Dear Birdie
Summary: Tom Bennett visits his girl, Birdie, after returning home from his first leave. He stops by her house, despite never sending her any letters.
Couple: Tom Bennett/Original Female Character
Category: Fluff (with the slightest angst)
Content warnings: One slap, smut
Word count: 5.5k
Also on my Ao3
A/N: This is kinda where season 2 kicks off. Except Tom's dad is not dead and everything's fine there because goddammit we deserve some happiness.
Birdie always made sure she and her brothers took advantage of their father’s out-of-country meetings. Even a world war couldn’t stop a businessman. Still, for Birdie, it meant a break from entertaining his friends with whiskey refreshers while dodging questions about marriage. It meant no sons of those same friends lurking around her at dinner parties, critiquing the meal in between their stories at the country club, unaware it was she who had strained over her mother’s cookbook all morning.
For her brothers, it meant no golf on Saturday and no church on Sunday. They slept late, ate plenty, and played outside while Birdie enjoyed her noon cigarette. She kept their itchy jumpers in the back of their closets while their button-ups and socks stayed a pristine bleach white for another week. And all of it equaled far less laundry for her to deal with before Monday.
That didn’t mean there was absolutely no laundry on the weekends. She already had a load to hang outside and more than enough August sunshine to take advantage of. As she clipped up one damp garment after another on the clothesline, next week’s load tumbled next to her as the boys wrestled in the grass. Charles was all elbows and knees at twelve, but it didn’t stop him from lunging at Robert. His blonde hair flopped into his eyes, giving Robert the time to dodge his tackle. His laughter rang high and clear when Charles landed in the dirt.
They both scooped up more to shove down the other’s polo when a face was out of reach, grunts and giggles blending together even after Birdie tossed her slipper at them. “I’m not doing any more laundry today.”
“Alright,” Robert said, finally getting dirt down Charles’ collar.
Birdie picked up her slipper. “That includes ironing.”
“We know.” Charles pulled Robert down by the ankle as he said it, his face clean until Robert took his shot.
“That includes your school uniforms.”
Then they paused, looking at each other, then up at their sister.
“If you can make it to the door before me, I’ll reconsider that last part.”
Charles hopped up first, this time helping little Robert up before charging to the back door. Birdie followed behind, the distance growing as she walked with a laundry basket at her hip.
Tom was the one who taught her that. “When in doubt, make it a race. Boys will take any easy win.” Sometimes he’d even sweeten the deal by offering actual sweets. Anything chocolate or caramel was an simple win over. And Tom was good at that, winning people over. Because, unlike the boys who only pulled polite laughter from Birdie all night, Tom Bennett was actually charming. And unlike their father coming home from France or Poland, the boys loved seeing him.
Unfortunately, Tom Bennett was also a proper bastard.
She couldn’t say that in front of the boys. It would break their hearts. He was proper when he told them about joining the army (while in jail,) then signing up for the navy (before almost going back to jail.) Everything had been radio silence since he told them about being sent to Spain first. The radio itself was more respondent than Thomas Bloody Bennett, making him the bastard he was.
They constantly heard about the Kriegsmarine. The Admiral Graf Spee had a record of sinking one ship after another across the Atlantic and Indian. Charles counted nine over several months in a little notebook he kept under his pillow. Robert would always ask if Tom was still in Spain or what ship he told Birdie he’d be on. All perfectly reasonable questions she had no answer to.
Eventually came the worst question left to loom in the air: Was Tom dead? The question lingered, unvoiced, in their minds. She wished she knew, even if it meant he was.
But she also wished the boys could forget. Erasing Tom Bennett completely instead of letting the continuous unknown haunt them seemed like a logical, lesser pain. It wasn’t a problem when their mother died. They were one and two when Birdie was ten. Their love for her was not as great as their love for Tom. They never stepped into a room with her in mind and a blanket of memories to follow. No everyday objects held the weight of those memories, like hair brushes and gold jewelry. Their father taught the boys how to play solitaire, but they couldn’t look at a deck without seeing Tom, the one who taught them about poker and how to cheat in the same night.
Even the report of Graf Spee’s sinkage last December felt bittersweet. The boys were cross-legged at the coffee table with the fire warming their backs. Birdie knitted while their father read in his chair. The fuzzily read conclusion of HMS Exeter’s victory sent that heavy blanket over the three of them. It was suffocating until Robert perked his head up, thick brown curls just above his eyes as he said, “Maybe Tom is on the Exeter.”
Birdie glanced over at their father.
“Tom’s dead,” Charles snapped back, his voice cracking with the force of it as his fists clenched in his lap.
“You don’t know that.”
“Boys,” Birdie called. But their father already stood, taking the radio and hiding it again.
Charles pushed Robert. “Good job.”
“Shut up.” Robert traced the table’s edge, sweeping his curls from his face. “And you still don’t know if Tom is dead.”
“Neither do you.”
“Birdie. Tell him he’s not.”
“Enough,” she ordered.
When their father came back, Charles hid his face as he wiped his cheeks. Birdie soon sent them both to bed.
He never wrote to her. She’d have to accept what that meant, whichever way fate fell. She knew Tom taking a liking to marriage was as hopeful as never seeing war again, but even leaving her like this would be the ultimate coward’s way out. Plenty would see it as a reason not to worry about him and take advantage of her youth while she had it. She never even met his family. They wouldn’t know to look for her if they knew his whereabouts. Time was her only solution. She could only hope that enough of it would pass, and she’d find the strength to laugh at a boy’s jokes from across the table. He’d feel so proud and funny throughout their courting; he’d even crack a joke before proposing to her. Then Birdie would surrender herself, hoping they’d all learn to love him. Just differently.
For now, Birdie opened the back door as the boys waited and soon clamored through the kitchen. “Shoes off!” She ordered as each thunk of non-bare feet trailed up the stairs, then back down, following the reminder. Birdie put the basket on the kitchen floor, debating briefly if she should smoke another cigarette.
They both shouted from the foyer. “Birdie!”
She didn’t move. There wasn’t distress in their voices, and Robert quickly came back into the kitchen to find her where she was standing. Running and shoving dirt into each other’s faces didn’t make them nearly as breathless as they were now. Then she saw the reason, standing in the doorway.
“Tom is here!”
He was here, leaning on his shoulder in a navy uniform with his sandy hair grown out past his ears. Charles hung to one arm as he carried a birdcage with the other. He topped it off with his arrogant grin and wink combination.
“Told you he wasn’t dead,” Robert said. His curls bounced as he vibrated with joy.
“Course I’m not dead.”
Charles continued holding onto his arm, his freckled face split into a wide, toothy grin Birdie hadn’t seen in months. “What are you doing here, then?”
“Hitler sunk me ship. Decided to stop by here.” He placed the cage on the breakfast table. The little canary inside chirped as it swung back and forth on the bar. “Wanted to bring a birdie for my Birdie.” He leaned against the table.
She crossed her arms. Charles finally separated from Tom to look into the cage. He stuck a finger between the golden bars. “Where’d you get it?”
“She was on the ship with me and the lads.” He mimicked her pose, not straying from her eyes. The boys continued with questions.
“Did you kill any Nazis?”
“Loads.”
“Get your uniforms,” she said.
“Are you back for good?” Robert asked, his dark eyes wide with hope.
“Boys. Now.”
“She’s right,” Tom said. “Be good and listen to your sister.” He ruffled their hair before pushing them on the back of their heads. “We’ll talk later.”
Robert disappeared first. Charles second, but he poked his head through the doorway one more time. “We’re glad you’re back, Tom.” And he showed off his toothy smile again before leaving. Their footsteps thump, thump, thumped up the stairs.
“Shoes off! I’m not telling you again.”
“Yeah, shoes off, boys,” he repeated with the same grin and a laugh to boot. He pushed himself off the table with his hip. “Seems like you’ve loosened the reins since last ti—”
The crack across his face bounces off the tiled walls. She thought about doing it plenty of nights when in bed alone, thinking of every way he could’ve left her, but it happened before she realized what she had done. The mark burned pink on his skin. Tom rubbed the spot, but a grin still stained his face just as prominently. Birdie’s face only tightened. “You think this is amusing?”
“A little bit, yeah. Keep that up and we’ll have to take this to your room. As long as your old man’s not here.”
“You think you can just show up whenever it suits you? We thought you were dead.”
“Your faith in me was strong, I see.”
“Because you hadn’t sent a single letter. And you think bringing some bird gets you out of this?”
“Hey, first off, her name’s Vera.”
“Vera!” Robert held his uniform in his arms, gray and wrinkled to hell. Charles opened the laundry room door and placed his matching one on the counter. “She’s a girl?”
“Sure is. Seen her lay an egg and everything. She was on board with me and the lads before Graf Spee took shots at us.”
“Wow!” Robert looked at Vera, Charles at Tom.
Birdie raised a brow. “You were on the HMS Exeter?”
Tom nodded, looking over at the bird.
“I knew you were on the Exeter! I told them you were!” It was Robert’s turn to take Tom’s arm, looping it with his own. “You killed them all, right? They said someone shot the captain.”
“Sounds about right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat before tightening his arm with Robert’s. He patted his little hand.
“If Hitler sunk that ship, then did the others make it home?”
“Yeah, yeah. One way or another.” He glanced back at Birdie, and his grin simmered down. There was something more she couldn’t piece together. She opened her mouth, but Tom spoke up first. “You two do us a favor, yeah?” He unlooped Robert’s arm as Charles came around the table. Both are standing tall with eager ears. “So, I haven’t had a milkshake in about a year.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s awful, innit? With it being as sweltering as it is, I think we all could go for some.”
They nodded enthusiastically. Birdie bit her lips closed.
“Good. But I’m sure your sister would appreciate you two cleaning up before we head out. Bath and all, alright?”
“But you need a milkshake now.”
“We all need milkshakes now.”
“Which is why you should hurry,” Birdie interjected. “The sooner you’re clean, the sooner we’ll get them.”
“But don’t rush washing up. Don’t want people to think she doesn’t know how to take care of you.”
“Are you going to kiss while we’re gone?” Charles’ nose scrunched as he said it.
“Probably,” Tom said. “You wanna watch?”
And just like that, for the third time, they were off. (Their shoes weren’t, but she couldn’t care to remind them.)
Tom shifted slowly, turning back to face her. “That’ll keep them away for a while.”
“You think I want to kiss you?”
“Oh, absolutely. You’re just too angry to admit it.”
“You brought home a bird and no apologies.”
“Not just Vera.” He delved into one pocket. “I’ve got some seeds she likes. Here’s some rope she climbs on.” He placed them down on the table before fishing around the other pocket.
“Are you so up your own arse that you think I’m going to look past this? You think you’re so bloody perfect because—”
“Because I have these.” In front of them both were papers. Envelopes upon envelopes, stamped and ready to send with torn journal pages sandwiched in between. All of them covered in his fine cursive. Tom held them up and placed them with Vera’s things. “Well, at least you’re finally speechless.”
Birdie touched the top envelope with her full name written out, feeling the indentions of his handwriting.
“Sending letters at sea is harder than you think when Germans are around.”
“You wrote to me.”
“As often as I could. More than me dad or Lois. So if that doesn’t get me out of trouble.”
She couldn’t help the way her vision blurred with tears. Many months of anger and resentment dissolved inside her, melting into salty pools. Then she looked up, remembering the mark on his face. Birdie reached out and brushed his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
Tom blew air through his nose. “It doesn’t hurt. Shows you still love me.”
“That’s not–”
“You wouldn’t have touched me at all if you’d given up.” Tom leaned into her hand, then took her fingers in his to observe. “No ring. So I’m not too late then? You didn’t move on from this poor bloke?”
“Not through lack of trying. They sent all the good ones away, too.”
They both laughed. It fizzled out slowly, leaving Vera to fill the silence with her chirps. Tom’s eyes were a crisp blue, making him extra dashing in his uniform. His damn smirk didn’t help with her decency, but Tom did the honors by pulling her in, guiding one hand to his back like she was the one who was used to being led. He kissed her gently, and his hands drew up into her hair, making her earrings dangle as a tingle bloomed from her scalp to her spine. She slipped her tongue in before bringing Tom closer in response–waist against waist. She felt what she wanted.
Tom hummed at the friction, pulling back first. “Eager to give me a hero’s welcome, I see.”
She nodded, already out of breath.
“Doesn’t help that you taste like cigarettes. Reminding me of old habits.”
“We can go to the laundry room.” She bent her back to press further into his bulge and kissed him again. The deep exhale through his nose was cool, brushing her cheek.
“Let’s go upstairs first.”
“But I want you now.”
“You’ll have me. Come on.” The warmth of his hands left her face as he reached out for Vera’s things. He hooked two fingers to pick up her cage.
Birdie watched him leave. A quick fuck was never something he declined before. It was what he preferred over anything that took a long time. Birdie preferred getting to the point, and Tom barely had the experience to take things slow like her. She sighed and grabbed her letters before following him upstairs.
The peachy walls and green curtains matching her floral bedding were reminders of how little things had changed. Even Tom pointed it out as he looked around. “That’s good.” He walked over to her desk, next to the big window. “Vera would like it here. She’ll get good light, and you can open up the window for some fresh air.”
“Sure.” She put her letters on her nightstand before shutting the door.
“I’ll put a hook in the ceiling and find a chain to hang the cage from. Make it all pretty for ya.” He scaled the height of the wall from top to bottom, hands on his hips and nodding to himself. “Yeah, I can get the boys to help me.”
“Tom.” Birdie stepped closer.
“Well, maybe not with this. Rather make sure she’s secure.”
“Tom.”
He turned with raised brows. Birdie rubbed his arms first, then cupped the part of his face she slapped. “Are you alright?”
His brow creased. “Yeah, course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re acting differently.”
“You haven’t seen me in a year. A lot happens in a year, Birdie. That’s no one’s fault.” He kissed her knuckles, all gentlemanly. His arms wrapped around her waist as he returned to his signature smirk.
“You can keep Vera at yours. The boys will understand.”
“Nah. We don’t have the room. She’s better off here on your side of the country.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, and I’ll visit her when I want. No matter what your old man says. I’ll just sneak through the window. Like old times.” He smiled at that. “Now, where were we?” He kissed her.
She wanted to say more, but Tom was good at distracting. The tingling sped down to her legs and morphed into numbness as Tom nibbled at her neck. They tangled with his own as he tried taking the lead again. Luckily, they fell onto the bed with little injury, only a bump to the teeth as Tom kissed her deeply into the mattress. His tongue slid through to find hers, and she worked her hands through his hair. Tom pulled down one shoulder of her dress, kissing and nipping his way down like he was reacquainting himself with every inch of her. Her bra went with it. Tom stopped at her waist to give her chest the attention it craved. He massaged one tit while taking the other in his mouth. He suckled gently on her nipple, occasionally taking it between his teeth to make Birdie gasp.
Birdie’s knees hiked up against Tom’s hips. She kept him in place while pulling his hair. Her calves felt the leather of his belt, telling her hands where to go. With their bodies so close, she struggled to find his buckle. Still, she navigated with her goal in mind.
Until Tom took both her wrists and held them over her head. He looked up with a pinkish face. ”Someone’s eager.” His voice was low as he said it, breath cool over her nipple.
“I need to be fucked.”
“I can see that.”
She bucked her hips against his. “Quick.”
“It’s been a year, love. I have to be quick.” And soon, he stepped up, then back. He took fistfuls of her dress and her underwear. Birdie lifted her lower back, and she was naked with one yank. She knew she was glorious. Her appearance clearly pleased Tom. So she reached out for his belt again, but Tom slapped it away. “Not yet.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes. When she looked back up, though, he was already removing his shirt. The sight helped the sting. Before, he had a lightly sculpted physique, with some prominent muscles. But now, his skin was tighter against them, with veins that wrapped around his bare arms. Just like the men on all the sign up posters. A war hero.
Tom nestled back on top of her, keeping her warm as he pushed her hair back. “Is it so bad that I want to enjoy you?”
She shook her head. “You just don’t waste time when it comes to treats.”
“Who said I’m wasting my time?”
Birdie said nothing. For many reasons.
Tom liked his secrets, and he liked to think he was good at hiding them. But he was also right when he mentioned it being a year. Any logical discussion regarding his changed behavior had to be put aside. So for now, she stroked his chest, fingers gliding over his pronounced muscles. His abs jumped at the touch. Tom’s hand then followed down. Further down, actually. And before she could ask what he was doing, electricity sparked up her insides and throughout as Tom explored her wetness.
“Is this wasting time?”
No would be the obvious answer if she hadn’t lost all the air in her lungs. Each harsh intake forced a moan back out. Her chest felt caved in as she jolted under his heavy touch.
“Didn’t think so.”
She would also tell him to shut up if she had the wits, but he never did this. He was never bad at it (decent at most.) He never liked trying new things, fearing he’d embarrass himself. Learning and improvement were beyond his confidence. Being on the sea must have unlocked a more adventurous spirit with no room for improvement because she was so sensitive from enduring no touch at all. (A bloody year!) The only thing he could do was go faster, but his pace was agonizingly slow. With time, her back still arched as she gripped the arm that kept him hovering deliciously above her. “Tom.” She looked him in the eyes as she said it.
He caught his lower lip between his teeth as he picked up the pace, while she grew louder. Eventually, he brought himself down to kiss her, drinking in her moans as she continued to shake. He hummed as her nails dug into his arm and the other hand strangled her bedding. It kept her grounded as she cried out, spasming amidst her little death by Tom Bennett’s hand. He still explored, moving his fingers around and never venturing inside. He kissed her one more time before whispering, “There she is,” as she came back down.
Her legs quivered around Tom, lingered remains of her peak briefly pressing into his hips. And because Tom was feeling proper, he took it as an opportune moment to finally (finally!) remove his pants. Birdie tried watching what she could, but their bodies were too close together to see anything before he completely slipped inside. She stretched against him, but her reaction was to put a palm on his shoulder. She needed a minute, and Tom didn’t move. Birdie released the sharp grip on his arm to cup his face. His eyes were droopy, dazed with the same want she already received. He still kissed her slowly, tenderness still in his heart after everything he might’ve seen, and waited for her say-so.
Soon, Birdie nodded, nearly being lost in the moment again as she enjoyed her own show. Tom was deliberate with every inch, watching her face for any change. Her smile only grew, tightening her arms around his shoulders once he was completely inside her. Her breath hitched as she fully felt it, watching Tom’s eyes flutter shut from the same feeling. Normally, he would anchor her down with hands around her hips, but he stayed close as he thrusted slowly. Knowing he would be quick, he wasn’t animalistic about it. He didn’t pull all the way out to shove himself back in. He just kissed her neck as he kept his pace.
Her nails found his back, scratching down his skin and the small moles on his spine. “Tom,” she said as her mouth started falling open.
“Oh, Birdie.” He kissed her again, like it was a command. Their noses bumped as their hot breaths mingled in the limited space between them. “Oh, my God.”
She could feel the tension building inside. His thrusts became more pointed and faster, making it difficult to keep quiet again. She felt the raised lines she left in his skin as she moaned, “Don’t stop.”
He buried his face in her neck again as he only grew more erratic. And her second release, like Tom’s, was quick (as predicted.) It rushed up and down her legs and no further, topping off her first orgasm as Tom finished hot on her belly. Her toes curled at the lingering feeling as Tom breathed heavily, pulling the bath towel off her floor to clean up his mess. Then he took her hand in his as he fell into her pillows, stark naked and a beautiful sight amongst frilly pink lining. Birdie crawled while still trembling to lie on his chest. His heartbeat was rapid against his ears, and it eventually settled into a healthy rhythm.
Tom’s arms kept her close, keeping their hands together. She looked up at his face, already close to nodding off. One blue eye peeked open, and his lips curled into his signature smirk once more.
“Welcome home.”
“A fantastic welcome, love. Wake me up when you want to welcome me again.”
“You know you can’t fall asleep yet.”
He nodded. “It is tempting, though.”
“The boys should be ready soon.”
Air puffed through Tom’s nose. “A milkshake will have to do, then.”
She knew she should get up, but Tom’s hold around her waist was tighter, as if he had read her mind. It was tempting to sleep. It was more tempting than ever for another cigarette. But Tom’s breath had finally slowed, nearly to a rate that felt like he passed out, anyway. The only thing that assured her he was still awake was his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The simple back-and-forth motion that eventually numbed the skin soothed her mind, despite her questions still being there.
They piled in her head, one after the other, like the letters on her nightstand, addressed to her, for her to read. Even Tom knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.
But footsteps scampered down the hall.
Milkshakes would have to do.
They went to one of the inner city diners. The boys kept to one side of the booth (much to their shared dismay) as Tom stayed next to Birdie. They wanted to be glued to him, to prove to themselves that he was alive and in front of them. Charles even kicked him under the table with a grin plastered on his face. Only once, though, giving Tom rights to kick him back.
Birdie didn’t need the proof. Because something that hadn’t changed about Tom was showing her off in public. He held her hand during the entire walk and kept an arm cascaded over her shoulder in the booth at all times. Word would get back to her father when he returned home. (Someone was always ready to gossip.) And it would make no difference now that Tom was a war hero. No one acknowledged him as such even in the restaurant, despite his uniform.
Even Tom didn’t acknowledge it. He was more concerned with touching the skin on her arm. When their milkshakes arrived, he could barely pull himself away to drink any of it. Birdie crossed her legs , feeling the heat prickle through her as Tom eventually found her knee under the table while giving the boys his full attention the entire time. The way she allowed such public displays of affection would be embarrassing if she didn’t need him so badly again already.
It didn’t help that Tom ended up showing the boys how to hang Vera’s cage, exchanging his uniform for an undershirt and jeans. He installed the hook and showed them how to test its sturdiness, same with the chain holding her up, triple-checking the stability, making sure she’s safe.
They both tested the stability of her bed later in the night. With her hands on the bars of her headboard, Birdie found her familiar motion as she rode Tom into the mattress. His hands gripped into her hips as he moved with her, pushing all he could inside her while staying synchronized. They panted in the dark together. Tom occasionally reached up for her tits, but they made no attempt at meeting in the middle. There was a mutual end they were both desperate to meet.
And eventually, they did. Birdie curled in on herself as she caught her breath, and bent in to Tom’s touch. He guided her to the space between him and the wall. He cleaned them up once more with the same towel and wrapped her in his arms. As her arm snaked around his neck and her thigh drew near, he showered her with tenderness, nuzzling below his chin and rubbing her smooth skin. Vera chirped softly, the golden bars of her cage gleaming in the pale moonlight just above her desk.
Tom’s nails tickled her skin as they traveled up her hip and side before finding her chin, lifting it up to his. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but felt the air leaving his nose with every exhale. She drew circles on his bare chest, high up where his muscles didn’t get in the way. Her eyes were wide open, not even a little tired since this morning. She then wondered if Tom had slept at all since coming home, or if this was his first stop. Would he rest easy, like normal?
“What’re you thinking?”
“What?”
“You’re always quick to sleep. Unless you’re worried about something. So what is it?”
Birdie situated herself to rest on her stomach. She combed her fingers through his hair, reaching his scalp before pulling herself forward to kiss his cheek (she missed) then his lips. “Were you really in the South Atlantic? On The Exeter?”
“I was.” He said it without hesitation. It surprised even her.
“A lot happened.”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“We were hit. I was cutting up with some lads, pissing off some others.” He cleared his throat. “And they were gone.”
“Gone?”
“The lads. Norman, Vic, others. Only me and Henry survived that one explosion.”
“Oh, Tom.” She reached for his face.
“I wrote about Vic in some of the letters. Hopefully, I did him some justice.”
The silence was thick. No witty jokes to pad the seriousness. He only petted her hair over and over. His touch was rigid and his pulse picked up in his chest. She looked over at the letters on her nightstand, the abstract pile that they were. She reached out, and Tom caught her hand as her finger poked an envelope’s corner.
“Don’t,” he told her. He cradled her hand, bringing it up to his face again, but not letting go.
“What else is there?”
It took so long for him to answer she worried he was pretending to be asleep, making that the end of it until she inevitably brought it up again. His inhale was deep. “I don’t know if I have it yet.” He used her hand to point to his temple. “The Shellshock. You think I’d know with my dad and all. I don’t feel much different. But if… if I get sent out again… I’m…”
“Scared?”
“I might keep changing, Birdie. And I might finally snap like my dad and end up in one of those insane hospitals. With no one.”
“I’d be there.”
“You don’t know that.” He sounded like Robert.
“And neither do you.” She inched closer to kiss his lips again, longer this time, like it was a seal of guarantee. Even with the tensity, Tom softened to it. “What if you don’t go back?”
He huffed. “And be branded a deserter?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Your dad already hates me enough, don’t you think?”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like you want to go back.”
Tom sighed.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, then.”
“It just seems like the easy solution, right? Just don’t go back. I’d be a traitor, but I’d be alive with my dad, Lois, the boys, and you. But like I said, good lads died on that ship. Plenty more are dying elsewhere for the same bloody war. It’s not fair to sit out here when more good lads are getting sent out every day.”
Birdie picked herself up, unwinding herself from his body to look down at the vague silhouette halfway under blankets. “You’re a good lad, too. You know?”
His tongue clicked, brushing it off.
“Bad men don’t think the way you do. That’s why I waited for you. I’ll do it again. I’ll be in the waiting room of any hospital in England if you end up needing to get your head checked.”
“Not beside me?”
“They wouldn’t consider me family.”
“But I would.”
“Well, you’d have to marry me to prove it to them.”
It was a one-off joke. She even topped it off with a chuckle. Still, silence persisted; even Vera couldn’t be heard. Despite his fears, he was still the same Tom Bennett who couldn’t handle the idea of being tied down.
But just when she was about to give up and settle in with nothing spoken further, she felt Tom’s hand move across the side of her face, finding the comfortable, familiar spot just under her ear before pulling her back down. He didn’t make her settle in. He found her lips, kissing her slowly with an open mouth, taking a breath when he could in between.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you.”
It wasn’t until he stopped that she rested her head on his chest again and his arms found where they wished to settle on her body for the night. He picked up her ring finger and it alone.
“I’ll think about it, alright?”
Birdie buried herself into his chest.