Delightful-PG-Fluff/Drama-None / Note: takes place Christmas after WWII
The war ended earlier in the year. Finally. After all the horrors of Pearl Harbor and the Nazi occupation, home was warm and cozy again. Home of course was two destinations, hers, Georgia of the states, his, Bibury, England.
They met about halfway through. He was one of those flying aces. She was head nurse. The day he was wheeled into the infirmary, they all believed wasn’t he going to live. Put him to the back, with the least likely to survive. She didn’t care though that his leg was mangled and that his fever was high. She knew he’d make it. And she was right.
Mmmm…the fire in the hearth was blowing so brightly. It was such a mess outside though.
Gwen moved to the window, pressing her hands against the pane. His home was small, simple, life in Bibury such. It was carved mostly of stone and wood. It was so different from her apartment in Georgia, but he loved going there too when he got the chance to fly out of England.
Months ago they planned this, celebrating their time away from duty together. Now she gazed out the window, seeing the flurries of snow. Oh maybe he shouldn’t have gone out. His leg still suffered in the cold. What if-
Oh there. She breathed a sigh of relief, running to the door, her heels hitting the stone steps as she called out to him, seeing so much in his hands. “Arthur, what have you got?”
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked, seeing his beautiful lady standing on the steps with not even a coat on. Crazy girl. “Guinevere get back in the house! It’s snowing like jazz madness out here!”
She laughed at his play on words, running further to meet him, ignoring the heavy flurries of snow blowing hard at her skirt and sweater. “You can’t carry all that by yourself. Give me some.”
He had no choice but to relent, grabbing his cane and holding the rest of the packages in his other hand. He pushed the cane down against the pavement. It was the hardest thing to learn he may be maimed for life. Well that thankfully hadn’t happened, but his leg was pretty much useless without assistance.
The crash left him hurt. He wanted to just retreat from the world then, leave it, but for that soft voice and that warm hand that held his, telling him night after night.
“Don’t you dare give up. You live now. You understand? You fight the demons. And you live Pilot.”
“It’s Arthur.” He finally told her, one more dark night with not being able to see, his eyes then bandaged because of bruising around them. “What is yours?” He squeezed her hand, not wanting to admit it, but he was scared.
“Gwen, well Guinevere. But I go by Gwen.”
She started to lift up then so he grasped her wrist tight, whispering shakily,
“Guinevere….stay with me.”
And so she did.
And so love got started.
He pulled at her hand now, an expert, after months, with the cane. She told him how fast a learner he was when he first started using it. He told her how when he flew everyone looked up to him like he was the king of their squadron. She laughed at that, saying not to boast so much.
They entered the house, rushing to the kitchen and dropping the packages on the counter. Gwen peeked through curiously. “Arthur what is all this?”
“Oh now, no peeking!” He slapped her hand away and tugged at her waist. “Come on, back with me into the living room. I’m a cold mess and so are you.”
She snuggled up against him, but then as they got to the other room, she stopped, turning him around. “Oh you have snow flurries all over you!” She exclaimed, grasping at his coat’s sleeves and pulling it away from his body.
He turned around, grabbing onto her cheeks. “And you…they’re all in your hair.” He reached up, picking them out. She gently took the cane from his other hand and wrapped her arms around his waist.
The war ended earlier in the year. Finally. After all the horrors of Pearl Harbor and the Nazi occupation, home was warm and cozy again. Home of course was two destinations, hers, Georgia of the states, his, Bibury, England.
They met about halfway through. He was one of those flying aces. She was head nurse. The day he was wheeled into the infirmary, they all believed wasn’t he going to live. Put him to the back, with the least likely to survive. She didn’t care though that his leg was mangled and that his fever was high. She knew he’d make it. And she was right.
Mmmm…the fire in the hearth was blowing so brightly. It was such a mess outside though.
Gwen moved to the window, pressing her hands against the pane. His home was small, simple, life in Bibury such. It was carved mostly of stone and wood. It was so different from her apartment in Georgia, but he loved going there too when he got the chance to fly out of England.
Months ago they planned this, celebrating their time away from duty together. Now she gazed out the window, seeing the flurries of snow. Oh maybe he shouldn’t have gone out. His leg still suffered in the cold. What if-
Oh there. She breathed a sigh of relief, running to the door, her heels hitting the stone steps as she called out to him, seeing so much in his hands. “Arthur, what have you got?”
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked, seeing his beautiful lady standing on the steps with not even a coat on. Crazy girl. “Guinevere get back in the house! It’s snowing like jazz madness out here!”
She laughed at his play on words, running further to meet him, ignoring the heavy flurries of snow blowing hard at her skirt and sweater. “You can’t carry all that by yourself. Give me some.”
He had no choice but to relent, grabbing his cane and holding the rest of the packages in his other hand. He pushed the cane down against the pavement. It was the hardest thing to learn he may be maimed for life. Well that thankfully hadn’t happened, but his leg was pretty much useless without assistance.
The crash left him hurt. He wanted to just retreat from the world then, leave it, but for that soft voice and that warm hand that held his, telling him night after night.
“Don’t you dare give up. You live now. You understand? You fight the demons. And you live Pilot.”
“It’s Arthur.” He finally told her, one more dark night with not being able to see, his eyes then bandaged because of bruising around them. “What is yours?” He squeezed her hand, not wanting to admit it, but he was scared.
“Gwen, well Guinevere. But I go by Gwen.”
She started to lift up then so he grasped her wrist tight, whispering shakily,
“Guinevere….stay with me.”
And so she did.
And so love got started.
He pulled at her hand now, an expert, after months, with the cane. She told him how fast a learner he was when he first started using it. He told her how when he flew everyone looked up to him like he was the king of their squadron. She laughed at that, saying not to boast so much.
They entered the house, rushing to the kitchen and dropping the packages on the counter. Gwen peeked through curiously. “Arthur what is all this?”
“Oh now, no peeking!” He slapped her hand away and tugged at her waist. “Come on, back with me into the living room. I’m a cold mess and so are you.”
She snuggled up against him, but then as they got to the other room, she stopped, turning him around. “Oh you have snow flurries all over you!” She exclaimed, grasping at his coat’s sleeves and pulling it away from his body.
He turned around, grabbing onto her cheeks. “And you…they’re all in your hair.” He reached up, picking them out. She gently took the cane from his other hand and wrapped her arms around his waist.
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