Over Tea & Silent Letters (Farrier x Reader, Modern AU)
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Modern AU
Pairing: Farrier x Fem!Reader
Word count: 3.6K
Warnings: Allusions to PTSD, a sliver of melancholy
Summary:
Being engaged to a soldier isn't as romantic as some people make it out to be. It requires a lot of patience, faith, and going days if not longer without contact. No matter the company that might take their place for the time being, there's a gap that can't be filled by anyone but them.
This is especially tangible during the Bank holidays. The first year of having to spend them alone is fine. The second is alright. But after the third it gets lonely.
And it's been eight years.
Whereas others find solace in the local church, the bakery is your source of comfort, work your religion.
However, this Good Friday makes you wonder if perhaps there is a God out there after all.
Author's Note: I've kept the portrayal of PTSD and combat stress fairly general, relying on the information shared by Military Onesource.
I envy the customers, how they get to sit so calmly over a cup of tea and talk without restraint. After all, there’s nothing to touch them, to tear their luck and happiness away. Their conversations have no subjects that are tiptoed around, the stories associated with them carefully locked away in an unreachable place. I dare to bet their nights know no nightmares or screams as the past repeats itself because it has dug its claws deep inside the heart and mind you hold dear.
He always refuses to go back to bed once he’s awake. At least that’s better than on the nights I watch him wandering aimlessly around the yard or cross the fence into the grounds beyond. Fortunately, the latter hasn’t happened in a long while. However, there’s still the hiding beneath the bed because of loud sounds. New Year’s Eve is nothing short of hellish for Charles. Yet, nothing comes close to the blank gaze in his eyes as he stares out the window, numb. Not even the anger outburst that might have triggered it comes close to the anguish I feel whenever it happens, stuck in a motionless world with a stiff body while his is spinning out of control.
I especially envy the customers who get to sit together, the couples old and young.
The way we used to.
His name is a ghost on their lips. Sometimes I wonder if they know him better than I do. Nevertheless, only the tea leaves and coffee stains in the cups at the end of the day can confirm or deny the suspicion.
But they remain silent.
I clear the last of the tables and, tray in hand, join my co-worker behind the counter. As soon as he notices me approach, Leo perks up and gestures for me to hand him the dirty dishes so he can turn the dishwasher on.
He recently moved into town, living with the girl who inherited the big cottage in the outskirts. Way I’ve heard it from her and from what little he tells me himself, he came here from Russia after trouble that’s only partially related to the war with Ukraine. His English grows better by the day, though we do still have our misunderstandings at times. All the same, he’s a hard worker who’s passionate about the job.
Although, it’s not far-fetched to say he’s a listener with a natural healthy curiosity about the people around him too. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He dries his hands on the tea towel tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m sorry if I cross boundary, but you have ring on your finger. Yet, I’ve never seen your hus- partner.”
“That’s because it’s been a very long time since he’s been home.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I look down at the emerald in the middle of the thin silver band around my finger. It’s as blue as his eyes, bright as they were when he proposed the last time he was here. Truly home, without having to go abroad. If memory serves me well, that was now fourteen years ago. Twelve if I’m being lenient and dismiss the various training sessions he had to give to the armies of other countries. “This was not what I had in mind when I became Mrs Farrier.”
“Where is he now?”
“Iraq, though he could also be in Syria. Charles is a good teacher, skilled at air combat, but he can’t sit still. I’ve no doubt he’s convinced his general he’s over another bout of combat stress.’’
‘‘But you don’t think so? There is more. He is lying.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t necessarily call it lying, more a case of downplaying the situation.’’ Despite the pain in the back of my throat, I swallow. ‘‘I’m no psychiatrist, but even I can see we’re far past that stage. I hate what the army’s done to him.”
“What is he like?”
“You actually remind me of him. You two kinda look alike. Charles is a little older than I am. Well, it depends on who you ask, but I’d say we’re relatively close in age.” Leo opens and closes his mouth, hesitant to ask the obvious question. “I’m twenty-eight, he’s forty.”
“Fairly close.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “Anyway, we met after he returned from the Iraq War, in 2009. You should’ve seen the villagers when he rode into the town square. They hailed him like a hero. It’s safe to say it made quite the impression, especially on me, who had just moved here from Nottingham. As for our first proper meeting, I wish I could tell you something romantic, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I tripped over my own two feet and spilled tea and clotted cream on him.” Leo snorts. “To be honest, I expected him to lash out at me, but instead he helped me to my feet and told me over and over it was alright while trying to calm me down. I was a sputtering shivering fool, though, unable to stop apologising. That is, until we made a deal.”
“Must have been good. You have ring.”
“It was. I was to give him my name and he’d pick me up later that night for a beer at the pub.”
“Did he show up?”
“With a large bouquet of wildflowers. Shame I couldn’t enjoy them.” I tap the side of my nose. “Hay fever. Charles was then the one to start apologising profusely, but he fell silent when I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. We started seeing each other more often after that. We’d go on trips on his motor and have picnics in the countryside or at each other’s place if the weather was too rotten. I taught him how to bake, which he’s still terrible at, and he told me about life in the army. Two years later, he went abroad for the First Libyan Civil War and came back more scarred than he already was.”
“It’s not his fault. War is awful. Harms the mind more than the body.”
“Is it wrong of me to say it also harms the minds of those around the soldier?”
“No, because it does.” His expression darkens, a scowl on his lips. It might be the fatigue of another long day at work, but his canines seem longer than average.
After a moment of impenetrable silence, Leo somewhere I can’t reach him, he grimaces and clears his throat. “It does.”
He turns away, unconsciously allowing the shadows to hide the tear which rolls down his cheek. Although he tries to regain his composure by casually swiping his sleeve over the side of his face, it’s once again clear that his at times solemn attitude stems from a heavy loss.
However, each of us respects the other.
And so we don’t ask questions.
‘‘Tea?’’ he asks, meekly pointing at the porcelain cups he forgot to put in the dishwasher.
‘‘That’d be lovely.’’
‘‘Then one second. Also, please continue.’’ Leo turns on the tap and puts a bit of soap on a sponge. ‘‘I am listening.’’
Arms crossed, I lean against the counter. “Right, anyway, we got engaged before he went to Iraq to help out with Operation Shader. I know it’s a huge deal, a terribly big fight against IS but… I miss him.”
Even the screams, his big shivering frame in my arms afterwards when he finally calmed down, unable to get back to sleep and afraid of what he’s capable of despite being unconscious. He’s left the room or even the house on more than one occasion, too afraid of what he’d do to me should he experience a flashback or his irritability take over.
The overflowing ashtray on the bench in the yard. Charles always forgets to empty it and remembers to do so when I’ve already done it.
The freshly baked croissants he’d get from the bakery and a fresh pot of coffee to apologise or treat me, depending on the night before.
“How long has it been since he was home?” Leo asks while filling up and putting on the kettle, the cleaned cups next to it. Today we have apple cinnamon tea, prepared from the apples he’s grown in his garden.
“Eight years.” I clench and unclench my fists as a wave of bleak dread washes over me, swallowing me whole like the nearby lake on a stormy night. I’ve told myself time and again to be realistic and prepare for the worst. Yet, how can one prepare for the depths of a familiar despair? “I wake up every day praying I won’t hear the doorbell and have a general on my doorstep to tell me he’s dead. His best buddy, Collins, tried to convince him to get discharged too but Charles wouldn’t do it. He’s always been a man of honour, much to his detriment.”
“Uhm, what does that mean? To his dre- detri-’’
“Detriment. It means something can be a cause of harm or damage. Charles’s sense of honour causes him more harm than good, is what I mean.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you for explaining. Please. Continue.”
“Right,” I take a deep breath and slowly exhale in an effort to quell the sobs festering in my chest, eager to get out. “He wouldn’t come home, no matter how much Collins or I pleaded. It’s been quiet on his end for five months now, Leo. Five months.”
A shiver runs down my spine, all warmth slowly seeping from my body. My breath grows shallow as my chest grows heavy and tight with loathsome images and the voices of various newsanchors chanting words like torture and execution. “He can’t be dead. They wouldn’t have captured him, would they? I have to believe he’s fine, training soldiers and safely on the base. If IS gets him- If- If those bastards- No, he isn’t dead. One day he’ll come home.”
It’s too silent, lonely like the cemetery at night.
The empty kitchen, filled before by our laughter.
The cold bed, devoid of the warmth of his body.
The canvas sheet over his motor, static since he left eight years ago.
The war may have left his marks on him, but I am scarred by his absence.
“Why hasn’t he come home?” Leo wraps his arms around me, awkwardly petting my hair while I clutch his shirt. Under his breath, he mumbles what I assume to be words of assurance in Russian. However, his intonation is a bit odd, almost purr-like. Leo has his quirks, but that is one of the most notable. I’ve come to notice he especially tends to do it whenever he’s speaking with his housemate. It’s nice, though, like a balm on the aching yearning tearing me apart. “Why hasn’t my Charlie come home yet?”
Nonetheless, Leo can’t silence the voice is my head, can’t erase the words that keep repeating themselves.
He’s dead. Died in the field.
“He’ll come home, Y/N. Your partner sounds like good man. Take it from former soldier, silence doesn’t always mean an end.” He cradles my head and rubs my back. “He will return.”
And those words I cling to.
If only to keep myself alive.
We used to eat hot cross buns together. Charles would make tea while feigning patience because he was, no, is practically addicted to them. The twenty minutes or half hour they needed to cool off were torture to him, so I’d send him to the garden for his morning cigarette. There was plenty of time, after all. No need to rush.
The last Good Friday we spent together, it wasn’t raining. It was pouring. Nevertheless, the calm expression on his face as he nipped his coffee and nibbled on his third bun was as much of a comfort to me as the sound of the rain on the windows of the sun room. He’d also managed to go a week without headaches, an accomplishment he then just started to achieve more often.
It was a good day.
One which hasn’t known a repeat since he left.
And it seems this year isn’t any different.
It’s prime time after mass. This is usually the case, but it’s during Bank Holidays the whole of Baron’s End and neighbouring towns pop in for tea and coffee. Miss Goodwin is the one to kick rush hour off with Mrs Harris, both elderly ladies looking for a cup of chamomile and honey tea to soothe their throats. They’re part of the choir and sing the hymns most beautifully. Their preferred spot is in front of the old fireplace.
Soon after, Mr and Mrs Blackwell cross the threshold. They’re a married couple in their early to mid-thirties. Olivia is a florist, located in Cirencester, and makes sure the bakery has fresh bouquets every week. Leo has taken an interest in the language of flowers recently and she’s been teaching him as well as giving him gardening tips. Her husband, George, is a jeweller. He’s the quiet type, but gets along with Charlie quite well. Then again, they’re both silent forces. That is, until they’re put together. George and Charles somehow always find a way to natter for hours on end. I wager there’s a single silence whenever they go out walking together.
Went out walking.
I wonder if and how he’s affected by Charles’s absence. He certainly makes a lonely impression whenever I see him hike around the area.
I noticed neither of us comes close to the cemetery.
One by one, the villagers drop in for a cup of coffee or tea with a pastry or some other baked good. Leo’s Ptichye Moloko has become very popular as of late, though his Sharlotka has been popular from the start. He makes it according to his grandma’s recipe, which he refuses to share with anyone because it’s somewhat of a family heirloom. Fortunately, anyone who asks and hears his response, respects it. After all, it must be nice to have something, however small, personal in a country not your own.
Around noon, Collins drops in for our annual Good Friday lunch. He doesn’t mind the drive down from Gloucester to see me, insists on it even, and I’m grateful for his company.
Leo nods at the blond-haired man in greeting when he crosses the threshold. He gives my upper arm a small nudge and ushers for me to take a break and join the pilot in the usual spot. By the window overlooking Baron’s End’s main street.
Looking on as everyone continues living.
After hanging my apron on the hook in the kitchen, I place the lunch I’ve prepared for us on a tray to serve. Though normally steady on my feet and certain in my movements, I revert to that insecure clumsy eighteen-year-old when he drops by during this time of the year. Although, perhaps it’s not a regression to a person I once was.
No, it’s an act which falls apart.
We both notice it, but remain silent.
There’s no use in remarking upon the hurt of the other. So he doesn’t say anything of the tremble in my hand and I willfully ignore the badly feigned warm smile he musters.
Tray returned to the kitchen, I sit down across from him and take a small sip from my orange juice. “Any word from Charlie?”
“None. It’s been quiet on his end for months,” Collins answers in a strained voice between bites of his smoked ham sandwich. For a moment he hangs his head like he’s lost his appetite. He might very well have, considering he puts the sandwich down and cleans his hands on a napkin. “I can only imagine what it’s like for you.”
“At least we can wait together.”
Because aside from writing unanswered letters, that’s all we can do.
“It seems we aren’t the only ones. I heard Moira pray for Charlie, for him to come home soon. It worries her you’re spending yet another Easter alone.”
Moira is Collins’s old neighbour from when he still lived in town. She’s the mayor’s wife and stops by weekly for a cup of orange earl grey. I wager she’s somewhere in her mid-seventies, but I know for certain she likes to sit in the corner of the bakery. Aside from being a talented seamstress, she also often knits clothes for her grandchildren or works on embroidery.
“That’s sweet. I’ll make sure to thank her next time I see her.”
“How are you holding up?” He takes a sip from his apple juice, his features softening out with the sweet taste of it. “I can imagine this is harder on you than me or anyone else.”
“The best I can. Work keeps my mind off of things, though, which is nice. But then I come home and…” I scoff at myself, a wistful smile on my lips. “I didn’t realise the house is as big as it is. Nor so cold.”
“Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s thinking of us. You know Charlie, can’t sit still for a damn minute. But he also can’t stop gushing about you.”
“Are you sure were talking about the same man?”
“Oh, we are. Man’s real chatty when it comes to you. I’m surprised no one’s tried to tape his mouth shut.”
“Probably because he’d knock them out.”
Collins lets out a breathless laugh. “True. But when he isn’t talking, he’s reading your letters over and over. I kept having to tell him to turn off the light and go to bed. I don’t know how he managed to function with as little sleep as he got.”
“Everyone has their secrets.”
And Charles is full of them.
The rest of the day passes by fairly fast, full of serving warm drinks and food while fragments of various overlapping conversations resonate in my ears. Leo and I take turns washing the dishes when the piles in the sink threaten to become too tall, though I mostly leave them to him. Not out of reluctance or prejudice, but because he wants his quiet moments in the kitchen. There are only so many people he can handle. Tough as he may look, he’s actually very introverted.
Because of Good Friday, the bakery closes an hour earlier, at four instead of five. I send Leo off early despite his protestations, scurrying him out the door with his housemate. “Don’t keep her waiting. Shoo!”
“But, the kitchen-’’
“Shoo!”
“C’mon, Leo.” His housemate tugs on his sleeve, which immediately pulls his attention. She musters her most charming smile, evidently having sided with me. “You heard Y/N. Let’s go home.’’ Then she turns to me. ‘‘Oh, and in case we don’t see you, happy Easter!”
“We will drop by for tea,” Leo cuts in. “And something to eat. Loneliness is not good. We will keep you company.”
“Well, it seems we will see you regardless,” his housemate chuckles.
“Monday, then?” I propose. “I have some things to sort out this weekend.”
“Monday is fine,” Leo and his housemate answer in unison.
“Alright. I’ll see you both then. Now, go on. Don’t let me keep you any longer.”
They turn and head out the door, walking closely side by side. Leo holds the gate open for her, closes it after passing through it himself, and continues to walk on the street-side of the pavement.
In the meanwhile, I watch them from the doorway.
Alone.
Nonetheless, the silence is nice. There’s no one to require my attention, rushing to get dishes cleaned and dried, nor the need to keep up the act of being fine. This is a moment solely for myself, precious time to work out my thoughts and come up with a plan for how to survive tomorrow when I’ll wake up in a cold bed again.
Just as I’m done cleaning all the tables and rinsing the cleaning cloth in the sink, the door opens. I wring the water from it and turn towards the entrance. “I’m sorry, but we’re-’’
The heaviness of the past years falls from my shoulders, the relief of the huge stress leaving me without the strength to stand. My breath hitches, finally released from the icy chill of the winter he left and moving into spring. However, my mind lapses into chaos, full of questions that likely won’t all get an answer today if ever. There is one, though, I am desperate to get an answer to.
Clutching the counter, I stare at the sight of a familiar fur-lined dark brown leather jacket over a wool white turtleneck. The sun has left him with a tan, though the military operation has left him pale enough to make his complexion seem healthy. The dark circles beneath his haunted eyes tell of little sleep, though what little he might have had was likely plagued with nightmares.
“Charlie.” His name falls from my lips, a shivery flicker of a ghost. I swallow hard, throat constricted with barely suppressed sobs. I throw the cloth into the sink and slowly approach him, my movements languid and calculated. Terrified the merest surprise move might break the spell, prove I’ve gone insane and am in fact talking to a mirage. “When- How did you-’’
The corners of his full lips slowly curl into a shy smile, glad to be home yet distant. Part of him is still there.
But most of him is here.
As we close the distance between us, a tender warmth fills up the dull emptiness in his eyes, their natural brightness stolen by war. “I know you’re closed, but think there’s a chance for a cup of tea?”
I grab a hot cross bun off the plate on the counter and wedge it into his mouth. “I’ll put the kettle on, highflier.”
Summary: Farrier meets a young woman who works as a spy during the war and it so happens that this young woman’s next mission means she’ll be around for a while.
“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.”
The sky seems to be too clear for a day of war. The base is full, new soldiers come and go as they’re instructed to do while the ones that have been here for a while just watch. The air force base is a big metal box with high walls that house the destruction machines.
But that’s not how Farrier would describe them.
He sees them as his wings, maybe he was given a pair before he was born but they’d morphed into longer limbs. He knows he’s meant to be flying, whether it’s for his country or not. The war adds danger and thrill to the mix, two things that don’t necessarily go together.
He watches as the newbies walk into the space, they’re mostly young lads with their heads held up high. He knows they’ll come out of this as men, men who are emotionally drained and will never return to their old selves again. It’s a new week, he concludes and walks back to his wing on the base.
His stare drops on Collins first and the scotsman gives him a nod of his head. There’s a line of men waiting to be briefed about their next mission, even though there’s not much to be said. They need to keep the sky clear of any enemies and that’s mostly it. He stands next to Collins and they start making small talk.
That is, until the General walks in.
He’s wearing the dark green uniform, stars embedded across his wide shoulders as he takes a look at the line of men. They become less with every passing day. There’s a bunch of papers on his hand that are soon to be thrown out and a lieutenant follows his footsteps.
And there’s you.
It’s no wonder why you stand out, given you are in a base filled with men and men only. You’re wearing a black suit, similar to what Collins is wearing but it’s baggier and less formal. There’s no indication of a rank on your shoulders but a maroon beret and compartments filled with small guns for all he can see.
And you’re beautiful, too.
He thinks it’s not something that they pay attention to when choosing officers of any sort but the only women he’s seen around are nurses and they certainly do not look as gentle to the eye as you do. There’s a boyish hint to your walk as you eye each and every men on the line, they seem interested.
The briefing starts, it’s short and completely unnecessary. The air force is not the most liked part of the army but you know they do their job, more so than some other parts of the military as far as you’ve seen. You listen to the General as he talks about certain areas the pilots are required to stay away from and then he finishes his words.
The wing commanders then separate into another room, it’s a different briefing about the movements of the Germans and Farrier follows the General as he walks into the small room. There are four commanders, the general and you in the room and everyone is waiting for the General to address the elephant in the room, that being you.
The general then proceeds to clear his throat and look at you before facing the commanders and speaks.
“This is Ms. Y/L/N from the Secret Intelligence Service. She’ll be here to carry out a couple missions for the crown.” he finishes his sentence and the commanders all nod except Farrier, he’s looking at your gentle orbs instead, the ones that are directed right at him.
Your gaze does not shy away from his or any other commander’s unlike all the nurses or the women they have met through the course of the war. You hold a weight within yourself, something he’d seen in soldiers who’d been bombed and almost died but he just goes along with the General’s orders.
You’re young, he thinks. Young enough that he feels uneasy but not enough to make him speak up.
He then walks back to where his precious Spitfire rests next to Collins. Collins starts making talk about how he’d seen a couple of new soldiers fuss about Farrier’s plane but Farrier is not as present as he sits on the familiar seat of the pilot and gets ready.
A long day waits for him.
--------
The sound of bullets through the air and a plane engine crashing into the water hits his ears as he walks around the base. It’s far past midnight but the base is even more alive. He sees a couple guys he recognizes, some of them from the morning briefing and some are just familiar lads.
He waits for the engine fuel while there’s a clear rush around. It’s not the kind of rush he’s seen a lot in the air force base but more of the kind he’d come across on the ground. He then sees a couple soldiers being carried into the base, wounded badly with nurses overcrowding around their heads.
His gaze falls on you.
You look like you’re walking out of hell with cuts and bruises all over your face and upper body. He sees the blood covered bandage on your left arm and no matter how injured you look, you walk towards the general with full ambition. You look furious.
Your mouth moves, hair falling on to your forehead as you talk to the general and he nods at your words, telling you to meet him upstairs in his room. It’s not much of a room, Farrier thinks but they make do.
The general walks past Farrier and tells him to do just the same, wait for him in his office. Your eyes briefly meet his blue orbs but before he has a chance to say something, a nurse comes to your rescue and drags you around the place only to sit you down and take care of some of the wounds around your face.
The truth is, there are many soldiers that need the nurse’s help. Farrier finds it obscure that this nurse is taking extra measures to make sure your face is more put together when there’s men losing limbs around the place.
But then he puts it together.
He’s heard things about the secret intelligence spies. He’s heard of a few women but he know they do business with their faces first. He can tell you’re trained to kill but your face says something else, which is just what you need when you’re trying to get into places no soldier can possibly have access to.
He walks upstairs into the crumbling room where the General waits. There’s another lieutenant in the room and you come in with blood and cuts around your face not too long after. Farrier takes a good look at your face, he thinks you manage to look beautiful even with countless glass cuts all over your face but he stops when he finds you staring right back at him.
“Y/N.” the General speaks and you both straighten at his voice.
You nod and speak, it’s the first time Farrier’s heard your voice. “Yes, sir.” you say, a gulp follows the stern voice. He thinks you sound just like how you look, confident but young.
“This is Wing Commander Farrier..” the General speaks and you look at Farrier for a brief moment with the shake of your head, as a way of saying ‘hello’. “...His crew will be the ones assisting you on your next mission.” he finishes the sentence and you nod. You recall the place you need to go for the next mission assigned to you, you catch Farrier nod from the corner of your eye and the General leaves the room along with the lieutenant.
When the room is fully empty, you turn to Farrier and offer your hand with a soft voice. “Y/N.” you speak, you know he knows your name but there’s always time for proper introduction.
His large hand envelops yours as he shakes it, your soft skin feels new as he speaks. “Farrier.”
Just as you’re about to speak up, Collins walks into the room.
“Hey-” he says but before he can continue, he looks at you from head to toe. Farrier sees no reason to waste any time and speaks up.
“This is agent Y/N.” he says, looking at you and you only while you offer your hand to the scotsman who’s currently inspecting your face. You don’t blame him. You’d had a perfectly clean face in the morning and now, you have blood all over your face.
“Pleasure to meet ya’.” Collins speaks and you nod, he’s dressed sharply compared to Farrier and you note the attitude change.
“It’s been nice meeting you gentlemen but I have a mission to get to.” you speak with a low smile, a childish hint to your voice that makes Farrier want to rescue from what you’re about to do but he watches you walk away and so does Collins.
Just as Collins is about to speak, your soft voice as a shout comes from the corridors of the space, making both of them look out of the door while your back is turned at them for a momentary second.
“Good luck out there!”
-------
It’s a day later. There’s smoke in the base from the malfunctioning machines accompanied by the silent screams of the lucky soldiers who have been rescued from around the place. There are a couple nurses away from the tent they’re assigned to, running around with hopes to help some of the new comer soldiers covered in wounds.
And there you are, cleaning your fresh wound on your own.
It’s on your right shoulder, you can see it when you lean down but not too clear. Your irises burn from the smoke around but you know there’s no escaping it. You ignore the oozing pain from your ankles and try to clean the wound to the best of your ability.
Then, he shows up.
The exhaustion is clear on his face, the day was spent chasing enemy up on the sky but he can’t help but walk towards your figure. You sit on the floor with some bandages around you as you rub alcohol into the wound. You’re actually doing a good job but he figures a hand wouldn’t hurt.
Your eyes meet his when he sits on the ground next to you. You’re about to say something but he takes the cotton from your hand and does what you were doing just a little earlier, just gentler as you watch.
You gulp and speak, he can see the fancy dress you’re wearing but he doesn’t ask questions. Figures it isn’t his place. “Thank you.” you say, eyes far away while he looks at your face, it’s healing up.
You’d gone to a noblemen’s party today, you were assigned to gather information on one of the trusted funders of the war. He was French but the intelligence had enough dirt on him to assume that he was helping the other side, the side that was currently destroying the country from its heart.
Everything was all going well until a drunk rich lord had decided to load his gun and play a little game on his own. You’d stopped the gunfire but it had cost a bullet on your shoulder and cuts from the shattering glass around. It was silly, just how luxurious these lords and madams lived while the poor and unfortunate suffered.
“Your assigned mission is tomorrow?” he spoke, the mission he was meant to watch for was tomorrow and he wanted there to be as little damage as possible. You got up after he finished with patching you up and you both started walking towards the briefing area.
“Yes, although It will be shorter than what you’ve been told.” you spoke and started walking down the stairs and he followed with brows furrowed.
“How much shorter?” he spoke, accent filling each word as you licked your lips before answering him. You had report today’s work to your superior and he was just following you.
“About an hour. It’s an easy job, in and out. It won’t take me longer than that.” you spoke while his boots thudded against the surface of the floor.
He sped up his steps to catch up with you, he was trying to get your attention but you were completely ignorant to the idea. It was war time and you were focused, you had to be.
“What’s the job entail?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” you said, finding it silly that he would even ask an agent to expose any information but he was just trying to get you to talk. And you did. “The general will inform you on your side of the job.” you spoke, eyes looking up at his and you ignored the fact that he had been staring for a while now. You kept on walking and he followed you.
“Now, Commander, If you’re done asking me about classified missions, I have to report back to the base.” you spoke, voice confident while offered Farrier a smile. He didn’t mind your professionalism, he knew this wasn’t a place of love.
He nodded and murmured a small ‘yes, ma’am’ before you disappeared. Your walls were made of steel, he wouldn’t be able to melt them no matter how hard you tried and you figured, he already had someone as most soldiers did. If they didn’t, they’d take it up on themselves to find a lover around their base.
He was just curious about the mission, you told yourself.
------
Twenty hours, five bullets, two airplanes and three explosions later, you were seated between Collins and Farrier.
The mission was complete, the Queen’s man had been protected and you had enough information about the new individuals to act on them. It also happened that you were covered in your own blood since there had been a surprise attack to the mansion you were in.
The look of surprise in both Collins’ and Farrier’s face was a picture when they saw you. You looked like a dead bride of some sort, every inch if your face and upper body were covered in blood, some your own and some of the other guests’.
You were currently waiting for the general to come out and give you the new details. The pilots were there, waiting to get fuel in their death machines next to you. You got a pack of cigars out, ones you’d gotten from a French aristocrat. You didn’t regularly smoke them, only when you’d been face to face with death.
“Those kill ye’, ya’ know.” Collins spoke, watching you light the cigar and you inhaled once before looking at him.
They weren’t covered in blood like you, they looked just fine but there was a hint of horror in both their eyes.
“I’ll die soon if it goes like this anyway.” you let the smoke go as Farrier watched you with intent eyes. There was no point in lying, the missions had been extra challenging and you’d been shot too many times to be able to function properly.
You realised what you’d just said to two soldiers who faced death everyday. They saw men die all the time, it wasn’t pleasant or wanted but seeing you, a young woman who’s supposedly in the prime stage of her life saying that she’ll die soon had felt like a bullet in their hearts.
“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.” you said, earning a chuckle from Farrier. You offered them the cigar, licking your lips and speaking as you’d not just said that you would be dead soon.
“You’ll think you’ll make it?” Collins spoke, looking directly at you as you sat next to him on the metal surface.
Farrier’s eyes locked with yours the moment Collins’ words left his mouth. He was not keen on living afterwards, he’d seen his fair share of the world but it was clear that you hadn’t.
“Probably not.” you said, taking another puff from the cigar as they waited you to speak further. “..most of the agents who work for the crown die in their first six months of the missions.”
“How long have you been working then?” Farrier spoke, you gulped before answering him. You weren’t the typical agent.
Most of them were men who were in their mid twenties. It became easer to identify them and targeting them became no hassle for the germans which was why they had secretly started hiring women, young women in particular, to work as spies since they seemed to be more versatile.
“About nine months.” you said, chuckling when Collins murmured a small ‘cheers’.
But what you were saying was different and Farrier was the only one caught up with it. You were a walking corpse. You’d done and knew too much to even survive if you went back home. You had too much information, your young age didn’t matter to the crown. Only your service did and you’d done your fair share of the spy work.
Collins then left, something to with the engine of his machine. You watched as he walked away, probably leaving the base soon to do his job. You were left with Farrier on your side then, the cigar was long gone.
“Are you always that close to death?” Farrier asked, genuinely curious after seeing you work today. You’d went in with a fancy party dress and came out with three bullet wounds and blood all over you. “Like today, I mean.” he kept speaking but you knew what he was saying. There was something calm about him that made you want to take it easy but this was war, not a calm tuesday afternoon in a the peaceful world.
“Mostly.” you gulped and kept on speaking. “They have a line of agents who do inside jobs like me. I deal with the risky side of the business.” you spoke, like it was just regular business and not dangerous criminal work.
“What about the others?” he spoke, curious as to how this all works. He’d heard things but this was the first time he even had the chance to speak with an agent of the crown face to face, let alone a young woman like you.
You eyed him first, he was being nosy. If it was anyone else, you would’ve just told them to mind their business, the information was confidential. But something about Farrier made you lower your guard for some reason. You looked around before speaking.
“They deal with the common people. Officers and workers. They gather information on things like...” you waved your fingers through the air and made a confused face before speaking. “..hideaways and all that.”
He looked at you then, you were far too young for this but he of all people knew that war knew no age. If it was a different time, he was sure he’d find you with rosy cheeks, under a blossoming tree but now, you were covered in blood in a dress the military had provided you.
“I assume you deal with the posh ones then.” he spoke, just trying to make conversation. He knew there was no way he could get personal so he kept the topic on work.
You nodded before speaking again, eyes not meeting his most of the time. “Noblemen, aristocrats, madams and sometimes even presidents.” you said, lifting your eyebrows at the last words as his expression changed from interested to shocked. You dealt with people who caused this war in the first place.
“You ever get scared? Cold feet?” he asked, earning a genuine grin from you. He was cracking up to be something.
“Always.” you spoke, it was the full truth. You didn’t go into a room full of aristocrats and their beloved butlers without sweat on your hands.
He looked at you then, scanning you from head to toe to see any kind of fear of doubt. You smiled at the soldier next to you, a genuine curve of your lips greeted his blue orbs but it felt like a bullet had gone through his head. Your earnest smile was the first thing that had managed to make him feel at ease since he’d gone into this mess.
What was he doing?
He nodded at your words, long after they stopped hanging around the cool air around you as you looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time. He seemed rough around the edges, not like his colleague Collins who was dressed sharply and knew every sign in the book.
He then asked the biggest question he had, the one that appeared the moment he saw you.
“Aren’t you a little too young to be carrying out missions for the crown?” he said in one full breath. His voice wasn’t as confident.
“I am.” you gulped and spoke again. “That doesn’t really matter. They just want someone who can attract attention and do the job at the same time.” you said, liking the way his orbs change when you spoke.
“And that’s you.” he said, as a matter of fact.
“Surprised?” you asked, finding comfort in talking to this stranger you just met a couple days ago.
“Nah.” he shook his head at his own words. “If anything, I think you’re quite perfect for that sort of job.” he said, watching your curious eyes as he spoke. You laughed at first, it was genuine and he swore it was like birds singing or that time he’d heard a beautiful melody inside a church.
“Well, Commander, I need to leave but it’s been a pleasure.” you spoke, eyes formal and stern again. It was like you had a switch.
“Will I see you?” he said in a heartbeat. He didn’t think twice before saying the words, hence why he was cursing at himself while you gave him a sweet smirk.
AN: No more anniversary prompts now! I’m finishing up the rest, thank you for requesting.
- Farrier had leave that week but he didn’t tell you. It was meant to be a surprise.
- However, the journey had been quite the disaster. It was already dark by the time he got off the train. His cab had already left without him due to the train being delayed. So it was through the rainfall he’d been watching for the last few hours that Farrier walked to your house.
- His luck took a turn for the worse as a car sped past and through a puddle. Farrier held up his case too late for protection and wiped away the dirty water from his face. He was already soaked to the bone from the rain.
- He prayed that you would at least have a towel for him as he knocked feebly at your door. Seeing you standing in the doorway warmed him inside. Even more when your face dropped in shock then brightened with a tearful smile.
- “You would not believe the trip I’ve had.”
- Regardless of his state, you leapt to hug him close before you kissed him. A kiss in the rain. It would’ve been more romantic if Farrier wasn’t shivering and you weren’t crying so much. So you dragged him indoors to hug him again. His jacket, the one you stole on your first date, was sodden and he shed it fairly quickly, breathing in the familiarity of your home whilst you grabbed him a towel.
- “You look amazing tonight.”
- He grunted at your compliment and accepted the towel, rubbing his hair until it was mostly dry and standing up on ends. You were speaking honestly; after months without him, a sopping wet Farrier dripping onto your carpet was the best you could’ve hoped for.
- Once dry, he changed into the pyjamas of his that were already hanging before the fire. Toasty warm, Farrier tucked his feet into his slippers before he lifted his head in noticable confusion.
- “Wait, why did you have my pyjamas out already?”
- You suddenly found your lap to be very interesting. Farrier buttoned up the rest of his shirt and stepped over to you, hands taking your waist and rubbing to coax you into answering. He hummed with a little pout, pleading like a puppy with you. Too cute to deny an answer.
- “I was gonna wear them to bed.”
- Farrier smirked as though he were about to tease you but his heart softened at the thought of you in his extra large pyjama shirt, sleeves flopping over your hands, baggy over your torso, and the trousers tied tight at the toggles.
- “I love you.”
- “I love you too.”
- And, as he kissed you, Farrier did his usual act of lifting you up, his hands cupping your thighs this time as opposed to squeezing your bottom. You couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss. His pyjamas were still warm, his body warmth radiating underneath. It was a delicious juxtaposition to his damp hair that you were playing with. You couldn’t wait for the rest of the week with him.
Request: Could you do one where Farriers wife is waiting for him to return home but Collins is the only pilot she sees and he tries to comfort her and he is there for anything she needs. Maybe the end could be different from the movie, you know, Farrier deserved better.
A/N: Feels so good to give Farrier a better ending.
——————-
It has been 7 months since you had seen your husband. He had joined the Air Force when he was young, always wanting to serve his country. That’s one of the things that originally attracted you to him. That, and he looked damn good in a uniform.
The Air Force community was very small and close. You knew everyone your husband served with, along with their families. You were closest with Farrier’s partner, Collins. He often came over for dinner before the war started, but it had been a while since you saw him as well.
You were worried.
You knew both your husband and his partner had been called to aid in the evacuation of Dunkirk. The two of them, along with one other person, were supposed to protect the soldiers from the sky.
But who was going to protect them from the Luftwaffe?
Churchill had sent out the call yesterday for the civilian boats to go to Dunkirk. The waters in Dunkirk were too shallow for the destroyers, so they needed smaller boats.
You had heard last night where the boats would be coming in, so you made your way into the town to wait. There were soldiers everywhere, all dejectedly boarding the train. You sent small smiles to the ones you passed, hoping to express your gratitude to them.
You continued to push your way through the crowd, heading towards the docks. You were looking for anyone with an air force uniform when you heard your name called from somewhere ahead of you.
“Y/N!” A familiar voice called, causing your head to whip towards the source. You immediately spotted your husbands parter and rushed towards him.
“Thank god you’re alright.” You spoke once you made it to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Where’s Farrier?” You asked him once you pulled away, looking for your husbands smiling face.
When Collins remained silent, you looked back at him in confusion. There was pain in his eyes, his body standing in front of you stiffly.
“Collins, where is my husband?” You demanded, voice rising ever so slightly with panic.
“My plane went down somewhere in the channel. We had already lost our third plane earlier on, so Farrier was on his own. Last I saw he was heading towards Dunkirk. But.. Y/N, he hardly had any fuel. I don’t think he meant to come back, I think he wanted to do what he could for as long as he could.” His voice was soft, sadness coloring his tone and eyes.
“No.” You whispered, stepping away from him slightly. “NO!” You shouted hysterically, causing those around you to look in shock. “You’re lying! You have to be lying.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He choked out, pulling your shaking form into his arms. Tears were falling from your eyes and soaking his shirt, but neither of you cared. “We don’t know anything for sure. It’s just speculation. Until you’ve heard from the war office, don’t lose hope.”
“I-I can’t… I-”
“Shh.” Collins murmured, rubbing your back gently. “Come on love, let’s get you home. I’ll stay here with you for a few days, alright? Until we know for sure.”
You merely nodded, silently allowing him to lead you back towards your car.
A knock sounded on your door two days later. Thinking it was Collins, you tiredly made your way to the door with bloodshot eyes. You hadn’t really slept in two days, your heart hurt too much to do anything but hold some of Farriers old things as you cried.
“Collins, it’s really not a good-” When you finally glanced at the person, your words stopped abruptly in your throat. It wasn’t Collins.
Your head immediately snapped up, eyes locking with a familiar hazel pair.
“Oh my god.” You whispered, hand going to your mouth in shock. Tears immediately gathered in your eyes, body shaking with suppressed sobs.
“Sorry I’m late sweetheart.” Your husband spoke, a small smile on his face. You instantly broke down in tears, repeating his name over and over like a prayer.
He quickly gathered you in his arms, carrying you into the house and closing the door behind him. He held you tightly on the couch as you cried, whispering words of comfort in your ear.
“I thought- I thought you were…” You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know. I know Y/N. I’m sorry I worried you love.” He was stroking you hair then, burying his face in your neck. You finally calmed down a few moments later, pulling yourself away slightly so you could look at him.
“Collins said no one had heard from you. They all thought you went down.” You told him, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. He leant into your touch, closing his eyes in content.
“My spitfire did go down. My fuel gauge had been damaged, I didn’t know how much time I had. But I had to help those boys, even if it meant I myself wasn’t going to make it.” You froze, closing your eyes in pain.
“Even if it meant not coming home to me?” You whispered softly, a tinge of hurt in your voice. Farriers eyes snapped open, taking in your still form and closed eyes.
“But don’t you see?” He asked, shaking you slightly so you’d look at him. “My plane was going down, right towards the enemy. But then your face popped into my head. I heard your voice, I could feel your touch and taste your skin.” He placed one of his hands over yours, the other coming up to brush your hair back. “I ejected out over the water. I swam for hours towards home, all I could think of was getting to you. A boat picked me up later that night. We still picked up some boys from the beaches, that’s what took me so long.”
His voice softened then, his eyes staring intensely into yours.
“You kept me fighting out there. You’re the reason I’m still here, okay? I’m always going to come home to you.” There was an unspoken promise in those words, making your heart melt.
You collapsed into him, kissing him deeply and catching him off guard. He fell back into the couch, you falling on top of him. He chuckled slightly at your eagerness, but he kissed you back just as desperately.
The two of you became a mess of tangled limbs, getting lost in each other’s kiss. There was so much love and happiness radiating off the two of you, months of separation sinking in.
“God I love you.” He spoke in awe, his hands reaching under your shirt to trace his fingers over your skin. His lips kissed down your neck, nipping gently as he went.
“You’ve got 7 months to make up to me. I suggest you stop talking.”
Hey love! For the Dunkirk Anniversary Prompt, I'd like to request the Capricorn prompt from The Signs as Cliche but Cute, but with all the characters. Sorry if it's too messy, but I'd like to read about them going camping together and what each of them would do when it starts to rain and they can't figure out how to put up the tents :D Only if you want to, of course ;)
Camping Trip
AN: I did it so that the characters are separated by which section of the film’s narrative they’re in.
Prompt: Person A and Person B want to go camping, but it starts pouring and they can’t figure out how to put up the tent
- Alex and Tommy arrived in France, stepping off the ferry that had carried them across the Channel. Meeting Gibson at the port, they headed to their destination close by, only half an hour on a coach.
- Rain hadn’t been on the forecast yet there was a light sprinkling when they arrived. Muddy grounds and puddles forming didn’t exactly suit their tent well. Gibson grew worried about the interior getting damp. Luckily the outside could be constructed first. Unfortunately, the rain poured harder onto the three of them and Tommy had no idea how to follow the instructions for they were Gibson’s - and thus in French.
- “I don’t know what that means! Why are all the poles so alike and labelled so differently?!”
- Five minutes later, Alex abandoned them when he spied his mates over the other side of camp site. Gibson and Tommy followed him after they realised it was a lost cause trying to put up the tent in the rain, sharing with the Regimental Brothers.
- Since it was a large tent with seperate pods for the people intended to sleep, Gibson, Alex, and Tommy stayed in the main body of the tent.
- Mr Dawson isn’t too savvy with tents; he’s more into the sea cadets than the Scouts. Thankfully George learnt a thing or two about camping when he was testing out his skills in the back garden.
- “I used to sleep outside with my dad when I was younger.”
- However, the instructions got somewhat soaked and the words blurred beyond recognition. So the three decided to improvise.
- Peter became the holder of the poles, some in his hands outstretched and some bent and hanging around his neck. Rain water trickled down his neck, soaking his jumper and his back. Meanwhile George was trying to organise them on the floor with Mr Dawson as his right hand man.
- It took an hour but eventually the tent was set up. It was very fragile and no surprise, it collapsed on itself just minutes later. It was still too wet to set up a campfire so they drove off to grab a takeaway.
- Then the three of them decided to sleep in the car that night, sitting up and snoring in their seats after vowing tomorrow to try again.
- Collins is fine with the weather when it’s a light rain. Not so much when it’s bucketing down. He always said they should just go glamping instead. Farrier only insisted that they go for a real experience like with the tent building training during their service.
- It only took a quarter of an hour for Farrier to give up. He ended up huddling under the skin of the tent, the poles in a pile about him. Collins leant on the car bonnet, his rain mac zipped almost all the way over his face.
- That was when he whipped out his pop-up tent, tossing it like a frisbee to land assembled neatly next to Farrier.
- “I won’t say I told you so.”
- They sat inside, curled up in their sleeping bags and hoodies adjacent to each other and eating snacks. Rain smacked against the canvas from outside but had no way of getting in. It was a tight squeeze, especially with all their belongings tucked at one end. At least the bigger tent had a waterproof bag to sit in. They huddled close and drifted off to sleep.
Summary: You’ve gone into labour and Farrier has been expelled from the house for many hours. This gives him time to think over how he will adapt to being a father.
AN: An unofficial a part two to Turtleneck which you should read if you haven’t already :P
Masterlist Gif Credit Next Part
Farrier was lucky. He kept telling himself that. He was lucky to be her, to have leave that coincided with his baby’s birth.
He was huddled in the library, pouring over the books that he hadn’t checked out on parenting. There were a limited amount but he poured over them as his holy texts. Taking in every word to be noted down later, he scanned over these words.
This was the only valuable thing he could think of doing with this time. The midwife had ordered him away and there was no way he could go back to the house without crying at the sound of you giving birth. It was torment there but here he found peace, cross-legged in the middle of an aisle with a stack beside him that had previously been thumbed through.
There was one book he felt was quintessential to figuring out what he was going to do so he took it to the desk to check it out. Perhaps he could sit in the park and thumb through it, watch some dog walkers, breath some fresh air before he dared to try and go back.
“How much longer?” The clerk asked and indicated to the book as Farrier frowned in confusion, “Until the baby?”
He cleared his throat, tugging on his shirt’s sleeve “My wife’s, uh, giving birth now.”
“Congratulations,” She grinned at him and passed the book back, “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“No clue. Hoping for a boy though,” Farrier smiled to himself at that thought, another oasis in this desert. He bade the clerk farewell and trekked to the park, a good ten minute walk but still not long enough. He was counting down the minutes until he would see you again.
Farrier ended up reading the same line four times before giving up. So he slammed it shut and took in his surroundings. There were twelve dogs – three of which strained on their leashes to see him – five pairs of people simply walking and talking and one couple pushing a pram. The latter was driving him nuts. It was different to being in the air; this was personal and it was going to affect every decision he made from now on.
After going to the shop, he sloped home but, upon reaching the gate, he paused and refused to enter. There was silence from inside which could mean anything. Not all of those things were nice. For a moment he’d like to stay in this liminal place, in between the madness and the clarity, in the ignorance before having to face reality again.
Sunset was thrown into the hallway as he opened the door, back for the first time since his brunch. It was now six half. Traipsing up the stairs, he adjusted his grip on the flowers he’d bought. Daffodils. It was St. David’s day in a week; it was all the shops had to offer. Hopefully you wouldn’t mind.
You were dozing in your bed. Well deserved after such an effort, you didn’t hear Farrier come in until the door creaked open. Opening your eyes weakly, you smiled up at him as he crossed the room, a hand caressing across your temple before he kissed it.
“Hey you,” He said, voice hushed.
“Hello,” You beamed weakly back at him. You watched as his eyes, shining with nerves, were drawn to the crib on the opposite side of the bed, bars and covers obscuring the baby from view.
“Do you want to meet your baby?” You offered, tentatively squeezing his hand as your eyes started to droop again. When he nodded, you forced them back open again. No way were you going to miss this.
Farrier placed the bouquet of flowers and his book on the edge of the bed. He knew he was lucky. It just didn’t really dawn on him until he peeped over the bars of the crib.
He suddenly remembered getting that damn turtleneck back off you finally. It was basically a wrestling match over the old thing until Farrier cheated and tickled your side to pry your fingers free from the knitted material. It stunk like nothing he’d ever smelt under the arms and any washing to remove it would’ve ruined the jumper. So instead he took the scissors and sheared off the arms. In his free time on base, he sewed the remaining pieces together into one big knitted blanket for his baby. He wasn’t really sure if it was going to be good enough since the jumper had pretty much been falling to pieces.
But there it was, bundled around a plump infant who holding the corner with his tiny red balled up fists, docile and clicking his tongue. The wool was gentle on his skin. He was wide awake, eyes drooping like yours, but spotting the intruder they widened to take in the face. His lips parted and closed, a silent language asking who this was.
“Can I hold him?” Farrier croaked, his hands gripping the bars of the crib, his eyes fixed on the tiny baby,
You softly laughed, “He’s your son; of course you can my love.”
Watching him, you felt the tension and apprehension he felt. Cautiously, he reached his hands into the crib and lifted the baby out. There was squirming, a fussing sound as Farrier clumsily arranging his arms into a makeshift cradle. He could feel the softness of the wool with the frayed edges held and sealed with a silk thread. His fingers gently grazed over the cheeks of the infant in his arms – well, arm. Blinking slowly, the baby opened his mouth wide and kept it open, expecting food. Farrier let out a laugh, one filled with delight because this was his son, his baby, in his arms right now, demanding silently to be fed.
“He’s beautiful,” He whispered so as not to disturb the baby, his worries and thoughts of his book fading into the background and beyond, “A marvel.”
“He’s got your nose,” You commented, holding back your tears. But you knew that if he cried, you would too. And as he turned to you, revealing his eyes welling up, you felt your own brewing.
Farrier sniffed his back then walked back over to your side of the bed, a sluggish pace as he rocked his son.
“He’s got your hair,” He said, his fingertip brushing over the downy hair as his baby continued to smack his lips, “I think he wants a feed.”
“I think he wants a kiss,” You raised an eyebrow. Then you laughed as Farrier seemed to remember that he could kiss his son. So he lifted him up ever so slightly and lightly held his lips to the baby’s forehead. The baby tilted his head back away to keep Farrier in his eyesight but granted permission to be kissed.
“Are we gonna stick with Isaac?” Farrier asked, looking up to you. His face was shining with love and pride and he never looked more attractive to you.
“I think so,” You shifted your head in the pillows to see your son a little more clearly, “He looks like a Isaac, doesn’t he?”
Farrier felt his baby wriggle again, fussing to himself in the blanket that was his daddy’s old turtleneck. He smiled fondly when Isaac released the grip of his fists to spread out his minuscule fingers, feel the air about him.
“Yes he does,” Farrier took the corner of the blanket and stroked it to Isaac’s cheek, tears forming again as Isaac yawned, barely making a noise but a soft breathing was all it took to get you both crying. The two of you watched in awe (as well as tears) as Isaac closed his eyes to rest and his hands once again clutched his blanket.
Perma-tag: @tomgcsglasses, @lowdenglynnstyles, @prettyboytgc, @lowdensnose, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @scottishlowden and @from-the-clouds
Summary: It’s been nearly a decade since the war was over so it’s a bout damn time you got a holiday.
AN: Here’s the poly!pairing with Farrier and Collins that too many anons to quote asked for after Blame. Consider this a little follow on.
Masterlist Photo Credit
You crept out of the bedroom to go find Farrier, leaving Collins to starfish asleep in the bed. Finding him cooking eggs sunny side up in his apron and sleepwear was rather a pleasant way to start your day. Slipping your arms loosely around his waist, you kissed the back of his neck and felt him hum a good morning to you.
Once the greetings reached your sluggish brain, you set about helping him make breakfast whilst sneaking a few nibbles. Thankfully the bakery had been open yesterday and there was a fresh loaf in the breadbin to toast and butter along with the rest of the shopping.
It took another twenty minutes for everything to be loaded onto the tray and another five trying to creep into the bedroom without waking the birthday boy. The tray was very slippery against the ceramics and proved difficult to keep all the little packages and the plate in the same spot. However you skilfully managed, placing it on the dresser as Farrier went to wake up Collins. He simply moaned and snuggled deeper under the covers.
“Morning,” You grinned, snuggling up to Collins with Farrier trapping him from the other side.
“We made breakfast,” He kissed Collins’ cheek. Still, the Scotsman didn’t wake up. It was time for evasive manoeuvres. You sat on his legs and Farrier took the waist. Groaning, Collins made a feeble attempt to push them off with the promise of getting up.
Like a fool, you believed him. Once you released his legs, Collins simply grabbed your arm and tugged you back to bed. Sighing, Farrier flopped into sitting beside him and patted his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get up.”
“I don’t wanna,” Collins grumbled, pulling Farrier down to the bed again.
“It’s your birthday though,” You pouted at his mussed up hair.
“And I wanna spend it in bed with my two lovely partners who are going to enable my laziness,” Collins mumbled, squeezing his grip on your arm a little tighter.
But you continued to object, “We were gonna have a picnic.”
Collins opened one eye at stared at you, squinting with sleep and suspicion and silence. Then he looked at Farrier.
“Uh, fine I guess.”
“And we have to open presents too.”
He shot up at that, grinning widely at this prospect. Shaking your head, you handed the tray over to him with the present lining the edges.
Pleased with his array of wee gifts that now lined the chest of drawers, he wolfed down his meal at lightning pace and was ready to jump into the
There was time for a walk before setting up shop. Luckily you found the perfect spot mid-walk, a little curve in the cove the shielded patch of sand untouched by the tide. There, you made use of Collins’ new football to play a few games without interruption.
Lunchtime arrived sooner than you thought it would. The three of you sat on the picnic blanket, unloading the treats one by one but keeping the plastic wrap covering them. Sand was not something you planned on eating. Collins was more than happy to sleep off the rich lunch and proceeded to snooze for a straight hour and a half. In that time, you and Farrier buried him. He was not amused when he woke up.
While you loved to see your boyfriends in their RAF best, the tight striped swimwear were far superior and matched yours. After resurfacing, Collins pulled off his first layer to reveal the bright red and white candy cane stripes of his swimsuit which only made you laugh a lot more than when he first woke up from his nap.
Of course, Farrier turned going swimming into a race and sprinted down to reach the surf first. Caught unawares were yourself and Collins so you lagged behind although Collins did end up surging forward and coming joint first with his boyfriend, the leggy bastard. He also happened to be a strong swimmer so neither you nor Farrier could out-swim him when he ducked under the water and threatened to tug you under too.
Wising up to his tricks, Farrier did end up scooping Collins into his arms and tossing him into the water. Unfortunately that led to collaboration on their part when they both spotted you laughing at them with what you thought was a soft distance away from them. You shrieked with exhilarated terror, swimming away as Collins disappeared below the water line again and Farrier leisurely paddled behind with a wolfish grin.
Suddenly you felt Collins grab you from behind. Wriggling in his grip was futile for he locked his arms under yours. Your feet were lifted from the sandy sea floor by Farrier and the pair swung you like a skipping rope before tossing you into the water.
You broke the surface with a frown at this display of betrayal. Then you violently splashed them. Somewhere in the middle of this altercation, you ended up on Farrier’s back to tower over the tallest in your relationship and splashing him as much as you could with a height advantage. But he swam around and pulled you free, crashing into the water with you wrapped in his chest.
The day came to a close as Collins wished for it to be closed: making barbeque food in the tiny garden before piling into the bedroom and feasting together. After drying off at the beach, you trekked back to the cottage at the edge of the cliff side. A hike that entailed too much exertion but when you got into that bath after Collins, damn did it feel good.
Now in clean clothes that were soft on your skin, you were sat in a deck chair besides Collins, watching Farrier do his thing. It was funny seeing Farrier in shorts by the newly installed grill. Yet it was also relaxing to see him so calm and focussed on what might be considered a meaningless and repetitive task, turning over the sausages and chicken breasts. Collins too looked at peace, his features illuminated by the setting sun as he took a drag from his cigarette.
Once all the food was cooked and loaded onto plates, the three of you stayed out for a moment longer to listen to the waves as you ate. Then it was into bed and pigging out resumed in slow pace.
Tired out, you slumped into the pillows propped up behind you with half a hot dog in your mouth. Chewing in tandem with the sound of the waves, audible through the open window, you felt a pair of lips kiss your cheek, peppered with the flour from the bread.
“Thank you for my birthday, my love,” Collins whispered, the tip of his nose grazing your ear as he spoke.
“Love you both,” You muttered through your food, swallowing the last of your food. You remembered Farrier’s mouth being pressed to your temple before you drifted off. The next morning you would awaken with Farrier cuddling you to his chest, Collins holding you from behind and the sound of waves as a gentle reminder that you were in the perfect haven.
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Requested by anon: Okay so how about being farriers girlfriend and Collins tracks you down and comes to your house to tell you that he thinks farrier is dead and so Collins comforts you and you both start to hang out and overtime you both fall in love but then surprise, farrier is alive and finds you with Collins
AN: Since you kindly gave me free reign, I’ve written three endings because I love them both so much. Choose your own adventure!
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Your name: submit What is this?
It can be considered that the worst day of your life was when Collins arrived at your doorstep in his RAF uniform the day the papers advertised the success at Dunkirk. He was alone and his expression was solemn to your hopeful one. He didn’t have to say a word for you to understand the reason behind his visit. You remember your legs suddenly giving out from beneath you, banging your head against the wall as you let out a sob and a set of hands clumsily attempting to placate you.
The news of a Spitfire flying with the engine running reached you and it was comforting until you heard that it landed behind enemy lines. That made it worse because you knew then that there was little to no chance of Farrier ever coming home. So you gave up on it and fell into painful grief.
Collins tried his best, bless his cotton socks, but during this period of time it wasn’t really a help. A bitter reminder with every visit for you had always seen Farrier without Collins but not the other way around. Now that was not true. It was an absence that was stuck in your heart like a splinter, nestled deep within the confines of your body with no set of tweezers able to pull it out.
But he disassociated himself with his comrade. He was Collins, not Farrier’s friend, and it was with his letters and his visits during leave that you helped one another through the sorrow. Your friends, family and colleagues were other noteworthy distractions but were soon surpassed with Collins’ lack closeness to your love and therefore the closeness to knowing just how you felt.
It was an evening almost eight months after Dunkirk when you realised that, in spite of wearing Farrier’s dog tags over it, your heart might now belong to someone else. It also coincided with the penultimate night before the end of Collins’ leave. That was a month that he came clean about his own feelings with assurance that you were under no obligation to reciprocate and that his intentions were always to take care of you – for Farrier’s sake. Following his confession, you shed your guilt for harbouring human emotion and allowed yourself to be with him. And you were both happy again.
The world was kind enough to give you an answer to your prayers of aid in these times.
And the world was cruel enough to Farrier him through the strife of living for a year without passage home or any form of communication to anyone to let them know he was alive. To make him live through such adversity and then return home to find everyone had moved on. But he remembered your house. He never once thought to freshen up beforehand because he had to see you.
When you opened the door to an unexpected visitor to say the least, your legs once again were unreliable in supporting you. Farrier met you with a bittersweet smile and you met him with a tight embrace that nearly threw him off balance too.
That was when over your shoulder he saw Collins. That was when you knew you had to make a decision. It was one that swamped your senses as you pulled away from Farrier and at first it was as clear as a muddied puddle to you who you should be with. Only as you looked between them both did it become apparent to you what you had to do.
Collins Ending
Yes, there was going to be an ache in your heart for him for a while but you had moved on from Farrier. You would not be pitiful and go back to him merely to make him feel better even if all you wanted was for him to feel better.
Farrier knew this as well for prior to any interaction with his friend he spoke with you softly.
“I don’t blame you for moving on,” He sniffed as he touched your face, “I didn’t think or expect you to wait for me.” As you looked upon him, you saw how weary he was but he was smiling, putting up an effort for you. Unable to stop weeping, it took you several seconds before you could even speak. Even then, it was a struggled “I’m sorry” that passed your lips.
“Don’t apologise,” He gently kissed your forehead, “You’re who kept me going.”
“I missed you,” You mumbled, feeling rather pathetic but Farrier simply nodded before he helped you back indoors. Once you had a sturdy grip on the walls, he pulled the stiffened Collins into a hug.
Collins joined you in tears as Farrier whispered softly into his ear, “You take good care of her.” Then he pulled away, patted his shoulders and approached the door to the sitting room, “Now where’s your mother with her Victoria Sponge? I’m dying for a slice.”
As he was welcomed into the sitting room with hugs and kisses from your family, Collins stayed with you in the hallway. Recognising the slow pick-up of breathing, he sat with you on the floorboards and waited until you were ready to go back in.
Even as guilt swamped you again, you knew that this was the right decision – to be with the man you could see becoming your husband.
Farrier Ending
He could bear to see you struggle so it was with a heavy heart that Collins took you aside and did the deed himself. He took the hit for you. You insisted that he wasn’t “a distraction” as he claimed, shaking your head frantically, but Collins stopped it, cupping you cheeks as he tried desperately not to cry.
“I know you love him,” He said with his voice thick and throat clogged, “I don’t blame you for that, and I would never stop you from being with him.”
There wasn’t really anything you could say to that, not in the limited time you were given, except a whimpering, “I need to be with him.”
He nodded in understanding, gently touching your cheek in a brief gesture of care before he jokingly said, “It was fun.” But his voice cracked as he continued and wiped your tears away, “Lucky me, I got the opportunity to call you mine. I’ll cherish our time together always.”
There was an unspoken vow between the men as they greeted one another for the first time in a year. There was another as Collins looked at you with a sad smile before placing on his hat and walking away. He didn’t look back and for that you were grateful as you pulled Farrier into a hug and hid your face in his jacket.
Because, as much as you cared for Collins, it could not compare to the relief of being back in the arms of your love Farrier and hear him call you “his one” – something you’d dreamed of for so long after last year’s events.
Other Ending (My Wish Fulfilment basically, I do what I want let me live my life)
The war was over but not without its repercussions. Hence an unorthodox arrangement (but far from what both men had confessed they were uncomfortable with) came about then to an “agreement” of sorts. It was Farrier who brought it up and Collins was the support. All it took was you to concur to it. There wasn’t actually much convincing needed.
Rehabilitation in its best form, you lived with the two men in your own apartment which you could easily afford on three salaries. Not many people questioned you three; with your combined PTSD, they simply took it as friends helping each other get along. They were half right.
Routines slipped into one with ease just as Farrier and Collins did with this new set-up. It pleased you greatly to see them together again – now closer than ever. The only difference in behaviour was really a kiss thrown in here and there but it was a lovely difference that you welcomed and encouraged just as they encouraged each other to kiss you.
Three singles in the same room, a squash for sure but it “aided in transitioning back to normal life” simulating a bunk like structure to the bedrooms akin to the armed forces. That was what you told the landlord of course. In reality, you shoved the beds together to form one oversized bed to share with your partners. You often ended up in the middle of a cuddle pile before bed although you did often treat Farrier with being the little spoon and Collins to hugs from behind throughout the day.
It was the best possible outcome for all of you; that was absolutely sure. If it had to stay between you three, then that was that.
AN: I might write a polyamorous thing with Collins and Farrier, what do you guys think?
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