#mota x oc
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Chapter 7: Lucky 25
John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)
Series Masterlist
A/N: please comment or reblog and tell us what you think!! thanks for reading!! <3
Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd
Word Count: 11k
Thursday, September 16th: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich: 1300 HRS: 1 PM
Hope’s back ached as she bent over her old Singer sewing machine, silk fabric sliding effortlessly as the needle punched thread through it. Silk was hard to come by with rationing, and there was no way, even with Hugh’s help, that she could afford a new wedding dress. Luckily for her, Frank had a knack for making things disappear from the storeroom on base and later making them reappear in the girls' hut.
Ruth hummed Artie Shaw out of tune from behind her as the blonde cut out more fabric from the pattern, laying the pieces of cloth over the tissue paper cutouts. Tatty and Helen hand-sewed small pieces of lace together, just some odd cuts they’d gotten from the local fabric shop.
The girls worked hard all afternoon, measuring, cutting, and sewing. The dress was coming along nicely, and with only three weeks to go until the big day, Hope was anxious to get it finished in time.
The Singer buzzed along nicely as three familiar heads poked around the nissen hut door.
“Knock, knock,” Hugh called out, stepping inside, his hands on his hips as he assessed the girl's work. Gale and John followed him closely.
“You guys can’t be in here,” Helen scolded.
“It’s bad luck to see the dress before the wedding, Cleven,” Tatty hissed, marching over to the men. “You better get going before…”
“My dear Tatty, don’t be so defensive, I merely come to offer my services,” Hugh bowed dramatically.
Hope snickered, all too aware of Hugh’s sewing skills, “I don’t think your skills are required here, Hugh. You’re not really one for a needle and thread.”
Hugh scrunched his face up at her just like he’d done since they were children, and before he could throw out any more ridiculous ideas, Gale stepped forward.
“I don’t want to cause trouble, I merely want to spend some time with my girl,” Gale smiled charmingly at Tatty who moved aside.
“No wonder Hope can never say no to you, Major. That damn smile.”
Gale made his way across the room just as Hope finished covering the dress with a sheet. “Hello darling,” he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” Hope stood up, pressing her lips against his again, smiling into his touch.
“Tatty, come on,” John all but whined, pointing into the hut while Tatty stood firm on the doorstep. “It’s me.”
“And that is exactly why I’m not letting you in. You’d get your grubby mitts all over the dress.”
“I wouldn’t dare! Please,” John clasped his hands together, looking rather sad and pathetic until Tatty sighed.
“Fine, but one step out of line, Major, and you’re out.”
John moved past Tatty towards Ruth who was still sitting on the floor, surrounded by a collection of differently shaped pieces of silk.
“Never knew you were such a seamstress,” he grinned, kissing her gently and enjoying the familiar blush that crept across her pale cheeks.
“Well, I’m a woman of many talents,” Ruth retorted, grinning up at the Major.
“That you are.”
“Hugh, put that fabric down now,” Hope hissed, moving away from Gale’s arms to scold her brother, smacking his arm until he released the precious fabric. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a hold of this?”
“It’s just some silk, I’m sure any white fabric would do,” Hugh replied nonchalantly, pushing the reeling of cotton across Helen’s desk and glancing awkwardly around the room as it fell to the floor.
Hope sighed, “Hugh, for once in your life, please just be serious and stop acting like a child. It’s for my wedding day. Please don’t mess this up for me.”
Hope loved her brother dearly, but sometimes it felt like she had to do all the work in their relationship.
Hugh nodded apologetically, “I will. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your big day, Little Bird.” Hope smiled at her childhood nickname, it had been a long time since he’d called her that. “But is there anything I can help with?”
“Yes, there is,” Helen grabbed ahold of Gale and John’s sleeves, marching them towards Hugh, “You can take these two and keep them out of trouble until this evening.”
“Oh, come on, we just got here,” John groaned, glancing at Ruth in the hope of some sympathy, but she just waved at him. Gale glanced around Helen, blowing a kiss in Hope’s direction before the three men descended from the hut.
“You ladies have fun now, we’ll see you later,” Hugh called out, slamming the door dramatically.
Helen turned back to the group, hurrying back to her spot beside Tatty, “I honestly don’t know how you’ve put up with Hugh for so long.”
“I didn’t have much choice,” Hope laughed, turning back to the sewing machine, “He’s my brother after all.”
A few moments passed until another knock sounded at the door, and Helen marched back over with a groan, slinging it open to reveal John leaning on the doorframe.
“What is it?”
He peered around the woman, his eyes falling on Ruth. “Can I get a kiss?”
“You just got one!” she giggled, rising to her feet and approaching the door. “You’re so needy.”
Helen moved out of the doorway, chuckling as Ruth rose on her tiptoes and quickly kissed John before pushing him out the door with a wink. “See you later, hotshot!”
As the door closed in his face, John couldn’t help but shake his head at Ruth, his heart racing at the mere sight of her. Buck clapped his shoulder and turned him toward the nearby mess hall where Hugh walked a few feet ahead of them. “You gonna tell her tonight?”
“If Dye gets back in one piece, I will,” Johnny nodded, scratching his mustache.
“He will.”
One Week Earlier: September 10: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base
The mess hall was unusually quiet as John and Gale sat eating their breakfast, having missed the morning rush by sleeping in an extra hour. They both laid awake the night before, their minds unable to shut off after the events of John’s party. Since they’d arrived, Bucky was silent, only speaking to thank the mess hall worker for his coffee.
Buck stared at him skeptically, taking in his slightly pursed lips and distant gaze that focused on the plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. “I can hear the gears turning from here, John. What is it?”
A few beats passed until he spoke up, his eyes remaining on his food. “Ruth.”
“Hmm,” Gale nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “What about her?”
“Everything…I can’t get her off my mind, Buck. I don’t know what’s going on.”
‘I do,’ the younger man thought.
John shook his head with a sigh, his brow creasing as his conflicted gaze lifted from the table. “I can’t explain it.”
Gale put down his coffee cup and smiled softly at his friend. “I can…you love her.”
“I don’t know, Buck.”
“What don’t you know?” he asked as his brows furrowed. Gale saw the deep thought behind the Major’s eyes and realized the confident and boisterous John Egan was nowhere in sight. This Bucky was unsure of himself, facing emotions he’d never felt before. Buck’s voice softened as he continued. “What do you know?”
John raised a questioning brow and Gale leaned his elbows onto the table. “How do you feel around her?”
“I don’t-” Bucky frustratedly groaned, sitting back into his seat. ”I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Just try.”
Every moment he shared with Ruth replayed like a film in John’s mind as he tried to find the words to describe the way he felt.
“When I think about her,” he finally began, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It just…It just does somethin’ to me, Buck, and can’t think straight.”
Gale listened intently, nodding along as John continued, his voice growing softer.
“And after last night, how she did all that for me? I’ve never met anyone like her.” His brow creased in thought as he struggled to find his next words. “She’s…she’s-”
“Everything,” Buck finished, Hope’s smiling face forming in his mind.
Gale’s words hung in the air for a few moments as the Majors thought of their beloved nurses.
Bucky nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the window where the morning sun filtered through the glass, lighting up the mess hall in a golden glow. He took a deep breath as he finally came to terms with what he was feeling.
John Egan was in love.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “She’s everything.”
A knowing grin painted Gale’s face as he repeated his earlier statement. “You love her.”
“That how you feel about Hope?”
“Yeah, it is.”
As Buck’s words settled over them, John felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It was as if hearing the words out loud made them easier to grasp, and he couldn’t deny it any longer…he was in love with Ruth Morgan.
But even as the realization settled in, Bucky couldn’t shake the uncertainty that lingered in the back of his mind. This was a new territory for him, uncharted skies that both excited and terrified him. He’d always prided himself on his wild heart, but now he found himself willingly surrendering to feelings he’d managed to avoid for so long.
“You know,” Gale began, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “You should tell her. It’s pretty clear she feels the same way.”
“We said we’d take it slow.”
Cleven pushed his plate aside and leaned further over the table. “So? When have you ever been one to follow the rules?”
Finally, John’s serious expression faded and he shook his head with a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And when have you ever encouraged me to break them?”
“Today,” he shrugged. “But only cause you need an extra shove.”
“Should I get used to this new Buck?”
“Don’t count on it,” Gale smirked as he sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee.
1900 HRS: 7 PM
The lively sound of Glenn Miller filled the Officer’s Club as the band brought the hall to life. Couples jitterbugged and lindy-hopped across the dance floor, and happy conversation filled the air, including loud cackles and laughter from a table in the bar section where Hope and Ruth sat with their Majors. They were reminiscing about their time in San Angelo, Texas, with the girls’ under their arms and Hugh to the right of his sister.
Buck took a sip of his ginger beer with a raised brow. “Isn’t that where you picked up that damned jacket?”
“Sure is,” John replied and sucked his teeth. “My pride and joy.”
“So that’s where you got it,” Ruth giggled, shaking her head.
“Well,” he shrugged, holding a hand up defensively. “It was being discontinued, so I had no choice.”
Sitting up in his chair across from them, Hugh let out something between a chuckle and a scoff. “It was a choice, alright.”
Hope’s eyes met Ruth’s at the comment, waiting for a snarky comeback from the Major, but the blonde just patted John’s chest consolingly before he could respond. “It was being discontinued for a reason, John. Have you seen that thing?”
“Thank you. It always looks dirty,” Gale interjected as he smirked at John. “Seems Ruth is on my side for this one, Bucky.”
A giggle escaped Ruth’s lips and she sheepishly looked up at Johnny to see him already staring down at her, a playful frown on his lips a few inches away. “Say it isn’t true, Ruthie.”
“Sorry, hotshot,” she laughed, her eyes unable to resist flicking to his mouth at their close proximity. “Buck’s right, hon, but know you’re still my favorite Major.”
John’s frown faded and his lips curled into a mischievous grin as her laughter filled the air, and to his surprise, she leaned up and kissed him softly. Ruth pulled away after a moment with bright pink cheeks. The taste of her drink lingered on Bucky’s lips as his gaze locked with hers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
His plans to finally tell her how he cared about her, how he loved her, flashed in the forefront of his mind. But even as he stared down at her smiling face and a wave of pure adoration washed over him, his stomach swirled with nervousness.
What if she thought it was too fast? Too soon? Too much?
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, John forced himself to look away and took a sip of his pint before turning to Hope and pointing at her across the table. “And whaddya think, Hope? About my jacket? It’s nice, right?”
The woman met Ruth’s lovesick eyes and chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen, but I prefer Gale’s.”
Gale smiled smugly, pressing his lips firmly to her forehead, “That’s my girl. Always knew you had good taste.”
“Well, of course, I do. I picked you didn’t I?” She grinned at him, leaning up to press her lips to his, smiling into the kiss.
“Well, that’s right. You sure a lady with a good eye,” Gale mused, nuzzling his nose into her neck.
“Gale,” she chuckled, feeling his breath tickling against her collarbone, while her fingers carded through his tousled, blond locks.
“Gaaaale,” John teased, dramatically drawing out the name with his eyes closed. “What kind of name is Gale, anyway?”
Hope’s eyes widened in amusement as Gale groaned beside her, having heard the joke a million times before. “Well, what kind of a name is Bucky?” she asked, tilting her head with a sarcastic grin. “Now Buck I can get because he’s a dashing young man, but Bucky? I don’t know…”
The group burst into laughter and John tried to send the woman a dirty look, but he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from curling into a smirk and joining in with them. Before long, he itched for a dance and stood to his feet, pulling Ruth toward the dance floor.
“I think it’s time for a dance, Ruthie.”
“Alright, I’m coming!” she giggled, sending Hope a wave as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides in her tight skirt.
The couple found themselves at the edge of the dancefloor, swaying hand in hand to the soft trumpet solo ringing through the hall. Ruth rested her head on John’s chest, calmed by the gentle thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear and his warmth as they danced.
She could’ve stayed there in that moment forever…just her and her hotshot…just her and the man she loved.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair, breaking the silence between them. “I know I told you earlier, but you do.”
Lifting her head from his chest, Ruth smiled sheepishly at him. “Thank you. I don’t normally wear my dress uniform, but-”
“Oh, I’m so glad you did.”
She raised an eyebrow and slid her hands around his neck. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded with a smirk, his eyes drifting down to her breast pocket area that proudly displayed her pair of wings and lieutenant’s bars. “I’m a sucker for a woman in uniform.”
“So I need to worry about the WACs?”
Bucky chuckled, tugging Ruth against him. “Don’t worry. You’ve got nothing to worry about, lieutenant.”
As the music swirled around them, John’s gaze softened as he looked into her deep blues. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers in a tender kiss. Ruth’s cheeks flushed pink as she returned it, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, melting into his embrace. She felt him smile against her lips and pulled back to get a good look at him.
“What are you smiling about, Major?” she joked.
Bucky wanted to say, ‘How much I love you,’ but anxiety churned in his stomach and he couldn’t go through with it.
“Just you.”
Rolling her eyes, Ruth pecked the corner of his lips before returning her head to its place on his chest. “I’m so happy for Gale and Hope.”
“Me too,” he replied, his eyes scanning the room for the couple. “Speaking of Buck…where is he?”
Ruth joined him looking for their friends, but she had no luck and wiggled her eyebrows at Bucky. “They’re probably having some alone time.”
He sent her a mischievous smirk, and she knew what he planned to do. “Leave ‘em be, Johnny,” she groaned, sighing as he pulled her along behind him toward the door. “Don’t bother them.”
“But it’s my job to bother Buck.”
Before Ruth could respond, he flung open the side door and stuck his head outside. By the wild grin on his face, she knew he’d found them. “Hey, Lovebirds! Hurry up, you're missing the party!”
“Five more minutes!” she heard Gale groan, and then John closed the door, a proud smirk hanging from his lips.
“You’re terrible.”
Bucky shot her a wink and led her back to their table, settling back into their seats as they saw Gale and Hope enter the hall and begin swaying slowly.
“Would you look at that?” John scoffed, sipping his pint and throwing an arm over the back of Ruth’s chair. “I’ve been trying to get Buck to dance for years and Hope did it in two months.”
The couple couldn’t help but watch their friends dance, both with lovesick smiles as they got lost in the song, spinning around the floor with a practiced grace that neither Ruth nor John expected.
Buck was good at dancing.
Their concentration on the couple was broken when yells echoed through the air. Following the sound, they saw Harry throw peanuts across the table into Hugh’s mouth, laughing hysterically as Hugh caught another one.
Ruth opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when Hope beat her to it.
“I leave you two alone for all of five minutes and you wreak havoc,” Hope tutted, patting Harry on the head like a small child. “If you choke on all those nuts Hugh, I swear…”
A giggle escaped the blonde’s lips at the comment and John chuckled beside her.
“Alright mother,” Hugh laughed, throwing one of the nuts at his sister.
Hope and Gale took their seats beside Harry, settling easily beside each other with Gale’s hand draping lazily around her shoulder. The six of them fell into easy conversation, and soon, the table became more crowded when Veal, Crank, Brady, Blakely, and a few other airmen joined the group. Laughter and wisps of cigarette smoke filled the air as the men and the two nurses unwound, enjoying the company of friends.
Ruth remained tucked under Bucky’s arm, listening to yet another story from training in the States. This one was about a failed exercise where several forts experienced ‘equipment malfunctions’ and ‘discrepancies’ that forced them to land in or near the hometowns of family and girlfriends.
Crank grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, the Hundredth almost got canned after that.”
“And I got demoted for the first time,” John chimed as he thought about just how many times he’d changed commands over his time with the 100th.
Eyes widening in surprise, Ruth playfully smacked his chest. “For the first time? I thought you getting demoted back to Squadron CO only happened once?”
“It would’ve been three times if LeMay would have found him or Buck that day he came to base,” Kidd added.
Nudging Buck with her shoulder, Hope smirked. “And what about you, Gale?”
Gale shrugged as he hid a smirk behind his glass of ginger beer. “I don’t know why LeMay thought both of us were responsible for the ‘raunchy discipline’ on base.”
“So you’re sayin’ it was just me?” John asked with an incredulous grin.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I mean,” Benny started, trying to hold in a laugh as he rubbed Meatball’s head affectionately. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Buck tear up a bar with a narwhal tusk.”
Laughter erupted like a sudden burst of fireworks around the table, echoing around the lively room and drowning out the music.
Narrowing his eyes at them, John pointed around the table. “Technically, none of you dodos saw any of that!”
“We didn’t have to. We saw the aftermath,” Brady called out through his chuckles.
After a few moments, the laughter died down, and the large group broke into smaller conversations.
Gale spoke quietly to Benny as Hope whispered with Hugh, and Ruth listened as Jack shared more stories of John’s escapades back in the States. Before long, the two majors went at it as they often did, but Ruth’s attention was drawn away by Hugh and Hope slinking away from the table and disappearing into the crowd.
‘This outta be good,’ she thought.
When the band slowly faded out, Ruth smirked, knowing what was most likely coming. She peered over at Gale, expecting him to be watching Hope, but he was engrossed in a conversation with Benny and didn’t seem to notice his fiancée’s absence from the seat beside him.
The band thrummed to life, music springing out across the room in a less-than-subtle fashion that had all heads turning toward the siblings. Then Gale’s eyes found Hope’s across the room and he did a double take, glancing back at her empty chair in confusion.
Ruth pointed at siblings, a wide smile painting her face as she whispered in John’s ear. “This is gonna be interesting. They both can sing.”
“Sparky? No way,” he griped with a grimace. “No way he’s got better pipes than me.”
Giggling, she patted his cheek lightly and turned back to the stage. “Just wait and see, hon.”
Hugh took his place in front of the microphone, encouraging Hope to do the same as he pressed his lips near the cool metal grille. The conductor gave them the queue, and she took a deep breath before singing into the microphone.
“One of our planes was missing, two hours overdue.
Yes, one of our planes was missing with all its gallant crew,
The radio sets were hummin', they waited for the word,
Then a voice broke through that hummin',
And this is what they heard!”
The song, rather aptly chosen by Hugh for Dye’s 25th mission, began to flow easily. Hugh joined in, belting out,
“Comin' in on a wing and a prayer!”
The second Hugh’s voice rang through the speakers, the skeptical smirk on John’s lips fell, and he raised a brow at Ruth, who just rolled her eyes at his reaction.
“I told you he was good.”
“I never said he was good,” he defended.
The corners of the blonde’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “You didn’t have to.”
Around them, some of the crowd began to join in, all looking at Dye whose cheeks were growing redder by the minute as he stood beside Lil, trying to shield his face.
“What a show (What a show),
What a fight (What a fight).”
The instrumental section began to play, and the couple watched as Hugh took Hope’s arm and spun her around in quick concession. A wide grin spread on Ruth’s face that matched her best friend’s on stage.
With her eyes glued on Hope, Ruth started to sing along. Her voice was slightly off-key, but she didn’t care, continuing to sing quietly where only John could hear. The man couldn’t look away from her smiling face as she sang. His gaze wandered over her face with a gentle intensity, watching how her lips moved, the slight quirk of her smile adding to her already breathtaking look.
“Yes, we really hit our target for tonight,
How we’ll sing as we limp through the air,
Look below, there’s a field over there.”
Ruth’s eyes flickered over to John and caught his gaze. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and she noticed the same vulnerable glint in his eyes as the night he told her of his past. She offered him a questioning look, silently asking what was on his mind.
Johnny’s mind raced as his lips parted slightly. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he sent her a small, reassuring smile and barely shook his head as if to say, ‘nothing.’
There was something in his eyes that Ruth couldn’t quite put it into words, but it made her heart flutter nonetheless. With a soft nod, she turned her attention back to the stage, her hand reaching for John’s beneath the table, intertwining their fingers gently.
The Major’s heart sank as Ruth turned away, his own hand squeezing hers softly in response. He cursed himself silently for his inability to tell her how he felt, and frustration bubbled up within him.
How many more opportunities would he let slip away without telling her the truth?
“With our full crew aboard,
And our trust in the Lord,
Comin’ in on a wing and a prayer.”
As the song came to a close, Hugh wrapped his arms around his sister, squeezing her hard before grasping her hand and pulling her down from the stage. Hope hopped down the best she could, ignoring the small ripping noise from her skirt that would surely be a problem later. Hugh had a little skip in his step as they made their way back to the table.
Hugh threw himself down into his chair, downing the last of his whiskey, while Hope took her seat beside Gale, his face still in awe and his lips turned upwards into the largest smile.
“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” He mumbled softly, kissing her cheek, letting the rough stubble on his chin graze against Hope’s cheek.
She squirmed, laughing lightly, “Oh only about every hour that I’m on base and in every letter.”
“Good,” he mused, kissing her cheek once more, “Because you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met…” Gale was broken off by Bucky’s loud declaration.
“What the hell was that, Sparky?” John asked with a mischievous grin, his eyebrows raised at Hugh.
Scoffing as he settled into his chair, the lieutenant rolled his eyes. “I sounded a helluva lot better than you ever have…Isn’t that right, Croz?”
Harry’s expression dropped, his eyes widening nervously as he darted glances between Hugh and his Squadron CO, who sported a smirk and an eyebrow raised expectantly. “Uhhhhh…”
Ruth was in the middle of sipping her when the comment left Hugh’s lips, and she choked on the liquid, her hand flying to cover her mouth as she coughed, trying to regain her composure. Immediately, John’s hand on her chair moved to rub her back as he ducked to check on her, the rest of the table turning their attention to the pair. Before he could speak, she waved him off with a sheepish smile, finally managing to swallow.
“Sorry about that,” she rasped, wiping at her eyes. “I’m alright…please continue.”
Looking around the group, Ruth met Hope’s concerned gaze and sent her a teary grin, her pale face splotchy as she caught her breath.
“Where was I?”
Bubbles chuckled under his breath before sending Hugh a smirk. “You were complimenting Bucky’s singing abilities.”
“Right! I-”
“Everyone look here!”
A flash of light momentarily blinded the group as Captain John Schwarz, the 100th’s photographer, stepped forward with his camera in hand.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get a good one!” he called out cheerfully, adjusting the settings on his camera.
The group quickly turned toward him, and Ruth managed to put on a bright smile for the photo despite still trying to clear her throat. They all posed in their seats, and John’s arm draped casually over the blonde’s chair, her hand resting on his knee as she leaned into him.
With the click of the camera, the Captain took the picture, but before he could step back, John called out to him with a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, Schwarz. Mind getting a picture of just the two of us?”
He nodded enthusiastically, adjusting the camera to focus on the couple. Bucky flashed a charming smile as he reached over and gently tugged Ruth from her chair into his lap.
“Hey!” she protested playfully, her cheeks flushing pink as John wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.
Ruth giggled as Johnny leaned in, his cheek pressing against hers as they posed for the picture. Despite her initial protest, she found herself melting into his embrace. The photographer chuckled at their antics, capturing the moment with a few clicks of his camera. She glanced up at the Major just as Schwarz lowered his camera, and Bucky planted a soft kiss on her lips.
The table erupted into a chorus of whistles and hoots, their friends cheering them on as they kissed. Ruth laughed against John’s lips, feeling a rush of happiness and warmth enveloping her. Pulling back slightly, John gazed into her blue eyes, his own filled with pure adoration as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink.
“Alright, lovebirds. That’s enough,” Gale grinned, repeating Bucky’s words from a few minutes before.
Schwarz moved around the table, snapping a photo of Demarco and Meatball, Hugh with poor Harry in a headlock, until he moved around to Hope and Gale. Buck stood up, leading Hope slightly away from the table, and wrapping his arms around her from behind kissing her temple. Hope grinned widely at the photographer who snapped the picture with his own smile.
Hugh appeared beside the Captain, mumbling something under his breath before moving over to the couple.
“Could I please borrow my sister, Cleven?”
Gale looked a little forlorn as he released Hope from his embrace, stepping back towards the table. Hugh pulled his sister into his side, a bright smile on his lips as Schwarz took the photo.
Back at the table, Hope slipped into her seat beside Gale, his arm draping over her shoulder as they got comfortable. Ruth sent her a bright smile from her position on John’s lap, and soon the group’s conversation picked back up, laughter filling the air once more. This continued for a little while longer, but when Dye made his way over with Lil under his arm, there was a shift in the air.
It was almost unnoticeable at first.
Ruth chuckled under her breath, watching John take a drag of his cigarette across the table and point to Dye as he neared the group. “There’s our very own Charlie Robertson!”
She’d moved back to her own chair when he got up to get her another ginger beer. Ruth learned her lesson with alcohol after waking up with a raging migraine the morning following John’s birthday party.
“Charlie? Who’s Charlie?” Lil asked, trailing behind Glen and smiling at John as she passed him on his way back to Ruth.
“Not me,” Hugh snickered, sipping his whiskey with a grimace. The British liquor was nothing compared to the ‘good ole American stuff,’ as he called it. In his footlocker sat an unopened bottle of VAT-69 he was saving for his own 25th mission.
No one else thought anything was wrong with the alcohol, but Hugh just had his particular taste and he stuck to that.
“1922. White Sox at Tigers. No runs, no hits, no errors,” John answered, his hand gesturing in the air with each word before sinking into the chair beside Ruth. He kissed her on the cheek quickly, scooting his seat closer to her until their shoulders touched and she wrapped her arm around his bicep, whispering into his ear.
“He threw the last perfect game, right?”
“Sure did,” he grinned, shooting her a wink. “Way to go, Slugger.”
Benny nodded from beside Hope and Gale, not having heard the blonde. “Yeah, he’s the last guy to throw a perfect game.”
“Til’ now!”
“You get to go home before Florida?” Jack asked, but the conversation soon Ruth faded as she turned her gaze to John with a fond smile. She traced the outline of his face, her eyes trailing over the dark pink scars from Regensburg, the slope of his nose, his mustache, and the natural pout of his lips…the soft lips she’d kissed dozens of times. The warmth of his touch seeped through her uniform, and a feeling of contentment washed over her.
Over the last week, the couple exchanged multiple letters corresponding about the party and how each was doing, but John mainly raved about how much he liked his birthday present.
‘Doll, I think I’m hooked…’ John wrote two days after the party.
She was broken from her inner dialogue when the toothy grin on John’s face suddenly fell, and Ruth’s heart jolted in concern as she became aware of the hush that fell over the group
“We’re all that’s left, aren’t we?”
At Glen’s question, her eyes quickly scanned those around them and found that all the airmen shared the same pained and exhausted look. Curt’s smiling face flashed in her mind…a reminder of the sacrifices of the heroes from the 100th.
Hope’s wandering eyes met Ruth’s across the table, and she sent her a weary frown at the way the lively men quieted, each lost in their thoughts.
Blakely spoke first, breaking the silence that fell over the group “12 crews out of-”
“35 that flew in from Greenland,” Crank finished.
With his lips in a tight line, Bucky nodded solemnly. “That’s right.”
Ruth reached out, her free hand finding John’s atop his chair’s armrest, squeezing it gently. He didn’t meet her gaze, but she felt him deflate slightly beside her just before Gale began to speak.
“We’re just happy for you, Dye.”
“That’s right. We are,” John added, his voice deepening as he raised his glass. “Very happy for you. Very happy.”
Glen held out his drink to the group. “And to all the fellas that aren’t here tonight, who should’ve been.”
The table broke out into quiet mumbles of agreement as they all lifted their glasses in a toast before tipping them back. Ruth’s ginger beer fizzed as it traveled down her throat, and beside her, John downed the rest of the amber liquid in his glass, unfazed. She watched him stare at the tabletop in front of them for a few seconds until Dye’s voice filled the air.
“Gentlemen…and ladies, I’m gonna go check on the boys, make sure they aren’t celebrating too hard without me.”
As he walked away with Lil tugged against his side, John’s eyes followed them and he pointed in their direction, muttering, “Charlie Robertson,” under his breath.
The jovial atmosphere from before shattered as the group remained quiet despite the raging party around them. And to think…John’s day had started off so well, had gone off without a hitch until that very moment.
He got to see Ruth, and Dye made it back from his 25th Mission, but as Bucky leaned back in his chair, he couldn’t help but be bothered by all the new faces and the lack of old ones.
Even Ruth’s presence beside him wasn’t enough to quell the rising anger and frustration that swirled in his stomach when he thought of the numbers.
Out of 35 crews that flew in from Greenland, only 12 remained.
120 men out of 350…230 gone in the matter of a few months.
‘Will we all just be another number? Another crew marked off the list until replacements come and fill the huts like we never existed in the first place?’
These questions floated in his mind while his gaze stayed on the empty glass in front of him. “I’m, uh, gonna get another drink. I’ll be back,” he announced quickly, rising from his chair and turning toward the bar. Ruth’s anxious eyes followed him before she glanced back at Hope.
Buck watched him go with a pang of concern and kissed Hope on the temple, promising his return before he got up and followed after his friend. The women shared a knowing look as they watched the men they loved disappear into the crowd. Seemingly following their Majors, the rest of the men got up and trailed after them a few minutes later, leaving Hope and Ruth alone at the table.
“I’m worried,” Ruth muttered, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “What happens if John or Gale don’t make it back one-”
Hope cut her off quickly and moved to sit beside her. “Hey. They’re going to be fine, Rue. Before long, we’re gonna be celebrating their 25th mission, alright?”
“Alright,” she whispered as her gaze fell to the table.
The dance floor cleared over the next few minutes, and just a few couples remained dancing. In the middle of the floor was Helen, wrapped up in the arms of an airman they’d never seen before. Wide grins grew on their faces as they watched her place a few kisses against the dark-headed stranger’s jawline. Over his shoulder, Helen’s eyes wandered to the two women sitting alone, and Ruth smiled, giving her a thumbs up as Hope winked at her.
Feeling someone’s gaze on her, Hope scanned the room, meeting the familiar but concerned blues of Gale across the room from where he leaned against the bar beside John. They talked to yet another new airman the girls had never met, but even she could see the grimace on Bucky’s face as he leaned closer to the man, gesturing his hands out.
She glanced over at Ruth who thankfully was too busy tidying up the mess the men left before returning her eyes to her fiancée. In the few seconds she’d looked away, the replacement airman disappeared, and the two Majors stood alone.
“Come on, Rue. Let’s rejoin the party, shall we?” Hope asked, rising to her feet and offering Ruth her hand with a forced smile.
She knew something was up with John. She could tell by Gale’s body language alone.
The blonde took her hand, allowing Hope to lead them towards the men. But just as they passed Helen and the dancing soldier, Colonel Harding and Major Bowman stepped through the doors and sauntered over the bar, a fat cigar hanging from Chick’s lips.
“My boys!”
Not wanting to interrupt, the women stood on the outskirts of the group, moving to stand beside Tatty, even though both Buck and Johnny sent them a questioning look. Ruth scanned Bucky’s face, but her smile fell when she immediately noticed the line between his brows and the muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Listen up! I just had a mood-killing conversation with Doc Stover. He thinks you sissies could be getting flack happy.”
“No, not us, sir,” the airmen chorused.
“I told him war is war. The longer you go at it, the more it screws a man up. And it’s been that way since the first caveman son of a bitch picked up a club and went after the other. Did cavemen go for head-shrinking?”
As the men shook their heads, Ruth and Hope shared a wary glance.
Where was this going?
“No! Damn sure not! What counts is that you soldiers show up ready and able to fight. What you do between battles…” Harding trailed off with a chuckle, smirking as he took a drag of his cigar.
Hope watched as Buck remained stoic, no reaction on his face, but John looked over at Ruth, sending her a wink. “I like your style, sir!”
For the first time, Bucky’s wink didn’t make her heart skip a beat…it made it drop into her stomach. His grin was so clearly forced that her mind went haywire, and he was the only thing she could focus on. Sensing the blonde finally picked up on John’s demeanor, Hope silently intertwined their hands, squeezing Ruth’s reassuringly.
Red broke his silence, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. “Aerial combat like this hasn’t been around since the caveman, sir.”
“Of course not, Red. Every war has its novelties,” Harding dismissed the Major, turning to look at the dance hall. A few seconds later, his demeanor changed, and his voice grew serious. “Who the hell decorated this fiesta?”
Everyone looked around the group before Jack hesitantly spoke. “I put together a committee, sir.”
Craning their heads to see around the Colonel, the women confusedly searched the hall for what he possibly could be upset about, but had no such luck.
“The damned plane looks like it’s in a nosedive.”
The sound of chuckles filled the air as John grinned over at Ruth. “Fire ‘em. Fire the committee…Ruth can decorate next time.”
She did her best to smile back at him, but it was just as forced as the grin on his lips.
“I won’t bother next time,” Kidd muttered.
Harding seemed to move on and faced the men again, waving them all closer. “Come on, get in. Come here. Got something to tell ‘ya.”
Hope and Ruth stepped forward, watching the Colonel over Tatty’s shoulder, their eyes moving between their Majors and the CO.
“You know how we could end this whole thing tonight?” Chick asked, his face scrunched into a half-grimace as he leaned into the group. “We fill up one of our forts with as many 500-pounders as she can hold, we bomb the hell out of Hitler’s hidey-hole.”
The grin on Johnny’s face fell, and he tilted his face to the floor with slightly pursed lips for a moment before returning his gaze to Harding. His forced smiles and strained banter only added to the underlying tension in the room. Ruth’s fingers tightened around Hope’s hand, seeking reassurance as Chick continued.
“I’m sure Red and Bubbles could locate that mustachioed little fucker.”
Bubbles grinned proudly. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, now who’s flack happy?”
The second the words left John’s mouth, Ruth’s heart plummeted, and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She held her breath waiting for what would happen next.
What happened in the last few minutes to change his attitude completely?
All the officer’s went silent, shooting each other worried looks while Bucky and Harding stared at each other.
“Who?”
“You are,” John nodded, his expression bearing no trace of any amusement.
Harding smirked, “You are.”
“No, you are,” Egan leaned forward, thwacking Harding’s chest with his hand. “Sir.”
The next few seconds seemed to stretch on for hours as the atmosphere became even more tense, the room seeming to hold its breath. Gale quickly glanced over at Hope, his eyes filled with concern, much like the rest of the officers. The blonde beside her didn’t notice Buck, unable to tear her eyes away from John, who looked like he was teetering on the edge of an outburst.
The Major and the Colonel stared at each other until a smirk broke out on Chick’s face and he chuckled, the rest of the group following suit when the tension eased.
“Mmm, Single fillies. Come on, boys. Let’s get the lead out!” Harding smirked, taking a drag from his cigar, and left the party with Red trailing behind him.
The officers dispersed out onto the dance floor, leaving John, Gale, Hope, Ruth, and Benny at the bar.
Gale turned to catch Hope’s eye, his face saying ‘hold on while I talk to him’. Hope nodded in agreement, catching Ruth’s arm and leading her away from their men.
“What about John?” Ruth looked hastily over her shoulder for him, meeting his conflicted eyes momentarily, but Hope pulled her on.
“Gale’s going to talk to him, it’ll be okay. They’ve been through a lot, remember? It’s bound to catch up with them all at some point, and we just need to be here to help them if they fall.” Hope led her back to the table, sitting her down and placing the glass of ginger beer in front of her.
Hope hated watching Ruth’s worried eyes keep darting back toward the boys, but she knew that her own eyes kept drifting back to Gale’s. If this evening had taught her anything, it was that life was more precious than they could ever realize, and each moment should be cherished.
They needed a distraction from their anxieties, and Hope blurted the first story that came to mind.
“Do you remember that day when you were new to the Grove and you walked in on Frank naked?”
The blonde’s cheeks immediately heated up as she buried her head in her hands, “How could I forget? I’d only known the man for three days.”
Hope laughed too, “Well, it could be worse. On my first day on base, he nearly ran me over with a jeep. That was before he realized I was on his plane. He bought me a beer that same evening to apologize.”
Ruth laughed, imagining a younger Hope giving Frank hell for trying to run her down.
“We had a medical technician on our plane with us back then. Joseph was his name. He was a right pretty boy…thought he was the bee's knees but I soon told him otherwise.”
Ruth chuckled, knowing Hope probably gave the poor boy hell. It was strange thinking back to when they first came to the Grove, the airbase that had quickly become their home and safe haven.
“It seems like a lifetime ago that I met you, Hope. I thought you hated me at first.”
“Oh, I didn’t hate you…I just thought you weren’t going to make it,” Hope replied honestly, feeling slightly guilty about how she’d misjudged her best friend. “You soon proved me wrong though, Rue. You’re a good nurse.”
Hope looked up as Gale approached them, smiling brightly at her while John still stood near the bar still looking quite somber. Ruth stood up, quickly excusing herself as she made her way over to the bar, resting her hand against John’s arm.
“Hey,” she whispered, her blue eyes filled with worry. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
He nodded, allowing her to take his hand and tug him to the door.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she finally asked when they excited the club into the English night, her voice soft with concern.
John pursed his lips and a flicker of hesitation crossed his features before he shrugged. “Nothing. What do you mean?”
“John,” Ruth urged, her voice hardening as she gave him the look that always made her students squirm in their seats.
And her tone…it was only used when dealing with problem students, the ones who lied directly to her face when she already knew the truth.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “I’m fine.”
“What was that, then?” Ruth pressed, refusing to let it go. She needed to know exactly what was wrong…needed to help him in whatever way she could.
But how could he tell her the truth?
He could go down the next day and it would be like he never was there in the first place. Gone like the 230 men they’d lost.
How was he supposed to tell the woman he loved that she could lose him in the blink of an eye?
That he could lose her just the same?
That he couldn’t write another life-shattering letter to a boy’s family?
His nervousness to confess his feelings was replaced with guilt, anger, and frustration that compounded in his chest, creating a volatile mixture that was bound to explode.
“Nothing,” he insisted, his tone growing defensive. “Like I said.”
“Please don’t lie to me,” Ruth pleaded as she grasped his hand, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know-”
The flood he’d been trying to hold back finally broke, and his voice raised just a fraction as he pulled his hand from hers. “Damn it, Ruth. I said I’m fine!”
The sharpness of his tone caught the woman off guard, and she recoiled slightly, blinking furiously to hold back the tears threatened to fill her eyes. “I’m just trying to help,” she whispered.
Without another word, she turned and walked back into the dance, leaving Bucky standing there in the chilly night. His hands moved to his hips as his chest heaved, the anger slowly leaving his body and morphing into guilt as his mind replayed her baby blues shining with tears and the tremble in her voice.
He was supposed to be a better man, someone worthy of her, and what did he do at the first chance?
Despite the mix of emotions within him, Johnny knew she was only trying to help, only trying to be there for him, and he’d raised his voice at her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before following after her, his heart pounding in his chest.
Pushing open the door and stepping inside, the sounds of the party filled Bucky’s ears, but for once, he couldn’t bring himself to care that the band played ‘Blue Skies’. His eyes scanned the bustling club and caught a glimpse of her blonde hair disappearing into the women’s bathroom.
John hesitated where he stood in the middle of the club, lost and unsure of what to do next. He knew he needed to talk to her, to make things right, but he also didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. Frustratingly running a hand over his mouth, he caught sight of Gale on the dance floor where he swayed slowly with Hope. Buck’s brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced in the direction Ruth had gone over Hope’s shoulder. With a nod of his head, he silently urged Johnny to go after her.
It was the push that he needed to make a decision.
Swallowing thickly, he approached the bathroom door and knocked, his knuckles rapping against the wood gently. “Ruthie, can I come in?”
His heart sank when he heard sniffles from inside.
“Please,” John murmured softly, his voice barely audible through the door.
A few seconds ticked by and he was about to ask again when the door clicked open, giving him a view of her reddened and splotchy face. Ruth backed up, allowing him to slowly push in the door. She stood before him with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, barely meeting his gaze as her eyes remained on the floor. John silently stepped into the room and closed the door behind him gently, muffling the sounds of the party outside.
They stood there silently for a few moments until Ruth finally looked up at him, quickly wiping a tear from her cheek as she chewed on her bottom lip.
“Come here,” he mumbled, pulling her softly into his chest, running a hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry, doll. So sorry.”
Ruth stiffened for a moment before relaxing against him, burying her face into his chest.
“I’m not mad at you. I just,” he sighed against her hair. “I hate myself for making you upset. I know you’re just trying to help me.”
She lifted her head from his chest and broke her silence, her voice wavering. “Then talk to me.”
John stared at her for a moment, running his fingers through her hair gently as he thought of a way to explain what he felt…the weight he felt on his shoulders. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Ruth,” he muttered, his face tilting to the ground.
“I don’t care,” the nurse answered quietly, reaching up and gently lifting his face to meet her teary gaze. "Just…just please don’t shut me out.”
For a moment, they stood there in silence as Bucky nodded to himself with his lips pulled into a tight line. When he finally found the words, his voice was barely audible as he fought to keep his composure.
“You heard Crank earlier. We’ve lost so many boys, and I-,” he cleared his throat, looking over her shoulder at the wall while fighting the burning sensation in his eyes. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”
Ruth’s heart broke at his confession, and she cupped his cheeks and pulled him down to her, their foreheads pressing together.
“John, you are going to get through this. We are going to get through this,” Ruth whispered. “I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere. You can talk to me, alright?”
He released a shuddering breath against her face, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as he savored the feeling of her warm touch. The three words he’d been meaning to say all night danced on the tip of his tongue but refused to pour from his lips.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I-”
“You didn’t have to do anything,” she interrupted, her thumb caressing his cheekbone lightly. “I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you. You make me so happy, Johnny.”
Bucky raised his hand to cover her much smaller one on his cheek as he sent her a soft smile. “I should be the one thanking you. You…you mean everything to me, Ruth. Everything. And I’m so sorry for talking to you like-”
“Just kiss me,” she whispered, her eyes flicking to his lips.
John immediately obeyed, tilting his head to connect their lips softly, their worries fading away as they lost themselves in each other. Ruth’s hands slid from his face to the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss with an eagerness he’d never seen from her before. He fought against every instinct in him urging him to take things farther, but she deserved more than that…they both did.
As they pulled away from the kiss, they remained wrapped in the other’s arms, their breaths mingling in the air between them. John’s gaze softened as he looked into Ruth’s eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He noticed the remnants of tears still clinging to her lashes, her eyes red and puffy, and his hand raised to brush her hair behind her ear.
“I’m getting a weekend pass to London,” he said breathlessly, nervously peering down at her. “Come with me.”
Ruth grinned and pecked his lips again softly. “I’d want nothing more.”
In that moment, with Ruth in his arms, John Egan vowed London would be the place…would be the time he’d confess his love for her.
How he couldn’t imagine life without her.
London…it would be the place that everything changed.
Monday, September 20th: AAF Grove, Berkshire: 0700 HRS: 7 AM
Hope let out a long sigh as the C-47’s wheels left the runway in one swoop, rising above the airstrip and leaving the base far below them as they climbed into the clouds. Frank talked quietly to Bill in the cockpit, and both girls couldn’t help but smile at their pilot's antics. He was a good pilot, but as a mentor, he was a hard task-master, and Bill was being put through his paces. Ruth pulled John’s latest letter from her pocket, rereading his words with a small smile.
September 17th
My Ruth,
Hey, slugger. I hope you’ve had a good few days. Have your runs been okay? Has Frank been nice to you? You know I won’t hesitate to rough him up if not.
I have been unable to keep my mind off of you…as usual. Schwarz developed the pictures from the party yesterday, and I’ve found myself staring at our photo for longer than I’d like to admit. You’re just so beautiful…the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…have I told you that?
Schwarz also gave each Buck and Hugh individual pictures of them with Hope. I’m pretty sure Buck is sending copies of the letter he’s writing from his bunk. You’ll find one of us in this envelope, as well. I’m sure you’ll love it just as much as I do. I keep my copy in my breast pocket, next to my heart so you’ll be with me everywhere I go. When I start to spiral, I just look at you and your smiling face, and I remember what all this is for.
Every day I ask myself how I got so lucky that you landed on my base out of the hundreds scattered around England, and after months of wondering, I still have no explanation.
All I know is that I kiss the lucky cross around my neck every time I leave and come back from a mission, thanking Mrs. Virginia Morgan that I made it back to the ground…back to you.
I still can’t believe you wouldn’t take it back, Ruthie, but I promise to keep it safe until you’re ready to.
I can’t wait to take you to London, doll. Did your CO approve your leave? I can try to pull some strings if she doesn’t. Maybe I could give her a call and use my charm to convince her? What do you think?
Stay safe up there for me, alright?
Yours Completely,
John Egan
P.S. The Yankees swept the Athletics in their series, keeping their 9-game win streak alive. We’ve got the American League in the bag! What do I always say? The Yankees always end on top! Remember that, doll. You’ll be hearing it a lot after we win the World Series next month.
Both women received letters from their Majors late the night before and immediately wrote their responses, promising to send them the following morning. But when they were called up for a run before dawn, both dashed to the post room before hurrying back to ‘The Angel.’
“So how is the hotshot then?” Hope asked with a grin, amused by Ruth’s embarrassed expression, her pale cheeks blushing deeply.
“How do you know I call him that?” Ruth asked curiously, but Hope just shook her head with a chuckle.
“Ruth, you've read his letters out loud enough times when I’m around that I’ve basically read them myself.” The blonde nodded slowly, half listening to Hope and the other half of her too engrossed in John’s words as she reread them again. After a few moments, she looked up from the letter.
“I wrote to my parents about John the other day,” Ruth called out over the engine’s whine, a fond smile on her lips.
“Oh yeah?”
The blonde nodded. “Yeah.”
“What all did you tell them?” Hope asked with a raised brow.
Ruth’s innocent smile turned into a mischievous smirk as she chuckled to herself. “Well, my Mama always reads the letters, so I wrote the basics for her to tell my Dad and Jamie, but gave her all the details.”
“John’s right,” she laughed. “You are a sneaky woman.”
Shrugging, Ruth pulled out the picture he sent from her pocket, her heart fluttering as she studied it, tracing the lines of John’s face on the small photo. She was glad to finally have a piece of Johnny to carry around with her, being able to whip it out whenever she missed him or just wanted to see his handsome face.
The plane rocked from side to side as they gained altitude, and the large metal bird flew ‘through the ‘gate’ as Frank liked to call it as she moved to full throttle, soaring up into the clouds.
“Stop being a clot,” Frank hissed to Bill, flicking a few switches in the cockpit with a long sigh, “You know what you’re doing kid, but shit, try using your head sometimes okay?”
“Yes Sir,” Bill nodded shyly, turning his attention back to the plane's control panel. The girls smiled at each other, listening to the two men bickering in the cockpit
“Where do you think the boys are right now?” Ruth asked, looking up nervously at Hope. She always worried when she thought of where their men could be. The thought of them in harm's way made her sick to the stomach.
Were they flying like girls were? Were they in danger?
Hope slouched in her seat as the plane leveled out, “I don’t know, Rue. I’d like to think that they’re at Thorpe Abbotts. Hugh’s probably getting into some sort of trouble or terrorizing poor Harry Crosby. John is probably having some coffee with his whiskey about now at breakfast.” This caused Ruth to laugh lightly at the thought of John’s usual morning routine.
“What about Gale?”
Hope took a little longer to reply this time. “I think Gale would… well I don’t know. He’s probably either eating breakfast with John, walking Meatball, or he’s with his baby.”
“His baby?” Ruth sputtered, cocking her head and looking at her friend for the answer.
“His Fort, ‘Our Baby’,” Hope laughed, watching as Ruth nodded, understanding the men’s attachment to their Forts. She guessed they all felt the same way about their own plane, although Ruth thought if she never had to fly again it would be a blessing.
The pair soon fell into silence, both organizing their mussette bags for the hundredth time, as if they hadn’t checked all their supplies pre-flight. Hope moved up to the cockpit to check in with the pilots while Ruth moved along the racks of supplies, laying out fresh blankets on each cot, humming an Artie Shaw song to herself as she went.
“How’s it going up here, boys?” Hope leant over Frank’s shoulder, watching as the cloudy sky unfolded before them.
“Can’t complain,” Frank replied plainly. “I think Billy Boy here is getting the hang of things at last.” The young pilot grinned at the compliment and Hope couldn’t help the sense of pride that filled her chest. They’d had several copilots training with Frank, but Bill was definitely the girl's favorite.
Looking back out the window, Hope pointed towards the dark clouds erupting ahead of them.
“Hey Frank, what’s that up ahead? That’s not what I think it is…right?”
“That, my dear Hope, is flak fire,” he said regretfully. “Looks like we’re heading to the movies. I suggest you girls grab a seat…Ruth may want a blindfold for this next part.”
Hope swallowed, nodding quickly before rushing back to her seat. Bill talked quickly to Frank in the cockpit but remained calm, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t been through before.
Ruth’s fearful eyes widened as Hope explained what Frank had told her before swiftly strapping herself into her seat. Her mind raced at all the terrible outcomes that could occur.
What happens if they go down?
What would happen if they just blew up over Germany?
She tried to put on a brave face but she knew Hope would see right through it, she always did.
The plane swerved as flak erupted around them, swooping and diving as the black clouds and wuffs from the Ack-Acks flew wildly around them. Hope and Ruth were thrown around in their seats as the plane swerved, flack bursts shaking the bird. They were very grateful that they always secured all their supplies and stretchers down pre-flight.
Hope’s fingers dug into the metal seat and her eyes closed as her stomach flipped in circles with each turn. She’d not had any issues with her motion sickness since her training, but the urge to vomit up her breakfast only grew as the bile rose in the back of her throat.
Ruth opposite from her was as white as a sheet, her already pale face now the color of a corpse with her lips set in a thin worried line. Her teeth clenched tightly together and her eyes squeezed shut as flack pierced through the plane's fuselage above her head.
“Shit!” Ruth shrieked, covering her head with her hands.
“You okay, Rue?” Hope shouted over the noise of the war around them. A glossy-eyed and panting Ruth only nodded quickly in response.
Bullets ripped through the riveted sheets of the fuselage with a series of metallic pings, piercing through easily and sending metal flying into the cabin like confetti. With the chaos surrounding them, Ruth barely noticed when a piece of shrapnel flew past her face, just grazing her temple. Flak fire continued to blast in the air surrounding the skytrain and the noise was deafening to everyone inside.
How could anyone think strategically in these conditions?
“OH FUCK!” Frank’s voice shouted from the cockpit as he leaned over to Bill, “Stay with me, kid.” Bill’s lifeless body lay wide-eyed staring straight ahead, his young face frozen, expressionless. “DAMMIT!”
“What’s wrong, Frank?” Hope called out as she unbuckled herself and stumbled from her seat, edging her way towards him.
Ruth’s eyes widened. “Hope! What are you doing?!”
She simply sent her a worried glance, seeing the blood trickling down Ruth’s cheek before disappearing from view, and the blonde stared at her in disbelief. When another burst sent burning hot metal through the plane’s fuselage around her, Ruth’s eyes clenched shut, her head bowing as she mumbled a prayer for them, her hand instinctively reaching up for her usual comfort… her necklace….her lucky necklace that now hung around the neck of John Egan.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
In the cockpit, Frank didn’t turn to face Hope when he spoke, his eyes trained on the incoming fire from the Messerschmitts flying in all directions around them.
“We have been fucked by the fickle finger of fate and today is not our day. We’re down to one engine and she isn’t sounding too healthy. We’re littered with holes and,” he paused, his throat constricting as he motioned to the young boy who lay dead beside him. “And the Krauts…they got Billy.”
The plane juddered and smoke poured from the remaining engine with a horrendous screech as Frank took a steadying breath. The next words to leave his lips sent a shiver down Hope’s spine.
They were the ones every airman, flight nurse, and pilot prayed they’d never have to hear…
“There goes the last engine. We’re going down!”
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#a pair of silver wings#masters of the air#hbowar#hbo war#john egan#john egan x oc#john egan fanfiction#major john egan#major bucky egan#bucky egan#bucky egan x oc#major bucky egan x oc#callum turner#gale cleven#austin butler#major buck cleven#mota#gale buck cleven#john bucky egan#johnny egan#oc: ruth morgan#oc: hope armstrong#oc: hugh armstrong#oc: frank martin#mota fanfic#mota fanfiction#mota x oc#masters of the air x oc#masters of the air fanfiction#masters of the air fanfic
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I Left My Heart in San Francisco (John Brady x OC)
Summary: John's heart feels a thousand miles and just as many memories away in Stalag Luft III.
Note: Title comes from the song, of course (you don’t have to listen to it while reading, but I listened to it while writing this). Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: Fluff and angst, mostly introspective. Somewhat non-linear narrative, I guess.
“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” John insisted.
Woody smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“
He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”
Woody braided her hair first thing in the morning, after hastily raking her fingers through it, tugging out any knots that formed overnight. By the heat of the afternoon, enough hair would come loose and stick to her sweaty skin that she’d have to redo her handiwork, already knowing to anticipate the black streaks of grease she’d have to scrub out of it at the end of each day.
Sometimes Holly would be around to give her an intricate and sturdy French braid, able to withstand sweat and hard work. But John had never braided hair before he asked to do hers one evening, and then with increasing frequency as time went on, desperately needing something to lose himself in.
She sat between his legs, still and patient as he ran his fingers through her wavy hair. He parted it in two sections, letting the waterfall of blonde flow down one of her shoulders while he gathered the rest of her hair, silken to the touch compared to the standard blankets and bedsheets they were issued.
A shiver ran down her spine when his fingers gently brushed the nape of her neck.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“You’re fine, honey.” Her voice was soft, almost a low purr that echoed in his ears. He couldn’t remember another time when she called him honey. Usually just Johnny, which sounded wrong coming from other people, even jokingly, since it became hers, but he wasn’t sure how to tell her he liked honey too.
He carefully layered one thick strand of hair over the other until he finished a braid on one side. Looked good, but he knew at a glance he could do better. Woody braided her hair for utility, not just to look pretty, which was a bonus in his opinion, but not her priority.
He puffed on his pipe, shaking his head before setting it aside. “They’re not even. I’m gonna try again.”
“Go ahead, Johnny.”
John stroked her hair, thinking about how he wished they had met under different—better circumstances, where she wasn’t under constant threat of losing him. He used to figure that there was a proper way to get to a woman’s heart, the way god intended, or so he’d been told: meet a nice young lady, ask her father for permission to take her out on a date, get to know each other, bring her home on time. Rinse and repeat while trying not to get too handsy before getting a ring involved.
Then the war happened.
Then Woody happened, who probably wouldn’t have described herself as a nice young lady in the first place. No father to ask permission to take her out on a date. He wasn’t quite sure they actually saved anything for marriage (besides the having kids part, thankfully). He figured god would be flexible, all things considered.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“There’s a knot,” he mumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully pulled at strands of hair to free them from each other.
“When I was a kid, if I had a really bad knot I couldn’t get out myself, I’d just cut it with some kitchen scissors. My hair probably looked awful.”
He almost instinctively asked why she didn’t ask her mom to brush it out, but felt the slightest bit of rage burn in his chest when he caught himself and remembered. “I care enough about you to do this right.”
“You’re also pretty good with your hands.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I know so,” she said, “and thank you for always being attentive.”
“Are we still talking about your hair?”
“Oh, of course.”
He snickered, working on braiding her hair again. “Of course.”
Neither of them spoke of the future very much, but he knew he wanted one with her. Just wasn’t sure how to go about the discussion without scaring her off, if she’d even be open to settling down. Settling. The word weighed heavy in his mind. While Woody claimed no nostalgia for her native city, a sad fondness laced her voice when she spoke of it, of the excitement and freedom San Francisco had offered her when she needed those things most. Sometimes John wondered if Ithaca would be enough, if he would be enough when all was said and done.
He swallowed roughly. “Take a look and tell me what you think. Be as brutally honest as you need to be. I can take it.”
Woody half-turned to him, an amused smile spreading across her face. Made him feel like he was being let in on a secret the way her smile sometimes did. “You could make my hair look like a bird’s nest and I wouldn’t tell you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before getting up. He followed, almost nervous as she inspected her appearance in the small mirror sitting nearby. She beamed at her reflection, turning excitedly to him. “Johnny, it’s perfect.”
She stood on her toes to kiss him, deep and real, the kind that made any lingering doubts dissolve. Her lips were soft, as if she put on lip balm before he got there. Everything about her was soft, except for her hands, always rough and calloused, but something would be wrong if he felt a smooth palm cradling his jaw, or gliding across the expanse of his shoulders, down his back to cling to him. But he was clothed. Or he thought he was. Lost himself for a moment before he found the sound of her voice again.
“Before I forget—” She slipped her hand into one of her pockets. “Here, I want you to have this. I don’t really have any other photos of me, but I wrote a little note on the back of it for you,” she said. Her cheeks flushed, eyes flicking away from him for a moment. “Just so, um, you know it’s yours.”
He smiled at being handed the photo, a little shadowy and out of focus, but her nevertheless. To Johnny, all my love and more, your sweetheart, Woody. She had drawn a little heart next to his name, Xs and Os after hers. “You look beautiful. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of his nose brushing against her skin. “I’ll keep it with me.”
And he did. All the way to Stalag Luft III. Looked at the photo and tried to remember the feeling of her hair between his fingers.
He nearly tore Hambone a new one for taking the photo from his hands without asking, not that he would have let him touch it in the first place even if he had. While far from salacious, having other eyes besides his own on Woody’s photo felt almost sacrilegious. After all, he kept it in the same pocket as the St. Christopher card his mother had given him before he left for basic, its laminated corners curled from his incessant toying with it for reassurance. He hardly looked at it since they bailed. Patron saint of travelers. Some good St. Chris did him.
Buck stepped in and got John his photo back before the situation could escalate further. But the cat was out of the bag. As if it even mattered then, anyway. He did take some pride in everyone’s shock at him and Woody managing to keep their relationship under wraps for nearly four months.
He didn’t expect it to come up again, but he wasn’t exactly expecting Bucky to be alive either. In the midst of Bucky's bittersweet reunion with the other members of the 100th who’d been taken prisoner by the Germans, it was mentioned among the updates everyone was clamoring to give him after he relayed what he could muster of how he survived and ended up there.
Hardly relevant, but Bucky fixated on it after John let one small detail slip out.
“You and Woody? How the hell did I not know this?” Bucky asked.
“No one knew, except for Holly,” he said.
“Holly knew?”
“It wasn’t my idea, but Woody tells her everything. Told her about us the night you two made the bet on that baseball game.”
“That was back in June!" Bucky exclaimed, a strange combination of disbelief and slight betrayal that felt almost out of place compared to everything else going on. "She’s known for four months and didn't tell me?”
“Woody swore her to secrecy or something.”
Bucky shook his head. “You sly dog. Under everyone’s noses…” Clapped him proudly on the shoulder. “Good on you, buddy.”
John smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“Don’t expect any details,” Murph mumbled.
“I’m not telling any of you about my sex life.”
“But there was one?” Bucky asked.
He sighed, resisting the urge to glare at his friend, who up until a few hours prior, he wasn’t even sure was still alive. “We didn’t sneak around for four months just to hold hands.”
Even if that was all they’d done, his relationship with Woody wouldn’t have been any less important to him. Still, it was nice to have actual experiences to pull from, build fantasies that could get him through some of the lonelier nights when he wished he were with her, just about anywhere in the world but Stalag Luft III. The four months that were all theirs became his lifeline.
Four months. Maybe that was long enough for him to ask her to marry him. After writing to his family, that’d be his first order of business. Woody already had his heart, so he’d promise her everything else on top of that he could think of. Let her point anywhere on a map and take her there on a month-long honeymoon. Move all the way out to San Francisco with her. If she said ‘no’ or sent the letter back unopened, at least he could say he tried.
He laid back on his bunk that night, doing his best to ignore the shouting outside. Like the night guards did it on purpose to keep them exhausted. Closed his eyes. Kept her photo pressed against his chest. Tried to remember what her hair felt like between his fingers. Silk compared to the threadbare blankets the Germans gave them for the rapidly approaching winter.
“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” he insisted.
She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“
He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”
#john brady x oc#john brady#masters of the air x oc#masters of the air#mota x oc#mota#mota fanfic#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#hbo war x oc#ch: woody
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“First Steps First” Jessamine ‘Lark’ Waterson (OC) x Neil ‘Chick’ Harding
A/N: so I’ve really been wanting to write something for Jessamine and Chick for a while but was super anxious and self conscious about it for a couple of reasons. The first being that I don’t write much fanfiction anymore and the second is because I’m not wholly convinced I nail the atmosphere of period shows/movies. But this idea just wouldn’t leave my head so I’m biting the bullet and swallowing my doubts!
This fic takes place in episode 4 during Dye’s celebration party (I can’t get over Harding saying “single fillies”, okay?) and inspired by the song “First Steps First” from the musical Bandstand. The song they dance to is “It’s Been a Long Time” and I don’t care that this version came out in 1945, it’s my favorite LOL
also hey autocorrect pls stop changing Chick to Chuck, thanks
Word count: 1,730 words (😧)
Warnings: none, other than the fact I don’t know how the military works so please ignore inaccuracies🤡😂 this is about the FICTIONAL version of Col. Harding
I saw that you said it was okay to tag you in OC stuff @rosies-riveters, so I hope this is alright and that you enjoy!
“Pardon my brashness, dear
Seeing you standing here
Dancing's more customary
For a soirée."
As much as Jessamine Waterson took pride in her work as a nurse on the Thorpe Abbots base there was no denying the fact that it was grueling, emotionally draining and often went without the accolades that came with other roles in the war. And while most days she was just fine with that, today had been particularly tiresome and Jessamine was glad for the change of pace the evening’s festivities allowed. The anxious energy that had gripped every person on the airbase had been exchanged for easy laughter, jokes, and celebration. After all, it wasn’t every day a pilot and crew successfully flew 25 missions.
As she sat with Beth and Ginny, an American nurse and mechanic respectively, who had become two of her fastest friends, listening idly to them chat about the dances they’d returned from moments ago, it took much of Jessamine’s will to avoid allowing her gaze to linger for too long on the man who had just entered the room. She had spent months chiding herself for the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of Colonel Harding being so near and despite the effort she put into acting completely normal on the instances their paths crossed, she feared her feelings were all too transparent.
It was inconvenient to have a crush during war and even more inconvenient that it was on a man who was not only a good handful of years older than she was, but compounded by the fact that he was an American soldier. An American soldier who was dashingly handsome and confident, who had just looked in her direction and caught her staring. Jessamine busied herself with the drink in front of her trying to ignore the heat burning in her ears.
“Oh well that was just adorable.”
Beth’s voice with it’s charming southern accent was usually a source of soothing reassurance and good advice, was now riddled with mischief and good natured humor now that the two women’s attention was focused on their friend. “You know there’s no shame in a little flirting, a little conversation. Why don’t you go ask him to dance?”
Ginny nodded in agreement, leaning across the table, “It’s not like you’ve never spoken to him before,” before turning conspiratorially to Beth, “remember how she gave him pain medication for his headache that one time.”
Jessamine’s hands came up to cover her face, the full weight of her body resting on her elbows as she suppressed a groan and a laugh. Of course the two of them remembered the first time she had met the Colonel; a simple exchange of names and him asking for something for a headache. Jessamine, partly sleep deprived and partly fighting off the butterflies in her stomach fumbling with the bottle before spilling a handful of pills across the floor of the nurses station.
It certainly wasn’t necessarily the most romantic or charming first meeting on her part, but Col. Harding had only smiled before kneeling and helping her gather the runaways. There had been a quip about how she could’ve just said no that resulted in flustered laughter from her and another grin from him. And her friends hadn’t let her live it down since she confided about it to them the following day over breakfast.
“I’m surprised he said anything to me after that.” Jessamine admitted and revealed her face to her friends. Though there had been more interactions with the Colonel after that, they remained confined to mostly professional settings save for a few pleasantries while off duty. “And to answer your question, Beth, I’m certainly not going to bother him and ask for a dance!”
Ginny rolled her brown eyes and tossed her head back in a sign of exasperation, looking up to the ceiling pantomiming someone experiencing a great tragedy which in turn caused another round of laughter at the table. “Well, if he asked you to dance, would you say yes?” Beth finally asked. This time all the hints of teasing had left her friend’s tone and there was nothing but curiosity and sincerity.
Jessamine nodded slowly, allowing the fantasy to tease at the corner of her mind just for a moment but unable to answer because just as she parted her lips to reply another voice cut in.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Colonel Harding’s voice sent a rush of heat through Jessamine’s body and she felt her posture straighten. She pried her eyes off of Beth to glance up, up, up at the tall soldier now standing beside their table and found that, despite him addressing them all, he was looking determinedly at her alone. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could steal Miss Waterson for a dance.”
“You’re not interrupting at all, sir.” Ginny chimed in, eyes flitting from the Colonel to Jessamine, “In fact, we were just talking about how much Jessamine was wanting to dance.”
Oh, that Ginny was going to get stern talking to later, Jessamine promised herself, but at that moment she was already standing. Hardings’ hand reached out and enveloped hers as he guided her to the dance floor.
"Isn't the band sublime?
And as it happens I'm
Just in the mood to do
A two-step, Do step
Out on the floor with me.”
The two of them found a place surrounded by three or four other couples just as the band changed from the upbeat, two step to a slower tune that made Jessamine’s heart pitter faster. If Harding felt any nervousness at the now much more intimate situation the change of song put the two of them in, he didn’t show it. Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist with the ease and confidence of a man who knew what he was doing. Her breath hitching just slightly before she felt him placing the flat of his hand lightly, respectfully against her back.
Every nerve was firing at once, each hair on her arms standing on end, she was sure of it as her mind raced. She was trying to remember just how one slow danced fighting through the nervousness, when she felt the firmness of her foot under her own.
“I’m so sorry, colonel.” The apology came out high pitched and squeaky and with the attempt to pull away from the man in front of her. But Harding kept his gentle grip and shook his head.
“It’s not the first time someone’s stomped on my foot. At least this time it wasn’t on purpose. And Neil is fine, or Chick if you think Neil is too familiar.”
There he goes again, Jessamine thought, being so effortlessly charming and saving me from my own awkwardness. Sometime in the desperate squeak of an apology she had been repositioned to properly be dancing. One soft hand held in his much larger one, the other placed on his shoulder, and her face precariously close to his as she found herself peering up at him. The rhythm was easy to find with Neil leading and the familiar trumpet crooning at the stage and Jessamine had to fight to keep her eyes from closing.
“Might you be charmingly coerced
No need to be so shy
Take reassurance, I
Know how to guide you through
The worst steps, first steps first
“It’s not too late to admit you picked the wrong dancing partner.” Jessamine finally found her voice and the confidence to add just a bit of a teasing tone to it, a smile itching at the corner of her lips. Her cheek had come to rest just slightly against his shoulder as they swayed to the music and as a result her voice was slightly muffled by the material of his dress shirt.
“You’re selling yourself short. It’s been at least a minute since we’ve had another incident. You’re a natural.” Each time he spoke she could feel the rumbling of his chest against hers and her head felt dizzy with the warmth and solidity of him.
“And I’m certainly not going to say that after I finally got up the guts to come ask you for a dance in the first place.” Neil’s confession took Jessamine by surprise and she pulled back to look him in the eyes searching for any signs of jest but only finding an intensity that sent her stomach exploding into a storm of butterflies.
“You...you had to work up the courage to ask me?” The image of Colonel Neil Harding having to work up the nerve to ask anything of Jessamine was too comical to be taken seriously but there was no denying the truth behind his statement. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jessamine. And smart and successful. Hell, you’d have every reason to reject a dance from an old colonel like me.”
This was almost too much for Jessamine to take and she struggled to wrap her mind around his confession. All she could do was blink dazedly up at him as her cheeks flushed bright red. A smile broke out across Neil’s face and he laughed, arm tightening around her waist for a moment. “I hope that wasn’t too out of line and that I haven’t just read this entire interaction incorrectly. But your friends made it pretty clear to me earlier that you felt the same about me.”
Oh…oh…oh it was all coming together now.
Jessamine couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. His own rumbling laugh was mixing with hers and soon Jessamine had relaxed with the words of his confession replaying in her mind. The song faded and another slow ballad picked began, nothing but their breathing and the shuffling of shoes on the floor mixing with the music to fill the space between them. “So,” Neil murmured, dragging Jessamine’s attention to his face once again, “you do feel the same?”
This time, Jessamine didn’t shy away from the intense and earnest way he was looking at her. Instead she lifted herself up on the tip of her toes just enough to bring her lips to his cheek.
She would have words with Ginny and Beth about this. But later…after another dance.
Yes, after another dance with Neil.
#my writing#🏷️ my writings#oc: Jessamine ‘lark’ Waterson#jessamine x neil#mota ocs#mota oc#mota x reader#mota x oc#masters of the air x oc#Neil Harding#chick Harding#masters of the air#mota
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NOT BROKE IS THE FORGE OF MARS; A FAYE FISCHER PLAYLIST
#playlist drop!#oc: faye#this is a god awful edit im sorry#revamped her playlist and this is the result!#mota x oc#mota
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meet my new OC, Olive
Olive will be the main character of my time travel fic and I'm SO excited for you to meet her in a few weeks.
Olive is an out of work actress that is moving back to her hometown to help take care of her aging grandmother. Grandma’s part-time helper, Joan, finds an ad for a re-enactment job at Thorpe Abbotts which she shows Olive. Olive then becomes a Land Girl at Thorpe Abbotts museum.
I hope you'll love her as much as I already do! ✨️
#masters of the air#mota#masters of the air fic#mota fic#mota x oc#masters of the air x oc#winnie writes
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Friends in the Crucible -series masterlist
|| Masters of the Air || Pacific Flight Surgery AU || Multi-character
Hell Island
Flamingo-phobia
Requests and prompts are welcomed, but not guaranteed 💋
#masters of the air#mota#mota fanfic#mota x oc#gale cleven x oc#gale cleven#john egan#john egan x oc#john brady#benny demarco#Maureen Kendeigh#Ida Brady#masterlist#mine#archive
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Little Women Family Tree
(as of 31 December 1946)
(as of 31 December 1951)
(as of 31 December 1954)
Will be posted with the epilogue
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bucky who very openly manspreads, he always sits down with a grunt, slumping down into the seat with his legs instantly parting from each other. and it’s not like it was a little part, something barely noticeable— no, his legs were spread as far as they could possibly be. buck always gripes at him about it, telling him he looks ‘easy’ in which bucky just scoffs, rolling his eyes and spreading even farther just to annoy buck.
bucky who reeks of mint, coffee, and the cologne he deems the best ever made, pour un humme.
bucky who rarely ever gets hurt, but when he does? he loves to put on a show for the nurses, wincing and groaning in pain over something simple like a paper cut, or stumbling into the infirmary with a busted lip after he decided it would be funny to box one of the majors on the british air forces. he’s always flirting, too, saying something cheesy like, “gonna take good care of me, doc?“
bucky who makes you call him sir when you’re in the empty barracks with him, as everyone else is attending the bar, he’ll tease and tease you until you’re pathetically begging him for him to fuck you— but you left out the one thing he wanted, making him click his tongue disapprovingly, “please who, huh? you gonna be good for me and call me sir, right?”
bucky who puts his military visor hat on you when you’re riding him, chuckling whenever your thighs shake at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, making some idiotic joke like, “tryna ride me like ‘m an airplane, huh, doll-face?”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#♡ ׂ bucky ៵ 💋 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆#major john egan#masters of the air#john egan x you#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john egan fanfiction#bucky egan#mota smut#mota fanfic#mota#mota spoilers#mota cast#mota edit#mota oc#major john egan x reader#major john egan x oc#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x oc#callum turner major john bucky egan#callum turner fanfiction#callum turner x reader#callum turner#callum turner imagine#austin butler
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All The Things I Did:
(Just So I Could Call You Mine)
"The most beautiful part is, I wasn't even looking when I found you."
Chapter One: All The Things I Did
Chapter Two: It's All Around, It's All The Time
Interlude: A Sight For Sore Eyes
Chapter Three: Don't Leave Me Alone
Interlude: A Feeling I Want To Get Used To
Chapter Four: The Only Thing That I See
Chapter Five: I Hope I Don't Lose You
Chapter Six: All's Well That Ends Well
Chapter Seven: I Thought About Thinking It Through
Chapter Eight: That Girl Is Going, Going, Gone
Chapter Nine: It's Not Fair To Make Me Feel This Much
Interlude: I Want To Give You The World
Interlude: I'm Such A Fool
Interlude: All I Brought Back With Me
Interlude: The One Thing I've Been Wanting
Interlude: My Little Bunnies
"And then she knew, that you could become homesick for people too."
Special Editions:
Four Times They Speak About Each Other And One Time They Spoke To Each Other
"Darling, you are all I ever wanted love to be."
Misc.
Cass x John Blurbs
"The day I met you I began to forget a life without you."
#masters of the air#john egan#callum turner#mota#masters of the air fanfiction#john egan fanfiction#callum turner fanfiction#mota fanfiction#masters of the air fanfic#john egan fanfic#callum turner fanfic#mota fanfic#john egan x reader#john egan x oc
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ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ’ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ
Chapter 2 - “Hates the Perfect Word”
▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣
“Don’t stay out here too late, Baby.”
Sergeant Ken Lemmons was only partly joking with Baby when he said this to her. However over the three weeks of getting to know the stubborn blonde, he realized it wasn’t so far fetched for her to lose track of time.
And that would be proven correct as Baby was still out on the Airstrip, working away. She found it difficult to leave seeing as the view was so beautiful. The sunset painted the sky a warm orange and pink tone. A calm breeze briefly passed her, ruffling the tall grass, the trees, and even the bottom of her dress as it did so.
Sighing, she found a comfortable spot on a nearby crate. Busying herself by screwing two engine pieces together with a basic rod. The action was done smoothly like muscle memory.
A loud sound of an engine and the screech of tires had broken her peaceful state. Internally rolling her eyes, Baby prepared herself.
That could mean only one thing.
The jeep made a rough stop in front of her causing her to look up at the person responsible for the interruption.
Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan.
Even the thought of his name sparked annoyance in Delilah. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that was so infuriating.
Maybe it was the way he walked around base like he was the king of the world. He had everybody under his spell, especially her brother Gale. She couldn’t understand how the two had ever became friends.
Or maybe it was how he would sometimes get caught looking at her but would never say anything.
It was like a game of tug of war. Always giving her signs of interest but then taking it back as if he physically and mentally couldn’t bring himself to go there with her. Like something was stopping him, more like someone.
She had a pretty good idea of who.
“A little birdy told me you were out here.” Leaning back in his seat, Bucky faced the woman.
Delilah, uninterested, gave him a nod before focusing back onto her work. “Never really liked birds.”
“Sad to hear that. They’re real fascinating creatures. I’m more of a unicorn guy myself-”
“I bet you are.”
After a beat of silence, Delilah glanced up to see him staring at her once again. It could’ve been because she had just rudely interrupted him but by the way the corner of his mouth twitched into his signature smirk made her think differently.
His eyes held nothing but admiration as he kept his gaze on her. The way she smoothly worked away like it was her second nature was wildly attractive. Not to mention the quick wits that shamelessly left her pretty mouth, which instead of feeling insulted he would always feel more amazed by her.
“Gale send you out here?”
“No.”
“So tell me…Major Bucky,” The name rolled off her tongue as a taunt. Placing the tool and engine piece down beside her, she leaned back onto her hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence?”
Bucky watched as she seductively crossed her legs and tilted her head awaiting for an answer. The reminder that she was his best friends little sister kept blaring in the back of his mind. But it was so damn hard to listen to.
“Maybe I just want to be in yours.” Copying her action, Bucky tilted his head. “You ever think of that?”
”It’s hard to when you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”
He knew exactly what she referring to. Part of it was intentional but at the same time he really never knew how to approach her. Which was odd for him.
John Egan never struggled in talking to women. However he would always overthink with Delilah. She made him nervous, in a good way.
“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Bucky let out a nervous scoff knowing he had been called out.
The use of the nickname made Baby raise her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a new one.”
“You like it?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been called many things, Major Bucky, but sweet has never been one of them.”
“What?” He dropped his jaw dramatically, pretended to be shocked. “You’re the sweetest.”
Bucky watched as she let out an adorable laugh as she threw her head back. A small wave of pride washed over him at the fact that he got her to smile, let alone talk to him for more than five seconds.
“If I’m sweet then you’re a good singer.” She playfully jutted.
“Oh,” He placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me, Baby. I’d have you know I’m an excellent singer.”
“A little birdy told me differently.”
Looking away Bucky chewed away on the piece of gum in his mouth. Damn, she was good.
“If this birdy happens to be tall, boring, and has a head full of blonde hair on his head than you should ignore him and come see for yourself.”
Delilah laughed not taking him seriously. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.” He said. Eyes connecting with her honey brown ones. “There’s a dance, day after tomorrow. Come and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Might skip out on this one.” She declined.
Nodding Bucky looked down. An idea popped into his head that might change her mind.
“Huh, guess you Clevens are more alike than you want to admit.”
If there was anything he learned from witnessing the Cleven sibling duo was that they both were complete opposites. Buck was more serious, rule follower, and never really liked to do anything risky.
And although he didn’t talk to Delilah much, he would notice how she liked to do things in an untraditional way. Her presence here as one of the first female mechanics proves that. She also loved to make fun out of most situations. A small joke was always at the tip of her tongue and she could never keep it there.
He’d like to bet she loved to dance too.
Picking up the tool beside her she pointed it at Bucky with an annoyed glare. “Take that back right now.”
Bingo.
“Makes sense.” He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Guess the ‘never have a good time’ genes got passed down to both of ya.”
“I can have a good time.” She rebutted.
Bucky nodded, not really convinced at all. “Okay.”
A moment of silence passed as Bucky continued to poke fun at Delilah as she thought over his words.
Letting go of her cheek, the one she was anxiously biting, Delilah sighed. “What times the stupid dance?”
A smile of victory took plastered across the Major's face as he mentally celebrated. “I’ll be there at 8:00, that’s when the real party starts.”
“Can’t wait.” She gave him a fake smile.
Taking a look around, they both knew that it was about to get dark soon and should head back.
Reaching over the passenger seat of the Jeep, Bucky propped open the door with one arm. “Hop in, sweetheart. I’ll give you a ride back.”
“I have a bike, you know?”
“That old thing?” Simultaneously the two turned to look at the bike leaning on the side of the crate she was sitting on.
“Yeah,” Delilah smiled proudly. It was one of the things she built on her own when she first got here. “Isn’t he pretty?”
“He?”
“Well you men always refer to your cars and planes as woman, so I’d thought I’d return the favor.”
As the blonde continued to admire her piece of work, Bucky’s gaze shifted to her. Taking in her smooth tan skin and pretty freckles that he’d like to individually kiss. And finally her full lips that were just calling his name.
He watched as she grabbed the handles of the bike and easily kicked her leg over to get on it. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Baby?”
“I’d rather ride a thousand miles on this old thang than one in there with you.”
He was left speechless as she petaled away without a second thought. The fact that her and a Buck were siblings was still a shock to him.
No matter how different the two were they both had something in common. The Clevens had captured John Egans heart. With a Buck it was respect and friendship. And with Delilah.
Oh, Delilah. He hadn’t even got to know her fully yet and she already had him hooked.
Snapping out of his trance he started the engine before catching up and riding along beside her. Now he was back to looking between the road and her pretty side profile.
“Still got you to go to the dance with me.” He gloated.
Once again, John Egan had managed to make her smile. Shaking her head she tried to petal faster but he would just match her speed. “I hate you!”
“Hates a strong word.”
“Hates the perfect word.”
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A/N : As y’all can tell I love a good slow burn. Hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts on it please, I love to hear feedback.
ALSO DAYUM YALL REALLY CAME THREW WITH THE LIKES ON MY POSTS
Tag list(I can’t believe I have those now🤭):
@valenftcrush
@justheretoreadthhx
#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#madelyn cline#callum turner x reader#bucky egan#gale cleven#callum turner#buck cleven#austin butler#masters of the air#mota fanfic#motaedit#mota#mota spoilers#ken lemmons#harry crosby
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Birdie
John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader
Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.
Word Count: 2.9k
Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"
A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)
You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!
Songs Mentioned in This Fic:
Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters
G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer
The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.
Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.
Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.
You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.
It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.
All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.
Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.
“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”
Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.
Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.
“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”
You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”
Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.
An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.
“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.
“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.
You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.
“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”
They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.
“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.
“He brings you coffee every morning.”
“I thought he does that for everyone.”
“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”
“He takes care of his appearance!”
“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”
“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”
“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”
“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”
“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”
“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”
“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”
“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”
“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”
That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.
“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.
“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.
“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”
You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.
“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.
Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.
“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.
Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”
“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.
“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”
You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.
“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”
You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.
One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.
The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.
One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.
Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,
“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”
She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.
“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”
“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.
“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”
The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.
The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.
You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.
Meanwhile….
Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.
“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”
Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”
As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?
A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.
Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.
DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”
“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.
I’ll catch you up
When I’ve emptied my cup
When I’ve worn out my friends
When I’ve burned out both ends
Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.
His little Birdie.
“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.
When I’m pure like a dove
When I’ve learned how to love
He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.
As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”
It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.
John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.
Then the world starts back up and carries on.
Right here in the old therebefore
When nothing is left anymore
Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.
The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.
Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.
Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.
“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.
His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.
Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.
“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”
Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.
His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“I know, Buck. I know.”
Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.
“She kinda snuck up on me.”
#masters of the air#mota#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john bucky egan#john bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#john egan x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky egan fanfiction#mota spoilers#ken lemmons#gale cleven#buck and bucky#buck x bucky#john egan#bucky egan#crank cruikshank#charles cruikshank#curt biddick#buck cleven#gale buck cleven#harry crosby#bubbles payne#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#hbo war fandom#hbo war oc
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Chapter 1: Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts
John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)
Series Masterlist
A/N: Ruth has been living in my head for months now, and I'm so so so excited to share her with y'all! This series is Jess (footprintsinthesxnd) and I's brainchild. Our ideas just seamlessly fit tegether, and here we are! We actually wrote this first chapter a week before the 26th, so if anything happens to almost exactly match the show, we came up with it before we saw it on there! (we're just good like that 😎)
Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd
Word Count: 5.3k
The hum of the engine was the only sound in the C-47 as it soared over the English countryside. The patients had finally settled, and the morphine finally took effect and brought them some sense of relief. Hope slumped back into her seat with a sigh, smiling over at Ruth who looked as exhausted as she was.
“You looked tired,” Hope smiled at her friend who just sighed.
“It’s been a long day. I can’t wait to get back to base,” Ruth pushed her short blonde hair out of her eyes, sighing again.
“Hey Frank, how much longer have we got,” Hope called to one of the pilots.
“We’ve had to make a detour, doll. We’re heading to Thorpe Abbotts airfield and will evacuate the wounded to Thorpe St. Andrews Hospital. It’s not far now.”
Hope felt her heart flutter, her throat drying as she slouched back against her seat.
“Hey Hope, what’s wrong?” Ruth leaned forward, gripping Hope’s hand and squeezing it, her large blue eyes filled with worry.
“It’s Hugh,” Hope muttered, her eyes a little teary but a smile on her lips nonetheless. “My brother is stationed at Thorpe Abbotts with the 100th Bomb Group. I haven’t seen him in so long.”
Ruth’s concerned frown turned to a smile, “So I’m finally going to meet this Hugh I’ve heard so much about.”
Hope laughed, patting her friend on the back gently, “You will, but don’t get any ideas.”
The aircraft soared towards its destination, and the occasional jolting and shaking on the metal bird brought no fear to the flight nurses anymore. Once, the ratting metal coffin struck the fear of God into them but now this was a peaceful ride.
Hope watched out the window as the lush, green countryside grew closer and closer.
“Hey, Frank! Stop hugging the hedgerows for crying out loud. Don’t let the girl down before we’ve reached the field,” Hope called, grimacing as the trees seemed to grow ever closer.
“Who’s flying this bird, Armstrong? You or me?” Frank retorted, not looking away from the cockpit.
“Well, maybe you could use some lessons in keeping the old girl airborne then. We’ll beat up the airfield at this rate.”
Ruth laughed, watching Hope argue with the pilot once more, “You know Hope, maybe you should have gotten your wings. Then you could be flying us instead of Frank.”
“You’ve got a good point there, Ruth. Ya hear that Frank, Ruth wants me flying instead of you.”
Frank’s reply was a muffled curse, and both girls found themselves giggling in response. The plane tooled along for a while longer until it finally began to descend, rattling as it lost altitude and shaking its victims vigorously. The wheels touching down on the tarmac filled everyone with great relief.
“Well that was one ropey landing, Frank. Maybe I could give ya a few lessons?” Hope asked politely, batting her eyelashes at the pilot who just huffed.
“Shove off, Hope. Now get to it, your blood wagons are waiting.”
Hope cringed at the nickname the ambulances had been given, they were lifesaving vehicles transporting sick men, why make it sound so ominous?
Hope hopped down from the plane, instructing the stretcher-bearers on which soldiers were in the worst condition. Between them, Hope and Ruth helped carry three wounded men to the ambulances when an obnoxiously loud voice called, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
Hope spun round, her boots scuffing at the earth.
“HUGH!” Her brother laughed jovially, jogging over to them.
“Gosh, I’ve missed you, Little Bird,” Hugh threw his arms around Hope’s shoulders, nestling his head into her neck as he always did. Hope couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She was finally in her brother's arms, finally reunited with him after so long. She gripped tightly onto the back of his uniform, burying her face in his chest. He smelt of smoke and engine oil just like he did back home.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured, just loud enough for Hugh to hear as he tightened his grip on her further. She could feel Ruth hovering awkwardly behind her and she turned to greet her friend, pulling out of her brother's arms.
“Ruth, this is my brother, Hugh. Hugh, this is my friend, Ruth.”
Ruth smiled sweetly, sticking out her hand to shake Hugh’s but instead, he pulled her into a bear hug.
“Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of mine,” he assured Ruth and she smiled, her cheeks turning a deep red at the embarrassment of the situation.
“Hugh, put her down. Look, you're making the poor girl blush,” Hope laughed, which only caused Ruth to blush harder.
“My apologies Ruthie, where are my manners,” he bowed, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
“Oh, uh- nice to meet you.” Ruth stumbled over her words, quickly using the excuse that she needed her flight jacket as an excuse to return to the plane.
“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Hope groaned, shoving her brother playfully in the ribs.
“I don’t know, I’ve always considered myself rather charming,” Hugh protested, puffing out his chest in pride.
Hope nodded, spinning around to call Ruth to join them. The blonde soon was walking back toward the group, now wearing her fleece aviation jacket, and to her relief, without a rosy dusting on her cheeks.
“I still can’t believe out of all the airfields in England, you managed to land at this one,” Hugh laughed, throwing an arm around both girls' shoulders. “You two are in for a real treat.”
As they walked through the base, Hugh pointed out the various hard stands.
“See, right there,” he pointed at a few heavies. “That’s “Just-a-Snappin’, Our Baby, and the M’lle Zig Zig.”
“Where do you guys get these names, Hugh?” Hope laughed, her eyes trailing over each one’s elaborate nose art, along with some very proud-looking engineers and artists who had clearly put so much love into the bombers.
Shrugging his shoulders, Hugh sighed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t tell ya. What’s your plane named?”
“Just the Angel of Death,” Hope chirped.
Hugh stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Always with the dark humor, aren’t you, Hope.”
After hearing so much about the man from Hope, Ruth felt as if she’d known Hugh for years when in reality she’d only known him for a few minutes. She knew the stories of how the siblings played in the woods of Columbia, Missouri, exploring the famous rock bridge that brought hikers and tourists into the town. She knew of his love for the St. Louis Cardinals, and how he wore his battered and dirty Dizzy Dean jersey for a week straight after they won the World Series in ‘31 and ‘34. Maybe he’d heard so much about Ruth from Hope that he felt the same way.
‘It would make sense based on his initial reaction.’ she thought, absentmindedly reaching up and grabbing the small pendant hanging from her neck, running her fingers over its smooth edges.
Before they knew it, the trio reached their destination: his officer nissen hut. They were long semi-circular metal huts, not known for their warmth or comfortability, but they were a soft place to land at the end of the day…which is a lot more than most young men of the time could say.
“Welcome to my humble abode, ladies,” he announced as they neared the building, holding out his arms in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “She’s not much, but she’s home.”
He began to open the door for them, but a voice in the distance stopped him.
“Charlie! No girls in the huts,” the voice called. “I told you that a few weeks ago.”
Turning toward the voice, Hope did a double take when she saw who its owner. Approaching them was a tall, tan, brunette, who wore a bomber jacket with his hair messily combed to the side. He walked with a swagger that instantly put a bad taste in Hope’s mouth.
She sighed to herself, thinking, ‘Why do all the cute ones have to be cocky?’
Hugh groaned, pointing at Hope. “Buck, come on, this is my-”
The man finally reached them, and Hope stopped herself from being captivated by his blue-green eyes.
“I don’t care who she is. You know the rules,” he interrupted, turning to the girls. “Sorry girls, but I think it’s time for you to go.”
Ruth cringed and side-eyed Hope, already expecting a snarky response to his comment.
“Well,” she paused, checking her watch for effect. “Seeing as we have patients in the infirmary, it actually isn’t time for us to go.”
It was then that he looked down at her upper arm, taking in the bright red and white medic band that adorned her uniform. Ruth could see the slightest show of remorse in his expression as his eyes rose back up to Hope’s.
“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t know-”
Hope didn’t let him finish, cutting him off. “Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, Buck.”
“Hope!” Ruth hissed, trying to placate her friend, but the woman ignored her.
“See, other than my brother, this is why I can’t stand airmen. They’re cocky-”
Realizing the flaw in Hope’s argument, Ruth ran a hand down her face, secondhand embarrassment filling her. Just when she was about to interject, Buck beat her to it.
“Now hold on. Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, sweetheart.”
Hope’s mind ran rampant with frustration, and she stared up at him with contempt as he smiled cheekily at her. His eyes were locked on hers as they had a stare-down, neither wanting to be the first to give in.
“So,” Hugh cleared his throat in an attempt to break their silent battle. “Let me introduce you guys. Ladies, this is my squadron commander, Major Buck Cleven.”
Buck tilted his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Hope. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she replied dryly.
Ruth shook her head and sighed, amazed at her fellow nurse’s childlike stubbornness.
“And Buck, this is my sister, Hope, and her friend Ruth. They’re flight nurses with the 806th MAETS.”
Ruth raised a hand and waved with a quiet, “Hello,” and Hope felt a little satisfaction when the man’s eyes widened at the word sister.
Buck’s eys left Hope for a moment to acknowledge Ruth, who stood beside her, with a nod and a smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“You, too, Major,” she responded with a small grin. He then turned back to Hope.
“So, you’re the infamous little sister we’ve all heard about?” Buck chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.
The woman glanced over at Hugh, who wore a guilty expression. “All good things, I hope.”
“For the most part,” Buck chimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know about your little escapade to Kansas City, and how–”
Hope’s eyes widened in disbelief that her brother had divulged her most embarrassing moment. “Hugh!!” she cried, smacking his chest. “You lying piece of crap! You promised!”
“It’s not like I thought you’d ever meet anyone here, Hope!”
Composing herself, she took a deep breath and sent Buck a tight-lipped smile. “It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, Major.”
“It would seem so, Nurse Armstrong.”
As Ruth amusedly listened to Gale and Hope’s banter, she felt like she was being watched. Glancing around the group, her heart skipped a beat as her eyes met another set of icy blues, ones that were new to the group.
‘How did I miss him walking up?’ she wondered.
Their gazes locked for a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, and a shudder ran through her. Breaking from his stupor, he quickly looked away with a light pink dusting on his cheeks. Ruth felt her own blush creeping up her neck and wrapped her flight jacket closer to her body, the English chill suddenly getting to her.
Her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they fought to return to the handsome stranger. It took all her willpower to keep them on Hugh, who was talking to the group.
“I can’t imagine going up without weapons on board. We’ve got 12 50-cal brownings and sometimes I feel that’s not enough.”
The battle within herself became too much, and Ruth finally gave in to her temptation. Her eyes flitted over to the man, and she silently sighed in relief when she found his gaze elsewhere. It was then that she discovered her first assumption of the man being ‘handsome’ was an understatement. He had a strong and well-defined jawline, expressive and striking blue-grey eyes, a straight nose, and a slightly curved lip, which held a pencil-thin mustache.
She liked the mustache.
He wore a crooked crusher cap and a white fleece-lined flying jacket that looked somewhat dirty, accompanied by his brown service top poking out at the jacket collar.
Ruth was mesmerized by the man, and she didn’t even know his name. A wide grin broke out on his face as he engaged in the group’s conversation, his upper lip curling up, allowing a few teeth to peek out the top, and Ruth felt her stomach lurch for the second time in a short few minutes.
Focus, Ruth. Focus.
An elbow to her side broke her stare, and the group’s eyes were suddenly on her as Hope looked at her expectantly.
“What?” Ruth asked, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I said that we would go insane without each other up there.”
“Oh,” she sighed with a small smile. “You would probably kill Frank if I weren’t there.”
The group broke out in laughter, and Ruth found her eyes absentmindedly moving to the mystery man. As he chuckled, his eyes wrinkled at the edges, and his full smile revealed a dazzlingly straight set of pearly whites. His loud laughter was infectious, and a few giggles escaped her mouth.
As the group’s chuckles started to die down, Hope looked over at Ruth. She took in her friend’s shy smile and blush, then followed her gaze to the airman across the circle. Realizing what was happening, she nudged Ruth lightly, a teasing eyebrow raised.
“What?” Ruth grumbled under her breath, leaning closer to her friend’s ear as the guys carried on the group’s conversation.
“You like him.”
The blonde’s smile fell and heat rushed up her neck. “Who?”
Hope tilted her head incredulously, rolling her eyes. “You know who.”
“No, I don’t,” she defended,
“He’s staring,” Hope grinned, nodding his direction subtly.
Ruth’s eyes rose to his, and sure enough, his striking eyes were gazing into hers yet again. This time, however, he didn’t look away. The corner of his lips quirked up into a barely noticeable grin, and she felt as if she was shrinking under the intensity of his gaze.
“Uh, I need to go check on the patients,” she sputtered, pointing her fingers in the direction of the infirmary. With a curt nod to Hope, she quickly turned and started toward the infirmary, her blonde curls bouncing with each step. A few seconds later, she spun to face the group and called, “But it was…uh…nice to meet y’all.”
Hugh didn’t miss a beat and hollered back his reply. “You, too, Ruthie!” He then paused until she was out of earshot. “She alright?”
“She’s fine,” Hope sighed, used to her friend’s more timid personality. She had hoped that over time, her extroversion would rub off on the nurse, but so far, she had no such luck. Ruth was more of a one-on-one person, not one for groups of people unless she knew them pretty well. It seemed the smaller the group got, the more Ruth seemed to come alive. It was like pulling teeth to get Ruth to agree to go out with the other girls of the unit, but when she finally stepped out of her comfort zone, she usually had a good time filled with friends, fellas, and amazing big band music.
Ruth’s admirer joined the conversation, and Hope smirked, watching his eyes follow her friend. “How far away is your base?”
“We’re in Berkshire, so by car, it’s about three hours, but by plane, probably 45 minutes.”
“So not far,” he chimed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to himself. Before anyone else could comment, he spoke again.
“See you boys later,” he said absentmindedly as he watched Ruth’s figure go around a corner. Clapping Buck’s shoulder, he set off and followed the nurse’s path around the corner, missing the raised eyebrows and confused expressions sent his way. All eyes followed him as he, too, disappeared around the corner.
Hope pursed her lips at the new development, unsure of the man following Ruth. “Should I be worried?”
“Yep,” Hugh confirmed with a curt nod.
Buck hit him on the chest, chuckling under his breath. “Johnny’s a good man, darlin’.”
Hugh suppressed a snort thinking of the commander’s wild habits and how Buck didn't exactly answer her question.
“Anyways, back wh-”
And just like that, the conversation continued, and Hope had a strange feeling of contentment being on base. Finally being with family again.
As Ruth briskly made her way around the nissen huts to the infirmary, her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest, and her mind replayed his smile non-stop.
Get it together, Ruth!
When she finally reached the infirmary, she stopped at the door, taking a deep breath to gain some composure. Within seconds of opening the heavy door, the base’s head surgeon approached her, wiping his hands with a rag.
“Hello,” he greeted. “I’m Captain Emory Kinder, and I’m assuming you’re one of the flight nurses who landed earlier?”
Ruth wore her signature toothy grin and nodded. “Yes, sir. Ruth Morgan. My other half is visiting with her brother as we speak.”
“Brother?”
“Yep, Hugh Armstrong,” she replied, her smile widening as his face lit up.
“Charlie! Oh yeah, I know him. He’s been in here for a few hangovers after a rowdy night in Dickleburgh.”
“Really?” Ruth chuckled, picturing the confident young man drunk as a skunk.
“Oh yeah. We love him though. He’s a good one for sure.”
A patient called out to him, and with a nod, he was off, helping the man. Ruth busied herself however she could, bringing airmen water, re-wrapping their bandages, and pretty much anything that would get her mind off the man from earlier. She was inspecting a man’s arm wound when the creaking of the door opening filled the building. Paying it no mind, she kept working, noting how the tissue was already healing.
“It looks good, Sergeant. You should be back in the air soon,” she said quietly.
His wide-eyed morphine-induced expression looked pitiful, but he managed to mumble out a, “Thank you, ma’am.”
Ruth gathered her supplies and stood to her feet, throwing away the bloody bandages when Emory's voice rang through the air.
“Speaking of rowdy nights in Dickleburgh...Major, what can I do for ya? Is that shoulder giving you problems again?”
“No, Doc,” the newcomer began, his deep voice breaking the relative quiet. “The shoulder’s fine. I just wanted to, you know, come see the boy-men.”
When she turned toward them and saw the white jacket, the roll of bandages fell from her grasp and hit the floor with a thud, rolling a few feet away to the man’s feet. The heat returned to her cheeks in a rush, and her eyes froze on the bandages for a moment, silently cursing the little white bundle. She watched in horror as the man slowly bent down and picked it up, walking toward her as he threw it up in the air and caught it.
“I think this yours,” he said, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk as he held it out to her.
Raising her eyes from the bandage to his eyes, she prayed her voice would stay steady. “Thank you, sir.”
She took the bandage and tried to remain calm, her free hand raising to run her fingers over the cool metal of her locket.
“John. Major John Egan,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to her. “But you can call me Bucky.”
Ruth’s brows furrowed in confusion as she took his much larger hand and shook it gently. It was surprisingly soft compared to the men she’d treated from the lines. “Bucky? It’s there another-”
“Yeah,” John chuckled and slowly released her hand, shoving his in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “We call Cleven Buck, too. He hates it, but he deals with it.”
Grimacing playfully, she decided to go out on a limb despite her pounding heart. “Well, I, um, don’t know if I’ll be able to remember who’s who.”
“Oh no,” John tutted, his eyebrows raised and a wide-mouthed smile painting his lips. “We can’t have that. You can call me John, Johnny, whatever you want, doll, but I don’t think you’re going to have a hard time remembering my name.”
“And why would that be, Johnny?”
“Because you’ll see it at the bottom of each letter you’ll get from me.”
The blonde froze, dropping her necklace in disbelief as she swallowed thickly.
‘There is no way he just said that,’ her mind repeated. ‘There is no way he just said that.”
Pushing through her reserved personality and the tingling sensation swirling in her stomach, she decided to take a page from Hope’s book.
“What makes you think I’d let you write me, hotshot?”
Her mind went haywire. ‘‘Why did I just say that? I’m never taking Hope’s advice again. This is too stressful.’
For the first time in their interaction, his confident bravado seemed to fade and he didn’t quite know what to say. Perhaps he was always used to women giving in to his advances easily, but Ruth was not just another woman begging to be wooed. Johnny stood before her with furrowed brows, his upper lip sticking out slightly. He pushed back his jacket and placed his hands on his hips, his head ducking to the floor.
“Because I’d like to get to know you,” he replied earnestly, taking off his cap. “You’re gorgeous, and I would like to write you, Ruth.“
That was the last thing she expected.
In that moment, Ruth Morgan had a decision to make. Was she going to reject the airman or give him a chance? She knew she was attracted to him and there was chemistry there, but was she willing to put herself out there? The timid parts of her personality screamed at her to tell him no, but the parts that Hope had influenced were urging her to accept his offer. In the end, Ruth already liked Johnny, and she saw the sincerity in his statement as a deciding factor in the matter.
“Alright, you can write to me,” she answered quietly, pushing her hair behind her ear.
John watched as she walked to the infirmary desk and got a sheet of paper, scribbling down what he expected to be her address. He took in her features, just like he had earlier. Starting at her light blonde hair, his gaze traveled down her face to her familiar blue eyes, down her adorable nose, to her lips, which were pursed slightly as she concentrated on writing down her information. She was stunning, and Johnny knew that he wanted to see her again just from their short conversation.
Approaching him again, she held up a slip of paper, a toothy grin on her lips. “This is sensitive information, Major. It better not end up in enemy hands, and that includes your fellow airmen.”
“Yes ma’am,” he nodded once before fake saluting her, unable to keep his excitement inside. “Mission understood.”
“But just to be safe, I’m going to hold onto it for a little bit.” she leaned a little closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Just in case I, you know, change my mind.”
John grinned down at her and yet again raised his eyebrows as he nodded. Ruth noticed he did that a lot. “I’ll be on my best behavior, scout’s honor.”
Sliding the slip into her pocket, she started her nursing tasks once again, looking at him over her shoulder. “So, you were in the Boy Scouts?”
“No,” he chuckled, putting back on his cap as he moved next to Ruth to help. “I wasn’t, but Buck was. He ended up being an Eagle Scout before he aged out. One of the best in Wyoming, he says, but I don't buy it.”
He stood a good 5 or so inches above her, so his chin was at her eye level. In the small area at the nursing station, his shoulder was just barely pressed against hers as they both worked to roll bandages, and Ruth could feel the warmth radiating from his touch.
“It seems like you know each other pretty well,” she stated, looking up at him briefly.
His concentration remained on the bandage in his hands as he spoke. “Yeah. He’s my best friend.”
“How long have you known each other?” She asked, reaching up to mess with her necklace.
“We both joined up in ‘40 and were roommates in basic. Been together ever since.”
“That reminds me of Hope and I, although we haven’t known each other for nearly that long.”
John placed the finished bandage in the basket and turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter as his earnest expression returned. “War makes people closer. Makes ‘em realize who’s important. What’s important.”
The blonde mirrored his stance, taking in his words. He was right. War did have a way of bringing people together. She gazed up at him with a shared understanding of how something as terrible as the war had brought out the best and worst in people, as well as brought people into their lives for the better. The pair’s eyes remained locked for a few moments, both realizing that perhaps there was something deeper than the flirting between them. His warm eyes seemed to search hers, and to her surprise, she didn’t feel nervous in that moment. Johnny’s gaze was like a warm blanket enveloping all of her senses to the point that all she could see was him.
“I feel the same way,” Ruth finally answered, fixing a stray curl that had fallen into her eyes.
Half of his lips curled up in a grin and he took a step toward her. “Ruth, I-”
The loud opening of the door jolted them from the moment, sending both their heads in the direction of the entrance. There stood an out-of-breath Frank, whose face was bright red and shimmering with sweat.
“Ruth! Do you know how long I’ve been looking for ya?” He cried, approaching them quickly.
Unsure of the man’s intentions, Johnny straightened and moved just barely in front of her, holding out a hand towards Frank. “Woah, buddy.”
Although it was an endearing effort, she couldn’t hold in a loud giggle at Frank’s offended expression that followed. “No, Johnny,” she laughed, gently lowering his hand. “This is our pilot, Frank. Frank, this is Major John Egan. What is it?”
The pilot’s eyes flicked between Ruth and Johnny for a few seconds before he sighed. “I’ve filled the Angel up and it’s time to go. Find Hope and meet me back at the plane.”
Just like that, he was out the door again, probably to get ready for takeoff. Ruth’s heart sank at the realization that she was having to leave. It seemed he also came to the same conclusion as he turned toward her and sighed.
“Looks like you’ve gotta go,” he said softly, slightly tilting his head to the side as he peered down at her.
The nurse looked at the door, then lowered her gaze to her feet. “It sure does.”
She almost gasped in surprise when something warm grasped her hand gently. Her eyes shot up to John’s hand that held delicately held hers. The contact sent a tingle up her arm and seemingly straight to her mind, muddying her thoughts.
“I'd like to see you again,” he murmured where only she could hear.
This quieter, softer version of him was unknown to Ruth, but she knew instantly that she liked the duality of Johnny.
The blush she’d resisted finally won and dusted her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I’d like that, too.”
John softly tugged her hand closer and bridged the distance between them slowly, his entrancing eyes flicking between her eyes and lips. Ruth could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stood on her toes to meet him. She felt his warm breath on her face, and her eyes fluttered closed, anticipating the kiss. But before their lips could meet, the door opened again, and Frank called out to her.
“Ruth, come on! You can neck the Major later!”
The door quickly creaked closed.
Heat rushed to Ruth’s face, and she reluctantly pulled back from Johnny, setting her heels back on the ground. Johnny awkwardly stood to his full height, glaring at the door where Frank stood moments before.
“I’ll see you next time, Johnny,” Ruth smiled bashfully, gently squeezing his hand once before dropping it. She walked backward to the door, praying she wouldn’t trip.
Johnny let out a huff of air as the biggest smile grew on his face. “So there will be a next time?”
She simply grinned at him, shrugging her shoulders when she turned to open the door. With one last look over her shoulder, she closed the door behind her.
The infirmary was silent for a few seconds, and then the patients erupted in hollers, cheers, and whistles.
“Way to go, Bucky!”
“Leave some for the rest of us, Major!”
Amid their uproar, John remembered a crucial detail: She hadn’t given him her address! He took off toward the door, reaching for the handle when it creaked open, revealing a laughing Ruth on the other side. She held out the slip to him.
“I think you behaved well enough, Major.”
“Told you,” he chimed, his eyebrows raising. “Scout’s honor.”
John took the paper from her outstretched hand and watched as she left once again. When the door had slammed shut behind her, he read the note to himself with a wide smile.
Hotshot,
You can write me at the Grove, Berkshire, Hut 4. I like you, so try not to get shot down before I can return your letter, and I’ll do the same.
Safe Flying,
Ruth Morgan
Johnny shot his hand with the paper into the air, and the men cheered once again. Ruth, on the other hand, was in disbelief of what had just transpired. She had almost kissed him! She wanted to kiss him! Running her hands through her hair, she tried to focus on the task at hand: finding Hope.
Ruth ran around the base like a chicken with her head cut off looking for the woman, and was about to give up when she saw her sitting in a jeep with Buck in the distance.
“HOPE! There you are, I've been looking everywhere. Frank fueled up the plane. We have to go,” Ruth huffed, clearly out of breath from running, but her flushed cheeks, Hope thought, told a different story.
“Okay, I'll be over in five minutes,” Hope promised, but Ruth didn't look convinced.
“Your five minutes or an actual five minutes?” She asked, and the glare Hope sent her way had Ruth turning around and heading back in the direction she’d come.
“Okay, but I'll be timing you,” she yelled over her shoulder.
When Ruth looked back to see Hope kissing Buck on the cheek, it occurred to her that maybe there were more trips to Thorpe Abbotts in the cards for both of them.
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#masters of the air#hbo war#john egan#gale cleven#callum turner#austin butler#major buck cleven#gale buck cleven#major john egan#major john egan x oc#major buck cleven x oc#mota#mota x oc#masters of the air oc#masters of the air fanfic#hbowar#hbo war x oc#hbowar x oc#masters of the air x oc#ruth morgan#hope armstrong#hugh armstrong#on a wing and a prayer#a pair of silver wings#mota edit#mota fanfic
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Jesus or Gasoline (John Brady x OC)
Summary: Woody isn't sure what she believes in, except for the way John Brady makes her feel.
Note: Here it is, the result of my making a ‘guy who says grace before giving head’ joke about Brady. I wanna give a million thanks to all the Woody/Brady babes out there because y'all's support and enthusiasm for them means the world to me! As usual I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen while writing this. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 3.2k
Warnings: Inevitable historical inaccuracies. This goes into Woody’s not so great childhood/young adulthood and her generally negative internalized thoughts surrounding religion. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (f. receiving) and coming in pants.
The field behind the hangar was a questionable date spot at best, but Woody figured it was better than nothing. Secluded enough with some lighting as to not be stumbling around in the dark, but without fear of being easily identified if they got caught before they could make a break for it if needed.
Word of the late night rendezvous had come from Holly, barely able to contain her excitement at being the messenger. “Your beau wanted me to tell you to meet him tonight,” she whispered, giggling as she added, “said you’d know where.”
Woody had given Holly all of the details the night John Brady kissed her, her best friend in ecstatic disbelief that so much had happened while she and Bucky were listening to a baseball game across the way. Holly took girl code as a sacred oath, not mentioning Woody and Brady’s relationship to a soul in the week or so that had passed. John wasn’t exactly pleased when Woody let him know that she told Holly, but he supposed if Woody trusted Holly that much, he could, too.
“There you are, sweetheart,” John said, with a genuine fondness that she almost couldn’t believe was directed toward her. “Have you been waiting long?”
She shook her head, greeting him with a kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”
“I brought you something,” he said, pulling a Hershey bar from his pocket.
“Don’t waste that on me, are you kidding?”
“Holly told me you give the village kids whatever candy you get, and I know ground crew doesn’t get as much in your rations as we do.”
Good ol’ Holly. “They appreciate it more than me.”
He looked at her pointedly, though eyes glistened in amusement as he half-scolded, “Don’t reject a gift, sweetheart. It’s bad manners.”
Woody fought back a smile, felt her cheeks heating up . “Thank you, Johnny. You’re real sweet.” Gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his forearm. “Can we at least split it?”
“I won’t say no to that.”
The grass was damp from the late afternoon rain. She was glad she thought to grab an old blanket, worn out and smelled faintly of fuel, but it’d do.
He split the bar in two, handing the bigger half to her. She took a bite, surprised to find herself feeling a wistful melancholy for the states at the taste of it. Wasn’t sure she ever felt homesick before, but there was a first time for everything. Like John laying out on the blanket, resting his head in her lap.
“Comfortable?” she asked with a laugh.
“Great view from here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You know, I’ve been dying to ask you this ever since I met you,” he began, giving her pause at the seemingly endless possible questions he could hit her with. “Do you really like being called ‘Woody’?”
She nodded, stroking his hair, taking in how relaxed he looked. “Yeah, I really do. It’s been nice to leave ‘Kate’ behind and start fresh.”
“So your first name is just Kate?”
“Shows you how much thought my parents put into it.”
“See, I wanna know more about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“We talk a good deal, but I don’t know much about your life before all of this.”
“I don’t have anything nostalgic or good to tell you, especially not about me. I’m ashamed of who I was before. I’m trying to be better, John. I really am. I don’t—I don’t hang around people who have nothing going for them.”
People like how she used to be. The backstreets burst at the seams with them. Children of neglect, of the Depression, of something wild otherwise running through their veins. They made their homes where they could. Guys who rode around on streaks of lightning, spewing pure gasoline from snarled lips on each of those hilly avenues until they were wrangled in the back of cherry-topped police cars. Girls who should’ve known better drank empty promises out of broken glasses, handed to them by the constantly circling shark-men. Kate learned quickly not to get attached to anyone. They looked out for each other, but they weren’t friends. There was a difference.
“I got an older brother named Tom. Last I heard he was in jail for holding up a liquor store,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, though. That’s when I really started looking after myself.”
“Eleven is pretty young to be on your own,” he said, taking her hand from his hair and holding it in his own, intertwining their fingers.
“What were you doing when you were eleven?”
He shrugged. “Rode bikes around with my friends. Started learning saxophone. I was an altar boy, too.”
“So your family went to mass a lot when you were growing up?”
“Every Sunday that we could. I remember my mom waking us up to go even when we had to walk through a foot of snow to get there because the roads hadn't been cleared yet,” he said, his voice growing softer as he spoke. “Doesn’t seem all that bad, now. Maybe it—it helped some.”
Woody had seen John make the sign of the cross dozens of times. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Remembered the first time she watched him among the other Catholic guys in the 100th, crowded around the chaplain for his makeshift blessing on the tarmac before their missions. Devotion ran exceptionally high then, men suddenly armed with a rainbow of beaded rosaries and holy cards adorned with saints whose weary eyes gazed upward, where those men were soon to be. Their heads bowed in silent contemplation as the priest concluded in Latin, John’s mouth moving along with sed libera nos a malo. But deliver us from evil.
A handsome face like his deserved half a dozen kids with names like Mary and Francis who filed neatly into a pew with their shiny patent shoes and a big family meal to look forward to after mass. Kids who gave the likes of her odd looks when she shuffled into church for whatever lunch the nuns were dishing out that afternoon. Always dressed in her Sunday worst—ill-fitting blouses and holey shoes until she ditched their charity and decided she was better off raising hell in denim jeans. God loved everyone, and his love was unconditional, but no one wanted to say he loved some people more than others, and Kate was pretty low on his list.
After all, Kate Woodward was born without a middle name on a Wednesday morning that even god himself forgot about. Didn’t know what the weather had been like the first time she breathed in the air of her home city, but she was sure it felt like a kick in the chest. Probably why babies cried when they made their grand escape from the womb.
Hardly raised in the first place, Kate had little faith in god or man, just in the machines she could bend to her will until they gave her freedom to go wherever she pleased. But her freedom had gnashing teeth and a forked tongue that were never satisfied, no matter how many vices she fed it, and she was nothing short of gluttonous in this endeavor.
Tried and true, the one she had the hardest time shaking—sticky fingers. If Kate saw something she liked, she took it. From drug store shelves to purses to wallets, nothing was off limits. As time went on, her spoils only got bigger and better, linking up with people who taught her how to steal cars like riding a bike. She had yet to find a replacement for that particular thrill, but her self-control had markedly improved in a little over two years.
Then there were men with hacksaw smiles that threatened to cut her open if she got as close as they wanted her to. Thunderous voices that cracked with rage when she’d shove the smoldering cherry tip of her cigarette into a hand that got too close for comfort. None of them were any good, not like the man with his head in her lap, who brought her chocolate rations and listened intently to her, even as her voice shook with trepidation at bearing so much of her heart.
Woody hummed, her fingers trembling as she traced the features on his face—his expressive brows, the nose that gave him a profile she could hardly tear her eyes from, lips she dreamed about since the night he first kissed her and every time since. Besides the power of a well-maintained engine, she believed in the way she felt about John.
“I was lonely and angry,” she murmured after relaying her patchwork of regrets and fears to him. “I made a lot of mistakes because of that. It’s not an excuse. But I wanna be honest with you so you can still change your mind about me if you want to. I understand if you do.”
“There’s nothing to change my mind about, sweetheart. I want to be with you,” he said, conviction strong in his voice as he sat up.
“I’m not a virgin,” she stressed.
He shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve been surprised if you were.”
“Well, I didn’t love any of them—four guys in total, mind you—and it’s not like I got anything out of it, either.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
Crushes were for girls who lived in nice houses and wrote hearts above their i’s. Desire ran hot, expressed in glances made with hooded lids beneath buzzing neon lights that left a thousand things unsaid. But after that handful of physically underwhelming experiences which ended up being far more trouble than they were worth, she came to the conclusion that she was better suited to get her own rocks off.
“Got what out of it?” he asked.
She chewed on her lip. The only sin out there was getting caught, and Kate Woodward never got caught. Woody chose to confess. “I had to get to the good part myself.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
Her heart sank. “I haven’t done it in—“
“Those selfish bastards never made you come?”
“Not one.”
“In that case, I’d be glad to be your first.”
“I want you to be,” she said, leaning back on her hands in the dewey grass, spreading her coverall-clad legs apart. “I wanna do everything with you.”
He placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers playing with the inner hem of her coveralls. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”
“I want your mouth.” Truthfully, she’d never had a guy go down on her before. Heard about it from other girls, wild ones out in the desert. A few others as she got to know the first group of WAAC girls she bunked with after enlisting. Even from Holly, as apparently Stan had been generous and enthusiastic about that aspect of their sex life. Stan, Stan, what a man, the girls would tease about Holly’s fiance before he was dearly departed.
The corners of John’s lips twitched up as he brought his fingers further along the hem, inching closer to her covered sex. “Never had a girl ask me to do that before.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
She hesitated, averting her eyes from him. “A lot of guys think it’s gross.”
“I think I should decide for myself, don’t you?” He cupped her chin, caressing her jaw with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?”
Upon returning her gaze to his, she found no judgment behind his eyes, but a passionate sincerity.
“I want you to go down on me,” she said.
She studied him as he watched her. His pretty lips parted slightly, drinking her in as more of her body was exposed. It wasn’t a strip tease, nothing sexy about the way she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and yanked her coveralls down to her knees, finally kicking them to her ankles and off entirely. Sat before him in her white t-shirt, plain underwear, and boots, almost boyish if not for her breasts, low on her chest, nipples poking through the fabric.
“Are you wearing a bra?” He sounded breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was even asking.
“No,” she said, her lips curving into a smile, letting him in on another secret. “I always take it off at the end of the day. Don’t tell anyone.”
As if the other girls didn’t know, with some degree of judgment along with their understanding that the damn thing got uncomfortable, could chafe with all the work they were doing, the sweat and friction. It wasn’t like anyone could really tell beneath the other layers, anyway. But anyone meant anyone of the male persuasion, and with that, John dutifully shook his head.
His lips were on hers in an instant, a hand on her waist, the other shoved up her shirt, squeezing her breasts. She gasped at the way his rough palm felt against her nipple, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue in her mouth. Her moans were lost to the world, claimed by him and him alone. He straddled her lap, keeping her in place beneath him.
John moved his hand from her waist to between her legs, rubbing her already wet pussy through her underwear. Her lips were undoubtedly swollen from the ferocity with which he kissed her. A delicious shiver ran down her spine at the thought of how it’d feel against her cunt.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off of her. Bringing up her knees, she felt a burst of adrenaline rush through her at being so exposed to him.
“You need to tell me how I’m doing, alright? I wanna make sure you feel good,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she mumbled, almost dizzy with desire as he lowered his face between her legs.
His hot breath on her cunt, lips brushing against her folds. She strained to hear… whispering?
“Johnny?” she asked after a few moments of aching anticipation. “Baby, if you don’t wanna— Jesus Christ,” she choked out. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the rest of them.
His tongue lapped at her clit, eyes looking up at her for approval. With a shaky nod, she bid him to continue, biting her lip as to stifle the whine that threatened to escape her mouth. A noble attempt, but fruitless when he licked up her pussy with the flat of his tongue, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. Her heart was beating between her legs.
Woody could make herself feel pretty damn good on her own. She lifted a dirty magazine from a guy in Reno once. Had pictures and everything, though she wasn’t sure how real it all was. She’d look at the pictures, tongue between her lips and hand between her thighs as she imagined herself in those women’s places, feeling the ecstasy written all over their expressive faces with their typically faceless partners. From there, she’d get creative, allowing her mind to conjure up a man who, behind her closed eyes, could bring her to orgasm. Even in her wildest fantasies, she never thought she’d find one who’d actually want to bury his face in her pussy.
Fuck, if she couldn’t feel John’s fingers digging into her thighs, she would’ve almost thought she was dreaming. She grabbed his hair, pressing his face harder against her cunt. He was giving so much, and she’d take all of it, greedy with the pleasure he offered her.
He slid two fingers inside her pussy, slowly enough to see how she’d take it before pumping them in and out at a quicker pace. Used his other hand to hold her down when her hips jerked up in his face, like her muscles had a mind of their own, hellbent on reaching an orgasm. Hell, so was she.
“Just like that— fuck,” she rasped, her nails scraping against his scalp.
She nearly wanted to ask if he’d been lying, if he had gone down on a girl before. He at least had enough experience to know where her fucking clit was, but his mouth. Jesus, how could he expect her to go to the officer’s club and watch him play saxophone after this? As if she wouldn’t be sitting there, skin feverish, thighs pressed together, thinking about his mouth and his fingers in that moment. The way his teeth grazed against her clit, making her pussy clench around his fingers. The way it almost felt like he was making out with her cunt. Their eyes would meet, and he’d know, maybe have a little smirk on his face up there, too. An obscene secret privately shared amidst dozens of other people who’d be none the wiser.
“Don’t stop,” She was so close it almost hurt, wound up tight and pulsing in her gut, waiting to be released. “Please don’t stop.” Hot tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Her chest felt like it was on the verge of bursting open. Between a fistful of grass and a hand buried in his hair, she cried out his name like a vulgar prayer in the night as her orgasm rocked through her.
A universe of stars burst across her abdomen, white-hot supernova tearing through her muscles, blinding her from anything but the pleasure that pulsed from her pussy. She finally came down from it, covered in sweat, chest heaving, a wild-eyed woman as John pushed himself back up on unsteady arms.
She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so he was straddling her lap. Took in his mussed up hair and the way his lips glistened with the traces of her still on them. She kissed him, a muffled moan in her throat at the taste of herself on this tongue.
She wanted him. More of him. Everything he had to give. Wasn’t sure it’d be enough to sate her need, but damn if she couldn’t try.
“Johnny, can’t we just do it?” she pleaded, her voice a girlish whine that sounded otherwise foreign coming from her as she desperately pawed at him.
“Next time,” he whispered. “Next time, sweetheart, I promise.” Grazed his teeth against her hummingbird pulse. “I didn’t bring a condom.”
“But what about you?” she pressed, reaching for his crotch. “You must be—“
He shook his head, cheeks flushed as he licked his lips. “I got carried away, sweetheart. I, uh—I’m good.”
She slipped her hand down his pants, feeling the sticky evidence of his orgasm for herself. Her fingertips brushed the sensitive head of his spent cock, sending a shiver down his spine. Was he good, though? He groaned. No wonder Douglass kept so many goddamn rubbers in his footlocker.
“Next time,” he repeated, voice strained and husky in a horrific display of self-control. He nearly regretted it when she pulled her hand away, feeling something sinful stir in his gut as she inspected her hand, finally bringing it to her mouth and licking the residue off her knuckles with a feline-esque curl of her tongue.
“Just say the word, Johnny. Whenever you want me to return the favor, I’ll drop everything for you.”
He swallowed roughly. She meant it.
#john brady x oc#john brady#john brady x ofc#masters of the air#masters of the air x oc#mota x oc#mota#mota fanfic#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#ch: woody#so basically i got carried away
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i come to you on my knees (i’m ovulating) BEGGING for a black!fem!reader fic where bucky is the fucking munch he is PLEASE
poetry in motion, major john egan
pairing: john egan x she (black!fem!reader)
warning: 18+ sexual situations and descriptions.
content: in which john teaches her a thing or two about bodily poetry.
tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum
an: I don't typically write smut, so I hope this met your expectations at least just a little bit.
John Egan was known to be an impulsive man. He acted animalistically, on instinct and emotion rather than logical and thoughtful comprehension. When it came to her, however, he was more meticulous, patient, and calculated. Slow and intentional.
She was like him, an enigma. A code that took much time to decode. The rearranging of pieces (his approach) would occur many times before the lock clicked and fell off the guard box that kept her withdrawn from him. Then a dark door opened and the safe guarded treasure was revealed.
It didn’t come without struggle and resistance. Even upon agreement, she still shuddered at every attempt to pull her soul from her body. Her hands fisted the neutral sheets beneath her as her legs shook like leaves in the wind.
The scene from his perspective was tantalizing. Her eyelids sat low and her brown eyes were hardly visible, but still, he maintained a piercing gaze with her. That, in combination with the impassioned feeling of his mouth against her sensitivity, was overstimulating.
Her stomach clenched as she writhed against the sheets. She sobbed woefully, her nails scraping against his shoulder as she attempted to back away. It was too much.
For just a moment, she got a break. But, it didn’t last long. The dampness of his tongue was replaced by the skin deemed of his fingers. She jolted as her eyes shot open.
John Egan was salacious. Dripping with sensuality and eroticism. Beneath the faint light of the candles, he stood as a shadow above her. He had shed his jacket and was dressed in a wonderfully fitting black t-shirt. His hair was tousled from her constant tugging and his lips. Her eyes rolled backward at the sight. Swollen and dripping.
She sighed his name slowly and closed her legs around his forearm. He shook his head in disapproval and pushed her thighs open with his free hand. “Keep them open.” His voice dripped with arousal. She put up a good fight, but lost when the overwhelming pressure began to boil over.
He was attentive. Her end was near and he knew it. And how desperate he was to bask in it all. Once more, he found his place between her thighs. His eyes trailed the richness of her skin as he gently placed her legs on his shoulders.
She was enticing. From her scent to the way she tasted on his tongue. Sweet and succulent. He found himself getting lost in her pleasure. From the way, she screamed his name and begged for mercy. Oh, how he would pay to stay in this position forever.
“John,” she squealed, sitting up on her elbows. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill. His blue eyes shifted upward to meet hers. “Please…” He hummed. She screamed.
It reverberated against the walls and fueled the fire that burned within him. He’d store it to keep him warm for the rest of eternity.
With a string of whimpers and incoherent words, she came down from the high she rode deliciously. Her bare chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.
She held her hand out tiredly, desiring his closeness. John wiped his lips with the pad of his thumb and crawled on top of her shuddering frame, dropping kisses against her neck, cheek, then lips. “You okay?”
She grinned tirelessly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She’d waited a long time for a moment like this and she was glad she held out for him. She nodded and pecked his lips again, “I’m okay. I’ll feel better if you do it again…”
John’s eyebrow quipped in amusement. A sultry smile crept on her lips. He said lowly, “Yeah?”
She opened her thighs just enough to slot his body between then engulfed him. Her hands dropped to his pants which were secured by his belt. John’s eyes fell. She nodded, “Yeah.”
Who was he to deny that? Only a fool would do such a thing, and John Egan was no fool.
#saturnville#black!reader#black reader#masters of the air#mota#major john egan#callum turner major john bucky egan#john egan#john egan smut#john egan x reader#major john egan x reader#major john egan x amelia mae egan#bucky egan x black reader#bucky egan x reader#x black!reader#black!oc#mota fanfic#mota fanfiction#fic inspo
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I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1
Masterlist |-| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11
AO3
Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group
Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language
Word Count: 4k
Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee
The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.
Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.
Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.
Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.
Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.
"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.
"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."
"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.
"You coming for drinks?"
"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."
"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."
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The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.
"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.
"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.
"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.
"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.
"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"
"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"
There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"
She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"
"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"
Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."
With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."
She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.
"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.
"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.
Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"
Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.
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Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.
"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.
"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"
"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.
"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.
"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.
"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.
"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."
"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."
She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.
John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."
The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.
"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.
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It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.
"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."
"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"
"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.
"Can I call you Fran?"
"Only if you want to die."
"Fair enough."
As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.
"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.
"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.
"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.
"Did you win?"
"Of course."
"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.
It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.
"George?" She whispered.
"What?"
"Do you have an aspirin?"
The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.
"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.
I'm not that short.
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The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.
A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.
"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.
"Mornin'."
"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"
"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."
She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"
"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."
"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.
"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.
"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"
"Stratford."
"I... do not know where that is."
"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."
"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.
"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."
"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.
As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.
"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."
"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.
"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."
John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."
Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."
She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"
"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."
A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."
Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.
"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."
"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.
"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"
"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."
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The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.
Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.
Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.
"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.
"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.
"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.
"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."
Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"
"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."
"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."
Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"
"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"
She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."
The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"
Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.
"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.
Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.
"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.
"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.
"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.
"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.
"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.
"All good."
"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
"See you later," Frankie affirmed.
"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.
"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.
The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.
"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.
"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.
From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.
"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.
"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.
"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.
"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"
"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."
#masters of the air#masters of the air fic#masters of the air oc#mota oc#hbo war#john egan#gale cleven#ken lemmons#rosie rosenthal x oc#oc: frankie#mota#fic | i'm your man#oc: george
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much ado about nothing, major
i. bubbles & battle scars
gif creds @sakuragifs !
pairing: john “bucky” egan x (ofc) maude “blue” bluell
warnings: this story will contain mature themes, descriptions of injury, blood, sexual content, swearing, as well as, physical and mental illness. proceed with caution.
— i: mentions of injury, death, & puking. (pretty much just maude, bubbles, & croz being a dynamic trio, total bestie vibes — & then there’s john. he’s just there haha)
word count: 3.4k
there must be something or nothing at all
July 24, 1943 was the date — a date marked in the history books as the start of the Hamburg attacks, and in the journal of Nurse Maude Bluell, an inclusion of her very first introduction to one Major John Egan.
It was just past 0900 hours when the doors swung open to the infirmary rather unexpectedly. Bluell was organizing a new shipment of supplies, placing gauze, bandages, and wraps alike in their respective places, Lottie wa re-evaluating the health passes for the men who were flying today — confirming that they has passed inspection so to speak, and Q — well Q was reading newspaper cutouts of her favorite gossip columns, courtesy of her girlfriends back home. A red cherry sucker laid limply in her mouth as she took in the recent excepades of the Hollywood starlets she fawned over.
For Q, it was better for her to dive her nose into the latest gossip than worry about a certain Lieutenant she had tethered a liking too. A certain Lieutenant Curtis Biddick — "Curt" for short — who was scheduled to fly today. Q would deny the prospect of liking the New Yorker with the heavy accent, but it wasn't deniable to Lottie and Maude who had seen the Lieutenant saunter in every morning just to talk to her at the nurse's station. He used the need for a sucker to subside his "apparent" drops in blood sugar as his excuse of choice.
Lottie reprimanded her every time, claiming that they were only for the patients, not for the healthy airmen — hiding the sugary sweet lollipops from her colleague.
But, Lottie's attempts proved to be fruitless as Q would find them at every turn in every single hiding spot, opening a sucker of her own just to push Lottie's buttons.
And, she was doing that just now — not just to bother the blonde, but to also hold some sort of reminder of Biddick, that he was here with her as much as she was there with him — the cherry red sucker that mirrored the very same shade of her hair — tucked safely in the pocket of his flight uniform for a victory treat.
Alas — in other words — there wasn't much to do until their men came flooding back in waves.
Until there was.
The sound of a door swinging open broke the dead silence that pervaded the medical unit. The three women immediately dropped everything they were doing once they saw the sight of Colonel Harding sauntering in with Lieutenant Payne following suit — under the haven of a thick blanket, accompanied by the the arm of one of his fellow airmen.
Or well — Maude and Lottie did.
Susan was trying to consume the last line of the article in front of her as fast as she could. She didn't want to be left wondering what Bettie Davis was doing nowadays in the middle of assessing what was to come.
Lottie, being under the wing of Doctor Stover longer than the two nurses beside her, did not hesitate to meet Harding half way. "Good morning, Colonel'' she greeted, pressing her clip board of names close to her chest as a means of suppressing the shock of it all. It was rather unusual to see any of the airmen, let alone the Colonel until the conclusion of a mission, especially when every health pass had been confirmed and processed.
"Morning. Ladies," Harding replied to the three nurses present respectfully as he always did, curt, and to the point. "Lieutenant Payne is coming down with something and will no longer be navigating today's mission," he explained. "You ladies mind checking up on him?"
"Oh not at all, sir!" Lottie chirped, setting her clipboard down and immediately swinging into action. She nodded over at her colleagues, urging them to take the clearly pale and ill Lieutenant from the hold of the corporal present.
It didn't take long for Bluell and Q to get the Lieutenant situated and comfortable in a bed with brand new sheets — pressed and floral scented. Maude felt lucky and rather grateful that they had completed that task in time for such a situation to occur. Q was still quite busy with her cherry sucker while simultaneously taking the man's blood pressure, so Bluell decided to do the evaluating — not that she minded anyways. It was refreshing to see a man in front of her who wasn't bleeding out and barely coherent. She could already tell without really knowing that Payne would be just fine. That she wouldn't be losing another one of their men just yet, and that made the weight in her chest subside with the sweetest relief.
"Lieutenant Payne," Maude enunciated carefully, smiling fondly at the poor man in front of her. It was obvious from the sight in front of her that illness had racked his bones. The color was draining from his skin, a dull gray taking over, a line of sweat was creasing his brow, and his eyes drooped heavily doused with a glossy sheen. "Please, if you could tell me what seems to be going on. How are you feeling?"
"Well, quite shitty," he laughed dryly, yet a smile still managed to grace his features and prove to be rather contagious to Maude's expression in seconds flat. "I was fine. I mean, I thought I was. 'Twas until I was propped up ready to fly, feeling like I could hurl if I even moved a muscle. Major Egan shut that down real quick though. Got me a sub with Croz."
And there it was, a title attached to the name of a man Maude Bluell would have scorched into the back of her mind soon enough. Yet, now – now in that very moment, her unfamiliarity with that very same man would simply fly over her head. Instead, she would find a tying point to her patient in the traces of his explanation, one that made her eyes light up in genuine interest. "Lieutenant Crosby?" She asked while dropping the back of her hand to Payne's forehead, inspecting the extent of his temperature."
"Yuh-huh," he nodded
At the same time as Q announced "one-nineteen over seventy," but it really sounded like, "nun-eye-dee ova even-yee," with that sucker still tucked dedicatedly in her mouth.
Maude's hand dropped from Payne's forehead then, seeming pleased to know that he wasn't burning up as bad as she expected – definitely warm but more mildly speaking – and his blood pressure was relatively normal. The wheels were already turning in her head, coming to the conclusion that he merely had some sort of bug. But, she couldn't really come to one until Doctor Stover came to access the man himself.
"Lemme guess," Payne began, getting Maude's attention after she instructed Q to get the Lieutenant a glass of water. If she got his prognosis right, he would need to remain hydrated to subside the urge to vomit. "He's here quite often ain't –" Payne's words seemed to lodge in his throat then, his features twisting just the same.
The clear indication of his illness brought Nurse Bluell to flight mode and she picked up the bucket adjacent to his bed in mere seconds. "Let it out, Lieutenant," she urged as she situated it on his lap just in time for him to spill out the contents into the bin instead of his bed. He did just that, and Bluell did not hesitate to keep the bucket steady and rub his back in a soothing motion, hoping to ease the strain in his back from achy muscles.
Once he was done, he slumped back against the headboard – his eyes appearing glossier than they had before. He was spent, but that did not stop him from mumbling out his appreciation. "Thank you Nurse – Nurse?" He trailed off, a crease forming on his sweaty forehead with a curious sort of confusion.
"Bluell. Nurse Bluell," she introduced herself, moving the bucket off the bed, tying up the old one, and replacing it with a brand new one. "But you can just call me Maude."
"Maude. The powerful battler," a droopy smile spanned across his face, recalling the meaning behind the name of the nurse in front of him.
"Yes, but –" her cheeks dusted pink, and she looked away from him as she got rid of the previous trash close by. "Not me. All you – All you boys."
"Doubt that." Q brought over the water then and he thanked her kindly before taking a gentle sip. "Call me Bubbles."
"Pardon, Lieutenant?" Bluell stood straight then, completely taken aback by his sudden admission. She took a deep breath and sucked back the urge to laugh.
It wasn't uncommon by any means for nicknames to be a staple pass of courtesy and comradely around base. It served as an attempt to distinguish the tension of a deeply set reality and also comouflague identity to foreign forces. Like Charolette and Susan who replied to Lottie and Susie Q or just plain old Q. It was common knowledge. And she had found herself giving into such knowledge as she adjusted to the shortened form of her surname — replying to Blue more often than not. But, Bubbles. Bubbles? She hadn't heard something quite like that before.
"Bubbles. That's what they call me. Ain't heroic by any means. You can ask Croz the next time he's here, 'M sure he'll tell yuh," he elaborated.
A chuckle escaped her then, a genuine smile enveloping in her cheeks in a way that almost felt foreign. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled – really smiled since she'd arrived on base. "Quite heroic to me,." She flattened her hands across the edges of the mattress, making sure he was tucked into the sheets comfortably and then she fluffed up the back of his pillow for me good measure. "Should rest up now, Lieutenant. I'll be here if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to call us over," She affirmed, and in a sudden newfound sense of confidence or maybe it was simply just the comradery, she found herself adding, "that's an order, Bubbles."
Bubbles – still poorly, shivering, and pale as a ghost – managed a light laugh from his strained throat as Maude left the man be. "You got it, Maude"
Maude's spirits appeared to be more pleasant than usual as she busied herself in the next coming hours. Her conversation with Lieutenant Payne – or Bubbles if you will – subsided the nerves that usually rattled her in deep anticipation of what was to come. However, knowing that Lieutenant Crosby was navigating today still kept her worried.
Would his stomach be okay?
Would the natural herbs she recommended to brew in his tea ease him?
Those thoughts did not fail to plague her mind throughout the day, but she was grateful to have some distraction in the task of caring for Bubbles. She made sure to keep an eye on him as much as she could, so much so, that it started to concern Nurse Charlotte Reign and Susan Quinn who felt as if previous patterns from the young nurse were resurfacing. Patterns that were brought into light the very same day an airmen died in her arms for the very first time.
Yet, Maude felt fine – well, as fine as one could be in the circumstances placed upon her. She felt like she could breathe again the moment the boys returned from the Trondheim mission in the later afternoon. It had proved to be successful – and even more so in the hands of one Lieutenant Crosby who was currently at Bubble's bedside. With a chair situated over, he not only came to check on his best friend, but also report on the mission.
Maude was finishing up wrapping a flier's burn wounds adjacent to Lieutenant Payne when she unintentionally overheard the conversation at hand. "I mean the flak, it came in so hot. I didn't even think about it when I put it on. It – It must of froze, but then these chunks, they start rolling down my forehead, I think 'holy mackerel crosby, holy mackerel, you've been hit!"
"Of course you would narrate your own death." Bubbles laughed lightly at his friend's retelling.
She secured the wrap tightly and comfortably and practically repeated the earlier lines she had said to Bubbles. She was starting to become more and more accustomed to her script, finding it more and more natural as she annunciated each word within passing days.
"Well, I mean I could make overthinking into an Olympic sport." Lieutenant Crosby joked just as Maude appeared at Bubbles bedside. She smiled at the two men, acknowledging them as she refilled Payne's water cup without interrupting their conversation.
"I've been puking so much today, I'm starting to catch up to you. Ask Maude." He nodded to the nurse next to them.
"Evening Maude." Crosby greeted the nurse. "Hope Bubbles here ain't giving you too much flak.”
"No more than you have." She just about pulled the man's chain with that one, making Bubbles erupt in laughter.
"Hey, 'snot my fault, Nurse." Crosby held a hand to his chest as if she had wounded him with his words, but the knowing smirk on his face proved otherwise.
"Did you try the tea?" She asked Croz, handing the cup of water over to Bubbles. His color was starting to come back. He looked better than this morning but he still needed to stay hydrated if he was gonna get back in the skies anytime soon.
"Nah. Next time when I actually know I'm flying I will," he sent a look over to Bubbles, only pushing his friend's buttons for fun. "Thanks Bubbles."
"Anytime." He said laughing against the rim of his cup. He took one last sip before Maude placed it back on the side table for him.
It seemed like Croz wasn't gonna let that one slide so easily. "You know I washed my hair twice, I still can't get the smell out." He leaned over his friend, practically shoving his hair in the fellow Lieutenant's face."You wanna smell? Yeah, jump in."
"No. No!" Bubbles tensed up then.
"Yeah, Come on." Croz pushed on.
Maude couldn't help but laugh at the playful side of these men. Men who still managed to let their inner kid shine through all the horror and terror they had ensued in the skies.
"Get – get away. I will puke on you! Yuh gonna have to wash it out." Bubbles threatened, trying to push Croz away.
And then like a burst of unexpected flax, everything shifted.
For not only Croz who immediately stiffened back in his seat – putting on a serious and professional front, but for Maude who – for lack of her own sense of understanding – found herself freezing just the same, but for a whole other reason.
"There he is," a deep, firm, yet some-what carefree voice broke the ice within her. And there he was, one Major Egan looking and sounding like one of those Hollywood starlets in Q's paper clipping — just stepping out of a film in the cinema. And if he hadn't had a small cut just under his right eye, he could have passed as a man who hadn't just returned from an intense mission across the skies. Clean cut, pressed in his uniform, curls styled and gelled back to perfection, with his flight jacket wrapped around his arms. Arms that held a strong hand planted against the edge of the foot of Bubbles bed. "How you doing Bubbles?" He asked.
Maude hadn't realized she was staring at the six foot two bulk of a man in front of her until Bubbles spoke up. "Never better, sir."
"That's good." And then his eyes landed on her, so intense, she suddenly wondered if he had become even taller than he was a minute ago. Feeling caught, she looked away and busied herself with the water cup on Bubbles nightstand to give herself something to do. Would the Major report back to Doctor Stover that she was incompetent and unfit to take care of his men? Lucky for Maude, his gaze broke away from hers the moment she turned around. "And I was looking for you," He said to Croz.
The chair beneath Croz creaked in protest as he stood up to be at the Major's level. "I'm sorry, Major."
"What for?" Major Egan inquired loosely.
"I – I didn't give PRs the whole flight back, I messed up the rendezvous – "
"I know. I know. The radio silence really threw off those Jerries. It's that and hitting the deck." Egan affirmed. With the conversation becoming more detailed, Maude felt out of place and rather rude for overhearing. Yet, the next words that came out of the Major's mouth not only took Croz and Bubbles by surprise, but Maude too. Any previous contemplations seemed to dissipate the moment Egan said, “Now, Harding, he couldn't be more impressed by you so, I'm transferring you to Blakely's crew full time," and then, " Bubbles, you get better, we'll find you a new fort. And Croz, we gotta give you an actual nickname."
"They call him Bing back home." Bubbles added into the conversation just as Maude urged him to take another sip. "More?" He asked, and she simply nodded as she turned back into her previous position– her view of all three men near her resurfacing.
"Bing Crosby? That's just lazy, unless you can sing." Major Egan put in his two cents, and his eyes gleamed when he asked, "Can you sing?"
"I–I ca –" Croz tethered.
"Like a donkey." Bubbles confirmed with zero ounces of hesitation, truly on a roll at deflating Croz's ego today without letting an ounce of illness ruin the fun.
"No, no – not a note, sir."
"Ah, I'm no good either, but I'm loud and hell if you can commit with enough enthusiasm, it really don't matter." And this was when Maude would come to learn of the singing shenanigans that came with one Major Egan. If only she knew then that those shenanigans would very well start up something alright.
The shorter Lieutenant and the taller Major clapped hands then in parting – a shake of sealed establishments and confirmations, proving that they were on the same page. "I'll see you at the Club Croz. I'm buying," the one with height told him, referring to the same exact club Lottie and Q would be dragging Bluell against her will in just a few short hours. "Goodnight Bubbles."
"Sir."He croaked between sips and finally handed the cup back to Maude for good.
"Goodnight, sir." Croz bid farewell. When the Major was out of earshot could Maude breathe, and Croz seemed to be too because he was back to bantering as he commented, "He thinks my nickname is lazy."
Another patient called her over then, stealing her away from the two men she had found herself laughing along with, yet a part of her felt grateful for the sudden diversion – especially now, after the Major's interruption. She couldn't explain it – couldn't even compartmentalize it exactly, but something had shifted inside her the moment he had stepped foot into the infirmary. An instinctive feeling of sorts — awfully hard to pinpoint. It hurt her head too much trying to think about it, so much so, she momentarily wondered if she was coming down with the same exact virus as Bubbles.
She wasn't.
But, she knew it was something, but what was it?
That — she didn't know.
Yet, something deep inside her – against her better judgment – told her that she needed to know. So as Croz passed by and bid her a farewell of his own, she knew what she had to do. And when the girls pitched going out to the Club again tonight, practically begging her in their shared quarters — Lottie using Q's obvious need for a distraction with Curt's lack of a return — did she give into their demise.
Was there really much ado about one night on the town?
Lottie and Q wouldn't think so, and Major Egan – well he wouldn't think so either.
the way in which she is already whipped without "knowing" is so real.
+ Q — curt and susie got me giggling & kicking my feeties !!!
also, for important context purposes, the gifs in the beginning is how i imagine bucky diverting his gaze from eyeing miss. maude ;) sir, we all know you were LOOKING — respectfully!
p.s.: i love bubbles & croz so bad, ugh my HEART <3
ANYWAYS.....
more to come sooner than you think. lemme know what ya think so far? feedback is much appreciated as this is BRAND NEW. this is also my very FIRST historical-esce fic so my apologies if there is any inaccuracies, but it do be my own fiction twist anyways haha.
love ya'll a mil, smoochies!
— xanadu
tag list:
@rubberpsyche
@precious-little-scoundrel
@major-mads
@luminouslywriting
@justheretoreadthxxs
@karmasloverrr
#mota fanfiction#mota fic#mota#major john bucky egan x ofc#major john bucky egan#lieutenant harry crosby#lieutenant curtis biddick#lieutenant bubbles payne#callum turner#anthony boyle#barry keoghan#harry crosby#callum turner fandom#callum turner fans#major gale buck cleven#bucky egan and buck cleven#ofc maude blue bluell#wattpad#fanfiction#fanfic#mota oc#bucky egan#callum turner fanfiction
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