips, raising a hand to cover her mouth as her eyes screwed tightly shut. Jock shot her a smile as he stepped up to the altar beside her, accepting the drink.

"Not celebrating?" He asked after a long swig.

"Not 'til he's dead."

"Atta girl," Jock grunted with a nod of approval as Luca rolled her eyes, unable to stop the hint of a smile breaking out across her expression.

She wouldn't tell him why the fire that burnt inside her was different - why it couldn't be dimmed by something as fragile as progress, why the inferno would never lose its heat until the object of her hate was dead and buried. She wouldn't be known by him. Not like that. Not even when he gave her that look and she felt her resolve weaken for a moment. Even when she wasn't looking, her gaze wandering across the dimly lit pews and the glint of moonlight through stained glass, she knew he was staring. He often was - Luca wasn't quite sure if he couldn't tell or if he just didn't care, heedlessness and over-confidence both equally characteristic.

"Yunno," He said. "Your friends don't like me, I reckon."

"Really?" Luca gasped sarcastically, leaning back on her elbows against the altar. He snorted at her tone, a bubble of honest laughter popping in her throat, the sound echoing against the arched ceiling above.

"They don't think you're serious," She shrugged.

"They might be onto somethin' there."

Luca dug a tooth into the inside of her lip. "You wanna know what I think of you?"

Jock's brow arched, beginning to grin. "Oh, aye - now I do."

"I think I could put any woman within a hundred-mile radius in front of you right now and you'd flirt with her. Because you don't care about who's attached to a nice pair of legs."

"Okay, that's…" He paused to think for a moment, taking a sip of wine. "That's not entirely untrue," Luca snorted at the confession, his grin widening. "-But! I resent the accusation that I only flirt with you for your legs. Haven't even seen 'em - your trousers are too baggy."

She laughed again. "So you admit you've been flirting with me."

"I think we're past denying that, love."

Sucking in a long, deep breath, Luca nodded slowly. Eyes fluttering shut, she tilted the chalice, the remainder of her wine sliding down her throat in a single gulp, metal cold against her bottom lip. When she reopened her eyes, Jock was staring. Again. More blatantly than ever.

"You have a real staring problem."

He shrugged. "Not a problem. I can stop."

Luca's brow arched in challenge. "You sure about that?"

"Aye," Jock nodded, smirking as he lifted the bottle to refill her cup. "Just don't wanna."