Prompt: “Will you dance with me?”
(I am trying to write older prompts first, but this just slapped me in the fact, so you get it right fucking now.)
The night of the actual V-E Day, they all stand outside and shoot up flares they don't need in lieu of fireworks, and Jack watches them go up, up, up in the air and feels tears in his eyes as he realizes signing off on using them means he won't lose another of these boys. Not in this war.
"There you are," Rosie says quietly, and he presses a glass into Jack's hand. Whiskey. He's got one for himself.
"You're drinking?" Jack asks.
Rosie shrugs and looks up as another flare pops off. "Not flying tomorrow," he says. "None of us are. I don't need to have a pep talk ready." He looks at Jack, and his eyes are bright in the flickering light of the flares and the barrel fires. He taps his glass to Jack's. "Happy V-E Day," he says.
"Happy V-E Day," Jack replies. He watches Rosie drink and thinks of the last sixteen months. Since Rosie first walked onto base excited and ready to fly, and how he stepped into the role he has now like he knew it'd be waiting for him sooner rather than later.
They've become friends, he and Rosie. A little something more even, though they haven't done more than look at each other in a certain way. The war had to have their attention.
It'd be romantic, Jack thinks, to tell Rosie how he feels as they watch all those red flares get used to make pretty lights in the sky.
"Suppose I'll be back to Cokes as soon as we're done celebrating," Rosie says, glancing at Jack and grinning a little sheepishly. "I've got to start my training hours."
Jack blinks. Stares. "Training--" His glass slips from his hand and hits the ground. It only doesn't break because they're on the grass.
"Whoops," Rosie says. "Here." He hands Jack his own glass, then crouches to retrieve Jack's. "Look at that," he says, holding it up so Jack can see it. "Landed flat! That's good luck right there."
"No," Jack says, shaking his head. "No, it's--you can't be thinking of going to the Pacific."
Rosie pauses, glass halfway to his mouth. "Of course I am," Rosie says. "War's not over. My bit's not done."
Jack's stomach turns over as another red flare goes up. He's read the reports about the Pacific. It's not like their war. Not on the ground. Not in the air. Even Rosie isn't that good.
"You've fought your bit," Jack says. "Your bit and another person's honestly. There are boys going home with half your missions on their books."
"And good for them, but I made a promise to myself," Rosie says. "You know that."
No one else's son goes in your place, Jack thinks. "Right," he says. He clears his throat. It's still tight. He drinks his whiskey. It's quality stuff, something Rosie must have found special to toast with him.
Jack wipes his hand with the back of his mouth and watches a green flare go up. A yellow. He turns away and stares into the darkness. "You could go home," he says, body tight and hands shaking. He's not good with words like this, but he's going to try, goddamnit. "I know you want to fight so no one else has to, but...you won't be experienced like you are now. No matter how many training missions."
"Well, tell me how you really feel there, Jack," Rosie says, snappish. "I thought you'd understand of all people. You could come with. You could fly again."
Jack closes his eyes. "No," he says. "No, I want to go home and be someone's son again." He opens his eyes and glances at Rosie. "I want to be in love where it's safe to love someone out loud."
Rosie stares. He blinks. "Jack--What are you--"
"Goodnight," Jack says and walks away before he can give away even more. Before he starts crying and grabs Rosie's jacket and begs him not to go.
Rosie leaves him alone the next day. Jack sees him in the mess and around the base, but they both discreetly move so they don't cross paths. There's a dance that night. It's going to be an absolute mess, Jack knows. He can't wait. The boys deserve this, a chance to feel victorious and proud and giddy. Jack's going to do his best to feel the same, but he spots Rosie again at dinner and there's a tender ache in his chest that doesn't go away.
But he dresses the part and lets the boys get a drink in his hand, and he listens to their stories and tells a few of his own and laughs and watches them laugh and roughhouse and just be free with themselves without the clinging desperation they've all carried for too long.
The band starts playing, and the boys rush off to find dance partners. Jack goes to the bar to get another drink. He puts down his empty glass, and then there's Rosie at his side. He leans against the bar and looks up at Jack. Jack looks at him, though he doesn't mean to. But he can't help it. He's never been able to help it. Rosie shines like a new penny on the worst days. For this celebration, he shines like a star.
"Will you dance with me?" Rosie asks.
"What?" Jack replies as the bartender sets down his fresh drink.
"One of those for me, too, please," Rosie says, then his attention is back on Jack. "Will you dance with me? Please."
Rosie ducks his head and thumps his shoe against the bar, but when he looks at Jack again, his shoulders are straight, and he's radiating confidence. "You know, I realized I loved you the night you told us the mission number went up. The way it wrecked you, it was all over your face, but you stood there, and you let the boys yell at you. Took it all so they get it out, and I thought, 'Wow, he loves them so much. Wonder if he'd let me love him that much."
Jack stares. The bartender puts a whiskey next to Rosie's arm, and Jack watches Rosie nod his thanks. He watches Rosie pick up the glass and take a sip.
"I felt you out a little," Rosie continues, staring into his glass. "And I know you picked up on what I was offering, but you turned me down. And I was pretty sure it wasn't because you didn't want to love me back, but maybe because you did, and there was a war on."
Rosie looks at him again. "And when I re-upped, I knew maybe it'd never happen, but I didn't know what else to do. It wasn't just that I couldn't leave the boys to fight it without me, Jack, though that was most of it. I couldn't let an untested pilot take my place. Period. But...I also didn't want to leave you."
Jack watches him drink his whiskey down. "But you--"
"I forget what it's like on the ground. The waiting. You can't fight for us down here while we're up there. You can only wait. And that must be agony. I thought you'd want to get up again and try out The Pacific with me, but..." Rosie looks around the room. "A lot of the faces I barely knew are back," he says, "and a lot of these faces I barely know."
Jack can only nod in agreement. He manages to take a sip of his drink.
"I took a lot of time to think today. I thought about what you said. You want to be someone's son again. You want to be in love out loud. And I'm not saying I don't still feel the urge to train up and fly again, but I look at all these faces I barely know, and I see what you mean, Jack."
Rosie looks at him again, and it's warm and sweet and content. "I want to get to know your face really, really well," he says. "And I want to know all sorts of other things, too, but for now," He gives Jack a sweet smile and holds out his hand. "I'd like to find out how you dance."
Jack reaches out and takes Rosie's hand. "Okay," he says. "Yes."
There's a wolf whistle as they step on the floor, then a smattering of hollers and hoots. Jack puts his hand on Rosie's waist to lead, and Rosie looks at him like it's just the two of them in the world, and Jack can't hold it back any longer. The war's over. They've lived. Rosie's not going to the Pacific. He leans down and Rosie tips his head up, and they share a kiss, and the hollering gets louder.
"They love us out loud, too," Rosie says.
And Jack laughs and starts to dance and thinks, yeah, these boys surely do.