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blakelysco-pilot · 3 months ago

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Hallelujah, I Love Her So

Beat Me, Daddy, Eight To The Bar: Part SIx Everett Blakely x Valencia DiRosano (OC)

Something big is brewing, and The Brass is keeping their cards close to their chest. The Red Cross girls are forced to navigate through the murky waters of changes on base, revelations, new faces and chance meetings. Val is forced to face feelings from the past that rear their ugly head in the face of something beautiful, but she is determined not to let the past get in the way of her future.

Part Five Follow along with the Eight To the Bar Playlist

Sleep. More often than not, it was restless, and usually cut short due to obligations. This time, it was simply because no one had wanted to go to bed. After a week of restlessness and arguing, finally, they had all found peace. Olive and Doug had made up, and Douglass had finally understood what everyone had been trying to tell him all along- Olive only cared for him. While Val had been nothing short of thrilled that her best friends had finally gotten past their troubles and become a couple, what had made her exponentially happy was knowing that her and Everett had not pushed themselves so far in defending their friends that they ruined their own relationship. Benny had made up with Dougie, the two reaching an understanding that Benny was now to Olive what Curt was to Val- a brother. Curt had spent the entire walk back to the huts from the hardstand bellowing how he had the best night ever, and it had been funny, until BED. ALL OF YOU had come blasting over the tannoy and Red Bowman had sent them all to their respective racks.

Now, as Val woke feeling as refreshed as one can be for getting to bed as the sun came up, she was determined to make the most of a day that didn’t include fighting or disagreements. Olive, it seemed, was already up and out of the hut along with Tattie. Helen was still somewhere in dreamland, even as the clock slowly approached nine. Sitting up in her bed, Val called over to Helen softly, hoping it would be enough to rouse the woman from her sleep.

“Helen, doll, it's almost nine.”

“Hmm, that’s nice…”

“Helen, we have to start getting up and out to the truck.”

“Bring the truck here….” She mumbled, face still pressed into her pillow.

“Christ sake,” Val stood from her bed, bare feet padding over to Helen’s bed. “Helen, come on chickie, time to get up.”

“But we just went to bed…” She groaned, prying one eye open and looking up at Val.

“I know, but we can turn in early tonight, yea?”

“Yea, okay,” She sighed, sitting up and meeting Val’s equally tired gaze full on. “Those two early birds are already at the truck?”

“Yes, now let’s put a little pep in our step before Tattie comes round, okay?”

Nodding, Helen let Val pull her from the warmth of her blankets before the pair of them began getting ready for the day.

Val and Helen had gotten themselves cleaned up and into their jumpsuits in record time. Helen resolved to finish pinning her hair under her scarf on the walk over to the truck while Val blindly applied her lipstick mid stride. By the time they reached Olive and Tattie, the truck was set up and both girls were enjoying a cup of coffee while tossing the ball with Meatball. Demarco must have been up and at it early if he’d relinquished his best pal to the girls before the day really got going.

“Good morning boy, hi!” Val looked over at the husky who was panting, ball in mouth, and staring up at her with big blue eyes. “Did you have a nice snooze?”

“He snoozed more than any of us, that’s for sure.” Helen rolled her eyes with a smile.

“When I checked last night, you were snoozing on top of Dickie.” Olive pointed at her with a cheeky smile.

“He was closest,” Helen grumbled. “And Tattie took the dog.”

“Surprised Benny didn’t put up more of a fight for him honestly.”

At the mention of his owner, Meatball promptly dropped the ball to the ground and let out a loud howl. Maybe Cleven was right and he was part wolf.

“Okay, Meatball, shhh.” Olive crouched down to ruffle the fur between his ears, the dog mistaking her affection for playtime and jumping up onto her.

“Oh, Meatball!” Val laughed, unable to pull him off of Olive as he continued to pounce and lick at her face.

“Wow, and here I thought I was the only fella who got to smother you in kisses!” Dougie’s voice rang out as he walked up the path to the Clubmobile, smirk on his lips and pep in his step.

“Fella, yes,” Olive looked up at him from her place on the ground. “He’s not a fella, he’s a Meatball.”

“Well, then he’s the only Meatball who gets to smother you in kisses.” Doug approached the dog, gently tugging at his collar to get him off of Olive, promptly handing him off to Ev, who had joined him in his quest for coffee.

“Did anyone get any sleep last night?” Dougie questioned the group, looking at the exhausted faces of his friends as he helped Olive off the ground.

“Barely,” Val sighed, moving to snuggle into Everett’s side. “I can’t remember the last time I stayed out all night like that.”

“Had to be sometime before the war…” Ev sighed, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Somehow it always involves Curt.” Val groaned, her back turned to the path, she didn’t see the man in question approaching.

“Speak of the devil.”

Tattie gestured behind Val, causing Ev to turn them both to see Curt coming towards them, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“Morning yous guys!” He beamed, voice booming as he took up the spot on Val’s other side.

“Shh, too loud.” Helen scolded him.

“Who’s too loud? Meatball? Yea I heard em all the way across the field!”

“Curt…” Val warned, sending him a glare.

“The gal’s grouchy this morning, Blakely.” He mumbled, cigarette now wedged between his lips as he pulled out his lighted.

“Biddick,” Ev looked over at him. “Shut up.”

“Can I at least have a coffee?” He looked at the four girls, trying to figure out which one was most likely to concede.

“Fine, come on, you perky son of a bitch.” Tattie gestured to the truck, leaving Curt out by the hatch as she rounded the back to go inside.

“Thanks, Tat,” He grinned. “Oh, Val, Harding’s looking for ya, he’s in the glass house.”

“You should have led with that, Curt…”

“Yea, sorry about that, I got distracted.”

“Christ sake, okay,” She pried herself out from Everett’s arm and headed for the truck, the pilot still clutching Meatball’s harness in the other hand. “Might as well bring some coffee up for the boys.”

“I’ll walk you,” Ev called over to her. “I needed to talk to Kidd anyway.”

“Thank you honey,” She poked her head out of the truck, now inside putting together a tray of coffee and some donuts for the boys in Operations. “You can help me carry this.”

“Here Curt, you’re on Meatball duty till Benny gets back.” Everett handed off the leash to Curt, moving to the window of the truck to take what Val was passing down to him.

With his hands full, he stood waiting for Valencia to exit the truck. Her own hands full, the pair began their walk towards Operations. They bid their friends goodbye over their shoulders, and began a leisurely walk over towards the control tower. Val was balancing a tray of coffee while Everett dutifully carried a tray with donuts. While some men might have balked at doing something so domestic, he welcomed the moment with Val by his side.

“What’s going on with Jack,” She glanced over at him before looking back towards the path they were walking. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“Honestly, can’t say for certain,” He dropped a sigh before continuing. “Could be anything from a switch in my crew to wanting to go up and practice.”

“Why could he possibly want to switch out of your crew?”

“There’s replacements coming in...”

“When?”

“Not sure, which might be what Harding wants to see you about.”

“The hell am I supposed to do with replacements?”

“Welcome them with open arms the way you welcomed me, sweetheart.” He grinned, offering her a wink as they came to a stop outside the Control Tower.

“They’re hardly getting a wink and a smile,” She sighed, shaking her head as he pulled open the door for her. “And my dance card is full, Captain Blakely.”

“Ooh, haven’t heard that one in a while.” He let out a low laugh, careful not to make too much noise now that they were inside.

The center of the Control Tower, ground level, wasn’t brightly lit. It was bathed in an almost orange glow, and was made up of small offices inside around the perimeter. The center of the room, The Pit, as Red sometimes referred to it, held one big table in the middle adorned with maps, and had floor to ceiling chalkboards on either side of it. Each chalkboard ran the list of every plane within the 100th. All of the forts, their tail numbers and corresponding names and the lead pilot. You could see where someone’s fort had been erased- the names of those who went down or were MIA, simply erased from Thorpe Abbotts. Val realized if she allowed herself to look at it for too long, the worry of Everett’s name, or Curt’s being erased from the board would begin to sink in. Instead, she chose to focus on Chick Harding, who was standing next to Jack Kidd, hands on his narrow hips and cigar wedged between his lips.

“G’morning Chicky,” She approached with a smile, the coffee still piping hot on the tray. “Jack.”

“Valencia…”

“Brought you boys some coffee and Ev’s got the donuts.”

“Blakely, did you join the Red Cross and forget to tell us?” Harding barked out a laugh, the smoke from his stogie billowing up around him.

“Helping Val, Colonel,” Everett placed the other tray down next to where Val had placed the coffees. “She’s only got two hands and I was already headed to see the Major.”

“Ah I’m just joking with you,” Harding slapped a hand down over Blakely’s shoulder before picking up one of the coffees. “I’m sure she appreciates the extra hand, don’t ya Valencia.”

“Oh, I always do.” She smiled, looking over her shoulder at Ev and giving him a wink before turning back to Harding.

“Alright, well, grab yourself a coffee and come with me.” Harding turned and began walking towards the big table in the center of the room, Val following closely behind him.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Ev disappear into one of the offices with Jack, the pair of them talking quietly before Kidd shut the door behind him. Attention again on following Colonel Harding, he stopped suddenly, turning to face her, eyebrows raised and cigar pinched between two fingers.

“Gotta wait for Red,” He nodded. “Did you get yourself a coffee?”

“Oh, no…”

“Go on then I know you were all up with the sun this morning.” He looked at her with a brow raised, smirk painting his lips.

“More or less,” She mumbled, turning and hurrying back to where she left the coffee. “Did you eat anything this morning, Chicky?”

“I’ll take a donut as long as Demarco’s dog ain’t get near them.”

“They’re Meatball free, grouchy.” She rolled her eyes as she handed it over to him, hearing the beginning of a scoff coming from him, before someone clearing their throat interrupted him.

Red Bowman appeared in front of them, arms folded across his chest, eyebrow raised in amusement at the banter between the pair of them.

“She’s got your number, Chick,” Red’s thick New England accent was light, a bit more jovial than Chick was in the mornings. “Morning Miss Val, thank you for the coffee.”

“Morning Red, and you’re quite welcome.”

“Are you two done torturing me?” Harding scoffed, gesturing with his hand that held the donut to the folders in front of him at the table.

“Go on then,” Bowman nodded, plucking a coffee from the tray. “I’m sure she’s wondering why you needed her if it’s not to type up your reports.”

“No reports?” Val looked between the two men, brows creased.

“We’ve got replacement crews coming in,” Harding started, gesturing to the folders and piles of paperwork scattered around the table. “Fellas are going to need a warm welcome, and I thought you and Helen might be willing to set up the Interrogation hut.”

“You want coffee and whiskey then?”

“That and if you can spare some of the sweets from the Clubmobile,” Red added.

“A hershey bar or two, sure,” She nodded. “But my dance card is full, gentlemen.”

“Wasn’t asking you to give Blakely the boot for a replacement,” Harding laughed. “I’m not blind, Valencia, I know what’s going on there.”

“Out till the sun came up,” Red shook his head in a laugh. “And still up and doing her job.”

“Well, someone has to caffeinate you boys. And feed you, too, it seems.”

“So you’ll be there to welcome the new boys?”

“I’ll talk to Helen when I get back to the truck,” Val nodded in agreement. “When do they get here?”

“Noon.”

“Noon, today!”

“Yes, Valencia, noon today.” Chick drawled, exhaling from his cigar.

“Christ, Chicky, a bit last minute don’t you think?”

“We found out last night.” Red interjected, watching as the furrow on her face turned deeper with each passing second.

“Well, then I need to get back,” Val nodded, bidding a farewell to both the men, swiping a donut off the tray she had left for them. “And pray that Helen is still standing when I get there.”

She didn’t see Red and Harding chuckling at her as her back was turned, both men fully aware that she’d get the job done despite the small window to do it. She also missed the door to Jack’s office opening as Everett exited, his own brow starting to look like his girlfriends.

“We’ll get it done, Blakely,” Jack murmured from behind him. “I know we will.”

“Yeah… we know when these crews are coming in?”

“Today, 1200 hours,” Jack sighed. “Harding has Val setting up interrogation for them.”

“New fellas are gonna love that,” Everett chuckled, the irony of the new crew’s being greeted by a pretty Red Cross girl not lost on him. “She’s gonna give those boys hell.”

“She already gives all of us hell.” Jack cracked a smile, his usually tough exterior slipping as he extended his hand for Blakely.

“Almost all of us.” Shaking Jack’s hand, the two pilots shared a knowing look before Ev turned to leave the Control Tower. “I’m in the clear.”

————————————

“Tell me again,” Helen groaned, twisting the top off the whiskey bottle. “Why Harding doesn’t want all of us?”

“I wish I knew,” Val sighed, shuffling past Helen with a tray of donuts wedged against her hip. “He just asked for me and you to be here.”

“Knowing Chicky, he doesn’t want Meatball in here jumping all over everyone.”

“The Hundredth’s mascot, banned from the welcoming committee. What a sin.”

At the mention of the husky, both girls could hear him barking and howling from across the field by the Clubmobile. Sticking her head out the door, Val could see Demarco making his way over to them, Meatball pulling and tugging at his leash excitedly at his owner returning.

“Benny’s back,” She turned to Helen who was lining up the glasses, pouring two fingers worth of whiskey into each of them. “And heading our way.”

“So much for keeping Meatball out of here.” Helen chuckled.

“Hey! You girls need a hand?” Benny stuck his head inside the door, Meatball immediately trying to get inside.

“Hi,” Helen turned, chucking the empty whiskey bottle into the trash before moving to the coffee cups. “We’re good, but, shouldn’t you be getting the racks ready with the rest of the fellas for the new guys?”

“To be honest, Helen, I’m not exactly bursting at the seams to meet the new kids.”

His face said what he wasn’t, or couldn’t, about the men coming in. They would be filling the empty racks of those who hadn’t made it back; friends that were lost, or dead, and the original boys were reluctant to get too close. Nobody wanted to lose any more friends than they already had. It had been two months since the original crews flew in from Greenland, thirty-five crews had landed that day and Val had been in this exact same spot welcoming the boys who would become her friends to Thorpe Abbotts with a whiskey and a smile. She’d do the same today, but would these boys be here long enough to become friends? God, she hoped so, that for their sake they wouldn’t go up into the clouds with high hopes and never see the ground below again.

“You girls sure you don’t need help?” He was procrastinating going back to his rack.

“Leave Meatball with Olive and Tattie,” Val gestured back to the Clubmobile. “The new boys should at least be able to have a snack without his hair all over it.”

“Alright,” He nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“There’s an urn with coffee on the truck. It’s full, and needs two people to bring it over here.”

“I can grab it.” Benny nodded, moving to bring Meatball back to the truck.

“Benny you need two people, trust me,” Val followed him outside. “It’s also piping hot.”

John Brady was at the window as the pair of them approached, chatting animatedly with Olive about Shakespeare and his sweetheart back home, Juliet. The two girls had become quick penpals, and Brady had taken to including Olive’s letters with his so that nothing got lost in the mail. Whenever Brady had a spare moment, him and Olive would indulge each other in conversation. It was easy to see that John Brady’s favorite thing to talk about was Juliet. Val found it quite sweet, that the usually stoic, pipe smoking saxophone player softened at the mere mention of her name.

“Hey Brady,” Val nudged his shoulder with hers as she passed. “How’s Juliet?”

“Jules is good, thanks for asking Val,” He grinned as Olive handed him a pack of gum. “Her birthday’s coming up soon.”

“Well, make sure you send her a wish from me.”

“I will. I tell her all about you girls, and if I don’t, I know Olive does.”

“Good,” Val nodded, taking Benny by the elbow once he returned from tying Meatball back up by the girls. “One day I’d like to meet the girl who makes John Brady all starry eyed.”

With a wink, Val and Benny made their way into the back of the Clubmobile to collect the urn and take it back to the hut. There was a second urn already in use by Olive and Tattie, the girls taking coffee from that one for the boys that passed by.

“Handles on the side, Ben,” Val directed him to one side while she settled on the other. “On three.”

“Uno, dùe, trè?”

“Yes,” She laughed, waiting for him to count off in Italian. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it…”

On his count, the pair of them lifted the urn and began moving to exit the truck, Benny taking the stairs backwards while Val guided him down one at a time. Once on the grass, they walked side by side, the urn between them, back towards the hut. They moved quickly, silently, and once inside, Helen was making space for them to put it down on one of the tables. She’d set the cups out on one side of the table, enough sugar to get by before the next delivery of rations came in, and milk that the local farmers graciously brought to base every few days. All that was missing was the men filling the room, nervous and excited energy of their flight in and what was to come. The prospect of the fight ahead glimmering in their eyes.

“You girls all set?”

“All set, Benny,” Val smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

“Any time cugine,” He winked.

“What did you just call her!?” Helen balked.

“Cugine,” Benny laughed. “It means cousin but not really a cousin.”

“Right, like we think of each other as family but there’s no bloodline.” Val explained.

“Italians have a word for everything!”

“Here’s another one,” Val turned back to Benny just as she caught Chicky and Red coming towards the hut. “Vai.”

Go.

“And I’m gone.” Benny grinned, scooting out the door and jogging across to the Clubmobile to pick up Meatball.

The Interrogation hut was busy in almost no time at all. Almost as soon as Harding and Red had joined the two girls, the sound of B-17 engines overtook the entire air base. Jack Kidd was out on the hardstands with the two Majors, getting the new fellas into trucks, speeding off towards Interrogation where Red and Chick would do their part in making sure each fort arrived safely and without issue. Val and Helen were there to greet them with a smile and a warm cup of coffee, or something stronger for those who preferred it.

They all looked so fresh faced as they entered the hut, and Val could see the excitement in some of them. Young boys ready to fight, who if she had to guess, didn’t even know just how bad it was up there. In retrospect, neither did any of the original boys when they first got here, and she remembered the vacant look on Gale Cleven’s face the afternoon they had returned from Bremen. The shock and fear that had full body encompassed the man as he tried to explain what had happened up there. The whiskey he declined, that Egan had promptly poured into his coffee, the noise in the back of the hut he had walked into, choosing to let Curt do all the talking for him. How many of these new faces would look the same in the coming days, weeks, months. How many of them would she even see return?

She had just turned to pour more coffee when a crew entered the room, the pilot looking every bit the part. Dark curls tamed with pomade, bright blue eyes and a mustache- no lucky strike. He was a handsome fella, and offered her a kind smile in return of her own as she offered up a choice of refreshments.

“Coffee or whiskey, Lieutenant?” She smiled, holding one of each in either hand.

“Coffee, please, ma’am.” He nodded politely, and Val clocked an accent that she had only heard from one other person on base. This man was from home. Her home.

“Here you go.” She handed him the cup, ready to move on to the next man in his crew, a shorter man, young but sporting a bald spot under his crush cap. She assumed he was the Co-Pilot, and he was eyeing up the whiskey.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Val,” She nodded. “Not ma’am or Miss. Val is just fine Lieutenant…”

“Rosenthal. Robert Rosenthal.”

“Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts, Robert.”

The Lieutenant was moving further into the room as Val quickly passed a glass with whiskey to his Co-Pilot, the man grinning as soon as his fingers wrapped around the glass.

“Ah jeez, thanks Miss!”

“You’re welcome, now go on, the Colonel is waiting.” She gestured to where Harding was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, a cloud of smoke swirling around him.

“Oh, shoot!” The Co-Pilot cursed, running off behind the rest of his crew to join them, whiskey in hand.

Shaking her head, Val carried on with offering up refreshments, watching out of the corner of her eye as Helen chatted with a young pilot who had come in behind Rosenthal and his crew. For someone who had been so sleepy this morning, willing to serve coffee and donuts from the warmth of her bed, Helen looked positively glowing as she poured what looked like a second whiskey for the man. Normally, she’d give Helen a look, but the girl had sat by while she and Olive did the same every time Everett and Dougie walked past the Clubmobile or into the hut. It was important to Val that all of them found a sliver of happiness, and maybe, this new pilot would be to Helen what Ev was to her.

When he leaves her with a dashing smile, Val turns quickly, busying herself with stacking empty glasses and cleaning up crumbs, so as to not get caught spying. Just as the nameless pilot reaches the door, he turns and calls out to Helen, a slight twang to his voice and a sparkle in his eye.

“See you later, Helen of Troy.” He winks, and joins the rest of the crews in the other room, leaving the two women standing there speechless.

“Helen of Troy?” Val turns to Helen, who’s trying furiously to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Unsuccessfully if she had anything to say about it.

“He’s charming…”

“Yes, he certainly is!”

“You are the leading authority on charming pilots, DiRosano.” She teased.

“Shush, you know what I mean,” Val waves her off, picking up the tray of glasses she stacked, and heads for the door. “What’s his name?”

“Hmm?” Helen seems dazed, lost in a fantasy, and Val can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Oh here we go,” She grins. “His name, Helen. What was the charming pilot's name?”

“Oh! Nash,” The blush was not ceasing its takeover of her fair skin. “Lieutenant Herbert Nash.”

“Well, he certainly seems to have his sights set on you!”

Just as Helen was about to respond, the door opened and Red Bowman stepped out of the room, eyes scanning the front of the hut for something before landing on the coffee urn, and then over to the two girls cleaning up.

“Any more in there, girls?” He gestured to the urn, cigarette between two fingers.

“For you, Red? You don’t even have to ask.” Val winked, setting the tray down by the door to go pour him a coffee.

“Thank you, Valencia,” He groaned, pinching between his brows with two fingers. “These new kids are… Well, they’re kids.”

“They’re just anxious,” Handing over the cup, black with sugar, she could see something behind his eyes. Something fearful. “Same as the other boys were anxious when they got here.”

“These boys somehow seem younger than your boys.” Red sighed, and she could very clearly see the worry on his face.

“Our boys will lead them through,” Val nodded, knowing she felt the same worry even though Ev and Curt had been on their fair share of missions, that worry never subsided. “I know they will.”

She had spent the rest of the afternoon repeating her own words over and over. Our boys will lead them through tumbling over and over like a stone as she willed it to be true. She had seen too many men lose the fight already, coffee and a kind send off one minute, and the next she was scanning the faces as they shuffled through the door to see who had made it back and silently taking stock of the missing men. Quietly, she would keep their names off to the side, knowing that Curt and Ev were the ones who would see them meet their demise- hard as it was for the girls to not see those boys again it was infinitely harder on the boys who saw it happen first hand. Friends lost, sons, husbands and brothers who would never see home again. That, she had realized, was exactly what she had welcomed to Thorpe Abbotts earlier today. Boys that, if she had to guess, a handful or more would never see the inside of that hut again after their first raid. Boys who would maybe get to spend one night in the Officers Club with a good pretty girl to dance with and a hope that maybe she’d be waiting. Chances are she would be waiting, but what would return, no one could say for certain.

“You’re quiet,” Tattie looked up from where she was putting away the leftover snacks and newspapers in the Clubmobile. “Everything go alright with the new boys?”

“Oh, yea, they were fine. Eager.” She punctuates the sentence with a forced laugh.

“I figured as much. When they went past they were all wide eyed like it was Christmas morning.”

“Red looked a little nervous,” She slid the empty coffee urn back onto the shelf, turning to face Tattie. “He kept going on about how they were just kids.”

“They are kids,” Tattie shook her head. “This damn war.”

“I get why Benny didn’t want to be around when they showed up…”

“Almost all the boys went up for practice just before the new forts landed.”

“Are we wrong to get attached?” Val questioned, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t mean Ev or Doug, but the other boys.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, remembering Croz’s wife’s name, or how Claytor takes his coffee. Checking the score of the Yankees game in a three day old paper from home just so Egan has a better morning. That kind of stuff.”

Val lets her gaze fall to Olive who’s cleaning up outside the truck with Helen, the latter telling her all about their afternoon and the crews that had come through. She can’t help but hope that disappointment doesn’t find its way to her friend, the smile on her face giving Val the reminder of what they’re doing here and why they’re doing it. It’s more than coffee and donuts or snacks for the boys. It’s a smile that reminds them they’re still human, that they’re not just killing machines trained to fight a war; the boy who left home is still in there somewhere. It’s a friendly ear when their sweetheart sends a letter and they can’t wait to see someone about it. Or when their newborn starts crawling and their wife writes to tell them all about it in such detail it’s as if they’re seeing it happen in their mind's eye. It’s someone remembering how they take their coffee or who their favorite baseball team is. It’s having friends and someone to laugh with. If it meant being able to smile and making someone else smile, she didn’t mind getting attached all that much. They were good guys. Flyboys, sure, but they were good.

“No,” Tattie shook her head, a smile on her face. “I think it’s important we get attached to our boys.”

“Our boys…”

“Well, who else is going to look after them?”

“In the sky, they look after each other. But down here, on the ground, you’re right Tat… those are our boys.”

“And that damn dog.” She rolled her eyes, a stream of smoke passing through her lips.

“No,” She grinned. “We can’t forget about Meatball.”

———————————————————————————

She had walked back to the hut with Tattie, the two smoking and chatting idly as they took stock of all the new faces walking around base. Thorpe Abbotts seemed crowded now, the new fellas plus those who had been here from the start now taking up space in every available hut, rack and seat in the mess hall. All the hardstands were occupied and in the back of her head she filed away that they’d be brewing more coffee and making more donuts each day.

She’d hoped to run into Everett on her way back. They had parted ways in the Control tower that morning, and when she had left he was still in Jack’s office. Had she known they were in there shooting the shit, she’d have popped her head in and snarked at Jack a bit before leaving them both, but when Ev mentioned he needed to see Jack for something, she wasn’t about to interrupt that. She could surmise that the boys had their hands full now, but she’d remain hopeful that they’d see each other in the mess hall; or at the very least, he’d come find her before it was lights out on base. And considering no one slept the night before, they’d all be lights out pretty early if she had to venture a guess.

“Olive said you didn’t even go to bed last night?”

“Oh, no. Delays the hangover.”

“And how do you feel now, Spaatz?”

“Like the Clubmobile rolled over me, reversed, and rolled over me again.” She groaned.

“That’s certainly one way to describe a hangover.” Val laughed, not missing the scowl on Tattie’s face as she nudged her.

“And you?” The other woman questioned, eyebrows raised. “How are you feeling now that everything’s settled with Olive and Douglass?”

“I’m exhausted,” Val groaned. “But it’s a good exhausted, you know what I mean?”

“There’s a good way to be tired?”

“Sure there is!” Val exclaimed, explanation at the ready. “It’s like, when you come home after a night on the town; you danced all night and your feet hurt, and it’s a chore to even open the jar of cold cream, but you had the most wonderful time and you’d do it all over again…”

“So you’re not saying you’d argue with Blakely again, but…”

“But I’d sit out in the grass with all of you and watch the sun come up every night if I could.”

“Back at you, Valencia.”

Just as they reached the door of their hut, they could hear Olive and Helen inside already, the pair giggling quietly. Helen had been in a quiet daze all day after her encounter with the charming replacement pilot in Interrogation earlier. It seemed he had left such an impression on Helen that she wanted to tell any of the girls who would listen; Val would listen a hundred times over to see her friend smile. Pushing the door open, the two girls looked over from Olive’s bed, smiles wide and eyes sparking with mischief.

“You’ve got mail…” Olive’s tone was a playful, sing-song.

“What don’t I know?” Her green eyes narrowed in playful scrutiny as she made her way towards her bed, finding a piece of her own floral printed stationery laying folder on the pillow.

“Nope!” Olive mimed zipping her lips.

“Olive!” Val stomped her foot like a petulant child, shaking her head as she picked up the paper, smiling as she unfolded it to find Everett’s messy handwriting scrawled across it.

Honey-

Saw you were swarmed with new faces in interrogation and didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll be back a bit later. Our crew is taking a few of the new fellas up on a practice run. I’ll be back in time to eat with you in the Officer's Mess tonight- pick you up at 5:30. I Love you!”

-E

Her eyes flew across the paper three times before finally looking up. Olive’s gaze was there to meet hers, the Brit now standing in front of Val, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes and a smirk on her face.

“He…oh my god…”

“He what, honey?” Helen, who was still perched on Olive’s bed, looked over in concern.

“That’s the first time… In a note!”

“The first time for what?” Helen, again, posed the question to Val.

“Val? Honey, are you okay?” This time it was Tattie.

“DID YOU KNOW!?” Val’s gaze turned wide and sharp as she focused on Olive, her voice a few octaves higher than it should have been.

“Did I know what?” The other woman teased, her voice taking on an almost innocent tone.

“THIS!” Val waved the sheet of stationary in her face.

“What’s it say?” Olive jokingly tried to peer around it, hoping to catch a word or two.

“English, please!”

“Okay, okay…” She finally relented, taking the seat next to Val on the bed. “I promised him I wouldn’t let it slip before you found out or he told you.”

“How did you…”

“Dougie and I were in here earlier. I was reading my mail when Ev came looking for him.”

“Yea okay, you two were reading.” Val rolled her eyes.

“Don’t change the subject, Valencia!”

“Olive! Please tell me that I’m not sitting where…”

“No, Helen, you’re safe. Nothing happened.”

“As long as I’m not- “

“Would you two please focus! Everett just said he loves me!”

“Well of course he loves you!” Tattie rolled her eyes, walking past on her way to the showers.

“No, I mean, that’s the first time he’s ever said it.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She shouted, remaining in the conversation while freshening up.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for starters, it’s the way you gaze into each other's eyes when you think no one is looking…” Helen grinned, rolling over to her stomach on the bed, chin propped on her hands and feet in the air like she was at a slumber party.

“Or when we are looking.” Olive teased, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to Val. “Here Chicken, come on…”

Val gratefully accepts the cigarette from Olive, taking a long pull before exhaling again. Her next words come out in a swirl of white smoke, her eyes glassy like she’s lost in a memory.

“The last person who told me they loved me…”

“There was someone before Blakely?” Tattie’s head popped out from the wall of the bathroom.

“I don’t like talking about it,” Val sighed. “We met when I started working at the bank. He was a big shot and I was a secretary.”

“Val, you don’t have to tell us.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to,” She sighed. “I think I need to, to finally be rid of him.”

“Rid of him?”

“He was a real sweet talker,” She started. “Not like Curt or Ev. He was the kind of guy who could charm the skirt off a nun. Not even Curt can do that.”

“Oh…”

“So, he charmed me. Charmed me real good, and made me lots of promises.”

“Val, did he…”

“No,” Shaking her head violently, she took another drag of her cigarette. “I was so enthralled by him, I had wanted to.”

“So what happened?”

“The secretaries would always leave at five in the dot. So, there would be nights I would go home and he would still be working, and so Curt would meet me and walk me home. And one night, we were walking home, we came up to the picture house, and there he was.”

“Oh no…” Helen’s hand was covering her mouth, eyes wide in shock as she put two and two together.

“He was with another woman,” She shook her head. “I don’t know who she was, but I begged Curt to take me home.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“Yes. In the police station. Curt beat him within an inch of his life. They both got arrested for a public brawl.”

“Valencia!”

“I had to identify them both,” She sighed. “Curt had claimed self defense, so, when it came time to make my statement, I said that my ex had attacked me, and Curt fought back in my defense.”

“Oh my god!”

“I tried dating other fellas after the dust settled, but Curt was always wildly protective, and made it difficult. I get why he did it.”

“He really is your protector isn’t he…”

“Until I found out he was the one who divulged my cocktail order to Everett…”

“Curt did!?”

“He did…” She smiled, the cigarette now burned nearly down to her fingers. “He surprises me in funny ways like that.”

“Insufferable, that one,” Olive chuckled. “But he really is a good egg.”

“What are you going to tell Blakely?” Tattie had joined them back in the main area of the hut.

“That I love him too,” She grinned. “Because I do love him.”

Everett’s note to Val was now safely tucked into the book on her side table. The first I Love You now pressed gently between the pages of The Great Gatsby so that she could fix herself up in time for dinner. Eating in the Officers Mess meant putting on your cleanest uniform, and her coffee stained, donut greased, jumpsuit would not do. Not when Chick Harding was a few tables away, and the high ranking members of their airbase were dining in the same room. That’s what she told herself at least, as she sat in front of the mirror in her skirt and blouse, pinning her hair so that it fell neatly against her shoulders.

The neatly pressed uniform was for The Brass, but the victory red lips, mascara on her lashes and rouge pinched cheeks were for Everett. She knew that even if she was still wearing a jumpsuit covered in grease or Meatball’s fur, he’d still pull her close and kiss her hello, but she liked the idea of getting primped for him. For looking clean on his arm when she knew he’d be showing up in a clean uniform as well. At the mirror next to her, Olive was doing the same thing. Painstakingly pinning her hair away from her face, and applying her lipstick just so that Dougie could kiss it off of her later, she was sure.

“That color looks good on you.”

“Yea?” Olive glanced at her in the reflection of the mirror, eyes only just meeting hers before going back to her hair. “It’s not too dark?”

“Not at all, it’s the perfect shade of red for you.”

“I think only you can pull off that Victory Red,” Olive chuckled. She remembered the first time Val had helped her get ready for the club and had applied her own red lipstick, the brighter red just not working with her skin at all. “It was not for me.”

“Oh gosh, do you remember how fast you wiped it off!”

“Immediate no,” Olive laughed, a sigh immediately following as she threw a hair pin to the table. “Ugh, this side does not want to cooperate!”

“Here, let me…” Val stood, coming to stand behind her as she deftly began rolling Olive’s hair between her fingers and pinning it back for her.

“How do you do it?”

“From an early age my mother taught me to be a ‘proper lady’,” She shook her head before breaking out into an impression of her mother. “Valencia, don’t leave the house without lipstick on. Don’t forget to set your hair.”

Olive laughed fully at Val’s broken English accent, making it sound as if her Italian mother was in the room with them.

“Is that what she sounds like?”

“Oh yes. And Nonna, not a word of English.”

“Well, you’re a whizz,” Olive looked up at her as she put the final pin in place. “I need to pay better attention when you do your hair.”

“You’re doing just fine chickie,” Val winked, slipping on her watch and moving to pick her jacket up off the bed. “We were all there once.”

“Thanks,” Olive beamed, pushing back from the vanity and standing to put her own jacket on. “Now come on, it’s almost 5:30 and if I know those two…”

“They’re probably already outside.” Val finished for her.

Ev stood with Doug outside, the two men smoking while quietly discussing their practice mission earlier today with the replacements. Ev had taken a handful of the new boys up, and leading the wing, tested them on formations, calling out patterns, and PR’s from the Navigators to Radio Men. Dougie had simulated a bomb drop, all the boys in Just A Snappin had watched to see just what the new boys were capable of. There had been two forts in particular they’d been impressed with, but for the most part, the new boys were as green as the paint on a B-17.

“I wanted to take Ol to the pub tonight, but that's not happening…”

“I know,” Ev groaned. “I owe Val a date but, based on what Jack told me earlier, we're about to go through the mud for a bit.”

“This whole place is mud,” Doug grumbled. “Never stops raining.”

“This one sounds big…”

“He say where?”

“No, Harding’s keeping it close to the vest.”

“Dammit… it would be nice to know what we’re up against for once.”

““Yea,” Ev took a final pull of his cigarette before tossing it in the makeshift ashtray outside the girls’ hut. “Explains why he wants us looking after these new kids.”

“Fucking replacements…” Dougie sighed.

“Those two from Laredo were damn good,” Ev raised an eyebrow at him. “Rosenthal and Nash?”

“That kid Rosie almost gave you a run for your money, pal.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Ev nodded. “But some of these other kids wouldn’t know formation if I had it painted on the wing.”

Douglass was about to reply with a quick remark about how they should paint it on the wing, when the door opened and Val and Olive appeared. Both girls in their Red Cross dress uniform, a far cry from the sleepy faces they had found at the Clubmobile earlier in the day. Ev’s gaze immediately found Val’s, his hazel eyes finding hers just as her smile widened. Obviously she had seen his note, she was ready at the time he had told her to be, but what had she thought of that truth bomb he had dropped? Suddenly a bit nervous, he played it off with a kiss, greeting her as he did every time they were together.

“Hi, pretty,” He pulled back, smiling at her. “How was your day?”

“Oh my day was lovely, dear,” She teased. “Did you have fun with the replacements?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Taking her hand, he began leading her away from the hut, checking over his shoulder to find Olive and Doug still greeting each other. “Were they respectful at least when they showed up?”

“Oh, very!” She nodded. “I think one of the new boys might be from Brooklyn, but I need to find out.”

“Another face from home,” He shook his head with a smile. “You and Curt will love that.”

“He sounded it when I handed him his coffee earlier.”

“Did you catch his name?”

“Rosenthal…”

“Oh, Rosie!” Ev’s eyes went wide. “His crew went up with us after they met with Chick. He’s a pilot and boy can he fly.”

“Yea? Him and his Co-Pilot passed through kind of quickly, but their friend took a shine to Helen and lingered.”

“Let me guess,” Ev laughed. “Nash?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“He was yappin up a storm in the equipment hut about the pretty Red Cross girl who served him whiskey and Dougie and I heard him.”

“Dougie didn’t try to strangle him, did he?”

“No,” He punches out a laugh, recalling the week they’ve all just endured. “We had a feeling it was Helen since Tattie was in the truck when we left.”

“She’s smitten, that’s for sure.”

“Well, for his sake, he better treat her right.”

Val nodded in agreement as they reached the Officers Mess, Everett pulling the door open for her and allowing her to enter ahead of him. Once they were both inside, he led her to a table, one hand on the small of her back, the other quickly pulling his crush cap off and tucking it under his arm. He found Benny saving a few seats in the middle of the room, Croz already seated across from him, John Brady to his left. The three of them were talking animatedly, Meatball’s head resting between Croz and Brady.

“Fellas,” Ev greeted, pulling out a chair for Val and waiting for her to sit. “How’re we all doing?”

“Blakely,” Brady offered in greeting. “Nice to see you outside the truck, Val.”

“You saw me in the club last night…”

“I know but, this is what Jules would call a proper conversation. So, it’s…”

“Nice to not be rushed off from the truck, or shouting over the band in the club. I hear you.”

“Exactly, yes.”

“Dougie with you, Ev?” Benny looked over at him, Ev now in the seat across from Val so that they could see each other. He also ventured a guess that she’d want Olive next to her.

“He and Olive were behind us, should be here in a minute.”

“Are those two done fighting now?” Croz looked up from the table.

“They had better be,” Demarco grumbled. “Otherwise I had Tattie Spaatz on my shoulders and stayed up till sunrise for nothing.”

“Wait, who was on your shoulders!?” Harry balked, his big brown eyes wide in shock.

“Tattie… it’s a long story. But that one,” Benny gestured to Val with his thumb. “And her friends are all nosey and couldn’t let Doug and Olive make up in peace, so they had to spy through the windows.”

“What windows?” Brady chimed in.

“These windows,” Ev laughed. “Doug and Olive came in here to talk-“

“No, you forced them in here to talk,” Val corrected him. “And I couldn’t see in the little window in the door, so I used the windows up there.”

“Jesus christ, Val!” Harry laughed.

“Biddick was holding all the jackets, Dickie had Helen on his shoulders, it was certainly something.” Benny recalled, the moment Tattie started ordering him around coming to the forefront of his mind.

As if on cue, James Douglass came sauntering over to the table with Olive tucked under his arm, the pair grinning like teenagers.

“That about answer your question, Croz?” Val laughed.

“Sure does.”

Doug, doing his best to behave like a gentleman, pulled the chair out next to Val for Olive, before rounding the table to take the seat next to Everett.

“So, fellas, how’s it going then?”

“Could ask you the same thing, Dougie.” Brady grinned.

“Oh I’m great!” Doug beamed, winking at Olive across the table.

Val just catches her rolling her eyes at him before she turns towards Brady, the two of them discussing the letter Olive had received from his sweetheart Juliet earlier in the day. After Val had divulged her past to the girls in the hut, Olive had offered to lighten the mood by telling the girls all about the letter she had received from Juliet Thompson. Still flabbergasted by the sheer size of the letter, Val could only describe what the girl had written as a novel, and outside of James Douglass she had not seen anything capture Olive’s interest quite so much.

“She write you an essay?” Brady jokes, and Val immediately knows that this is a common occurrence for Juliet.

“She did, actually,” Olive nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” Dougie interjects. “We read it together.” The boys at the table break out into a roaring cheer at his remark, and Val see’s Olive’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red as she begins to laugh, Val falling into a fit of giggles alongside her.

“James!” Olive scolds, hand finding Val’s on top of the table, the two of them with tears in their eyes. “Keep it quiet!” “Yeah, Doug,” Ev shakes his head in amusement, ruffling his hair a little. “Keep it quiet.”

Across the mess hall, Val see’s the pilot from earlier, Rosenthal, sitting at a table with a few other replacements. His Co-Pilot and Helen’s new eye candy, Nash are sitting with him, along with a few other members of who she assumes are both their crews. He catches her eye briefly, and she offers him a wave before turning back to Everett who’s talking about the crews he led up earlier. Brady had taken the Crash Wagon crew up on a practice run so as to avoid having to meet them, so he seems especially intrigued by what Ev has to say about how the new kids had flown.

“Hey Val, looks like you’ve caught the eye of some of the replacements,” Benny gestures to the group of men at another table staring at her with what could only be described as hearts in their eyes. “Starry eyed kids.”

“Rosenthal and his crew?” She sighed, shaking her head with a laugh.

“Uh, no actually…”

“What?” Everett’s head turns in the direction of where Benny is looking, his hazel eyes narrowing, his face taking on a dangerous scowl.

“Everett, they’re not doing anything, they’re just-”

“Drooling at my girlfriend like a pack of dogs.” He practically growled, gaze fixated on the table of replacements. .

“Ev, hey pal,” Dougie dropped a hand to his shoulder, shaking him out of it. “They’re just kids, they’ll learn.”

“Yea… learn not to ogle other people’s girlfriends.” His gaze still on the new kids, voice raised to get his point across. The faces of the replacements go pale as they realize that the woman they’ve been whispering about is the Captain’s girlfriend.

“Everett…” Val warned.

Before he could say anything, Gale Cleven’s voice carried over from the table with the replacements, the major standing with his hands on his hips as he addressed the boys now staring at him with wide eyes.

“Fellas,” He nodded. “Those girls will get your utmost respect, understood?”

A chorus of yes, major echoed through the room, Buck nodding in satisfaction at their answer before moving on.

“Boys, Miss Lewis, Miss Val,” He offered them all a smile, giving Val a slight wink knowing she heard him with the replacements. “Enjoy dinner everyone.”

“Major,” Everett nodded. “Thank you sir.”

“You see?” Val nudged him gently, as Buck walked towards where John Egan was waiting for him with Curt and Dickie. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all…”

“Green with envy?”

“Yea, that.”

“Don’t worry,” She grinned, picking her napkin up and placing it in her lap. “I only have eyes for you.”

——————————————————————

By the time dinner is finished, the lack of sleep has fully caught up with just about everyone, and the girls make the decision to forgo the Officers Club for the evening. Instead they choose to spend time sitting outside the Red Cross hut, taking the chairs they’ve commandeered from the club outside and propping the door open so that the record player can be heard.

“Ev, we need to get a record player in our rack.” Doug laments, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to Olive who's perched on his lap.

“Croz has a record player,” Ev sighs, tucking Val into his side as they squeeze into the borrowed armchair together.

“Yea, but he plays fancy stuff.” Dougie gripped around his Lucky Strike.

“What exactly is fancy stuff, Doug?” Val laughs, peering over at him.

“You know, opera and stuff.”

“Classical music is nice. Nonna plays a lot of classical Italian at home, it’s actually quite nice.”

“What does Pearl play in her house, Ol?” Dougie ducks his head down to peer at his girlfriend, a smile blooming on her face at the mere mention of her grandmother.

“Oh, a lot of Glenn Miller in her house.” She replies in a sigh, and Val can tell she’s thinking of home.

The feeling of nostalgia spreads over them all like a warm blanket, the girls sharing anecdotes of home and growing up and living with their grandmothers. Val is practically draped over Everett in their shared seat, leaning over to get closer to Olive as she shares tales from the kitchen; making meatballs and sauce on Sundays, and arancini every time there’s a special occasion. That once she was old enough, Nonna DiRosano would beckon her into the kitchen and teach her how to prepare the traditional meals so that one day she could cook them for her own family. She recalls how up until the day she left for England, she would request a traditional Sunday meal for her birthday every year, no matter what day of the week it would fall on. She laughed thinking about how Curt and his mother would always need to be present at the table, the Irish woman and her son happy to share in delicacies that were special to their friends that had become like family. In turn, Val had also learned how to prepare a traditional St. Patrick’s Day meal from Mrs. Biddick; the older woman had once thought her son would be the apple of Val’s eye, and he was, but as a brother was to a sister. Still, she had insisted that Val learn, because one day I won’t be here to cook for my son, and heaven knows what kind of wife he’ll end up with. Val’s impression of Mrs. Biddick is spot on, her Irish accent something that has the others laughing and for a moment, forgetting all about where they are. That blanket of nostalgia is warm, tucked around them so snug, they can almost feel the softness of its cover.

The boys, both enthralled at hearing all about how Val and Olive had grown up, begin to share some of their childhood memories as well. Everett is quick to share that he was a troublemaker of a child, something that Val immediately finds amusing because as much as he enjoys putting his feet up and having fun, her Everett is the most GI of GI’s according to the other men around base. She’s hard pressed to agree with them, because when the time comes for a mission, he’s all business. Tattie and Helen join them as Everett is in the middle of telling a story about how nothing fragile was ever safe in his parent’s home, his hazel eyes bright with childlike mischief before he morphed into his best impression of his mother, just to get a rise out of his audience.

“All I heard was, and it scared the life out of me, let me tell ya, was ‘Everett Ernest, if you so much as look at that vase–’” He crowed, Val laughing from her spot in his lap.

“Wait, wait!” Olive shakes her head, wanting to make sure she heard him correctly. “Your middle name is Ernest?”

“Yes, and what of it, English?” He fires back with a grin.

“I'm sorry, it's just–” Her own laughter takes the words right out of her mouth, her head thrown back onto Doug’s shoulder. “I didn't expect that. You don't–”

The laughter takes over once more, Everett shaking his head at her antics, the pilot now hiding his face in Val’s shoulder.

“Oh come on, Ol!” Val laughs, her fingers combing through Everett’s hair.

“You don't look like an Ernest, that's all.” She finishes.

“Go on then, what's yours?” Ev challenges her, eyes narrowed.

“Maude.” She giggles, catching the glint in his eye as she says it.

“Maude?” It's his turn to laugh now, the sound carrying across the open night air. “Jesus, Ol, that's worse than Ernest!”

“I think it's cute,” Dougie says, sweetly tapping her nose gently.

“Thank you!” Her nose wrinkles sweetly under his finger. “I think so too.”

“I think Ernest is adorable,” Val grins, turning to face him, Olive and Dougie now in their own little world. “Suits you very well.”

“What’s yours?” Ev prods, his hand coming up to twirl a loose curl around his finger.

“Chiara,” She sighs. “Valencia Chiara.”

“Beautiful…” He whispers, bringing her face closer to his, noses touching just so.

“You think so?”

He nods gently, the space between them almost non-existent.

Val can feel him tense up underneath her, his body going stiff as they remain pressed close together. There’s a pretty good idea of what might have caused it running laps in her mind, and she resolves to finally put the man under her out of his misery with a bit of teasing.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong…”

“Ev, you’re really tense.” She pushes, trying to get him to crack.

“No, no I’m okay,” He shifts under her, and she can tell he’s practically begging his body to relax. “Honest.”

“You don’t seem okay…”

“Promise, I’m okay.”

“Would it make you feel better if you knew that I loved you too?” Peering down at him, her eyes are dancing with mirth as her mouth turns up into a smile.

“Yes, actually it would-wait… you’ve been holding onto that all night havent you?”

“Well, you sprung it on me,” She teased. “I thought, only fair to return the favor.”

You’re terrible…” His whole body relaxes under her, his head tipping back to rest on the back of the chair. He’s smiling, the same smile as the first time he brought her a drink at the club, and asked her to dance just two months ago.

“Maybe I am. But, you love me in spite of it.”

“I do love you…I love you so much Val.” His mouth slants over her’s without a second thought, one hand tangled in her hair as the other wraps around her waist and holds her close. They’re so lost in each other, this moment, that they don’t hear Tattie clearing her throat as she takes a seat on the short brick wall at the front of the hut, nor do they hear Doug and Olive trying to get their attention.

“Hellooo,” Tattie calls out to them. “Lovebirds, the rest of us are still here.”

“Hmm? Oh, yea yea, we know.” Val waves her away, tucking herself back into Everett’s chest.

“Did you tell him?” Olive presses.

She’s smiling as she takes the cigarette from Doug, his blue eyes narrowing playfully before snatching it back from between her lips just as soon as she’s taken a pull from it.

“What do you think?” Val winks.

The girls break out into a gaggle of squeals and laughter, both Everett and Dougie looking on as they smile and carry on with glee. Seeing them outside of the truck and in their uniforms, smiling and carrying on as girls were meant to, not under the din of war and loss, made both the boys smile. Tattie pulls her cigarettes out, lighting the last one and tossing the box to the side. She passes it to Val, who takes a pull before passing to Helen who’s sitting between the two couples.

Helen, the most inexperienced smoker, keeps coughing at each drag she takes. Each cough is dainty and delicate, in a way that only Helen can manage.

“Helen, doll,” Olive urges. “Put that out, you're hurting yourself!”

“I don't wanna look like the party pooper!” She gripes.

“I can promise, you're not,” Olive laughs, gesturing with a wave of her hand to give her the cigarette, the tip covered in her lipstick.

As she stubs it out, four men round the corner, all of them wide eyed as they spot both Captains sitting outside so casually. Val looks up with a grin and waves, beckoning them over while Helen visibly swoons at the sight of the thin, dark haired pilot.

“Ohhhh,” Olive teases, knowingly. “Is that Nash?.”

Helen giggles, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear as she nods shyly.

“Oh, Helen, your hair is fine.” Olive guffaws, shaking her head.

The quartet of replacements approaches hesitantly, Nash immediately making a beeline for Helen without so much as a wave to Val and Olive, or acknowledging Ev and Doug. They take it in stride as Val stands from Everett’s lap to greet Rosie, Pappy and the third man who she hasn’t officially met yet.

“Rosie,” Ev extends his hand for him to shake before moving to do the same with the other two men. “Fellas, enjoying yourselves?”

“Captain Blakely,” Rosie nods, standing straight. “Miss Val.”

“Rosie, it’s alright, you don’t have to do that out here,” Everett insists with a kind smile. “We’re all just shooting the breeze.”

“Yea, come join us,” Val grins at them, turning to wave Olive over towards where they’re gathered. “Olive, come meet the new fellas!”

Olive is off Doug’s lap like a shot, pulling Tattie with her as she joins Val and Everett with the new boys. The girls don’t see Everett slip backwards towards where Doug is still sitting, leaving Val to introduce the new boys to both Tattie and Olive.

“Olive, Tattie, this is Robert,” Val begins. “His Co-Pilot Pappy, Speas is Nash’s Co-Pilot and Nash is…where's he gone off to?”

“I'll give ya three guesses,” Pappy wiggles his eyebrows.

“That was fast.” Olive titters. “He's keen.”

“He sure is.” He says, looking at Olive. “Sorry Miss…?”

“Lewis. Olive Lewis.”

“No way!” He gestures to himself, hand coming to his chest in a fit of excitement. “Pappy Lewis!”

“Oh?!” Olive squeals, clutching at his arm in excitement before remembering her surroundings. “I mean, it's a pretty common name, Pappy.”

“Never met a Brit with the same one before though,” He ponders. “Truth be told, I’ve never met a Brit until just now.”

“It’s your lucky day,” Olive grins at him. “A Brit and a long lost cousin all at once.”

“Hey, Rosie!” He hollers, unaware that his pilot is still standing right next to him, watching the entire thing unfold with Val and Tattie. “Came all the way to England and found my cousin!”

“Pappy, she's not–” He tries to reason.

Pappy pulls Olive into a one armed hug, the over excited man resembling Meatball when he’s tied to the pole outside the Clubmobile and trying to get attention from everyone as they pass by on their way. Olive quickly pulls Pappy over towards Doug, and Val can see the excitement on both of their faces at the blooming friendship between them; Olive doing exactly what Val had been questioning all afternoon. The question of caring too much, getting too attached, seeming millions of miles away as new friends blended with old friends, something special igniting between all of them.

“Rosie, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to the rack and get some sleep,” Speas addresses the group. “It’s been a day.”

“Oh, of course, go on then. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Val waves goodnight, before watching as he claps Rosie on the shoulder before turning towards their designated hut.

“We won’t be long,” Rosie nods after him. “Nash is probably going to be a while, but I’ll wait for Pappy.”

“Come sit,” Val turns back towards where they had all been gathered earlier. “The record player is still going, and we’re just relaxing.”

“I don’t want to intrude, really.”

“Robert-”

“Rosie’s fine, Miss Val.”

“Just Val, please.” She narrows her eyebrows playfully at him as she takes her seat back outside the hut, Everett standing to pull Doug’s now empty chair over for Rosie to sit in, while Pappy takes a seat on the half wall next to Tattie.

“Yea, come on fellas, no pressure,” Ev pulls out his cigarettes, offering one to Rosie who politely declines. Pappy accepts, lighting it before offering to share it with Tattie. “Besides, she’s been itching to ask you a few questions.”

“Everett,” She rolls her eyes, but stops when she realizes Olive and Doug are nowhere to be found. “Hey, where’d they go? Are they reading again?”

“They went for a walk,” He gave her a look that said there was more to it, but he didn’t want to kill the mood. “But I changed the record after they left.”

“Artie Shaw…” Rosie commented, picking up on the melody coming from the open door of the Red Cross hut.

“The man knows his stuff,” Pappy commented. “I’m surprised he’s not playing with Benny Goodman instead.”

“Do you play?” Everett asked, forearms braced on his thighs as he focused on Rosie.

“No, not a note,” Rosie chuckled, turning towards Everett. “My mother and sister though, boy can they play.”

“So, you prefer Rosie over Robert then…”

“My mother calls me Robert.” His face twists into something childish, and she can immediately tell he misses his mother, but maybe doesn’t miss hearing his full name all the time.

“And his sweetheart calls him Robbie!”

“Pappy!”

“What! I’m just letting them know!” He shrugs from where he’s sitting, a laugh bubbling up that he tries to cover with a cough.

“Okay, so, Rosie, what part of Brooklyn are you from?” Val turns to him, a twinkle in her eye.

“How did you-”

“I’m from Bensonhurst.” She grins, red lips stretched wide as she sees Rosie’s eyes widen in recognition.

“I grew up in Flatbush!”

“Oh we’re practically neighbors!” She turned to Ev with a smile, explaining. “Flatbush and Bensonhurst are ten minutes apart, honey.”

“Yeah, guess we are!”

“And is your sweetheart in Flatbush too?” She prods.

“She is, yeah…”

“What’s her name?” Everett asks, flicking the ash of his cigarette to the ground before tossing it into the ashtray.

“Josephine,” Rosie smiles, a far off look in his eye. “I uhh, I call her Jo.”

“Rosie Rosenthal, you and I are going to be great friends.” Val nods, immediately feeling a sense of peace with Rosie and Pappy.

Val makes a mental note to introduce Rosie to Croz, knowing that his wife is living by herself in the city and could probably use a friend to help pass the time. Based on the friendly disposition of the man, she could only surmise that his Josephine was as mild mannered and kind as he had been so far, and as a fellow Brooklyn girl, Val had resolved to write to her once she got to know Rosie a little better. If she were on the opposite side of things, she would want someone telling her how Everett was truly managing while overseas. Then again, if she had remained on the other side of things, she wouldn’t know Everett, and would simply be waiting for letters from England from Curt. He was another one who she had made a mental note to introduce to Rosie, though she wondered if Curt’s brash personality would be too much for the soft spoken boy from Flatbush. Then again, you could never have too many friends.

“Hey uh, let me ask you something,” Pappy garnered the attention of the group. “Did I see a dog running around the hardstands earlier?”

“That’s Meatball,” Tattie groaned, catching a look from Val. “What! Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Val laughed, knowing exactly where Tattie was headed.

“Yea, Tat, Meatball’s a good boy,” Ev cut in teasingly. “He loves you, why don’t you love him?”

“Oh I like him just fine, Blakely,” She chuckled. “But I don’t like my clothes covered in doggy fur, or when he gets inside the Clubmobile.”

“Wait wait, hold on,” Pappy leans forward, eyes wide in amusement. “His name is Meatball?”

“Yes.”

“And he goes into the Clubmobile?”

“Yes.”

“What, does he make coffee and donuts too?”

“Oh no, he’s Benny DeMarco’s dog,” Everett chuckled. “He won him in a game of craps when we came over from Greenland.”

“He brought that dog up in a B-17?!” Rosie balked, eyes the size of saucers, reminiscent of when Val had found out how the Husky had made it to Thorpe Abbotts.

“He did, yea. Got him a mask and everything.” Ev laughed, remembering how Benny had paid a whole three dollars for a mask for Meatball before loading him into Our Baby in Greenland.

The five of them sat there a while longer, casual conversation and laughter surrounding them with ease. That blanket from earlier, the softness and warmth that had covered them had returned, the air around them comfortable and calm. A moment that had Val wondering just how long it would last. How long would it be before the light was on, and the boys were rushing between the briefing hut and the hardstand. Coffee and a donut for the road, a goodbye kiss and a prayer to return safely. Waiting in the Interrogation Hut to count the forts as they returned, rosary beads clutched between her fingers, and watchful eyes counting the men as they staggered back from their mission.

As the thoughts swirled in her mind, the sound of the siren cut through the night air and pulled the blanket off them with a vengeance. Red Bowman’s voice fell upon them as the siren came to a stop, his thick New England accent the only thing anyone could hear.

The light was on.

Everyone back to your racks.

It was as if she had willed it to happen just by hoping it wouldn’t.

“Well boys, you heard the man, light’s on.” Ev groaned, standing from his chair, hands held out to help Val as she moved to stand.

“The light?” Pappy asked, brows knit together.

“We’re flying tomorrow,” He nodded, gesturing to all the men filtering out of the Officer’s Club and back to their racks. “Better head back to your racks, you’ll find out in the morning if you’re on stand down or not.”

“Alright then,” Rosie stood, gesturing for Pappy to follow him. “Thanks for the warm welcome, everyone. Everett, Val, Tattie, have a good night.”

“G’night Rosie, Pappy,” Tattie waved, making her way inside the hut. “Val, I’ll give you two a minute.”

“Thanks Tat,” She smiled. “I’ll be in soon.”

With Rosie and Pappy gone, and Tattie in the hut, Everett took the opportunity to pull Val aside and give her a proper good night.

“You alright?” He looked down at her, his arms coming to rest around her waist as he held her close. “You look a little spooked.”

“No, I’m alright,” She peered up at him. “I just worry every time that god forsaken light goes on and you have to go back up.”

“Hey, I promise I’m always going to fight to come back to you.”

“Always?”

“Every single time,” He smiled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before pressing his lips gently to her forehead. “We have a lot ahead of us, Valencia Chiara.”

“Oh do we now, Everett Ernest?”

“We do,” He winked, tugging her closer. “And I love you.”

She would never tire of those words coming from him. Nor would she tire of saying them back.

“I love you too,” She whispered, leaning up on her toes to meet his lips with her own. “So much.”

They stood there a few moments longer, holding each other closely while savoring the last few moments of quiet before chaos would ultimately descend on Thorpe Abbotts. Peaceful in each other's arms, safe together. Until Red Bowman’s voice was booming over the tannoy. Again.

JAMES DOUGLASS! BED NOW!

Val stood, face pressed against Everett’s chest as they stood there cuddling. The giggle bubbling in her chest burst free in one loud cackle as Olive and Dougie came skidding around the side of the hut, laughing like school kids. She hoped that no matter what, the playfulness that they all shared would always find its way back to them after touching back down on the ground after each flight. Oh, how she loved it so.

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Blakely & Val, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @rowdy-redhead @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @bobparkhurst @rosiesriveter @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie @spinteresting @prettyinlimegreenboots @manonsmanicmind @precious-little-scoundrel @beingalive1

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shoshiwrites · 5 months ago

Note

I shall join you in the trash can my dear. For Jo & Bucky from the NSFW prompts (because I am unhinged about this):

[ UNZIP ] sender unzips/unbuttons receiver’s dress/shirt - s l o w l y 🫠

Emaaaaa! Thank you so much for this prompt, and for entertaining my Jo/Bucky ramblings at any time of day. It means so much that you're in the trash can with me on board. This was......... supposed to be a smut prompt and we ended up with............3200 words of Scenes I Really Needed To Write For Them Actually, comma mildly spicy 🙈 Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC. Also on Ao3!

leading with my heart again

She’s read the same page three times.

The coffee’s drained, and the cup of tea, and maybe she ought to stop now, now that her hand is shaking a bit holding the pencil, from the caffeine or everything she hardly knows.

A hotel bar with a hole in it. When she blinks she can still see the smoke. A few stragglers at the end of the night. Even though the nights don’t end here, they haven’t for years. Local drinkers. Society usuals. A handful of correspondents. Al Stern, a friend of Marian’s. She’d broken out a fresh bottle of gin in his honor. Blanche Aurand, narrowly escaped from Marseilles, her photographer friend. Salim? Jo’s met them all.

You’re scared, she wants to say. Like it’s not her own self sitting here, the ticking of the clock and the tap of her foot, her toes in her shoes. She reaches up to fidget with the tiny gold hoop in her ear.

The bar is gone now, and so are they.

She hasn’t heard much by way of Thorpe Abbotts lately. She’s trying not to let that bother her.

If Kay were here, she'd tell her to sit up straight and quit looking like a gargoyle. If-

“Thought I’d find you here.”

His voice is a momentary shock, and still familiar, like a sun-drenched room. He leans against the bar, nods at the man polishing glasses to let him know about an order — the bartender who looks too similar to the last. If she closes her eyes, she sees a white jacket covered in brick-dust, or blood.

She smells the major’s aftershave, through the smoke of the bar and the bitter coffee.

He dips his head, an explanation to what she imagines is her still-bewildered face. “Rang your office.”

She really does try to sit up straight, now. Suddenly ashamed, or something like it, of herself next to his freshly-cleaned uniform. Her slacks with a broken crease, a blouse with a wrinkle or two. Her hair’s a mess, or feels like it. “Oh.”

She blinks again, sees that he’s holding a metal tin in his hand — barley sweets, nestled in waxed paper — and a small bunch of torn green stems attached to white-petaled flowers.

“No cherry,” he says. He looks fondly annoyed, almost. “I told them a few packs of smokes oughta change their tune, but I think they were really out.”

He surveys the space in front of her, the rings of coffee and the scattered pages and the folded newspaper, the front splash of the dead. Her people, his people, their people. Everyone belonging to someone. She hears him clear his throat. Like he already knows the answer to the question, the one he doesn’t ask. Did you know them? Yes.

The barkeep’s looking at the two of them expectantly. “What can I get for you?”

She replaces the cup on its saucer, places the little spoon next to it and slides the whole operation towards him. “I’m alright, thanks, Louie.”

The major orders a whiskey, doesn’t let her put it on her tab. He’s not too insulted about it though, he knows her. The question’s silent again, when he’s got his glass, the nod of his chin. Who’re we drinking to tonight?

But she knows now, she knows you don’t ask. His eyes are dark here, in the fading light. The mask-marks, the circles under his eyes. The stray curl always out of place.

“So,” he says, gathering himself, setting the glass back on the bar with a dull thud. “How much time do you need?”

“Time?”

“To get all…” he gestures with his hand. “Unless you’d rather we sit around here all night.”

She taps her fingers on the bar, watches her watch and chain catch the light. Looks up at Major Egan standing there, wondering just how much Kay will kill her if she walks back out of this hotel in a plain black dress. “Depends if you like a girl’s hair with only a few knots or none.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “I hope Kay won’t be too sore about me whisking you away.”

A remark about Captain Demarco takes shape on her tongue, but she swallows it. “Make it twenty, but I’ll be quick.”

Upstairs, she does what she can with her curls, washes her face and tries to shape her brows, reapplies her lipstick. The deep cherry color is hardly forgiving, and she has to concentrate to be careful enough with the lines of her cupid’s bow. For a brief moment she thinks of it smudged, on her teeth, on his mouth.

The dress she’d brought over is indeed black, cocktail-length, collared, with a little piped pocket, a bit of detailing. Maybe it’s a little dated, she’ll acknowledge that, but she’s tried to keep it tailored to the current style, fitted, hemmed shorter. Kay would try to send her out in something bright, rose-colored or teal, never mind that it’s October in London. She admires Kay’s boldness. Loves it, in fact, but it’s not for her.

The bracelet stays, the watch, her earrings, her mother’s medallion beneath the collar of the dress. Heels with thin ties wrapped ‘round her ankles, and her coat.

Hastily, she’d put the flowers in an empty bottle of Fernet-Branca, figuring Kay wouldn’t mind. He’d had less of an explanation for them than the tin of sweets, something about passing them on his way, something like a boyish smile. Just as quickly she plucks one, laces it into the back of her updo. It’s already been cut, anyway. She wonders where he’d got them, wonders if she’ll ask. She remembers the florist down the street from her apartment in Philadelphia, the spring flowers outside Pittsburgh. She can’t see it, but he will, standing above her.

Back down in the lobby, the tips of her fingers brush his shoulder at the low armchair, the last of his drink still in front of him.

“Now, aren’t you a sight.” It’s not the same voice as usual — quieter. Like he’s drinking her in, like the whiskey at the bottom of the glass. “Too pretty to be out with me, that’s for damn sure.”

She smiles, and she doesn’t even have to try, sure that her cheeks are a little pink. “Kay won’t be sore about me leaving, but she might have my head about this dress.”

He looks truly confused. “Why?”

Her hand gestures without thinking at the simple sweep of the skirt; she’s suddenly very aware of her legs. “Too boring.”

He makes a face. “Hell with that.” A small sniff, as he reconsiders. “Sorry.”

For the first time, she laughs. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

“Tell her whatever you want, you still look too good to be true.”

Now she’s really blushing. “A sight for sore eyes, huh?” The pendant rests in the dip of her collarbone, beneath the neckline of her dress. She feels it, feels the clasp at the back of her neck and the chain.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stands, taking the glass, polishes the last sip of his drink.

She lets herself put a hand on his jacket. “Let me buy your next one?”

He reaches for her hand, for her wrist under the sleeve of her coat. “Now, I’ll have no more of that talk, Josephine.”

The streets are dark outside, an excuse to stay close to him. A door materializes, a small place with small tables, glowing candles and bottles of liquor and wine. It’s all very respectable, the twirl they take around the floor, and then the next, his hands at her waist, hers up around his neck. A bead of sweat works its way down the back of her neck, between her shoulderblades. He dips his head to ask if she’d like to sit, his temple damp and tacky before her mouth, in the warm room. They do, after another dance, sit and watch the couples sway from a table on the side, listen to the jukebox. I need no soft lights to enchant me-

She lets him buy her one drink, and then two, the dark rum color catching the candlelight at the bottom of the glass. She doesn’t feel under watch here like she does at the base. Though, there’d been plenty of moments there that maybe they shouldn’t have been allowed. They. She doesn’t know what that means, here in this war. You dance one night and find an empty space the next. Or someone else. His ankle nestles against hers under the table. She wants to kiss him.

What’s stopping her?

His eyes are so blue, and she knows she’s staring. “Got something for you. If- if you want it.” It snaps her out of it a moment, her brow furrowing as he reaches into his pocket. A small gold pin in his palm, the Air Corps insignia. The kind he wears on his collar. “Since I made off with that scarf of yours.”

The white one, he means, with flowers and Swiss dots. She’d worn it up. He’d taken it as a joke afterwards, smiling, a crack about it being prettier than the one he’d got, but not as pretty as Major Cleven’s. Buck’s. A joke, or so she’d thought. Her mistake to think a pilot’s lucky charms weren’t the most deadly serious things of all. She knows, now. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to think he meant it.

She could wear it, here in London. His pin. A person would know she had someone. Someone. She doesn’t know how to explain him, for all her words. Brave, like all of them. Brave and funny and flirting, the fiery death or the pretty girl. A heart she wants to curl up inside of. And he’s here in front of her, fidgeting, waiting for her to say something. Here, hands and shoulders and knees. It hurts to think of anything else. She would know who she had.

“See,” she says softly, meeting his eyes. She feels like a schoolgirl, watching him. “Knew what I was doing, wearing black and gold.” She reaches to touch his palm, about to take it and pin it on. He moves to do it himself, leaning forward. She shivers, the touch of his fingers at her throat, under the collar of her dress.

If you would only grant me the right-To hold you ever so tight-

Maybe it’s the light, or the drinks, or the music, or the fact that staying ten minutes past last call could have put her on the front page of that newspaper too. Every mission, the odds go down.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, like he’s hoping she’ll ask him for something he can give.

He’s so close to her now. Maybe-

“Mmph-” He tastes like spice and alcohol, the sweat of his upper lip pressed to hers. He releases the pinch of fabric in his hands, the pin now fastened to her lapel. It hardly takes a second for his hands to find her jaw. His touch loosens the tension of her shoulders, sparks warm and firelit in her belly. She stays, lets the kiss grow sloppier until her tongue is pressing against his teeth.

They only stop because she needs a second to catch her breath, to watch him smile at her like she’s somehow surprised him.

“Why are you smiling?”

He doesn’t stop. “I’ll give you one guess, Josephine.”

She thinks better of a retort, lets her cheeks go red and leans forward again, a noisy kiss against his mouth.

A voice in the back of her head sounds a warning, something distorted, through the sound of the music and the smoky haze. The singer’s own shines through, the brassy big band music that always makes her think of him. There I go, leading with my heart again- She ought to head back to the hotel now, before the night calls for another bar, another drink or three, a bed. And there I go, acting not-so-smart again-

She stands, smooths her skirt, adjusts the soles of her feet inside her shoes. “One more spin?”

Something falls out of his eyes; he looks like he wants to argue with her, but he doesn’t. A few seconds before he answers. “Early morning?”

She nods, and it feels like the worst lie. Even though it isn’t, she’s got a briefing with the Ministry of Information tomorrow, and plans to meet another source for coffee. Probably more drinks, she thinks. It would hardly be the first time someone showed up for a meeting hungover.

But though it’s unwise, I can’t disguise my love-

Afterwards, they walk back out into the cold night, the smell of his aftershave still in her nose. He touches the flower at the back of her hair. “You got your last dance, can I get a last kiss?”

It surprises her, the forlorn note in her voice. “Where did I use the word last, Major?”

He sighs, or something like it. “Don’t have to, it’s written all over your face.”

Her fingertips find his lapels, the top of her head nuzzled under his chin. “I would hope I’m less readable than that.”

A laugh escapes him, though it’s hardly full of humor. “You’re really not.”

Like you, right? “A shitty pokerface, remember?”

“‘Cept this time it’s not about the coffee.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He doesn’t answer, leans down and kisses her and steadies her with his hands, what she imagines is her own lipstick tacky against the sides of her mouth. He doesn’t stop, and neither does she. His hand burrows between her coat and her dress, hugging her waist. She presses against it.

They should be walking, or ducked under an eave, not out here like this after dark. This corner.

Her back automatically straightens when they hear a bicyclist go past, a little huff from his lips and hers as she breaks away.

“I can still bring you back-” he says belatedly, “if-”

He’s offering her this. Maybe she can admit it to herself now, wanting it too much to refuse.

She shakes her head. “It’s alright, John.”

There’s something in his eyes at that, no Major, just John. “I’m glad.” His voice is heavy when he answers her. Low. His fingertips press against her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this damn dress all night.”

“The dress?”

He smiles, the scratch of his mustache against her cheek. “Alright, the zipper.” He laughs softly, what he imagines her face must look like in the dark, under the cloud-filled sky. “Just bein’ honest.”

Her mouth hovers at the corner of his jaw. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“What else do you expect?” Her chest feels like it’s full of butterflies, when he asks.

“That…you won’t stop talking.” She kisses the spot under his ear. “Please.”

He snorts. Maybe she’s imagining it, the slightest breathiness to his voice. “Now tell me what you really think of me, Josephine.”

Can I? she thinks. “Well, what do you expect?”

He pauses, considering. “That you’ll keep kissing me. Makin’ me blush.”

“I make you blush?”

“Like a tomato, Josephine. ‘Least it feels like it. One flash of those knees and-” She smacks him lightly across the lapel. “Hey.”

“I guess I told you not to stop talking.”

“Yes, you did. Now where was I-”

“My knees.”

“Right.”

A few more couples make their way outside, swirls of perfume and rum and sweat, almost bumping into them. She knows what she’s asking, now. “Maybe we should, uh-”

“Maybe you’re right.”

His hotel is closer, they’d walked by it on the way. She tries not to duck her head in the lobby. He kisses her on the landing of the stairs and again outside the door, forehead lingering against hers.

It’s a large room, larger than she expected, certainly not the little thing she and Kay share at the Highgate, the wallpaper peeling by the radiator. There’s not much of him here besides a bed that’s half-made, a garment bag by the front leg of the desk.

“It’s a nice room,” she says, trying to banish the wobble in her stomach.

He makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. “They know how to charge officers around here.”

“Still.” She reaches back to fidget with the clasp of her necklace. “I uh-”

“Something wrong?”

No. “It’s been-” She’s suddenly embarrassed, left ignorant as to how this is supposed to go. Not ignorant, just-

“Can I get you a drink? We could get something sent up.”

“No, thank you.” It’s probably too late, anyway. He takes off his jacket, drapes it over the back of the small chair at the desk. She takes a deep breath. “I suppose you should kiss me again.”

He smiles, deep and wolfish. “You suppose, huh?”

“Yes.” He does, lets her thread her fingers in his hair. “Suppose I should let you sit, too,” she says.

“However you want, sweetheart.”

She wants to slap herself for what comes out next. “Really?”

He looks at her like she’s a little bit crazy. His eyes are gleaming in the low light, dulled against the closed curtains. “You say jump, I say how high.”

She shakes her head before she can stop herself. Her voice is small, and wanting, and she feels suddenly like she’ll fall apart if he doesn’t keep holding her. “Please, just kiss me.”

Don’t make me think. Let me forget everything except you.

“Just say the word,” he says, but he’s already got his mouth on hers.

She’d stopped caring about her lipstick hours ago, and to hell with everything else now. She’s in his lap, here in a locked room, his hand high up her thigh and her own pressed on top of it.

Soon, her dress is around her hips, and he’s got his hands on the top of the zipper, stopping when it catches. He presses a sloppy kiss to her neck, the dip of her collarbone, exposed. She helps him open the rest of the dress, awkwardly, twisting an elbow. He stops, and looks at her with a hazy stare; two kisses, one above each breast, and one to St. Christopher between them. She undoes his tie, not quite an easy task when he’s lavishing kisses on her shoulders. Keeping his promise. She ought to, too. She presses her mouth to the freckles dotting his chest, and one for his crucifix, another for the medallion. Maybe, she thinks, they should use the rest of the bed.

“I’m glad I stopped by,” he says, quiet and rasping and a little bit breathless, his cheeks a shade of coral in the light.

“You found me,” she says, and it sounds like thank you.

He seems to consider this, his hands stilled under her dress. She can feel him, underneath her. It sends a rush of sparks through her chest, her stomach, her hips. “I did.”

“You did.”

I trust you, she wants to say. But she doesn’t, doesn’t know what to say next. Only brings a hand to his cheek, and his curls, only kisses him again.

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #rosies-riveters #i know there are typos in here i am SURE #my brain has been. an on fire garbage can for the past few weeks. i'm not entirely sure how this fill happened. but it did #and i'm very ! over them tbh #answered #jo's tag #motaverse #shoshi writes

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