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x. MA MEILLEURE ENNEMIE

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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—-1900 HOURS—
THORPE ABBOTTS

      || NIGHT DESCENDED LIKE A VELVETY CURTAIN UPON THE CELEBRATION, wrapping the air in a cloak of mirth and merry-making that seemed to drift through the lively crowd. Amidst this, one figure remained slightly out of touch— and who else would that have been either than Egan. He was set out on finding Jefferson. His friends, sensing his restless energy, attempted to divert his attention—urging him to lose himself in the arms of joy and the allure of the women moving gracefully in the flickering lights. But Egan's heart at that moment was beating to a different rhythm—a melody only he could hear.

Despite the festive air surrounding the completion of 25 missions, Celeste found herself lacking the enthusiasm to partake in the revelry. There laid an emptiness gnawing at the edges. The grandeur of the party that had been promised seemed hollow, devoid of the spark that could ignite her spirit. Seeing the bomber painted in the back upon the wall, one that depicted in terrible light as it directed downwards as if it was plummeting. Poor taste...

In the quiet moments leading up to the event, Celeste sought solace in the company of Sammie and the two troublemaker boys. Well, mainly teaching the young girl about the ways of the Chinese. Using her hand upon the paper as a guide into making paper planes. Sammie caught on surprisingly well, her hands deftly crafting the airplanes as if weaving dreams into reality. Next Celeste set out trying to retrieve the Chinese currency from her and Arnie's bags. the Pennsylvanian was a tad confused at first, questioning the mental state of his commander. Only making a prompt command about the currency would be useless in England, but the glare Celeste shot him was enough to smack the reality back into him.

As Egan's anticipation mingled with the pulsating energy of the party, a wave of disappointment washed over him when he realized that Celeste nor her men were nowhere to be found. Hesitation flickered in his eyes as he took another glance around the room of rowdy men. But as he made to leave, he was stopped by the new recruits to the 100th. Egan wasn't in the least enthusiast at it, but Cleven stepped up the pleasantries where Egan was lacking—trying to at least make the new comers feel welcomed. The major exchanged one more "Nice to meet ya" with the captain Rosie Rosenthal before seizing a fleeting chance to slip away. Of course, this made the captain glance to Cleven for answers, believing that perhaps bringing up being in his underwear deterred the major from further talking.

Stepping outside, the raucous symphony of sounds enveloped him, echoing through the night like a siren's call. His gaze swept across the scene, where Airmen swayed drunkenly to the music, but it was Lemmons and his crew, exuding an aura of casual leisure with drinks in hand, who caught his attention. They had been taking bets on those drunken men outside to see how long they'd last before falling over. Approaching them, Egan's impatience palpable, he interjected abruptly, his query cutting through the air, "Have you seen Jefferson?" The mechanics shared a silent exchange, a flicker of hesitation clouding their expressions, their unease stemming from that of Celeste's father. John, eventually breaking the silence, nodded towards the planes, "She's with her crew, near the C-47's." Lemmon was quick to shot him a look of displeasure before glancing back at Egan with a sheepish smile.

As Egan navigated the maze of aircraft in search of Celeste, his mind became a battlefield of conflicting emotions, each thought a weapon in the arsenal of his faltering resolve. Rehearsing the words that lay dormant in the chambers of his heart, he grappled with an inner turmoil.

"Jefferson, I want to apologize," he whispered to the shadows that danced at the edges of his vision, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the ethereal silence.
But as he groaned in defeat, he caught on the soft sound of voices nearby. They spoke in an unfamiliar language, but one voice stood out among the rest. "Jefferson..." he whispered to himself. Before heading towards the sound.

He found the group by French Kiss, gathered around an empty oil drum—with yellow and red flames dancing within. "Travel well, my friend," Arnie murmured, tossing a piece of paper into the blaze. Ben stood beside Robert, his head bowed—holding something within his hand. Oddly, the new recruits remained beside them—listening and watching intently.

As Egan drew closer, the singing that had caught his attention now ceased— replaced by silence and the fire crackling. It was then when both Arnie and Celeste picked up something—whispering something on it before casting it into the flames.

The major's footsteps resonated with a rhythmic crunch against the cracked tarmac, drawing Celeste's attention as she stood by the flickering fire. Admiring the delicate interplay of light and shadow on her features, Egan approached her with a respectful query, "May I join you?"

Celeste acknowledging his presence with a brief nod, bent down to retrieve a paper plane or atlas—that's what it was supposed to be.

Observing in fascination, Egan watched as Celeste gently fed the paper into the hungry flames, eliciting a soft crackle as it transformed into ash. This curious ritual piqued his interest, a practice wholly unfamiliar to him, given his tendency to steer clear of history.

Perplexed by the ceremony, Egan innocently inquired, "What is this about?" as he took a sip of his drink. Celeste, her movements deliberate and graceful, reached for a cluster of Chinese money. "It is a ceremony, a farewell to the departed," she explained, unfurling the bills from their binding. "The Chinese believe that in the afterlife, one requires money, transportation, and food to facilitate their journey to the other side."

Egan, touched by her explanation, softened his expression, noting the sorrow in Celeste's eyes, reflecting the fire's ancient glow.. Arnie approached with a handful of paper planes, casting them in..

A sense of unresolved guilt gnawed at Egan, an unwavering sentiment that he couldn't shake, despite his efforts to suppress it. "I'm sorry..." his words almost lost in the crackling of the fire. Perplexed by his apology, Celeste prompted, "What?"

Egan's foot tapped restlessly as he struggled to articulate, "I apologize for failing to honor my promise to watch over Jackson as you had entrusted me to."

"Spared me of your niceties," her tone cutting yet tinged with a hint of sorrow.. "It appears you have reverted to your former self." Expecting a biting retort from her, Egan chuckled softly, but it never came. Instead, Celeste's gaze remained fixed on the flames, the dance of light and shadow reflecting in her eyes.

Arnie, ever the voice of reason, interjected, "You did all that you could."

"I'll miss Jackson's sarcastic remarks," Robert commented, before raising his drink to the air in praise. Ben and Arnie followed shortly, "Look after the boys up there fella's, make sure they're sharp so when we get there, Miss Jefferson doesn't lose her shit." Arnie joked, ending with growling howl to the calm air.

As the boys slowly settled down, after spilling beer over themselves—Celeste bit at her lower lip—her features lost in thought. She hadn't taken much of hers, not after that last mishap with the RAF pilots. She had always followed the rules, enforced them, stayed at the quarters whilst everyone partied and where had that gotten her? Lost...Where as Jackson and Frankie never followed the rules and look at everyone who morned them..

Seeing the flames glow into a unique dance before her made a question she'd wanted to ask forever come out. With a sharp inhale, " I've often wondered, who would dare stay at my grave? Who would stay there to carry on this tradition?" Her voice faltered for a moment, as reality slowly took over.

Arnie furrowed a brow, whilst Robert pondered over where she was suddenly getting this from. "Well for starters. I know your men would..." Egan says, bringing himself slightly closer to her. "And I would..."

The evening air was filled with a sense of tension as Celeste's sharp retort pierced through the dimly lit atmosphere. "I'm sure you say that to all the women," she quipped, her tone laced with a hint of disdain. With a quick turn of her head, she leveled a piercing gaze at him, her eyes betraying a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You don't bother to remember them, do you? You only see their outward beauty, their bosoms. A few flattering words, and poof, that's all it takes for you..."

Egan, undeterred by her biting remark, calmly placed his glass down on the rough brick wall. "Perhaps, but I can confidently say that I know you quite well," he declared with a touch of self-assurance. Celeste scoffed dismissively, waving off his statement as a feeble attempt to impress her. She was convinced that everyone was familiar with her, or so she thought.

As Celeste drew in a sharp breath, her focus shifted to Arnie and Robert. "You two wrap things up here. I'm going to head back..." Her sentence was left hanging as Egan's voice cut through the night air unexpectedly. "I know you prefer your coffee with two sugars and three splashes of milk, for good luck," he blurted out, causing Celeste to freeze in her tracks. A sense of unease began to creep over her as he continued, "I've noticed that when you're nervous or anxious, you tend to bite your lower lip. And when you're deep in thought, your nose twitches from side to side..."

With each revelation, Celeste felt a wave of disbelief wash over her. Her mouth went dry, her hands trembled, and the smug expression that once adorned her face slowly faded away. As she tentatively turned around, her eyes met Egan's unwavering gaze. The intensity of his scrutiny caused her chest to tighten with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Why was he singling her out like this?

"Just the little things," Egan remarked with a sly smile, his eyes twinkling at the woman he cared for. Celeste attempted to brush off his observations, her voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "Arnie could have easily shared those tidbits with you..." she muttered, the words sounding more like a plea to herself than a rebuttal.

Arnie shot Celeste a puzzled look, clearly unaware of most of the details Egan had just disclosed. Swallowing hard, Celeste swiftly pivoted on her heels and began to jog away into the darkness of the night, leaving behind a crackling fire that mirrored Egan's fluttering heart beat.

Arnie, noticing his gaze lingering, cleared his throat rather discreetly. The young major shifted his focus back to the flickering flames, tucking his hands into his trousers. Arnie chuckled softly. "Now seems as good a time as any after what you just confessed, as I mentioned earlier, Jefferson and I go way back. We've known each other since childhood."

"Has she always been so stubborn?" Egan quipped half-heartedly.

"Oh yes, and much more." Arnie and Egan exchanged laughs until a somber veil fell over them. Both cleared their throats sheepishly, listening to fire and crickets. "That journal she carries, what is in there?" Egan suddenly inquires—his gaze locked with the Pennsylvanian's. A heavy silence filled the air as Arnie struggled to find the right words.

With a noticeable tremor in his voice, Arnie started, "The journal serves as her repository for studies and artwork. However, in the back, is a tightly folded paper. On it are inscribed the first and last names of the men she has lost, along with the dates of their passing." He pauses, his eyes welling up with unshed tears that glimmered under the soft light.

"She maintains this list so that their memories never fade from her consciousness. Each name represents a beacon of revenge and a whisper of guidance for her soul. She'll snap at you if you get too close, sneers her teeth and acts all big and bad but deep down has heart too vast for this harsh world to comprehend."

Egan found himself smiling internally, hoping one day he'd get to see that side of her.

"Oh don't tell her I said anything... she'll end me.." Arnie added before drunkenly walking off.

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LONDON, 1943

         || THE JOURNEY TO LONDON WAS THICK WITH SILENCE. Punctuated only by the quiet tapping of Egan's finger against his knee.Opposite him, Celeste sat aloof—her gaze fixed firmly on the passing scenery outside the car window. Much to Celeste's dismay to stay with her men, her father forced her to go.

Egan, grappling with the weight of unspoken words from the night before when he had bared his soul to her, pondered the significance of his feelings. Unlike the superficial love he had fed others—-this ran deep and sincere. But could he fabric the words together to illustrate his love for her? Would she deign to spare him a glance?

Lost in his thoughts as the shops blurred by, the bustling streets of London did little to lift Celeste's spirits. Not even the prospect of meeting her mother's family held any joy for her.

Upon reaching the hotel, Celeste was less than pleased to find an error in the room bookings. Instead of the separate rooms she had expected, only a single suite with a king-sized bed awaited them. "I'll take the floor," Egan offered, carefully placing his bags down, hoping to ease her irritation. Celeste, however, shook her head firmly. "No, we'll manage," her tone tinged with exasperation.

Though Egan sensed her reluctance, he knew better than to push the issue. With a resigned sigh, he began to unpack, preparing himself for a night of discomfort on the floor. As he stole a glance at Celeste, he caught a glimpse of sorrow in her eyes, a silent conflict waging within her.

The anticipation pulsed in Celeste's chest as the clock inched towards 1800 hours—the designated time for the war band's banquet set to unfold in the grand hotel lobby. Despite her fatigue from the day's events, Celeste remained steadfast in her commitment to punctuality, well aware of that Egan didn't strictly adherence to time.

A cocktail of nerves and weariness danced within her, propelling her towards the bathroom as soon as she finished unpacking—disheartened by the lackluster accommodations laid out before her.

Celeste stood before the mirror, finishing up her dress uniform— that draped gracefully over her form. She wrestled with the final twists of her hair—a pin clattering against the porcelain sink in frustration. Inhaling deeply, she leaned back against the cool marble surface—palms pressed flat against its smoothness.

Memories of Jackson and Frankie flooded her mind, each recollection painting a vivid portrait of their obstinacy, infectious laughter, and whimsical jests that never failed to brighten her countenance. A single tear traced a path down her cheek—a silent tribute to the profound sense of loss that reverberated within her.

With a trembling hand, she touched her quivering lips, whispering, " Im so sorry." The guilt weighed heavily upon her shoulders, scolding herself for being so selfish in leaving him. As tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks, Celeste grappled with the overwhelming ache that gripped her heart, a relentless pain that defied her efforts to suppress it.

Yet, a gentle warmth surrounded her, offering a fleeting comfort as if they stood at her side, encouraging her to persevere and partake in the festivities arranged.

Turning her gaze back to the mirror, Celeste observed the tear-stained visage reflecting back at her, a reminder of the sacrifices and losses endured. With a deep breath, she wiped away the tears, mustering a soft chuckle, " Pilots do not cry in the eighth force."  Lord, if Lady Qin's couls see her now, she would be cursing up a storm in Mandarin. How she would have chastised Celeste for showing any sign of weakness.

Determined to compose herself, Celeste splashed cold water on her face—refreshing the tired complexion. Just as she finished patting herself dry, Egan's frustrated voice resonated through the door, "Blasted thing.." he muttered, clearly struggling with his tie for the past few minutes.

Celeste let out a deep sigh, bracing herself for what lay ahead. She knew she needed to be strong, not just for herself, but also for the boys. She gathered the pieces of herself and placed them together before emerging from the bathroom.

There, Celeste discovered Egan pacing back and forth in a frenzy, his striking features contorted in a scowl as he battled with his unruly tie. Despite the gravity of the moment, a soft chuckle threatened to escape Celeste. It was quite a sight to behold Egan in such disarray.

Suppressing her mirth, Celeste approached Egan with a neutral expression. "Let me assist you with that," she offered calmly. Taking the silk tie delicately between her slender fingers, she focused on the intricate patterns woven into the fabric.

Memories flooded in of helping Jackson and Frankie with their ties, their playful banter... Their lighthearted banter echoed in her mind, nearly causing her composure to waver as she expertly looped the end back around.

Egan observed her closely, drinking in every detail of her features—the soft curve of her lips, the graceful slope of her nose, the way her hair cascaded around her ears in gentle waves. Was now the moment? The moment to truly confess himself to her.

There was a sense of awe in his gaze as he redirected his attention to the tie, scrutinizing it as if committing it to memory—something he usually entrusted to the laundry ladies.

Unaware of his scrutiny, Celeste soldiered on, determined to push aside her own pain. Their eyes met briefly, igniting that familiar spark that spoke volumes in silence, a language only they comprehended, laden with unspoken sentiments. Completing the task of folding the tie, Celeste smoothed out the edges with a gentle pat before a small smile graced her lips. Egan's expression softened, gratitude evident in his eyes as he murmured a quiet "Thank you."

Their fingers brushed fleetingly meeting in the middle, a surge of feelings arising. Celeste averted her gaze, evading his—unwilling to confront her inner demons just yet. Quickly, Celeste retrieved her officers cap, placing it under her bicep. " alright.." she muttered, moving towards his left just as he extended a hand.

Egan extended an invitation with a playful grin in his voice, "Shall we?" Celeste shot him a defiant glance, replying, "I'd rather walk alone than be seen with you." With a smirk, she left him standing there. Egan's lips curved into a small smile; she was once again playing hard to get. But this time, it felt different, her absence making his pursuit more intense. He found himself following her like a lost puppy, his eyes lingering on her every move.

Celeste swiftly descended the grand staircase, her gaze landing on the lively banquet below. A white cloth adorned with the words "Buy War Bonds" spanned between the columns. The room buzzed with activity, filled with esteemed figures and dignitaries. Wealthy men and influential women engaged in conversations that blended with the soft jazz music playing in the background.

The jazz, melodic and gentle, set the mood for the evening. One set for dancing but also so meaningful discussions could be held. Moving through the crowd, Celeste felt herself drowning—with people left to right applauding her and shaking her hand. That was until Egan took her hand, parting goodbyes to the audience—guiding her towards the bar. Reluctantly, she relented.

"You know for a pilot, your sense of direction seems lacking," Egan teased as he received a drink from the bartender. Celeste took hers, clicking her tongue in response and pursing her lips. "A lot of boasting for a mere sky chauffeur."

Celeste and Egan shared a soft chuckle as they savored the biting liquid of rum upon their lips. Celeste, however, puzzled, pulled away from her glass—her eyes examining the brown liquid closely. "Is this Four Roses?" she inquired suddenly—her gaze shifting towards Egan.

Egan, with a mischievous glint, replied, "I reckoned Jackson would have want us to enjoy this night." Celeste felt sudden tug at her heart, remembering that night at pub—doing those multiple shots with the Bostonian. She felt her lip starting to quiver again, before quickly placing the glass to her lips as to make sure Egan wouldn't see it. Again, punching the RAF pilot made a slight chuckle as she placed the glass back down.

Despite the announcement of their arrival by the party's host, Celeste and Egan lingered at the counter—engulfed in their own world. Mainly she wasn't up for the commotion nor the closing in around her like vultures. Yet, the hall erupted in a thunderous applause, each guest graduating them for their courageous efforts. However, Celeste failed to feel the same sense of accomplishment or valor that others seemed to bask in.

However, Egan couldn't help but notice the admiring glances and bright smiles directed towards him by the women in the room. Each gaze, each smile seemed to linger a little too long—prompting a smirk from him.

Observing Egan's interactions, Celeste, leaning against the bar, rolled her eyes at the spectacle. "Seems like you're quite the charmer tonight," she remarked dryly, taking a sip from her drink, the ice clinking faintly against the glass.

Egan chuckled, a mischievous gleam dancing in his eyes. "Well, perhaps I am simply biding my time for that special someone to captivate my attention," he teased, his voice laced with a hint of suggestion. Celeste's lips curved into a small smile as she peered at him, a playful glint shimmering in her eyes. "Oh, is that so? When did this sudden change of heart take place?" she inquired, her amusement evident as she arched an eyebrow.

Egan raised the glass to his lips, savoring the rich aroma of the whiskey before formulating his response. "I find it dates back to the auspicious moment our paths first entwined," he confessed with a delicate softness in his voice, mustering the courage to lay bare his emotions, albeit eloquently shrouded in ambiguity. He watched as Celeste, caught in the dance of his words, felt an orchestra of emotions stir within her, her heart aflutter.

"Oh," Celeste feigned indifference, inclining her head ever so slightly. "Was that when you orchestrated the spillage of my drink onto my dress?" Egan moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, a half-smile playing on his features. "One might argue such a possibility..." he trailed off, inching closer until their breaths mingled in the shared space between them. Hesitation gripped Egan, a phantom of memories haunting his thoughts, reminding him of the consequences of bold moves. Celeste mirrored his uncertainty, a dichotomy of drawing closer and pulling away warring within her.

A fleeting shadow at the periphery of her vision caught Celeste's attention. "Ah, there's Williams," she interjected nonchalantly, a bolt of feigned surprise punctuating her words as she purposefully distanced herself from Egan's proximity. Her eyes strayed to the Wing Commander, engrossed in dialogue with a man clad in the distinguished uniform of the British Army, a manufactured distraction from the unspoken tension hanging in the air between her and Egan

As Williams approached, a woman elegantly linked to his arm, her brunette locks cascading over her shoulders—her eyes a rich shade of brown.

"I hadn't anticipated seeing both of you here this evening; I assumed Colonel Jefferson and Harding would be present," Willaims remarked, looking between the duo.

"Well, my father and Harding felt we needed to get away and actually talk to real people." Celeste blurted, the words slipping out before she processed them. Her eyes widened at the impulsive statement, while Williams cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's refreshing to encounter you both outside the confines of an office setting."

"Likewise," Egan chimed in, cupping his hands tightly in front of him. His eyes of blue fixated on the unfamiliar man beside Williams—whom appeared infatuated with Celeste.

"Oh, Forgive my oversight, allow me to introduce my wife, ." She smiles widely, offering out her gloved hand. "Our daughter tells us so much about you." The woman remarks whilst Celeste accepts her offer—putting a forced smile.

" And this gentleman..." Williams begins, yet is interrupted when the man steps forward. The major insignia on his uniform glinting under the subdued lighting. His eyes lingered on Celeste, an enigmatic expression masked behind his gaze.

"I've heard so much about you Chief Leader Jefferson," the major remarked, extending his hand in a gesture of politeness. "Quite the woman you are." His words carried a hint of admiration that didn't sit well with Egan. Celeste, picking up on the underlying tension, reluctantly accepted the major's hand, only to be taken aback as he gallantly flipped his hand and planted a soft kiss on the back of hers.

Egan felt a surge of indignation rising within him, his jaw clenching involuntarily. The major's deliberate actions and the look of astonishment on Celeste's face fueled his irritation. Without a moment's hesitation, Egan firmly grasped the man's hand it in his own—masking his displeasure behind a facade of forced civility.

"I'm Major Egan, you are?" he forced through gritted teeth—his patience wearing thin. The major, seemingly unfazed by Egan's subtle display of hostility—introduced himself in a tone tinged with a distinct British accent. "Major Charles Buckham, at your service," he replied with a slight bow, his demeanor exuding a sense of superiority that irked Egan even further.

As the awkward exchange continued, Celeste could no longer conceal her exasperation and rolled her eyes in a gesture of disdain for the entire situation. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, each party trying to assert their dominance in this unanticipated power play.

Amidst the shifting melodies and the influx of guests on the dance floor, Charles wore a subtle smile as he watched the lively scene unfold. With a blend of finesse and charm, he extended his hand gracefully once more towards Celeste. "Would you honor me with this dance?" he inquired, his voice a perfect harmony of gentleness and confidence.

Celeste hesitated, a hint of uncertainty clouding her expression as she nibbled on her lower lip in contemplation. "You wish for a dance?" she probed, her curiosity piqued by his sudden invitation.

Egan observed the interaction with a mix of irritation and protectiveness simmering beneath his facade. Downing his drink in a swift motion, he intervened before Celeste could respond, encircling her waist with his arm and drawing her closer. "Jefferson is my girlfriend, and I kindly request that you respect our space," Egan declared firmly, his grip on her waist tightening subtly.

Confusion flickered across Celeste's features as she glanced up at Egan in disbelief. "I am?" she questioned, her brows knitting together in puzzlement. In truth, she was just as startled by Egan's statement as Charles was. Henry, who had been observing the scene with quiet intensity, let out a soft throat clearing, a tinge of irritation flashing across his face momentarily before he composed himself.

"I extend my sincerest apologies if there has been any misunderstanding," Charles responded smoothly, his tone seeking to ease the palpable tension that lingered in the air. However, a mischievous glint shone in his eyes as he added, "But does she share the same sentiment?" His question hung in the air, injecting a touch of unexpected humor into the awkward exchange, causing the men to exchange cautious glances as Celeste processed the unfolding drama.

Egan shot Charles a stern look before bidding farewell to the Williams and his wife. Taking Celeste by the arm, he led her to a quieter corner of the bar, much to her chagrin. "Egan, what was that all about?" she murmured, her lips pressed into a thin line, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.

As Egan gazed longingly at Celeste,  "I know a woman hungry man when I see one," his words dripping with disdain. Celeste narrowed her eyes, a frown forming on her lips— pretending not to understand. "Oh, please. I think someone might be jealous..."

"Jealous? Nah, that's just not in my vocabulary," Egan remarked before finishing his drink in one swift motion. Celeste saw right through his facade and concocted a mischievous plan. "Oh really? Well," she signaled to the bartender, requesting a little game to be set up.

The bartender returned with a small black tray, placing two shot glasses and a bottle of rum on it. Egan's interest was piqued as he leaned against the counter. "A competition to see who can down the most shots?" he suggested sarcastically.

"Exactly," Celeste responded with a knowing smile. "But let's make it more interesting. Two truths and a lie. Whoever guesses wrongly must take a shot." Egan hesitated for a moment, realizing the gravity of the situation. This could either end in disaster or be the perfect opportunity to reveal his true feelings.

"Alright, so it's going to be that kind of evening, is it?" Egan remarked, a twinkle in his eye. Celeste shot back, "Always. It's for the honor of Jackson and Frankie ack, placing a small black tray between them, filled with two shot glasses—with a bottle of rum taking its place in the middle.

As she began pouring the first set, Egan found himself becoming antsy, unsure of the sorta things she'd say. Normally he had played this with the boys, but never a woman before—especially not one of her caliber.

Presently, she began, "I always hated my father growing up.
We fought like cats and dogs. Only now, as adults, have we learned to get along. I studied nursing in my first year at university. Hated it. Changed my major to Cultural Anthropology. And third, I'm really good at baseball.."

Egan arched an eyebrow, studying her carefully. He knew Celeste had a penchant for adventure, but the baseball comment seemed a bit out of character. Narrowing his eyes in skepticism, " I fear third is a lie but the second sounds like it could be one too."

Celeste chuckled, shaking her head. "Right! I'm absolutely terrible at baseball, i can pinpoint an enemy target, but not a ball whipping at me."

Egan let out a laugh, "Well, I'll have to teach you someday." He utters, watching as Celeste downs the shot—only for her to grimace from the taste. Pouring another shot, they continued...

As the game progressed, the drinks kept flowing, and the stories became more elaborate. Celeste seemly forgetting about the kiss and Jackson and Frankie's death. Laughter filled the air, mingling with the soft jazz music playing in the background. To the point where guests were giving them soured looks.

Celeste stood out the most, her once stoic and cold demeanor melted. Her laughter a tad bit louder, arm movements a little less steady. She had indulged in one glass too many, and the effects were becoming evident.

But amidst the playful banter and shared secrets, a somber moment crept in. Celeste's smile faltered as she hesitated, her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. "I lost someone I cared for in a plane crash," she whispered—her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the memory hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the otherwise jovial atmosphere.

Egan's smile faltered, briefly betraying the hidden pain he felt at seeing Celeste in such a state. However, like a cloud passing over the sun, the moment of sadness dissipated. "Well, enough of that," she chuckled half-heartedly, wiping her nose. "It's now your turn."

Celeste fumbled, her hand shaking slightly as she slammed the shot glass down on the table. Egan's smile returned to his lips, his face slightly flushed from the drinks. "Well..." he began, but before he could continue, one of his favorite songs started playing by the band. Without a second thought, he jumped up, breaking into a dance and mouthing the words under his breath.

"Come on," he urged, shimmying towards her before extending his hand. "You still owe me a dance from last time."

Her emerald eyes sparkled with amusement. " Well then," she says, looking around at Williams and others engrossed in their own company. "It seems I'm yours. Now that you have me, where are you going to lead me?"
"Into temptation." He took her hand in his, her long fingers stroking his palm.

"You may have me at a disadvantage-"
"Oh, I certainly hope not..." Egan expressed.
"—but I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer," she finished.
"I have every confidence you're a quick learner." With a sly wink over his shoulder, Egan led her onto the dance floor, where dozens of people already turned and flowed—in twos and threes and fours, to the languid beat of the music.

Celeste found herself smashing into his body, hers pressing against that of his—it made her feel some sort of way. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking... Celeste's delicate hand found a place on Egan's shoulder, whilst with her other, met his in the air. He, in turn, placed his hands firmly on her slender waist—his touch light yet firm as they swayed to the melodious tune.

Egan guiding her effortlessly through the intricate steps of the dance. Their eyes locked on another, refusing to look upon anyone else. For a moment, all their worries and troubles melted away. All those biting sneers from Celeste, slowly faded away.

The music folded around them, as gentle as a summer's rain.
With each passing moment, Celeste felt herself drawn closer to Egan—a sense of familiarity and comfort enveloping her in his arms. Bringing her back to an old love. One that made her feel safe...

Without hesitation, she brought him near her, their bodies aligning perfectly as she embraced him. As she nestled her head on the top of his shoulder, she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne. Perhaps, he was different from all the others—maybe she was wrong about him.

Meanwhile, Egan reciprocated her gesture with equal tenderness and care. He mirrored her movements, leaning his head against hers—his breath warm against her skin. With each step and twirl, they moved as one, a seamless dance of trust and intimacy that transcended words.

"Tell me something," she exhaled delicately in his ear—so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.
"Oh my, the big, bad Jefferson is asking me questions now? What would you like to know?"

"Anything..."

"Well." Celeste then twirled free of his arms, her uniform slightly flaring at the ends—then spun back to him, her hand finding his once more.

"Let's see," he started. "I..." His breath caught at the nearness of her, the subtle scent of her skin.
"Am I distracting you?" Celeste smugly remarked through a drunken banter.

"Yes." He drew her closer—delighting in the simple pleasure.

"I don't usually do this." Celeste whispered, her eyes locking on his deep blue. Her hand crept fractionally up the back of his neck, sending shivers down his arms. "Do what?" He purred.

Something mischievous sparkled in her eyes. "This..." she could not resist any longer, the fight was up—it was something she pushed for too long.

Her lips met his, the bit of the rum still upon their lips. She fit into him like a glove, her kiss like the beating of a butterfly's wings, soft until it became addictive.

And he was falling fast, craving her scent and the feel of her so close to him, unsure where he ended and she began. He had never been more grateful to have life until now. He would have rather walked into hell again and again than lose this: her entrancing eyes, her captivating smile against his lips, her laugh when he did something stupid, her hair and how it fell over her shoulder when she looked at him.

Pulling away, their eyes still on another, Egan knew it was the moment. He licked his lips, cupping his hand against her cheek. "I lo..." was all he got out when he heard the gurgling sound emerging from Celeste's mouth. And there it came, everything—rum and all. Puke spilling over the floor as she hunched over. Egan, however, didn't escape it, either it catching the bottom of his trousers.

"I'm so sorry.." Celeste muttered through gurglings, trying to wipe away the puke on her lips. She felt so embarrassed, stumbling backed from him, realizing what she had done. But Egan refused to let her go, especially given her state.

"No, no, I need to take you upstairs."  Celeste scoffed loudly, her words slurred and incomprehensible. She pointed a shaky finger in Egan's direction, attempting to form words that seemed to evade her. Her attempts only resulted in a series of mumbled sounds that made Egan's heart sink.

With a gentle touch, Egan steadied Celeste, guiding her to a nearby chair. Celeste's defiance faded as she sank into the soft cushions, her gaze clouded with a mix of confusion and regret. Egan knelt beside her, his voice calm and reassuring."Let's get you upstairs okay. That's enough for tonight."

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NEXT DAY, LONDON
SEPTEMBER

Celeste stirred from her slumber, feeling the weight of a throbbing headache pressing against her temples. She opened her heavy eyelids, greeted by the sight of her disheveled self in a room cloaked in the morning light. Her once sleek hair now clung to her face, her body splayed across the tousled bedsheets. "Oh, darn it," she murmured, casting a weary glance towards the antique clock resting on the bedside table.

Throwing the covers aside, Celeste's hazed mind slowly pieced together the events of the previous night. Her fingers brushed against the crumpled fabric of her uniform, a stark reminder of the revelry and mischief that had transpired. It was then that her gaze landed upon a sight that brought a sudden flush to her cheeks - Egan's uniform hung elegantly on the door, a silent witness to the shared intimacy of their dance, the laughter, and the taste of forbidden kisses.

A gasp escaped her lips as the memory flooded back, mingling with the lingering scent of his cologne that clung to the room like a phantom of desire. "Oh, gods above," she muttered, covering her reddening face with a trembling hand, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.

Whilst Celeste tried waking up, Egan wasn't already out. He strode purposefully along the cobblestone streets, his determined footsteps orchestrating a melodic rhythm against the hushed symphony of the early morning. The quaint shops that lined the narrow alleys whispered promises of hidden treasures, their windows adorned with displays that glinted in the soft light like precious gems waiting to be discovered. His gaze swept over the storefronts with a laser-like focus, each one inspected in search of a sacred relic that could serve as a bridge connecting his obligations to the desires of his heart.

As his fingers grazed a magnificent piece showcased in a secluded, dimly illuminated window, a masterpiece of strength interwoven with vulnerability revealed itself through the intricate design. A surge of determination sparked in his eyes as he clasped the artifact in his hand, his inner self torn between conflicting emotions that waged war within his heart. It was exquisite, a symbol of unity amid the chaos that surrounded him.

"This is war," he murmured softly to himself, the gravity of his impending decision settling like a regal cloak upon his broad shoulders. In the realm of war, swift and resolute choices held the power to sway the tides of fate, and Egan knew he must act now or forever lose what he held dear.

Without hesitation, he made the purchase, presenting the coveted item to the attentive shopkeeper who carefully placed it within a luxuriously lined velvet box, a sanctuary for a priceless gem. "She will adore this," remarked the salesman, gently tucking the box into a petite paper bag, a touch of reverence in his actions.

"I sincerely hope so," Egan replied quietly, reaching for his purse to settle the transaction, but to his astonishment, the shopkeeper waved off any exchange of currency. "You airmen endure hardships beyond measure in the skies above. Consider this a gift from one who admires your valor," the man stated with a hint of gratitude in his voice. The major, though taken aback by this unexpected gesture of generosity, tipped his cap respectfully to the benevolent gentleman, his eyes alight with gratitude.

     Just as Egan arrived back, Celeste was already dressed and ready— partially due to the fact she was to meet up with her mother's family later that day. Though she didn't want too.

Like a knife to the heart, she ignored Egan's hello when he come in—where he was holding a plate of food. "Breakfast?" He muttered, before placing it in bed. Celeste swallowed harshly, her cheeks flustering slightly as he walked over towards the window.

She wasn't even with it, her eyes still in a daze from before. Even Egan trying to help her by mixing a concoction of raw eggs, it didnt exactly work.

Celeste, still reeling from the events of the previous night, made a conscious effort to ignore Egan's attempts at casual conversation. As she prepared herself to depart, grabbing her cap, sitting it promptly on her head. Egan, with a hint of desperation, inquired about the possibility of dinner and drinks later that evening. Clearly, he wanted to share another evening like last night with her.

Yet, Celeste, mustering all her resolve, cleared her throat before responding coldly, " I'm not sure when I'll return."

For Egan, time seemed to crawl by at an agonizingly slow pace as he waited for Celeste's return. In reality, only a few hours had passed since her departure. Restless and eager to distract himself, Egan found himself seated at the local pub, a place known for its well-polished ambiance and undoubtedly stronger drinks compared to the usual British fare.

As he sipped on his drink, Egan couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled within him since Celeste's abrupt exit. The dimly lit pub provided a stark contrast to the chaos of his thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder about the distance that seemed to have grown between them with each passing moment.

Despite the noise and laughter surrounding him, Egan found himself lost in a labyrinth of introspection. The clinking of glasses and merry chatter served as a backdrop to his contemplation of the complexities woven into the fabric of his relationship with Celeste.

As he placed an order at the bar, his gaze inadvertently met a woman dressed in a captivating shade of blue sitting to his left. She exuded an air of mystique, her golden locks and piercing blue eyes watching him intently ever since he descended the stairs into the lively establishment.

While Egan patiently waited for their drinks, he observed the woman indulging in shots with eager abandon. A faint frown crossed his features, a stark contrast to the usual demeanor that often attracted women towards him. It felt oddly foreign for him to engage with someone new, especially after pursuing the attention of another. Typically, he was accustomed to being the center of attention, captivating the interest of those around him effortlessly.

Noticing his subtle change in demeanor, the woman in blue extended a kind gesture by offering him a drink, which Egan gratefully accepted. "Paulina is my name, and you?" she inquired, her melodic accent weaving through the ambient noise of the pub. "John Egan," he replied, the words slipping out between thoughtful sips of his drink. Paulina's face lit up with a radiant smile that seemed to illuminate the dimly lit surroundings—-her eyes glinting with a warmth that drew Egan in.

Her beauty and charm had a captivating effect on him, igniting a long-dormant feeling of companionship within his heart. Amidst the clatter of glasses and the hum of conversations, Egan found himself yearning for a connection—a bond that would remind him of his own vulnerability and humanity in a world that often seemed distant and indifferent.

A contemplative expression crossed Egan's face, catching Paulina's perceptive gaze. "Why the melancholy look?" she inquired softly, her voice barely a whisper amidst the lively music and cheerful chatter enveloping them. Egan paused for a moment, hesitating before finally confiding, "It involves a woman."

Paulina's eyes danced with playful curiosity as she teasingly remarked, "Has she shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces?" Her words carried a touch of whimsy and mystery, adding a spark of creativity to their budding conversation.

Egan shook his head ruefully, "It's not that simple. My sentiments toward her are inexplicable. I fear she does not reciprocate them." He rubs his temple harshly before continuing, " Am I merely wandering aimlessly, chasing a love that is destined to remain unrequited?"

Paulina's soft chuckle echoed through the room as she delicately placed her glass on the table, her gaze locking meaningfully with Egan's troubled eyes. "She will realize your worth, dear Egan. You possess an undeniable charm and distinction that any sensible person would appreciate. She would be remiss not to see that," she assured him, her words dripping with sincerity and warmth.

Despite Paulina's well-intentioned efforts to uplift Egan's spirits, the persistent ache in his chest refused to dissipate. Just then, the hushed murmur of a man's voice disrupted their conversation, accompanied by the creaking hinges of the door as it swung open. Egan turned slightly, a smile slowly forming on his lips as he caught sight of Celeste waltzing into the room, her presence like a breath of fresh air. However, his smile faltered as Charles followed closely behind her.

Celeste's entrance drew the admiring gaze of the Polish pilots in the room, one of whom couldn't help but vocalize his appreciation with a boisterous remark, igniting laughter from his companions. Celeste, unfazed by the attention, gracefully acknowledged the British Major who had escorted her, his eyes lingering on her captivating figure—a sight that did not go unnoticed by Egan, a pang of jealousy gnawing at his insides.

As Celeste engaged in conversation, her infectious smile lighting up the room, Egan's eyes remained fixated on her, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions. When he noticed her glancing in his direction, a flicker of something akin to hurt flashed across her features at the sight of him with another woman at the bar, sparking a bitter taste in her mouth.

The pulsating beat of the music reverberated in Egan's ears, matching the surge of anger and frustration coursing through him as he watched Celeste's interactions. "That must be her," Paulina remarked softly, causing the Major to avert his gaze, earning a chuckle from the blonde woman.

Seizing an opportunity, Paulina suggested a mischievous plan to incite a hint of jealousy in Celeste, her playful demeanor sparking a devious idea in Egan's mind. Determined to elicit a reaction from Celeste, he took Paulina's hand and led her to the dance floor, his eyes locked on the woman who held his heart.

As Egan and Paulina swept across the dance floor with practiced grace, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the music, the room buzzed with laughter and conversation. Yet Egan's gaze remained drawn to Celeste, who was engrossed in a lively discussion with Major Charles—-his heart aching with longing and uncertainty.

The sight of Celeste's bright smile as she laughed with the man sent a pang of rage through Egan. He couldn't shake the feeling that she belonged by his side, not dancing in the arms of another man. Under his breath, he muttered, "She belongs to me."

His heart raced as he observed this major getting a little too familiar with Celeste, causing her to subtly try to push him away. Egan could feel the anger bubbling inside him, fueled by a mix of possessiveness and protectiveness over Celeste.

Without a second thought, Egan made his way towards them. With a swift move, he pushed the major back by the chest, his voice dripping with venom, "You again? How about you bugger off!"

The British major, unfazed, smirked in response, his tone laced with amusement, "You can't have them all, mate. Besides, I know how to appreciate the ones worth keeping."

Egan's eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, his jaw clenched with fury as he tried to contain his rising emotions. Celeste looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and gratitude. In that moment, Egan's jealousy transformed into a fierce determination to protect the woman he cared for, no matter the cost.

Egan firmly gripped Celeste's hand, navigating through the crowded room with purpose, and Celeste stumbled along in his wake. He maintained his grip, not giving her a chance to resist. Once they were outside, the alcohol coursing through his veins, Egan couldn't hold back his frustration any longer. "What was all that about?" he demanded, his words edged with tension.

Celeste arched an eyebrow and retorted, "So, now you think you can dictate who I interact with? He offered me a ride here... And what about you? Getting cozy with her?" She tossed out the remnants of her drink. "I suppose I should be going now."

Not one to let her slip away, Egan hurried after her, his voice urgent. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm going back. My team needs me. There's a mission in two days, and I plan to be there," Celeste declared, determination evident in her tone. "I seek retribution for Frankie and Jackson. I'm sure you understand."

Egan shook his head, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around to face him. "You can't go. I won't allow it."

Celeste furrowed her brows. "Forbid it? Oh, please. That contradicts what you told the colonel. First, you advocate for my flying, then retract your support when things escalate." She began to walk away, but Egan halted her by turning her back towards him.

"Stop this," Egan snapped, his frustration palpable. "Why are you being so obstinate?"

Celeste pushed him away, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Why are you being so dramatic? Is it because of our moment?"

Egan hesitated, then confessed, "Because I can't bear the thought of you in danger. I care about you more than I can express. Every waking moment, you're on my mind."

"I never asked for your protection, Egan," Celeste replied, her voice trembling with emotion. She met his gaze, her eyes revealing a lifetime of struggles. "I can handle myself."

Egan faced her fully, his eyes mirroring the pain in his heart. "I just wish I had met you before... Before the horrors of war shaped you. Before someone told herself the only way to survive was to build walls up and never let anyone in."

Celeste sallowed harshly, tears brimming on the verge of being released. "Fine, so be it..." she raises her arms in defeat, " Prance yourself around like you always do, collecting women on your arms like trophies. I won't be one of those....I almost fall for it. You're just like the others. I don't want to be a footnote in your story."

He noticed with a feeling like a punch to the gut that she had her hand clapped over her mouth, as if she was trying to contain her feelings within her throat. And with that, Celeste tilted her cap at him Before taking her leave...

Egan stood there for a moment, his heart longing to run after her, to plead for her back... to feel her touch upon him once again... her lips upon his...but his mind stood planted. Watching as she faded into the darkness. Egan's haziness trying desperately to not lose her. He didn't mean it, she was the first his heart felt a different rhythm...

Determined with a newfound rush of emotion and heart break, Egan returned to the pub, his head held low. Paulina was still there, looking at him rather confused. But Egan took her by the hand—prompting leading her back to the hotel.

Egan and Paulina stood in the dimly lit bedroom, their movements slow and deliberate as they began to undress each other. Each piece of clothing was removed with care, revealing more of their vulnerable selves beneath. As they swayed gently, their bodies pressing against each other, Egan placed soft kisses on Paulina's skin—his touch tender and searching.

In that moment, as he held her in a tight embrace, Egan allowed himself to believe, if only for an instant, it was Celeste in his arms again. Reminiscing in the dance they shared, her kiss... the smell of her hair...

The scent of Paulina's perfume was harsh compared to Celeste's—mixed with the touch of her skin felt like a bittersweet illusion—-a fleeting glimpse of what could never truly be....

Celeste wandered the dimly lit streets, her mind clouded with tumultuous thoughts. Did Egan truly love her? Did she love him? What was she thinking, getting herself involved with this major... why did she kiss him back? Was the emotions from a lost love that she found in him?

As she turned the corner, her heart sank at the sight of familiar faces - Timothy, the grouchy old man from the bar, and his cronies. Standing beside them was Lil, a cigarette dangling from her hand, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she flirted with the boys. Oh that little...

A surge of pent-up rage erupted within Celeste, drawing in deep breaths—before stroding purposefully towards the group. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, and just as Lil locked eyes with her, Celeste's fist connected with her jaw with a resounding thud, sending the young woman sprawling to the ground.

"Why did you lie about me in your report... telling the Colonel..." Celeste's voice dripped with venom as she moved to strike Lil again as she attempted to rise. Lil's hand flew to her bloodied nose, but before Celeste could land another blow, Timothy and his accomplices intervened, grabbing her by the arms.

Celeste struggled against their hold, her eyes blazing with fury, but Timothy advanced, his voice laced with malice, "It's time to teach you a lesson." With a swift motion, he raised a clenched fist and delivered a powerful blow to Celeste's jaw, causing her head to snap back slightly. Another hit followed, forcing a sharp intake of breath from her as pain shot through her jaw and body.

As Timothy's sons released her, he delivered a final blow, a merciless kick that sent Celeste crashing to the ground. "She's not worth us ending up in jail," Timothy spat disdainfully, as Celeste lay on the asphalt, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. And in that moment, all she could think about was Egan....

"Oh fuck.."she mustered out softly....

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

I like making everyone hate me 😈

Sorry not sorry

Celeste is a bipolar queen 💅 we love that for her

Tell me this chapter is everything you ever wanted, YES I KNOW ITS SOOO LONG, but I needed it to BE PERFECT 😩 TELL ME RIGHT NOW

Everyone about to clock my a** because of this chapter