Tag: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff, @maiden-of-gondor @crayonwriting @la-fille-en-aiguilles (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)
A/N: Okay, so this isn’t a particularly eventful chapter but I had to do some characterization for Y/N and her mother. Ya know, I want to set some nice things up for the chapters to come! Sorry for the break between updates, life is wild sometimes.
April 1944
The guilt that consumed Y/N for the next few days was worse than she could have imagined, seeping from her mind into her body, coursing through her veins. She was sore and tired and regretting every choice she’d made since Collins left the few years before. Her life now was so different, and while she was frolicking around Europe, entertaining crowds, he was in pain, much to her ignorance. Had he told her earlier maybe she wouldn’t feel so bad. But this wasn’t his fault. She’d kept him in the dark, and as she penned draft after draft of what to write back to the man she loved, it became harder and harder for her to find the right words to make everything okay.
Would he be angry if she was honest? Most likely not. But it was her own mind that would make her regret what she’d done, and it already had begun to. Even if he did get upset she had kept her life from him, it was nothing compared to what she was currently doing for herself. Sleep evaded her, she nursed saltine crackers and black tea, as she had no appetite or motivation to prepare food for herself.
When she woke up one morning, her face pressed against a blank piece of paper, a pen loose in her grip as she surveyed the crumpled-up letters she’d attempted the night before, it was the rare sunlight streaming through the curtains in her living room that pulled her briefly out of the tent of self-hatred she’d set up for herself. At least for a moment, she needed to talk to someone else about this. But the only person available, who could possibly give her any proper advice, was the last person she wanted to go to.
Straightening her dress after she’d quickly showered and gotten ready for the day, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. Y/N hadn’t put any effort into making herself look nice, she hadn’t even dried her hair or put on makeup, so she knew she was quite the sight.
It didn’t take long for her to get an answer. Diana opened the door, donned in an apron, her hair impeccably styled away from her face, contrasting with her tired and frumpy-looking daughter. The house smelled amazing, which Y/N had become accustomed to growing up. Y/N wasn’t much of a chef herself, and her appetite suddenly came back with a vengeance at the smell of her mother’s cooking.
“Dear Lord, what the hell happened to you?” her mother asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Despite her initial instinct to fire back, she felt her shoulders slump in defeat under her mother’s disapproving gaze. “Can I just come in?” she asked. “I need to talk to you.”
Diana sensed her change in disposition and stepped to the side to allow her daughter entry.
“I’m surprised to see you at all after you blew off Stephen and I last week,” her mother quipped as Y/N followed her into the kitchen.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to see him considering the circumstances.”
“That was rude,” her mother said, nodding at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Y/N sat, dejected, staring out the tiny window.
“I know,” she said absentmindedly, unable to find the strength to argue.
Her mother pursed her lips, turning away from the stovetop. “Why are you here, then? I hope it’s to apologize.”
“Not exactly,” Y/N murmured, letting her chin rest on her hand as she leaned on the tabletop. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry.”
“That wasn’t very sincere,” Diane quipped, turning back around and flipping a page in her cookbook. “I shouldn’t have to ask for an apology.”
“Can you cut me some slack, mother?” Y/N straightened up, her patience waning as her voice cracked. “I need someone to talk to, and you sure as hell aren’t making this easy for me.”
Her mother didn’t respond, focused on chopping vegetables while Y/N sat at the breakfast nook twiddling her thumbs, trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal to her mother and how to even bring it up. A long bout of silence passed before her mother spoke again.
“Stephen was over yesterday.”
“He was?”
“Yes, he wanted me to talk to you about last week, see if I could get you to come around.”
Y/N huffed. “And?”
“I never liked him much to be honest, didn’t think your father did either,” her mother said, not turning around, tossing some chopped celery that hissed as it hit the hot pan. “But you seemed happy.”
“I was young, I knew nothing,” Y/N said flatly, slightly annoyed that their conversation had gone back to Stephen. It was pointless, and meant little to her now. But her mother either didn’t hear her, or chose not to respond, because she was forced to continue the conversation. “What did you say to him?”
“He wanted me to promise that I’d try to get you to call, to meet up with him.”
Y/N scoffed.
“So this is me…..trying,” Diane looked over her shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. This made Y/N smile, slightly, though she knew it resembled more of a pained
“Well, I’m not single,” Y/N responded. And that’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Jesus, you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No! God no.” Y/N scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “This is about Jack, mother. You’ve met him.”
He mother was quiet a moment, taking the information in. “You fancied him after all?” her mother asked, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m surprised you couldn’t tell.”
“I could, I was just trying to be polite,” Diane said.
Y/N rolled her eyes but knew better than to say anything. This was really trying her patience, but she had to stay focused on why she was here in the first place. “Well, he’s been away. And I may have ruined it.”
“Are you upset because he’s gone at war? You should have considered that before you got involved with him.”
Y/N’s composure snapped like a rubber band, despite the pep talk she’d been giving herself. “You think I didn’t consider that? It all happened so quickly.” Truth be told, she knew she would have loved Collins regardless, and she didn’t regret loving him now.
“What’s the issue?” her mother asked. “You’ve been here twenty minutes and you’ve yet to really explain why.”
Y/N sighed, tilting her head. “I haven’t been honest with Jack about everything going on in my life. I’ve told him nothing about the shows I’ve been playing or the opportunity in London. I wanted to, but it just felt so wrong, considering the fact that he’s miserable in the trenches somewhere, fighting for us all to go on like normal and I’m frolicking around here doing nothing of substance.”
“Anyways, he was injured again, and he can’t write me so one of his friends did. And now I feel awful because I’ve lied to him for so long about my life. I can’t explain why it makes me feel so guilty.” Y/N shook her head. “I imagined….if we both got out of this safely…I thought maybe he and I would….would get married.”
Y/N didn’t expect herself to start crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened up to her mother about something so personal and the vulnerability from that and the guilt that’d been eating her apart combined and resulted in tears…. again. It was surprising she hadn’t dehydrated herself from all the crying she’d done over the last few days.
It wasn’t hard to compose herself though, especially not under Diane’s condescending gaze.
“And you don’t need to chastise me, I know I’ve made a mistake,” Y/N spoke up before she could. “Believe me, I’m already insecure enough because of you.”
She feared the worst would come from her mother’s mouth as she finally seemed to stop meddling with her cooking, turning around to face her daughter. Biting the inside of her cheek, her mother appeared angry, ready to unleash everything all at once, but instead she sighed, walking towards Y/N and taking the empty seat at the breakfast nook across from her.
“I’ve always wanted the best for you, Y/N.” She said flatly. “I’ve pushed you hard and haven’t let you rest for that reason.”
“There are other ways to go about-“
“No,” her mother shook her head. “Being nice about doesn’t work.” She scoffed. “Not with you, at least.”
Y/N had to bit her tongue not to respond before her mother did.
“When you were a kid I remember you’d always come inside crying when the neighbor kids played too rough. You’d fall and scrape your knee and I’d comfort you, but you’d always keep wailing. Unless I told you that you were fine.”
“Because you were fine, you knew it. You looked down at the scab on your leg and went right back outside. I didn’t need to coddle you.”
“I knew after your dad passed away, and after Stephen left that you were devastated. But I wasn’t sure what would happen to you if I let you wallow around for years. You wouldn’t put your talent to good use, you’d stay here for the rest of your life and never come out of your shell.”
“When I met Jack, as desperately as you both tried to hide the fact that there was anything between you two it was written so clearly on your face it was almost funny. I didn’t know what to think of him. But he’s the reason you’ve started to play again, am I correct?”
Y/N nodded, swiping her eyes for the few residual tears that had collected on her skin.
“So why do you think this would make him angry? I think you know just as well, if not better, than I do, that if anything, he’d be proud. I don’t think there’s a violent bone in that man’s body.” Diane gave her daughter a weak smile. “In fact, he reminds me a bit of your father, don’t you think?”
Y/N nodded in agreement.
“I am proud of you, Y/N,” she reached out, squeezing her daughter’s hand from across the table. “When I saw you play at the bar the other night, I felt like I was seeing you again for the first time in years.”
Y/N didn’t have many words to say. This was certainly not how she’d expected the conversation to go, she thought, if anything, she would have stormed out in the middle of it. Her mother’s revelation, however, was a lot to process.
“Thank you, mum,” she said quietly, looking down. “That means more than you may think.”
She ended up spending the evening at her mother's, they had a nice meal and talked more before Y/N retired for the evening. Despite the fact that she could have gone to bed then and there, after the advice from her mother she knew what she had to do.
Y/N wrote it all down. Everything she’d been doing for the past year she poured into one letter than ended up being five pages long, even after drafting and cutting out entire paragraphs, it was nearly a novel. Her hand was cramping by the end, but she wanted to finish it so she could get it in the mail by the next day.
She only hoped Collins would have the chance to read it and forgive her, she didn’t know if she could go on without knowing everything between them would be okay.
In which Alex becomes attached to the first beautiful thing he’s seen in weeks.
(I’m putting everything else under a cut in case anyone still hasn’t seen Dunkirk!! It may contain some spoilers.)
Request? Yes:
So I have an idea for Alex. So instead of getting rescued on that boat he would be rescued by a different boat and there's a girl on it and helps him and they talk and get to know each other and Alex is smitten with her and when they drop them off to go to the train he convinces her to go with him and yeah
Author’s note: Hi!! I actually really liked writing this, so if anyone has Alex requests, send them my way!! As usual, feedback is highly appreciated. Enjoy! Xx
"Abandon ship!"
Alex whips his head around to find himself alone with the French impostor. The water has found its way up to his chin and the boat is going under. There's no hope in saving it. He pulls his hands away from the wall of the boat and turns in the direction of the ladder, but pauses. The buzz of planes reaches his ears, just over the rush of water flooding the boat. His heart pounds in his chest as he thinks about just how much he wants to go home.
"Oi!" he shouts, grasping at the French soldier's arm. Alex jerks his head in the direction of the exit and then turns to suck in a deep breath before ducking under the water.
His lungs have already begun to burn by the time his fingers find a ladder rung. He pulls himself forward, against a rush of water. Each limb feels weighed down as he climbs to the boat's top deck. He bursts through the water's surface with a desperate gasp, yanking himself up onto the sinking deck.
It takes a moment for Alex's eyes to adjust to the sunlight after being submerged in darkness for the whole day. He blinks away the initial sting, sitting up to find a destroyer far off to his left and smaller crafts bobbing in the water around him. They're fishing vessels and small pleasure boats.
There's a familiar whistle and Alex drops his face forward to the deck, nearly choking as water siphons up his nose. He clasps his hands over the back of his head just as a loud explosion sounds from his left. Seconds tick by with nothing but distant shouts before he lifts his eyes, jerking his head around wildly.
The destroyer has been hit and clouds of black smoke billow from its side. He can see it tipping slowly, deliberately. Two planes twist overhead—one enemy and one friendly. Alex lowers his gaze to sea-level, gauging which boat is closest. Men swim for every vessel, and bodies bob lifelessly, but he tries not to think about them. The boat straight ahead seems promising.
Alex scrambles to his feet and then dives off the bow of his sinking boat. His arms ache as he swims forward, amongst a sea of desperate men. He's pushed underwater by a flopping soldier and bobs back to the surface, eyes heavy with some unknown material. He swipes at his face and his fingers come away black. Oil.
***
You collapse onto the deck of the boat with a strangled cry as an explosion seals the destroyer's fate. Men shout to each other, and you hear your father's voice above them.
"Y/N!"
You lift your head to see the ship unbalanced, dark smoke dancing up into the wind. Soldiers jump from the wreckage, splashing into the water and making for civilian vessels.
"Y/N, you help them in, you hear?"
You twist to find your father's eyes fixed on you in a stern gaze. You nod immediately, stumbling to your feet. He's been cross with you since he found you stowed away below deck. But he wasn't supposed to be on the boat, either. The NAVY was supposed to take it.
A hand smacks against the side of the boat and you lean over the gunwale, grasping slippery fingers. You grunt in frustration when you lose your grip and try again, instead clasping at the man's sleeve. You're not weak, but hauling a sopping wet soldier into the boat is nearly impossible for you. Another set of hands wrap around the man's opposite arm and you fall backwards as he's yanked into the boat.
"Shouldn't have come," Adam, your father's worker scolds you with a hard shake of his head. He reaches out into the water to pull another soldier onto the deck. "Get these men some blankets, Y/N."
You push yourself back to your feet, brushing past your disapproving father to get below deck. Stacks of packed blankets line the floor and you grasp a thick pile, ducking back upstairs. More men have been helped on board and line the perimeter of the boat.
"They need to start getting below deck," your father observes, disgruntled. "Need to pack as many on as we can."
You set down your stack of blankets, grabbing the top piece to wrap around the nearest soaked soldier. Your movements pause as you catch sight of his face, smudged with black liquid.
"Oil," you whisper, turning to your father. "There's oil."
He glances at you and then to the soldier in front of you. His lips purse in recognition and then he turns away without another word.
"Get below deck," you tell the stranger. Your fingers grasp at another blanket as you move onto the next man, wrapping him up and repeating your instructions.
The pattern continues for a few minutes before there are shots overhead. You stumble in surprise and glance up to find a smoking plane, shuddering in the air. Your eyes drop back down, where thick oil sits atop the water.
You scramble to the edge of the boat, helping Adam to haul more people aboard. The damaged plane hits the water just as you get a man over the gunwale. It bursts into flames, which spread across the water in a burst of heat. The soldier collapses atop you in a clumsy heap.
All you can hear are screams. You can feel the heat from the fire, dancing along the water, many feet from you. Your eyes squeeze closed, trying to block out the terror of the scene.
"Oi, love."
You open your eyes to find a pair of green ones staring back at you. Your fingers loosen around the front of the soldier's jacket, which you weren't aware you were clutching with whitening fingers. His own fingers loosen around your wrists as you blink away the tears that have collected along your waterline.
"Sorry," you mumble, pushing away from the stranger. He lets you slip out from under him and down below deck to retrieve another stack of blankets. The cabin is packed to capacity and you have to shove your way through the crowd.
Back upstairs, you continue wrapping soldiers up to keep their wet bodies protected from the chilly air. The green-eyed man receives the last blanket, and he watches you closely as you settle the material over him.
"Thank yeh, love," he says softly. His face is splotched with oil, hair slick atop his head. He wipes at his skin with the blanket as you nod politely at him. "Wha's your name?"
"Y/N," you introduce yourself. Your feet slip just a bit when the boat hits a hard swell, and the soldier's hand reaches out from where he sits to brace you at your leg.
"Yeh okay?"
You nod again and he retracts his hand, coaxing his blanket further around his shoulders.
"'M Alex," he informs you. He looks tired, exhausted even. You wonder about everything he's been through at Dunkirk, how much death he's seen. The rest of the boat seems almost silent. All of these men have seen death.
"It's very nice to meet you," you say, and you mean it. Any life that's survived is precious and meaningful.
"Y/N," your father calls. You twist your head around. "Get some water for the men."
You give Alex a soft smile before following your orders, collecting flasks of water from the cabin. You begin to pass them out below deck and then return outside.
"Should get some sleep," your father says softly. You're surprised at his tone. "Got a while until home."
You nod appreciatively before continuing to pass out water. The soldiers seem grateful, although they don't say so. You stop in front of Alex again, who's tucked himself into a hidden crook of the boat, handing him a diminishing bottle which he downs without stopping. He gasps for air as he pulls the flask away from his lips and hands it back to you.
The sky has begun to darken with the close of sunset and there's a long ride back home. Soldiers have begun to nod off against the walls of the boat, heavy with fatigue. You wrap your arms around your body as you glance around at the distant vessels bobbing in the water. You wonder how many men have been saved today.
"Yeh're shiverin'," Alex observes, pulling you from your thoughts as he loosens his blanket. "Take this."
"No, no," you deny with a swift shake of your head. You are cold, but the soldiers are wet, and it can only be worse for them. The least that he deserves is a warm blanket. "I'm okay."
"I insist," he urges.
"No," you refuse again, biting down on your lip to keep it from quivering with cold. "I'm not taking it from you."
Alex slumps back against the wall, looking slightly dejected. He looks out at the sea, moonlight glinting off the surface, and wonders just how something so beautiful could be the site of something so terrible.
"At least lemme keep yeh warm," he compromises, opening his arms up. You consider the proposition for a moment. It sounds inviting to be held, and you wonder briefly if he offers for his own comfort.
You drop to the deck of the boat, letting the flask rest against a wall. Alex pulls his knees up and allows his legs to fall apart, creating a space between them for you. You swivel around, pressing your back to his chest, resting your head against his shoulder. He's still wet, but he feels warm as he brings his arms around you, wrapping the blanket around your torso. His hands skim your sides where he holds the material taut.
"Better, innit?" he asks, and his hot breath puffs over your cheek. You nod in agreement, grasping at the sleeves of his jacket. His hold is tight. You're unsure why it makes you comfortable enough to never move again.
"Where are you from?" Alex murmurs softly into your ear. He rests his head back against the boat, staring up at the stars.
You name your hometown and Alex hums in recognition.
"What about you?" you ask. "Where's home?"
That gets him talking. He names his own hometown, and when you tell him you've never heard of it, he launches into a vivid description of the area. It's in the countryside, with rolling hills and open air. But there's a small town a few miles over, with a busy square full of shops, and that's where he likes to spend most of his time.
You listen to Alex speak. His voice is low and drawling, and his accent differs from what you're used to, but you find comfort in it somehow. You can feel the ache in it, the deep yearning for home.
"Sorry," he apologizes after a few minutes. "Probably borin' yeh."
"No, it's okay," you assure him, and you press back into him thoughtlessly. "How long have you been out here?" you ask gently.
Alex pauses, licking his chapped lips and trying not to recall all of the death he's witnessed.
"A while. Was stuck on the beach fo' a week," he whispers. "Been on three ships tha' went down."
You can't help the broken breath that falls from your mouth. Three ships? You've only seen one ship sink, and you weren't even on it. You can't imagine what he's been through, what he's seen and done and thought, how hopeless he's felt.
"I'm so sorry," you find yourself whispering.
Alex's arms tighten around you. It feels like it's been years since he's seen a woman, let alone held one. It's refreshing. You smell so clean, and your skin is soft as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. Your lungs fill with a surprised breath, but he hopes you don't really mind. He hasn't felt this comfortable in weeks.
"I lived," he whispers. "Tha's the important part, I guess."
You don't really mind. He smells a bit, like oil and seawater and sweat. But he's warm, and you can feel his gratitude for being able to hold you.
Alex didn’t realize how tired he was until a weight settles over his eyes. He feels them drawing shut without his consent. You shift in his arms as his grip slackens.
"If you want to sleep, I can get up-"
"No," he protests immediately. He constricts around you again and shakes his head gently. "Don't leave."
"Are you even comfortable?" you ask. His legs are bent up and he has to be feeling some type of ache.
Alex hums thoughtfully. He shifts a bit and lets his arms relax again. For a moment, you're nervous that he might just let you get up.
"Can yeh turn 'round? We can lay down, 'f tha's a'right."
You scoot forward, out of the blanket and a few feet away from him, shivering at the loss of his body heat. Alex stretches his legs out and sighs when his knees pop appreciatively. He unwinds the blanket from his shoulders and shuffles until he's on his back, shoulder pressed to the boat's edge. He's left a small sliver of the deck for you, between his body and an inner wall. You settle into it on your side as he spreads the blanket out on top of himself.
"C'mere," he orders, pulling you closer into his side. You rest your head on his chest and his arms wraps around you while his other hand drapes part of the blanket over your body. "'S it a'right?"
"Perfect," you confirm, allowing yourself to soak in his warmth again. You're pressed up against the side of his body, ear positioned almost directly over his heart, because you swear you can almost hear the beating of it beneath the ripple of waves.
"Yeh tired?" he asks, and you can feel his chest rumbling beneath your cheek.
"A bit," you whisper, hesitantly letting your hand rest just below his ribcage, over the damp material of his uniform. "You must be exhausted."
"'M okay," he denies, but you can hear the rasp of sleep in his voice.
You stare silently at his name tag, tracing your fingers over the engraved letters. It isn't long before you feel Alex's arm loosen around you and his breathing steady beneath you. It isn't long before you're falling asleep, too.
***
"Oi."
Alex awakes to someone kicking at his leg. He turns into you, holding you tightly against his chest and burying a hand into your soft hair.
"Get up."
Alex receives another light kick to his leg and he pries his eyes open to a lightening sky. He turns his head to glare at the man standing over the two of you, squinting his eyes against the light that silhouettes him.
"Wha's your problem, mate?" Alex grumbles, quiet enough that he won't wake you.
"Think you'd better get up before her father comes out of the cockpit," the stranger informs him. He's not a soldier, Alex realizes. He's dressed in common clothes. He was probably the one who helped Alex into the boat. "We're nearly at port and he won't take too well to you holding her like that."
Alex glances down at you, asleep in his arms. He nods in acknowledgment and the man leaves.
"Oi, love," Alex mumbles, brushing hair back from your face. You don't move, though. He slips his arm out from underneath you, laying you gently on the deck and draping the blanket over you as he stands up.
The sun is just rising in the east. Alex stretches himself out and joins a group of soldiers, passing around a flask of water. He's almost completely dry now, and the feeling is relieving.
You wake up when the boat is pulling up to dock. Your neck aches and you feel colder than you did when you fell asleep. Alex isn't beside you when you open your eyes. You're sprawled out on the deck, alone.
You push yourself into a sitting position and rub at your tired eyes. Footsteps echo across the deck and you lean forward to see a crowd of soldiers funneling off the boat and onto the dock. Your heartbeat rises into your throat. Maybe you'll never see Alex again.
Adam and your father are inspecting the vessel when you throw yourself into the group of soldiers, hurrying off the boat. Your head whips back and forth between faces, looking for one in particular. You don't see him, though.
Your search stops at the train that everyone is loading onto. Alex isn't out here. He must already be on board. You take a step back from the car you stand in front of, wrapping your arms around yourself. The cold morning air has begun to seep through your clothes.
Alex sits at a table by himself, staring out the window numbly. He can feel a strange ache in his chest. He wanted to say goodbye to you, but you were still sleeping when he left the boat, and he thought this way would be easier, anyways. No matter how short the time he spent with you, he felt a draw to you, and a connection that didn't make much sense. He only just met you.
When he sees you standing outside, though, looking cold and defeated, he starts to rise without thinking. His eyes remain glued to you out the window as he moves into the aisle, shoving rudely past men heading in the opposite direction. He shoved back and cursed before he finally makes it to the door, nearly tripping down the steps.
You're staring at your shoes when you feel a presence in front of you. Alex is standing in front of you when you lift your eyes. You barely get a surprised breath in before his hands are grasping at your face, tugging you forward. His lips are dry and chapped when they press roughly to yours. You clasp your fingers around the front of his uniform, holding him against you as his tongue dips into your mouth, licking desperately at the taste of you. His hands fall to your waist, pulling you even closer as his lips part from yours, leaving softer kisses along your jaw until his mouth is at your ear, puffing labored breaths over your skin.
Alex's eyes scan over a stack of newspapers on the table behind you. The fight continues. Dunkirk wasn't the end for him. He'll have to fight again. He doesn't know if he can do that. He doesn't know if he'll make it home next time.
"Come with me," he whispers.
"What?" You pull back to look at him. His green eyes are intense as his gaze flicks over your face.
"Run away with me," he repeats. "W'can go anywhere, do whatever yeh want. Let's jus' go."
Your thoughts travel back to home. Your father won't be letting you leave the house any time soon, not since you followed him into war without his permission. And he keeps trying to pair you up with Adam, but you don't even like Adam. What's left for you here? You haven't known Alex for long, but you know that you'd like to spend time with him. You'd like to uncover all of his little quirks and listen to his late-night thoughts. You want that.
"Okay."
Alex's eyes widen, whether with surprise or excitement, you're not sure. He lifts you into his arms and spins you around, pressing a kiss to your lips again. You can feel him smile against your mouth.
"Let's go, then," he whispers as he sets you down.
Alex's fingers lace together with yours and he tugs you beside the length of the train, which has just finished loading up soldiers. The two of you race around to another train, where civilian passengers are stepping aboard. Alex sheds his jacket into a ditch and rips the tags from around his neck. He slips them into his pocket and then walks you calmly over to a train car, holding your hand at the back of the line.
Died on the beach. That's what Alex hopes officials will think happened to him. He'll be left in peace, with some boring job. Maybe he can spend the rest of his long life with you. Maybe the two of you will fall in love and get married, have a family of your own. Maybe he'll be able to keep you warm every night. It's all he can hope for. And he can't help but think that you've saved his life more than once.
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Can We Stop Pretending Now? by Tan @militarizedsubconscious
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pairing: Bolton/Winnant Word count: 1,082 summary: Winnant slammed the laptop closed, thirty seconds from screaming into a pillow. Maybe he should anyway; it wouldn’t hurt anything and he would definitely feel better. It seemed no matter what he did he just could not get a handle of online classes. Not only was D2L impossible to navigate, but some of the students were refusing to cooperate.
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A/N: I decided my babies shouldn’t have to suffer anymore. This is the penultimate chapter.
September 1945
Collins had responded to her letter. It took some time, as whatever injury he had was pretty severe - not so severe that he had to go on leave, but enough that he didn’t send her a response right away.
Y/N poured her heart out to him, told him everything that she’d been keeping from him and more, even going on to confess just how much she missed him, how she worried about him everyday. And she thought of the woman she was before she met him, timid and shy. There would always be a bit of that in her, she knew. But Collins made her more than that. Collins thought the best of her. So maybe she needed to start doing the same. Maybe she needed to let him know exactly what he meant, instead of trying to hide it. And though his lack of response made her nervous, she knew she had done the right thing in being honest.
When he did reply, it was nothing less than she should have expected from Collins. Why she thought he would be cruel and angry was ridiculous. He was kind, understanding.
I’m so proud of you, Y/N. I only wish I was there to see you. Right now, people like you are exactly what the world needs.
The hustle and bustle backstage was all becoming too much. People were out celebrating.
The war was over.
Husbands, boyfriends, lovers had all been reunited and here she was, hours from home playing a show. It was hard for her to be amidst all the happiness, when what she really needed wasn’t there.
She assumed he’d be home within the week, but she didn’t know the exact date or time. She was expecting a letter, a heads-up, but never got one. And she couldn’t be at the train station to see if he was back, then she’d had to go to London for her show. None of the trains tonight were leaving to go to her hometown, so she’d had to get a hotel room for the evening and would leave to get home in the morning.
Y/N had begun to spend more time with her mother and sister, finding their company reassuring. She’d missed out on years of having an actual relationship with her mom, and despite the tedious task, she was thankful that they finally were getting on well, though they had slip-ups here and there. They had a lot of lost time to make up.
As usual, she hoped to duck out of the bustling bar undetected, avoiding any conversations or unwanted drinks from strangers. The hotel probably had a hot shower and a cozy bed, and she needed a long sleep after all the traveling and performing she’d done that day.
The next act was shuffling on, setting up, and she threw her things together in a large bag, her music book, her notebook full of writings and ideas, some of Collins’s letters stuffed between the pages. She’d put on a coat and hat, drawing the rim of it over her eyes. It had been quite cold recently with the winter weather approaching.
Nights like these were the toughest, as it was this time of year when she’d met Collins. Though they’d only known each other a short time before he’d left, the love she’d felt for him was unlike anything she’d experienced. Sometimes, she wished she could go back in time to the night they’d met, and cuddle back into the booth of the cozy tavern, this time, relishing the moment for what it was; the night she met the only man she would ever love.
Although she hoped it was soon, she didn’t know when she’d see Collins again.
Closing the dressing room door behind her, she sighed, keeping her head low. Someone bumped into her, however, in the bustling hallway and when she whipped back around towards the back exit her eyes met those of a tall man standing at the end of the corridor. Of all the people in the crowded hallway, she didn’t know why he was the one who she saw first. Then it dawned on her.
She blinked once, twice, three times as his face lit up, a large smile gracing his features as he beelined towards her, his pace picking up until he was all but running, bumping into the other people who stood in his way, not even bothering to stop and apologize. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have walked right by him, but the dark navy uniform gave him away instantly, it was the thick stubble, almost beard that covered his chin that had thrown her off initially.
Then she was in his arms.
The crowd of people that surrounded them seemed to fall away despite their cheers and hollers as she reunited with the man she hadn’t seen in years. It was just the two of them in the cramped hallway.
“Jack,” she said, her face in his neck, her throat closing as she let out a choked sob, clinging to him like she was drowning and he was a lifeline. “Jack,” she said again, in disbelief.
“Hi, love,” he murmured, and she could hear that he was crying, she finally pulled away to study him, still wrapped in his arms, his eyes red-rimmed, lips pressed together in a smile. He swallowed hard.
Maybe there were a few more fine lines around his eyes, or maybe he was just tired. He’d either lost weight or matured, and she knew either of those were a possibility since the last time she’d seen him. None of this changed the fact that he was still one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, her Jack. His eyes were watery and she realized she, too, had silent tears tracking down her face, her makeup probably coming off with it. It didn’t matter.
“Aren’t ye happy tae see me, why are ye crying?” he teased, smirking. She didn’t know what to say.
“Why are you crying?” she answered, snorting and smiling. There was nothing that could wipe the shit-eating grin off her face right now, she was sure of it. He chuckled as he swiped under his eyes.
“How’d you know where to find me?”
“I asked yer ma, she sent me here. I got in today. I had tae see ye, first thing.”
Squeezing his arms, she gave him a once-over, taking in his uniform, the small bag he carried with him. “Is this real?” she asked him.
He laughed, god how much she’d missed his laugh, his voice, his instantly soothing presence. He was everything to her, and he was finally where he belonged. “Of course it’s real. I’m home….for good, this time.”
Y/N was unable to manage a response, she just pulled him back against her, the thud of his heart reassuring. “Is this real?” she asked, pulling away and running her hand over the hair covering his cheeks.
He chuckled. “Haven’t had the time tae shave.”
“I don’t mind it, really,” she said, though she had to admit she never expected Collins to look so ruggedly handsome with facial hair. Another part of her felt that he wasn’t quite back until she could see his cheeks flush and dimples grow prominent when he smiled.
“I saw ye play,” he said. “Ye have no idea how much it took for me not tae jump on that stage.”
Y/N laughed, her head spinning with all the questions she had to ask him. Where was she supposed to begin? The moment she’d been dreaming of for years was finally here and she found herself at a loss for words.
“I have so many things I want to say,” she said. “But I suppose we have plenty of time to talk.”
Collins nodded. “You’re right.”
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” she asked, refusing to remove herself from his arms.
Collins shook his head no. “Hardly had time tae pack up a few things before I hopped on the train.”
“Well I have a room in a hotel, you can stay there with me,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said.
Collins’ company was much appreciated on the walk home, as she asked him questions about his travels back home from the base he had been on. She knew better than to press him too much, as she was sure there were some traumatic memories he had to work through, and he’d open up to her when he was ready. As much as she wanted to pick up right where she had left off with him, she knew it probably wouldn’t go that way, at least not for awhile.
Y/N was sure bringing a man back into her hotel room raised eyebrows as Collins followed her through the hotel lobby, but she didn’t really care. No one could assume anything about who she was and be correct, and she’d never see these people again.
Y/N and Collins got settled into the hotel room. He became awfully quiet and didn’t say much, and she assumed he just needed time, so she retreated to the bathroom to freshen up and put on more comfortable clothing. It was quite late, but she imagined she wouldn’t get much sleep since she and Collins had so much catching up to do. Or maybe he was tired and just wanted to sleep.
When she exited the bathroom, she found Collins sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the wall, seemingly focused on something, though she wasn’t sure what.
“Jack,” she said softly, and he perked up, turning his head towards her and giving her a weak smile. “Are you alright?” she asked.
He nodded. “I have….” he trailed off, mulling over his words. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she said, her stomach twisting at his words as she joined him on the bed. Rather than letting her mind create scenarios, she knew it’d be better just to hear him out.
“I thought about you everyday,” he said, taking her hand. “And I know today has probably been a lot already for you, so just be honest, you won’t hurt my feelings if you say no….” he paused for a while, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. She’d never seen him so nervous.
“I want to marry you.”
Y/N looked at their joined hands, and before she could answer, he spoke again.
“I know this isn’t a proper proposal. I don’t have a ring, I didn’t even get down on one knee and I probably should have gotten your mother’s blessing. I can do it over if you’d like…” he was speaking quickly, cheeks flushed, clearly anxious.
“I don’t care about any of that, Jack,” she said softly, allowing her free hand to run over the stubble on his cheek, turning his head to face her. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
His face lit up, he drew her against him and kissed her fervently, their first kiss since he’d come back. It felt like he’d never left, the way he made her feel, every emotion channeled through the gesture. She didn’t need a ring or a fancy proposal to know how he felt in that moment. She knew he was the only man she’d ever need.
When they finally broke apart, lips swollen, out of breath, Y/N smiled. “For the record….” she spoke up. “You don’t need my mother’s blessing. I think she likes you more than me,” she smirked.
Collins laughed, and she could tell he was relieved. “And you don’t have to ever be nervous around me,” she squeezed his hand. “I’m always going to love you.”
“I can’t help it,” he said. “You’re my dream girl.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“I know how it sounds, but I mean it,” he said, insistent, but a smile played around the corners of his mouth.
But his bashfulness didn’t last long, because his hands found her waist and he tickled Y/N until she finally found the strength to move away from him. “I forget how difficult you can be-” she said, out of breath from laughing.
“Well you should get used to it,” he murmured, pulling her back against him and falling back against the pillows, no more words passing between them as they kissed, the rest of their lives ahead of them.
