Summary: I couldn't get those two out of my head, so I decided to write them meeting again after Beatrice spent nine years in prison as a POW. I listened to "Would you fall in love with me again" while writing and I sobbed. Technically they are COD ocs, not tagged as such for not mentioning canon characters.
Ensemble: Beatrice Bowman (by me), Rory Green (by @belikovx)
Sitting in the airplane between other POWs being returned home, everyone exhausted but relieved, she only felt empty.
Nine years was a lot of time. Enough for everyone to think she was dead. And by all means, the woman they knew died. Whatever lived in her body now, wasn't the old Beatrice.
But it was okay. She endured nine years in hell. She could endure a lonely trip home.
And an empty house.
And having to find out if her family was even still alive.
And... Ah, Rory.
That was what hurt more. She knew her family would wait for her, forever. But Rory? Nine years was a lot of time. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe he found another woman. One he could actually marry. The idea made her want to cry. But she couldn’t be angry at him for that.
...
As much as she had prepared herself for this, watching everyone happy about being back in US soil, about meeting family members and lovers, made Beatrice want to cry. A few people came to give her a pat on the shoulder, or offer a ride to a hotel, but all she could do was shake her head and hold back tears.
Once everyone was gone, Beatrice sat down on a bench and stayed. She'd go home later. Somehow.
She buried her face between her hands. She had wished every day for this, to be back, to feel other than cold and hunger and fear, and now she couldn't even process it. Everything felt wrong. Maybe this wasn't her place. Maybe she should've—
"Do you always come around this place, ma'am?"
The sudden voice made her jump. It couldn't be. Beatrice pushed her face deeper into her hands. Her mind was playing games on her, obviously.
He's not here. There's no reason for him to be here. Stop wishing.
Beatrice stifles back a sob as footsteps circle her to stand in front of her, and the ruffling of clothes let her know the person kneeled. Hands, gentle and warm, go to her arms, rubbing gently. Hands she knew too well.
"Come on. Seven years and I don't even get to look at my girl?"
Only then Beatrice peeks between her fingers. Fiery red hair, blue eyes, and the softest smile known to man. Her hands, rough from nine years of forced labor on top of many others as a combat medic, gently reached for his hands. She had to make sure he was real. That he was there.
"Rory." Beatrice finally whispered, squeezing his cheeks. "You came."
Before she could cry, Rory was already wiping her tears, his other hand ever so carefully fixing her hair - gentle to not mess the curls.
"Of course I came. I had to pick you up." He said, smiling at her. It was a small one, clouded by worry - she was so thin, so different, but still his Bea. His love.
"You couldn't possibly have known, oh my gosh, have you been checking every single time they bring soldiers back, are you insane, Rory, you didn't have to-"
Beatrice let her voice die out as Rory shushed her, grasping her hands gently. He kissed her knuckles on both.
"Don't. I love you. I was waiting for you. Every day."
Beatrice pulled her hands back, folding them on her lap, looking away. She couldn't look at him.
"You— Rory, it's been seven years. I changed, hell, you changed-"
"Did you want me not to come?"
Beatrice froze at his words. Rory was always one to leave her speechless. He sat by her side on the bench, gently holding her hand again, his fingers tracing patterns against the dark skin.
"Bea. I'm well aware you changed. I'm well aware a lot happened. I don't care." Rory said softly, intertwining their fingers. "If you want to believe you changed too much, I just have to learn to love the new you."
Beatrice stared at him, at the man she loved so much, with all her soul, and whose mere idea kept her alive for seven years while trapped in that hell hole. She shook her head, those seven years' worth of emotion coming up all at once, crawling up her chest, ready to burst.
For seven years, all she could think about was coming home, seeing her family, seeing him, but not once did Beatrice believe she would actually get to do so. Never once she believed she’d see Rory again, hold him again. He didn’t leave her. He waited.
Rory held her close while she cried. He didn't say anything, but neither did her - they were never one to use words, even more in moments like this. There was no pressure to explain, or to leave. Only when he was sure Beatrice was ready, he gently nudged her towards the car.
"Let's go. You need to rest. I took care of your apartment for you, don't worry."
He made sure to kiss her forehead before opening the door for her, entering the car and finally getting to take his Bea home. And after seven years, they were finally at peace. Their love, undying.
Summary: I couldn't get those two out of my head, so I decided to write them meeting again after Beatrice spent seven years in prison as a POW. I listened to "Would you fall in love with me again" while writing and I sobbed. Technically they are COD ocs, not tagged as such for not mentioning canon characters.
Ensemble: Beatrice Bowman (by me), Rory Green (by @belikovx)
Sitting in the airplane between other POWs being returned home, everyone exhausted but relieved, she only felt empty.
Beatrice knew she should be happy.
Seven years was a lot of time. Enough for everyone to think she was dead. And by all means, the woman they knew died. Whatever lived in her body now, wasn't the old Beatrice.
But it was okay. She endured seven years in hell. She could endure a lonely trip home.
And an empty house.
And having to find out if her family was even still alive.
And... Ah, Rory.
That was what hurt more. She knew her family would wait for her, forever. But Rory? Seven years was a lot of time. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe he found another woman. One he could actually marry. The idea made her want to cry. But she couldn’t be angry at him for that.
...
As much as she had prepared herself for this, watching everyone happy about being back in US soil, about meeting family members and lovers, made Beatrice want to cry. A few people came to give her a pat on the shoulder, or offer a ride to a hotel, but all she could do was shake her head and hold back tears.
Once everyone was gone, Beatrice sat down on a bench and stayed. She'd go home later. Somehow.
She buried her face between her hands. She wished every day for this, to be back, to feel other than cold and hunger and fear, and now she couldn't even process it. Everything felt wrong. Maybe this wasn't her place. Maybe she should've—
"Do you always come around this place, ma'am?"
The sudden voice made her jump. It couldn't be. Beatrice pushed her face deeper into her hands. Her mind was playing games on her, obviously.
*He's not here. There's no reason for him to be here. Stop wishing.*
Beatrice stifles back a sob as footsteps circle her to stand in front of her, and the ruffling of clothes let her know the person kneeled. Hands, gentle and warm, go to her arms, rubbing gently. Hands she knew too well.
"Come on. Seven years and I don't even get to look at my girl?"
Only then Beatrice peeks between her fingers. Fiery red hair, blue eyes, and the softest smile known to man. Her hands, rough from seven years of forced labor on top of many others as a combat nurse, gently reached for his hands. She had to make sure he was real. That he was *there.*
"Rory." Beatrice finally whispered, squeezing his cheeks. "You came."
Before she could cry, Rory was already wiping her tears, his other hand ever so carefully fixing her hair - gentle to not mess the curls.
"Of course I came. I had to pick you up." He said, smiling at her. It was a small one, clouded by worry - she was so thin, so different, but still his Bea. His love.
"You couldn't possibly have known, oh my gosh, have you been checking every single time they bring soldiers back, are you insane, Rory, you didn't have to-"
Beatrice let her voice die out as Rory shushed her, grasping her hands gently. He kissed her knuckles on both.
"Don't. I love you. I was waiting for you. Every day."
Beatrice pulled her hands back, folding them on her lap, looking away. She couldn't look at him.
"You— Rory, it's been seven years. I changed, hell, *you* changed-"
"Did you *want* me not to come?"
Beatrice froze at his words. Rory was always one to leave her speechless. He sat by her side on the bench, gently holding her hand again, his fingers tracing patterns against the dark skin.
"Bea. I'm well aware you changed. I'm well aware a lot happened. I don't care." Rory said softly, intertwining their fingers. "If you want to believe you changed too much, I just have to learn to love the new you."
Beatrice stared at him, at the man she loved so much, with all her soul, and whose mere idea kept her alive for seven years while trapped in that hell hole. She shook her head, those seven years' worth of emotion coming up all at once, crawling up her chest, ready to burst.
For seven years, all she could think about was coming home, seeing her family, seeing him, but not once did Beatrice believe she would actually get to do so. Never once she believed she’d see Rory again, hold him again. He didn’t leave her. He waited.
Rory held her close while she cried. He didn't say anything, but neither did her - they were never one to use words, even more in moments like this. There was no pressure to explain, or to leave. Only when he was sure Beatrice was ready, he gently nudged her towards the car.
"Let's go. You need to rest. I took care of your apartment for you, don't worry."
He made sure to kiss her forehead before opening the door for her, entering the car and finally getting to take his Bea home. And after seven years, they were finally at peace. Their love, undying.
