#leslie sheppard 49: and for a while you were all mine

[sergeant-spoons]

49. And For A While, You Were All Mine

Leslie Sheppard

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This batch of updates (47-49) is dedicated in tandem to my wonderful mutuals @mercurygray (for @’ing me in her Thankful Thursday event - I am so humbled and thankful in return) and @thoughpoppiesblow​ (for making a beautiful edit for Kate August almost immediately after I introduced her with this post-war snippet). Love you both so much!! Thank you!

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With Skip taking the helm and speaking for the group, the concert-goers made their way into the hotel and checked in without any trouble. Their rooms were on the same floor and down the same hall, two across from the other two, so once they had checked in, they all headed up together. They retrieved their bags from one of the rooms where the bellhops had left them, then moved to decide who would be sleeping where and with who. It was a given that Kiko and Penk would room together, as would Leslie and Don, so that left Tink, George, and Skip to figure out what they'd do with the remaining two beds.

"Skip and I will share," George offered as he carried Tink's suitcase into the south-facing room for her. "That sound good to you, Lucky?"

Tink didn't respond at first. She was standing by the window, looking out at the night, fiddling with her hands. At first, George thought she was just tired and hadn't heard, but then she answered him—

"No."

—and he realized there had to be something more at play.

"No?"

She ducked her head away. He came up beside her, concerned.

"George," she told him softly, "I need you to stay with me."

"Okay," he agreed at once, ignoring how his heart stumbled over its own rhythm. "Uh... Any reason why?"

Again, she was silent, and when she looked at him, the conflict behind her eyes made him sad.

"Hey." He touched her arm, careful not to step too close. "You can talk to me."

"... I know."

After a beat, she turned and pressed herself into his chest. He was quick to wrap his arms around her, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Ever since we came overseas, I can't sleep in a room by myself," she admitted at last. "We could've had our own rooms with Mrs. Witchetty, but I- I couldn't bear it. Usually, Leslie rooms with me, but I thought, maybe..."

"Of course, I'll stay with you," George reaffirmed, tucking her head under his chin and giving her a gentle squeeze. "I'll go grab my things and tell Skip, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Be right back."

He went out into the hall and got his suitcase; as promised, Tink could hear him and Skip talking in hushed voices. The door to their neighboring room clicked shut, and a few seconds later, George returned, sporting his usual lopsided grin. Tink could tell his nonchalance was an attempt to put her at ease, and she appreciated it, relaxing a little.

"Skip's alright with sleeping alone," he said. "Said he was afraid of my morning breath, anyway."

Tink giggled, and George's shoulders sagged with relief.

"I promise it's not that bad," he teased, then breathed into his palm and wrinkled up his nose. She laughed again, then leaned up and pecked his cheek. 

"You're a good friend, George. Thanks for this."

He pedaled finger guns at her as he started toward the bathroom.

"You betcha."

As soon as he shut the door behind him, he turned to face himself in the mirror, scowling.

"'You betcha'? Jesus." His reflection squinted reproachfully at him. "Idiot."

Realizing he'd left his toothbrush and toothpaste in his bag, he made a face, knowing he'd have to go get it and probably make an even bigger fool of himself. To his surprise, when he opened the bathroom door, Tink was already standing there, both items in hand.

"Thanks," he said, his face warming. "How'd you..?"

"Everybody in Easy packs their things the same way," she said, and he almost thought her sheepish. "Lady mentioned it once, and since I've seen inside Malark's pack a few times, I figured..."

"Smart girl." Flashing a smile, he held up the toothbrush and toothpaste. "Thanks for these."

Back in the bathroom, he leaned against the door and grinned despite his embarrassment. He'd seen it there on her cheeks, plain as day. Perhaps there was hope yet—

After all, he'd made her blush.

In the bedroom next to George and Tink's, Skip was already fast asleep with a smirk on his lips, dreaming of the day he'd swam the Niagara River. Across the hall, Kiko and Penk were also in bed, though not to seek slumber (ahem). In the room diagonal, however, Leslie and Don were the most active, still running amuck despite the late hour. Crouched on either side of the bed, they waited to pounce. Eyeing each other, weapons of plush in hand, they knew this conflict would have to come to blows. The only question was who would strike first.

"Charge!"

"Aaaah!"

As they scrambled onto the bed, Leslie took the first swing and Don took the first hit. They wobbled this way and that as pillows clashed and the mattress creaked beneath them. It wasn't long before Leslie got a mouthful of Don's pillowcase, and she flailed her head from side to side, sticking her tongue out in distaste.

"Hey!" she spluttered, but Don only laughed and swung again. 

"I've got you now!"

"Oh, no you don't!"

"Oh, yes I do!"

"Oh, yeah? Take that!"

Don reeled back, clutching his hand to his chest as if he'd been mortally wounded, and Leslie leaned back on her haunches, grinning.

"Ha-ha!" she exclaimed triumphantly, stumbling to her feet. "I have the high ground now!"

Don pushed himself onto his knees, intending to tackle her legs, but she started jumping from one foot to the other, swinging her pillow at him. Knocked off balance, he fell over, and she raised her hands to her mouth and trumpeted her victory. Don took the opportunity and swung his pillow at her, and she started to teeter, pinwheeling her arms. He grabbed the back of her calves and kept her from pitching backward off the bed, but in doing so, caused her to fall on top of him instead. He squirmed, but since she had both of her hands free, having dropped her pillow mid-tumble, she managed to catch his wrists and pin him down. Panting, they gazed at each other, and their laughter quickly faded. They'd had pillow fights that ended like this plenty of times before, but this time, it felt... different. Just different, not bad or uncomfortable or anything like that—in fact, it felt the opposite of all those things. Don blinked up at her and Leslie let go of his wrists, afraid of what she might do if she held on. After a moment, he tugged his pillow out from where it was smushed in between them and pushed it over the side of the bed. A smile tugged at her lips as she realized why he'd done so; happily, she flopped down on top of him, cozy as could be.

"I'm gonna fall asleep right here, 'kay?" she mumbled into his chest, cuddling into him. "'Kay."

She pretended she was already drifting off, but when she felt Don's laugh through his chest, her breathing faltered and she almost opened her eyes.

"Don't you know that I drool in my sleep, Les?" A shrug, a meager one so he didn't disturb her. "Oh, well. Your loss."

"No, you don't," she refuted, coming back to herself, and squeezed her arms around him until he chuckled.

"Oh, fine, I don't," he admitted, and when he reached up to stroke her hair, he could feel her lips turn up into a smile. He shifted a bit further down the mattress so his head was on the pillow rather than the headboard, and he kissed the top of her head, settling in for the night. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to get the covers up over them, and when he checked back in on Leslie, she was actually asleep. He was perfectly content to let her lay there all night long, but as he continued to stroke her hair, he reflected on how differently he would have felt not two years ago.

He remembered the day that hotel clerk in Arkansas mistook him and Leslie for newlyweds more clearly than he remembered some of his own birthdays. Tonight, the memory was fresh on his mind, had been ever since Leslie brought it up by the pond that afternoon. Laying with her now, he thought about laying with her then, how they slept apart, taking their closeness for granted. They didn't know how much they'd actually be apart once they got into the service. In fact, Don was pretty sure the last time he and Leslie had slept in the same room at the same time was on the train ride back home for Christmas '42, well over a year ago. But back to that night in Arkansas—he hadn't caught a wink of sleep, he recalled, for he'd been too flustered at the thought of Leslie sleeping beside him as his wife. He wasn't any less affected now (especially with her laying on top of him), but he'd grown to understand something over the last two years, the past six months especially:

She trusted him, and that was enough.

Don never knew her physical affection was so important to him until he lost it. Some nights, he feared it had been his fault, even though he knew, rationally, it wasn't. He would never bring up the name Vince Redding in front of Leslie, nor any of their friends for that matter, but that bastard still lingered in the back of his mind for what he'd done to her. That night had completely changed her perception of physical contact, and not in a positive way. For months, Don, Kiko, and Tink were the only person she'd let touch her or accept a hug from. Just last week, she'd shied away when a bartender leaned over the counter to hand her a beer. Only a few days ago, Kiko let slip that Leslie had a tendency to jump when one of the other mechanics leaned over her desk in the garage. No one ever meant anything by it, just hoping to see what she was working on, but any sort of looming still made her skittish. Sometimes, she'd even spook when Don came up behind her, so he was careful to approach her from the front and sides whenever he could. But now here she was, snuggling into him like she did it every night, able to fall asleep on him without a second thought.

He knew she loved him, in her own way, and even if it wasn't exactly how he wished, she trusted him, and that was exactly why—it bore repeating—lying with her tonight was fulfillment enough.

With Skip, Leslie, and Don all either asleep or about to drift off (and Kiko and Penk otherwise occupied), the last left awake were the duo in the south-facing bedroom. Though they'd all said their goodnights half an hour ago, Tink and George were each taking their sweet time getting ready for bed. While George was brushing his teeth, Tink had changed into her night things, and then they'd swapped. They spent the next fifteen minutes mumbling their way around the room, ducking into the bathroom for little nothings here and there. Now, well aware that they'd stalled plenty long, Tink was growing antsy. She stood by the window and fiddled with her rosary, waiting for George to come out again so they could figure out just how they were going to arrange the sharing of the bed and praying she wasn't making a mistake here.

She wasn't stupid. She knew they were walking a flimsy line here. He was an excellent friend, and she trusted him as much as she would have trusted Leslie or Kiko, and she knew she'd sleep well with him there beside her... but she was an engaged woman, and he was not her fiancé. There had to be something sinful about this, even though nothing at all was going to happen, and she squeezed the cross against her palm until the pressure started to sting. She opened her fist but found she didn't like the imprint, so she wound the beads around it until she could see it no longer. She supposed if God thought this was wrong, he would pardon her once she was a married woman—but saying a few "Hail Marys" as a balm to the interim couldn't hurt.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women..."

But then she stopped before she was through. Whose forgiveness was she asking for? She didn't think it was God Almighty's, nor Christ's, and certainly not her own. Charlie's, perhaps? But that felt laughable, even to faithful Tink. She didn't even look like she was bound to someone. Growing bolder, she lifted her left hand to her face and looked at where a ring ought to be, where a ring should have been almost two years ago. She dropped her hand and looked out the window. The lights of the city pinpricked through the night where blackout curtains had slipped a few inches one way or another. In the bathroom, she could hear George singing one of the songs Judy had performed tonight as he ran the tap.

"...the mountainside... The summer's gone and all the flowers are falling..."

She knew the tune well, probably better than he did. Her father used to sing "Danny Boy" all the time before he died, as a lullaby, as a song to slow dance with his wife to, as a prayer. Listening to George sing it in the bathroom, not knowing how he'd touched her heart, she smiled, though she knew he couldn't see. Maybe her father would, up in Heaven.

Tonight, she would allow herself a second chance—until sunrise, she could pretend she was her own woman.

A rush of exhilaration flooded through her, but she hardly had time to revel in the feeling before it morphed into alarm. Her heart jumped into her throat. She felt free and knew full well she shouldn't, not when imagining she'd never promised herself to the man she—loved? Bewildered and fatigued and very frightened, she gripped the rosary to stop her fingers from trembling, frozen at the windowsill. Trying to gather her wits, she focused on George's voice. He was only humming now, the lyrics falling away as he no doubt grew sleepier with the late hour, but it did the trick, and she calmed down. She could worry about her love and who had it in the morning, when she was well-rested and alone and able to convince herself Charlie still wanted her for his wife. Tonight was for peace and joy—after all, what a show they'd seen! She couldn't let anyone, least of all herself, take that away from her. Feeling her heartbeat start to slow back into its usual rhythm, she turned the rosary over and tried again to pray, whispering a prayer she'd never tried before.

"Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling..."

George came out of the bathroom about a minute later. He hadn't heard a peep from Tink in a while and it was starting to make him nervous. He'd washed his hair in the sink, a little regretful they had no shower but too tired to care all that much, and now stood half in and half out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his shoulders. His hair was mostly dry now, fluffy as ever but a mess, and he ran his hand through it as he watched her. She stood by the window, looking out, rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly. He assumed she was thinking about that lousy fiancé of hers and scrunched up his nose. Charles Hammond could go to hell for all he cared. Still, he knew he couldn't tell her that, or any of the other things weighing on his heart that had to do with her. All he could do was try to cheer her up and make her forget about him for a night, and if there was one thing George Luz knew he was good at, it was making people laugh. So he ducked back into the bathroom to try and fix his hair in the mirror (it didn't do much), put on his best grin, and went to do just that. Hearing his footsteps, she turned toward him; as her mumbling trailed off, he realized she'd been praying. Immediately, he straightened up and took a step back, embarrassed at having misread the room.

"Sorry," he muttered as he glanced aside, rubbing the back of his neck, but she shook her head and smiled.

"No, it's alright," she said, placing her rosary beads on the bedside table, and he did not miss how she turned the cross over so Jesus was facing down. "I was done, anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yep." To his relief, he could tell her smile was genuine, as was her answer. "Your hair's all poofy."

"I know, it's a mess-"

"I didn't say that."

She reached up and ruffled his locks, and the look of delight that crossed her face would stay in the forefront of George's memory for several days thereafter.

"It's so fluffy!" Her smile grew. "You've got one helluva natural pillow there, Georgie."

"Jealous?" he teased, pretending that extra syllable hadn't turned his knees to jelly.

"Maybe."

"Hah!" He bowed his head and shook it at her, allowing her to run her fingers through it again. "You know, my hair might be marvelous-"

"It's so soft!"

"-but I should warn you—I snore like a dinosaur." 

He made claws out of his fingers, stuck his head out, and wiggled his body, snarling as if to imitate his own snoring. Tink giggled and reached out to steal the damp towel around his neck. Thinking on his feet, George pawed the ground and put his hands on the side of his head.

"Look, I'm a bull now!"

Playing along, she jumped back and flicked the towel, then tried to dodge out of the way when he charged. He scooped her over his shoulder, and as he spun in clumsy circles, she laughed that marvelous laugh.

"George! Put me down!"

"Whatever you say, princess."

"'Princess'," she started to scoff, then squealed as he lurched forward and tossed her onto the bed. 

"George!" she protested, sitting up and shaking her head as if disgruntled (she wasn't, really), and George—making an 'X' out of his arms and bowing his head—dropped to his knee.

"At your command, my lady."

"Euff."

She flopped onto her back and blew a strand of pale hair out of her eyes. When George didn't move, she sighed and patted the bed beside her. 

"Just get up here, you silly."

He leaped up, practically pouncing on the mattress, and she giggled as he made a show out of making himself comfortable. They ended up laying side by side, Tink's hands clasped loosely over her stomach and George's under his head until his arms got sore and he moved to copy her position instead. They lay there for several minutes, looking up at the ceiling, sleepy but not sure if it was okay to sleep yet.

"What's it like to be free, George?"

She'd asked it out of the blue, interrupting the peaceful silence, but George found himself unsurprised by the earnest question. Still, he had to ask:

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath, then turned her head to face his, waiting to speak until he did the same.

"My whole life, I've been—well, bound to somebody, I guess." She scrunched up one side of her mouth as if the admission itched but she didn't know how to scratch it. "First, my Ma and my Pa, when I was a kid—don't get me wrong, I miss them all the time—and then my brothers, workin' to keep them in school during the Depression after our folks passed, and now..."

"Now you're engaged," George finished for her, starting to turn his head away, but Tink grabbed his hand and his gaze returned to her at once.

"I don't even have a ring," she whispered. "I don't know if I want a ring."

George's surprise was apparent on his face, but she hadn't expected any other reaction.

"I thought you-"

"Don't tell anyone," she pleaded. "You're the only one I've told."

Later, she would remember she'd mentioned her doubts to Leslie and Kiko last November, but that was so long ago and she'd been doing so good since that she'd forgotten—or, more likely, blocked it from her memory. Still, George didn't know that, and her confession made his heart tremble. Didn't she know she was sacred to him? Didn't she know he'd do anything for her?

"I won't," he swore, and when he squeezed her hand, she knew he meant to guard her secret with his life if he had to.

"Thanks," she said, but recognizing it was a rather lame reply, she tried to amend the awkwardness by squeezing his hand the same as he'd squeezed hers. When he simply nodded and stayed silent, she looked back up at the ceiling, finally giving in to her sleepiness.

"Hey, I don't know about you," he yawned, "but I'm tired. You wanna hit the sack?"

"I call the left side of the bed," she replied with a small smile, sitting up.

"Fine by me," he agreed with a smile of his own, casually stretching his limbs to hide how gravely her confession had affected him. "I like being woken up by the sunrise."

"Well, I sure don't." She wrinkled up her nose. "Too early for me."

He stuck his tongue out at her, getting up to take off his shoes. "The early bird catches the worm, you know."

"And the late bird is better rested, so she catches two worms," Tink mumbled as she rolled over, and George chuckled, thinking her adorable but wise enough not to tell her so.

By the time he got his shoes off and climbed into bed, Tink was almost asleep. George made himself comfortable, trying to ignore how he could feel her body heat so near to him under the covers, and closed his eyes. Just as he was dozing off, Tink turned in her sleep and snuck her arm over his torso while simultaneously nuzzling her head into his chest. He went still and tried to calm his heart, afraid its pounding would wake her. Tink murmured something unintelligible within her dreams and cuddled up closer to him, and he was torn on whether or not to move away until she pressed a woozy kiss to his shirt and mumbled g'night. He realized she was at least half-awake, and so this choice she'd made was willful, intended by some part of her mind—or heart. Making his own judgment, George carefully put his arm around her and tucked her against him. More comfortable than he'd been in many months, he listened to her breathing until it soothed him to sleep, a small smile on his lips.

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