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xi. AND KISS BEFORE YOU MISS JOHNNY BOY

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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LONDON, 1943

 
|| EVEN AS HE STOOD IN PAULINA'S ARMS, HIS MIND WANDERED BACK TO THE WOMAN WHOM HAD CAPTURED HIM; THE WAY HER SMILE PERFECTLY ALIGNED WITH HER DIMPLES, HER LIPS, THOSE EMERALD EYES. God, Bucky... He couldn't shake the guilt creeping into his heart - why was he here when his soul belonged to another? Why hadn't he expressed his true feelings to Celeste? Perhaps she would have been the one in his arms instead of Paulina.

While Paulina lovingly ran her fingers through his hair, Egan's thoughts pivoted from pleasure to fret.. He couldn't shake this fear about Celeste's whereabouts, especially with no sign of her return. The piercing sound of air raid sirens only heightened his unease, stirring a sense of impending dread that made his stomach churn.

You see, Egan in any normal situation, would have had Paulina undressed and in bed by now—but yet he found himself incapable of taking that step. Celeste persisted in dominating his thoughts; her voice a smoothing comfort like a lullaby to sleep. A charm that lightened up his heart. It was impeding his ability to fully immerse himself in the moment with Paulina.

His love for Celeste was undeniable, a truth that crashed upon him like a relentless wave after all these months. Was this the all-consuming nature of true love? The realization that being with anyone else felt inherently wrong...

Struggling to articulate the turmoil raging within him, Egan withdrew from Paulina— gaze averted as his trembling hand sought solace in his tousled hair. "I'm sorry. I just can't..."

Paulina, taken aback, gazed at him with confusion clouding her eyes. Where a question formed on her lips. "What?" The blonde whispered—"Is this not what you came back for?" her brow creased with annoyance.

Egan locked eyes with her once more, the weight of his words heavy. "I can't go through with this. I..." His voice faltered, hands trembling fastened the buttons of his shirt. "I need to find her."

Paulina's reaction was a mix of incredulity and disappointment. Clicking her jaw to the side, her voice edging towards her Polish roots, "I thought you wanted to bring me to bed?"

"Yes... well no...no I didn't..." Egan mumbled, hastily placing his pants back on. " I believe I've made a terrible mistake." And that was the first in a while that he found himself admitting to any wrong doing... especially when dealing with women.

Paulina expressed a heavy set sigh, trying refrain herself from uttering any distasteful words. This had been the first for her.. Watching as Egan reached for his dress jacket, clumsily draping it over his shoulders.

But as she started dressing herself—Paulina found herself tossing out a casual remark, "The air raid sirens are blaring. Bombs will start falling..."

Paulina's words didn't sway Egan in the slightly, causing her frustration to mount. With a groan, she picked up a pillow from a nearby chair and hurled it in his direction. Egan recoiled from the hit, flashing her a questioning glance.

"I hope she is worth the risk to your life." Her blue eyes cut through him like daggers. Yet Egan didn't bend to her, " I fear I may love her... Paulina."

But instead of accepting that, Paulina waved him off with the flick of her wrist—storming passed him with a determined stride. Yet at the door handle, she paused, turning to face him once more. "I hope she is found."

Without a moment to spare, Egan dashed down the hotel stairs, drawing the attention of the hotel attendant and many others. His heart thudded against his ribcage, a torrent of worry etched deeply into his brow. Being rid of Paulina met his whole attention was now focused on finding Celeste.

The major hesitantly stepped out of the lobby, his stomach in knots. Frankly, the air raid sirens blaring in the distance, drowning out any semblance of calm, didn't help. Egan was used to being the one who dropped the bombs, not on the receiving side.

Amidst the pandemonium, a few scattered figures darted across the streets, their urgency mirroring Egan's own sense of unease. In stark contrast, the drunken servicemen lounged about, their raucous banter a stark reminder of the fragile normalcy that existed beneath the looming threat.

Egan pressed on, cupping his hands around his mouth as he called out, "Jefferson! Jefferson!" His voice cracked with fear, each syllable tinged with desperation. His eyes darted frantically—scanning the faces of the few scared passersby in search of a familiar visage.

The eerie stillness enveloping the desolate streets of London, disrupted only by the distant thuds of bombs. An elderly gentleman, with lines etched deep into his face telling tales of years gone by, strolled hand in hand with his wife, perhaps seeking their way back home after a night out.

As Egan briskly made his way past, the elder man stretched out a weathered hand in an attempt to stop him in his tracks. "Young man, what brings you out here in such a perilous time? Can you not hear the sirens blaring?" he implored with genuine concern etched in his voice.

Despite the man's genuine worry, Egan brushed it aside, his focus unwavering. "I am in search of someone," he explained simply, giving a slight nod of farewell as he maneuvered past the elderly couple. However, as he took a few more steps forward, a surge of uncertainty gripped him, causing him to stop abruptly. "Please, wait," he implored, prompting the elderly couple to turn back towards him.

"Yes?" the woman inquired, her eyes reflecting a glimmer of recognition. Egan reached into his coat pocket, the frantic search for Celeste's picture coming to a sudden halt as his fingers closed around it. "Have you happened to see this woman?" he asked, his voice tinged with anxiety as he extended the photograph towards the elderly couple.

The elderly man peered closely at the image, a soft smile playing on his lips as he remarked, "What a beauty she is." He whispered to his wife, sharing a moment of silent admiration. "Wait," the woman interjected gently, taking Celeste's picture into her trembling hands, her eyes holding a glint of remembrance. "I recall her, she was involved in a scuffle. Well..Actually, she initiated it..." she paused, returning the photograph to Egan's grasp.

A wave of disbelief washed over Egan, his hands trembling slightly as he pocketed the photo. "A fight? But where?" His mind whirled with myriad questions, curiosity swiftly morphing into concern. "Where did this happen?" he pressed, taking a step closer, too close for the woman's comfort, driven by the image of Celeste entangled in a brawl.

"It happened just down that alley, near the corner. She targeted a young woman, striking her out of the blue, saying something about being to reported to a colonel..." the elderly woman recounted—before her wavering hand pointed in the direction Celeste was last seen. Egan's heart sank; he knew instantly whom she was referring to—Lil and Timothy.

Cursing softly under his breath, Egan bid a quick "Thank you" to the elderly couple before dashing off in the direction indicated. The minutes stretched into what felt like endless hours—mind concocting endless scenarios.

The desperation manifested physically as Egan brought trembling hands to his hair—fingers threading through in a sheer show of frustration at himself. Where could she be? Was she safe? Was she injured somewhere? Such tormenting questions pounded against his skull, forming a throbbing headache.

Egan's voice, hoarse and strained from relentless calling, reverberated through the night, cutting sharply against the backdrop of distant sirens whose haunting melody filled the air. "Jefferson!"

The word hung in the stillness, creating a pregnant pause, as if the world itself held its breath. A voice, soft and feeble, shimmered through the darkness like a whisper carried on the wind. "Yes..." Her reply, barely audible, carried a mix of weariness and resignation, yet it was like music to Egan's ears.

"Jefferson..." His voice quivered with a blend of relief and urgency, heart pounding as he spun around—scanning the dim expanse in search of the missing piece of his world. The night enveloped him like a heavy shroud, the only illumination coming from the flickering glow of distant streetlights.

Egan found himself racing with fear and uncertainty as he moved closer—as if guided by some unseen force, his gaze fell upon a figure concealed at the entrance of an alley. At first glance, he mistook her for a fallen stranger, until his eyes caught the glimpse of a tiger patch on the soldier's bicep.

"Jefferson?" Egan's voice wavered with a mixture of relief and concern—reaching out to the woman he had searched for endlessly. She sat pressed against the side of the weathered store— her form illuminated by the dim light. Relief flooded through him like a rushing tide, his tense muscles finally loosening as he hastened his steps—eager to bring her back.

However, Celeste was evidently unenthusiastic about his arrival. "Oh, look who it is, Prince Charming," her words dripping with sarcasm before taking a sharp inhale. Then remarking once more. " And am I meant to be a dog?" But he wasn't the one meant to answer this, no... it was rhetorical question. Oh this was definitely her... No doubt about it.

With a dismissive gesture, the brunette wiped dried blood from her face using the back of her hand. "You keep calling like that, and you might just attract one." No one else had a bite to their words like she did...

Amid the city's hushed night sounds with muffled bombs falling in the distance—the clatter of his hurried footsteps echoed down the lonely alley. Egan quickened his pace, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement the only sound daring to break.

As he turned the corner, he saw her. Celeste, struggling to rise against the cold concrete—her labored breaths hanging in the frosty air like ghosts. Egan's concern bloomed into action, asking once more if she needed help.

A weak thumbs-up was all Celeste could manage, her features contorted in pain. Where Moonlight danced on the glossy trail of blood streaming from a gash upon her delicate nose.

Her defiance clashed with Egan's concern, his attempt to help overshadowed by her stubborn independence. Unfazed by her sharp words, he reached out to assist her—his touch gentle yet determined. "Come on, let me help you up," he urged. But Celeste, true to her nature, pushed his hand away with a stubborn glare. "I can manage on my own...for heaven's sake." Her pride shone through her battered facade, a fierce resilience that both frustrated and captivated the major.

"But You're hurt..."Egan's exclamation filled the empty space. Before Celeste could protest, he was kneeling by her side—eyes scanning her face with a precision born out of love. Every flaw, every mark, every injury was noted with painstaking detail. A scraped corner of her mouth became a battleground for his guilt—a reminder of his inability to protect her from harm.

"I really appreciate the obvious observations, Sherlock," Celeste's voice carried a bitterness that cut through the night air. Fingertips trembling, they traced the bruises and scrapes that marred her once pristine complexion. A silent apology resonated through his touch, a wordless confession of complicity in her hurt.

Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, Celeste's gaze reflecting a cocktail of pain and resentment. Egan recognized that look all too well – a simmering anger that threatened to boil over at any moment. "What did you do now?" His voice, a mixture of concern and exasperation, hung heavy in the air—mingling with the wisp of Celeste's trembling breaths.

In the dim moonlight, shadows danced across Egan's worried face as Celeste's response cut through the silence, "Bold of you to assume I started it."

The question lingered in his mind - why would anyone lay a hand on a woman? But a more pressing inquiry clawed at Egan's conscience - why had he let her walk away alone? He could have prevented this, shielded her from harm. "Damn it, Bucky," he muttered under his breath— heart heavy with regret.

Celeste's breathing was shallow, her brows furrowed in pain as she tried to get up again. His gaze then lingered on her hand, which rested gingerly by her side—fingers curled slightly as if in discomfort.

"Are you hurt there?" he inquired softly, his hand reaching out to touch her, but she swatted it away with a swift movement. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice strained with the effort of concealing her pain.

Despite her stoic facade, a faint wince escaped her as she shifted slightly, betraying the discomfort. Celeste was determined not to let Egan see her weakness; her pride still stung from his harsh words earlier. Only resenting the concern in his eyes—knowing all too well that he would not let her go far in her current state.

Egan sighed, recognizing the stubborn resolve in Celeste's demeanor. He knew her well enough to understand that getting her to admit her vulnerability would be a battle of its own.

Determined to offer his support, Egan made a decision. "That's it, here we go," he murmured, his voice a mix of determination and gentleness. With practiced ease, he slid one arm beneath Celeste's legs and the other behind her back—lifting her effortlessly into his embrace.

The unexpected gesture caught Celeste off guard, her initial protests loud and vehement. "Egan, don't you dare..." she started, attempting to push against his shoulder in defiance, only to falter and retreat; her hand falling back to her side in defeat.

For a moment, Egan hesitated, his grip adjusting to accommodate her better before he resumed his movement, cradling her securely against his chest. Celeste's initial anger and resistance ebbed away as Egan began to walk, his steps steady and sure through the uneven terrain. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace were a stark contrast to the chilling darkness of the forest around them.

With each step, Celeste felt herself relax marginally, the tension in her body gradually giving way to a sense of security she hadn't realized she craved. Egan's silent strength and unwavering support spoke volumes, his unspoken apology mingling with the night air around them.

As he guided her through the shadows and undergrowth, Celeste allowed herself to lean into his embrace, her head resting against his chest

As he walked, Celeste kept her gaze on him, their eyes locking for brief moments. Egan's gaze softened as he regarded Celeste, his expression one of regret. In that moment, all he could think about was keeping her safe, to hold her in his arms and never let go.

Celeste swallowed her pride, her anger momentarily set aside—Egan's hand tightened around her frame. In that moment, amidst the silent understanding that passed between them, Celeste felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stirring within her.

  The doorknob emitted a clicking sound as Egan struggled to unlock it—followed shortly by the door bursting open and crashing against the bare wall. In they both stumbled, with her still clutching onto him. And when Celeste realized that, she tried to fight out of his embrace.

" Oh my, I seem to be interrupting," Celeste started in a slightly smug tone. "Maybe I should get our own room.. Egan's eyes widened, his body fuming.

"No," he declared firmly,"You're injured."

Celeste winced slightly from the pain, "You should see those guys," Celeste chuckled softly before yelping—sucking in a sharp inhale through clenched teeth.
"Oh shit." She uttered, almost losing her balance upon shifting her body weight into the curve of the chair.

The room was filled with a charged silence, broken only by the sound of running water and the soft murmur of Egan's hums. Turning around to face the woman he loved... feeling the odd sensation gnawing at his stomach, was it guilt for letting this happen to her?

His inner gravity was tugging at him, dragging him closer and closer to Celeste, as if she was the sun in his orbit. As he came rushing back to her side, Celeste up looked at him—her outline shaking slightly. Her normally perfect hair, was in waves falling over her slumped shoulders—the same color as the pine bark illuminated by the afternoon sun.

The same shade that remained him of home—the ever present star in the sky that bestowed life onto an undeserving planet.

Egan knelt beside Celeste once more, his touch gentle and caring as he tended to her wounds. Here in the dimly lit room, Celeste felt a sense of security that had been absent for far too long.

She watched Egan with eyes wide open in a cartoon-like manner, gleaming with a pale emerald light that he found so familiar, even in the short time he had been captivated by them. Her skin, so ethereally light, and her eyes, so transparent, had a mesmerizing effect, clouding his thoughts in their brilliance.

As Egan reached to dab at her nose, there was a fleeting moment where it appeared as though Celeste flinched, almost as if she wanted to pull away in annoyance. His gaze then fell upon the bruises marring her delicate knuckles—then the misshaped pinky on her left hand.

He swallows harshly, realizing this was his fault... he was sent there to watch over her and he failed.. Jaw clenching tightly, a surge of anger coursing through him. "It was Timothy wasn't it?" Egan demanded—his other hand instinctively clenching into a fist.

Celeste let out a slight scoff, her voice tinged with defiance. "I can handle my own battles," she retorted, but Egan cocked his head—a hint of frustration creasing his brow. "Oh really.. Jefferson, don't be so stubborn. That's an order."

"Oh please, don't you order me. We are not playing this game..." she corrected with a hint of exasperation—her lips curling into a smug smile. Egan leaned back, his hand coming up to his mouth in a gesture of mock surprise. "Oh my, says the one getting into fights.."

Celeste playfully punched him, before recoiling her hand back to her side in pain. Egan could say he laughed internally at the moment. But silence falls upon them, with Celeste watching his every move—the way he lifted his mustache to the brim of his nose.

His eyes creasing at the sides as he concentrated. The way his hair curled, lying perfectly against his forehead. The scars that laid upon his nose and cheek—her eyes tracing them.

She studied him a moment more, his eyes darting from hers to the rag. Celeste's voice broke through the silence, "Why are you alone?" Egan, caught off guard, furrowed his brow at her unexpected question. "What do you mean... I'm not alone..." he tried to mask his unease with a half-hearted chuckle, "I've got Buck, the boys..."

Celeste shook her head gently, her expression soft yet probing, "No, in life..." Egan paused, wiping the blood from her nose with a solemn expression. "I'm not..." he said firmly, dunking the dirtied rag back into the water before wringing it out.

"No, Egan, you are alone... like Robert, like me, like Arnie, like Jackson," Celeste's words hung in the air, the barriers that had shielded her were slowly crumbling. And crumbling to Egan non the least, of all people...

His confusion melted into sadness as he realized the truth in her words. Tenderly cupping her cheek with his hand, Egan whispered, "You're not alone. I've been here the whole time, you've got your boys..." but his voice faltered off noticing a single tear escaped her eye. It traced a path down her cheek, before stopping onto his thumb.

"Why haven't you settled with anyone yet? Found someone to write to, someone worth fighting for..." Celeste's voice faltered, her emotions raw and unguarded. Egan sighed heavily—pondering the question that had plagued his thoughts countless times. Why had he chosen fleeting connections over a love like Cleven's?

He tilted his head, withdrawing his hand to strain away the rag in the pail. "Well, maybe I've been waiting for that special one to come along, someone who is worth coming home to every day..."

"And have you found her yet?" Celeste's voice trembled slightly, her eyes searching his for truth. "Yes," Egan locked eyes with hers—their chests now beating in rhythm, "you."

Her gaze flickered away from his, tears welling up and spilling down her face like a river overflowing its banks.
The deep-rooted pain that she had carried with her for so long came bursting out. "I haven't always been alone..." she began, her voice tinged with sorrow. "I had loved someone once..."

Celeste closed her eyes slightly, another single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "He was my whole world... but I let my guard down for one second, and the next, he's gone..."

Her voice quivered as she continued, " 2nd Lieutenant James P., a young man from the Midwest... who had captured my heart." A bittersweet smile danced on her lips at the memory. "But he's the reason why I don't tell anyone my first name," she confessed. Celeste paused for a moment, fighting to hold the tears back. "We were on a mission over Japanese-occupied territory, and one moment everything was okay, and the next, there was flames and smoke."

A deep, sorrowful sigh escaped her as she recalled the haunting events that had unfolded. "The engine of his plane burst into flames. It was terrifying, seeing him struggle and not being able to help. But it was too late for him, even to bail out.

I watched him, listened to him as he screamed my name in agony, pleading for help—begging me to end his suffering," she whispered, the weight bearing down on her like a rock. "He called out to me, over and over, until... until he took his own life." That was the wound that had never fully healed.

"That is why I don't say it," Celeste confided, her gaze locked with Egan's—a silent plea for understanding in her eyes, "because I can't bear to hear the person I love scream my name out in agony again..."

Egan was suddenly struck by a revelation; the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, unraveling a mystery that had long puzzled him. There was a hidden reason behind Celeste's peculiar behavior—a reason that now seemed crystal clear to him.

Leaning in, his eyes still fixed on her bruised pinky, Egan knew he had to something. "Jefferson, I've been meaning to say thi..." Before he could finish, Celeste threw her head back in frustration, reminiscent of a petulant child. "No, no... don't you start saying tho..." Her voice trailed off as a sharp crack reverberated through the room—-signaling the shattering of an invisible barrier.

Celeste's voice erupted into a deep, primal scream, her hand clutching to her chest— throwing her head back like a primal animal. Then her anger turned into raw anguish. Her nostrils flared as she unleashed a flurry of punches on Egan's chest—each strike punctuated by a desperate cry. "Fuck you! Fuck you Egan! , Fuck!"

Despite the assault, Egan stood firm, silently urging her to release the pent-up emotions, "Come on... come on," he repeated, softly patting his chest. The anger in her eyes was palpable as she rained down more punches, " Fuck you!"

But her angered voice slowly muffled as Egan enveloped her in a comforting embrace, coaxing her to let go. Gently reassuring her, Egan whispered, "I'm sorry," his touch tender against her trembling neck. Celeste found refuge in the safety of his arms, letting her tears flow freely. The walls she had built around herself began to crumble, and each tear shed was not just for James but also for Jackson and Frankie.

Clinging tightly to his arm, she anchored herself in the storm of her despair. Egan, with a tenderness that belied his rugged exterior, rested his chin atop her head—his fingers tracing comforting patterns along her quivering spine. "Please don't leave me," she mumbled amidst her tearful outpour—her words a desperate plea for reassurance.

His embrace tightened around her fragile form, his lips tenderly pressing against the crown of her head. "I will never leave you. Ever," he vowed.

As Celeste leaned further into his warmth, her lips trembling with unspoken questions, she hesitated before voicing her doubts. "Do you truly mean it?"

Slowly, Egan loosened his hold, lifting her gaze to meet his as he cradled her tear-stained face in his hands. "From the very moment I laid eyes on you, my heart was irrevocably yours.. my little lady.."

"Egan..." she whispered; soft and quiet, like the sound of a song bird's wings. She found herself mesmerized by Egan's eyes, oblivious to how close he had come. "I'm truly sorry for my behavior," she admitted—her eyes locked on his.

His eyes widened in surprise, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "Is she actually apologizing?" he thought before Celeste's hand struck his cheek swiftly. "And that's for bringing another woman into our room," she declared—her tone firm yet tinged with sadness as she brushed away dried tears.

Egan, his eyes still reflecting astonishment, couldn't help but chuckle, his hand instinctively moving to rub his jaw. "Fair enough, I deserved that. And we're square on the trousers incident. I had to take the other pair to be laundered," he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes as he reached out to help Celeste up.

Their gaze shifted towards the bed, with the brunette hesitant yet willing to share the space—if only for the moment. It seemed Egan was beyond thrilled.. "Oh look, I get to sleep next to Jefferson," a hint of amusement in his voice—though Celeste shot him a warning glare.

"Don't even think about it," she muttered through the pain, before arranging two pillows vertically on the bed. "Here's my side, and here's yours," she declared, drawing an imaginary line like dividing allies and axis. It took her a moment before she finally settled down.

Egan didn't get much sleep that night, partly because he caught a close watch on her. As night cast its soothing veil over the world, Egan found himself entranced by the rhythmic melody of Celeste's breathing.

The soft rise and fall of her chest, the delicate symphony of inhales and exhales, painted a tranquil scene in the dimly lit room. With a tenderness that bordered on reverence, he watched over her, his gaze fixed upon her serene form.

Resting his head against the plush pillow, Egan's heart overflowed with a profound sense of peace. The room was filled with a hushed stillness, broken only by the whisper of the wind outside. In the silence of the night, he found himself immersed in a moment of pure connection, as though time itself had come to a standstill.

Celeste, wrapped in a cocoon of dreams, seemed to glow with an ethereal light. Her features were softened by sleep, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Egan marveled at the grace and beauty that seemed to emanate from her very being, a sight that never failed to stir his soul.

Egan reached out, his finger brushing a stray lock of hair away from Celeste's face — touch like a feather-light against her skin. She stirred slightly, a small sigh escaping her lips. But he help himself and he traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips—marveling at the miracle to have her presence in his life. Even if she didn't feel the same..

He had moved the cage of pillows that Celeste had constructed, positioning it in just the right way so he could have an unobstructed view of her angelic face.

As the night wore on, Egan's eyelids grew heavy with fatigue, but he resisted the pull of sleep. He wanted to savor every moment, every breath, every heartbeat shared with Celeste. With a heart and soul at peace, he whispered softly into the stillness of the night, "I love you. Always and forever." Even if Celeste would never hear it.

———————————

LONDON, NEXT MORNING
1943

      || AS THE SOFT HUES OF DAWN PAINTED THE SKY IN PASTEL PINKS AND PURPLES— Celeste found herself bathed in a gentle light filtering through the curtains. The tranquility of the morning wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, coaxing her from the depths of slumber with a delicate touch.

Her lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes the color of storm raged sea tinged with dawn's first light. The room was still, save for the rhythmic melody of Egan's breathing beside her.

Celeste's breath caught in her throat as she beheld him, her heart skipping a beat—lingering in that moment as she drank in the sight of him. Gaze traced the lines of his face with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. Watching him in quiet admiration, a rush of warmth flooding her chest.

His tousled hair, the curve of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath; His features were softened in repose, a faint dimple appearing on his cheek as he shifted slightly. Oh no what was she thinking... oddly, Celeste couldn't tear her sight away from him.

As the sun began its slow ascent, casting golden ribbons across the room, despite the urge to move. So with a soft sigh, she settled back against the pillows—her eyes alight with a quiet joy that danced like sunlight on water.

Celeste was startled immediately by the gentle knocks upon the hotel door. Her head whipped around, causing a slight wince as she leaned up, her hand instinctively clutching her side. With a composed inhale, Celeste slowly maneuvered herself out of the bed, her tired eyes flickering over to Egan, who barely stirred in his sleep. She tiptoed to the door and cautiously opened it to find a sharply dressed hotel attendant, a bright smile adorning his face.

"Hello," he greeted with a slight bow, "There's a phone call for you, miss." Celeste simply nodded, her thoughts already racing. "I will transfer the call to the room," he added politely before bowing once more and departing.

Celeste retreated silently from the door, a sense of foreboding creeping in. The air in the room felt heavy, as if laden with unspoken worries. As on cue, the room's phone pierced the silence with its shrill ring, sending a jolt through Celeste.

She rushed to answer it, and to her surprise, it was Arnie's voice on the other end. A fleeting smile touched her lips upon hearing his familiar tone—momentarily easing her tension. However, her demeanor swiftly hardened as he unveiled details of the new mission - one that promised to be perilous—one that might not spare those embarking on it.

"Alright, I'll be back by sometime tomorrow morning," Celeste replied, her voice betraying none of the trepidation swirling inside her. She swallowed hard, feeling the bile of apprehension rising in her throat. As she gently placed the phone back in its cradle, a wave of unease washed over her.

Why did this mission evoke such a profound sense of dread in her? Normally, the prospect of a new assignment would ignite a spark of excitement, but now, doubts clouded her mind. Was it Egan's presence that was unsettling her? Had he truly managed to carve out a place in her heart, overshadowing the memories of James?

Yes, he had, she realized with a pang of realization after last night. Egan had woven his dumb self into her very being, leaving her torn. She didn't want to fall in love again, for her heart couldn't possibly take it again.

Lost in contemplation, Celeste observed the bustling activity outside the window, her gaze distant yet troubled. The sudden sound of Egan stirring brought her back to the present, his deep sigh mingling with the rustle of linen as he shifted his position.

Rubbing his eyes, he regarded her with a mixture of sleepiness and affection. "Good morning, little lady," his voice rasped with sleep, a faint smile dancing on his lips.

Meeting his gaze, Celeste felt her heartbeat quicken, a swirl of emotions flooding her senses. In that moment, she knew that Egan had woven his way into her heart, casting a shadow over her past.

With a meek smile, she whispered, "Well good morning sleeping beauty," Celeste whispered, a smugness tugging at her lips. Egan laughed lightly, "I thought you weren't one for fairy tales.."

Celeste merely scoffed, returning her sight outside to the bustling streets. The weight of her conflicting emotions evident in her eyes... How would she tell him she needed leave tomorrow?

Egan swiftly composed himself, unencumbered by the need for makeup or hairstyling. He was filled with anticipation to learn the outcome of Cleven's mission, needing to found a newspaper box—fervently hoping that his friend had emerged unscathed.

Meanwhile, Celeste was in a frenzy trying to groom herself. Her unruly hair, behaving like a wild creature, defied her attempts to control it, strands rebelliously slipping out of place despite her efforts with the brush. Even the simple act of raising her arm sent waves of pain shooting through her body.

With a resigned sigh, she moved to discard the brush, only for Egan to gently take it from her grasp. Much to her astonishment, he began to delicately brush her hair—his touch surprisingly tender. Despite the challenges of securing her hair in its usual elegant style, with stray pins fluttering to the ground as Egan wrestled with them, Celeste couldn't suppress a smile.

Muttering softly under his breath, Egan cursed the difficulty of the task before him. This was a far cry from his usual duties involving men and airplanes; now he found himself engaged in the unfamiliar realm of styling the hair of the woman he held dear. Yet there he remained, silently vowing never to leave her side.

"Quite the ladies' man..." Celeste quipped, her eyes shimmering as she observed him at work—his tongue inadvertently flicking across his upper lip in concentration. She pondered whether, in a hypothetical future where Egan was married and had daughters, he would regale them with stories of her being his hairdressing practice model. The mere notion of Egan settling down caused her eyebrows to arch slowly—was it truly so implausible?

"Well, I am a "lady's" man," he retorted emphatically, deftly fashioning what could be considered a curl.

      After his semi failed attempt to curl her hair, both ventured out of the lobby, the streets were bustling —each on with their purpose, some recovering from the bombing. Most just trying to piece together what little they had left, Sirens were everywhere, accompanied by the firemen trying to zoom down lanes of road destroyed by the blast. But that wasn't the worst of it, as following that were the wails of those pleading for help. Some women carried the lifeless bodies of their children whilst others pleaded with the higher up to stop this cruelty.

Celeste and Egan made sure to keep themself resigned to the sidewalk or well, what was left of it. She grimaced at the sight, as it oddly reminded her all too well of China. Then it hit her, her mother's family... They had not lived far from the erupted chaos. A part of her wanted to rush off, to haunt down a phone booth. Celeste needed to know they were okay.  " My mother's family..." she muttered softly, her breath becoming uneasy as she trudged forth. As her mind was being haunted by past and present, Egan was in his own little world. Perhaps a mechanism he taught himself to overlook such things and keep himself sane.

He left her side for a moment, finding himself scanning the surroundings. Much like her, he shared in the disgust of the damages caused and it hit him that their bombs might as well have down the very same. But before Egan had time to reminisce in this, he took note of the once neatly parked row of bicycles, that now lay upon the ground. Lost of their owners.. and not a single one was secured with a lock.

Egan sauntered over to the them, his gaze fixed on a vibrant red two-wheeler or what was red at one time before the dust consumed it. Hearing the clinking, Celeste immediately turned around to face where the noise was coming from. Her brow furrowed, of course it was Egan— it seemed she could not leave him alone for 2 seconds. Celeste observed him with a quizzical expression, her arms self-consciously crossing over her chest. "What are you up to?" she inquired, walking over —her voice tinged with a hint of skepticism.

Egan's voice cut through the heavy air like a silver blade. "It's all in the name of the war effort," he announced, his words hanging in the balance between jest and earnestness. With deft fingers, he grasped the bicycle, its frame wrought with memories of days gone by, and began propelling it towards her with an effortless grace that belied the gravity of their surroundings.

"Join me, won't you?" Egan's invitation floated towards Celeste, his gaze a kaleidoscope of emotions - determination, mischief, and a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his confident facade. But her mind was tugged elsewhere, pulled by the invisible threads.

Celeste's response crackled in the air like static electricity. "Really? You choose now, of all times, to indulge in frivolity when these people have lost everything?" Her gesture, a dismissive sweep of her hand, painted the air with the frustration that simmered beneath her steely exterior. Without waiting for Egan's reply, she turned on her heel—her steps measured and purposeful as she attempted to outrun not just him but the ghosts that lingered at the edges of her consciousness.

But Egan, ever the irrepressible force of nature, refused to be left behind. The bicycle groaned beneath him as he mounted it, a comical sight of determination and imbalance, his movements a symphony of awkward grace. With a few swift clicks of the pedals, he caught up to Celeste, his presence a persistent shadow in her periphery.

As they walked, their disparate energies clashed and danced a fragile dance of opposition and attraction. And then, with a daring move that only Egan could orchestrate, he darted in front of her, blocking her path with a flourish that bordered on theatrical. Celeste, her face a canvas of bruises and defiance, halted in her tracks—her eyes shooting daggers that clashed against Egan's unwavering gaze.

"Oh, come on now. It'll be quicker to cycle there..." Egan's voice, smooth as silk and filled with a hint of mischief, caressed the morning breeze as he extended his offer once more, his eyes ablaze with a fire that dared Celeste to take a leap of faith into the unknown.

But skepticism, an old friend that had never left Celeste's side, lingered in the depths of her gaze as she mulled over his unconventional proposal. "Sit there? But there's nothing to hold on to," she countered, her words a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to seep through the cracks in her armor. Her eyes shifted between the vacant seat of the bicycle and Egan's face, searching for a truth that eluded her grasp.

Yet Egan, the master of charm and persuasion, met her doubts with a grin that could coax the stars from the heavens. "You'll have me to hold onto," he murmured, his words a promise wrapped in the velvet tones of possibility. His presence seemed to defied logic, beckoned Celeste towards a horizon where uncertainties melted into the golden hues of adventure.

Celeste's response, a delicate balance between resistance and curiosity, hung in the air like a fragile thread. "Not a chance," she shot back, her voice a melodic blend of amusement and defiance, though the laughter that lurked at the edges of her words betrayed a truth she dared not voice.

The twinkle in Egan's eyes, a reflection of the untamed spirit that dwelled within him, wove its way into Celeste's consciousness, a silent invitation to embrace the unpredictable dance of life.

"Come on, don't act like you don't want to," Egan implored, his words a symphony of possibility and invitation that resonated with the beating heart of the world around them. And in that fleeting moment, amidst the wreckage of war and the shadows of loss, Celeste felt a spark ignite within her, a flame of daring that whispered of liberation and the boundless expanse of the unknown.

Reluctantly, she yielded to his persistent invitation. Egan steadied the bicycle as she cautiously positioned herself behind him, her arms tentatively enveloping his waist. Her breath grazing his neck as she nestled her chin against his shoulder.

Feeling her warmth against his back, Egan relished in the surreal moment—the world around them momentarily fading into insignificance. The gentle roll of the wheels beneath them carried them forward, the rhythmic squeak of the bicycle tuned as it picked up speed.

Despite Celeste's initial reservations, she found herself surrendering once more to the unexpected intimacy—allowing herself to lean into Egan's comforting presence.

Under the azure sky streaked with ribbons of molten gold from the morning sun, the wind whipped through her hair, carrying with it a sense of freedom she had not felt in years. But as Egan's presence beside her filled her with a warmth she couldn't ignore, she couldn't help but acknowledge the flutter in her heart that his antics and charm had stirred.

""Careful there!" Celeste's voice rang out, a symphony of amusement, as Egan swerved around a pile of debris. "Seems like handling a bicycle is more challenging than steering a B-17 bomber, doesn't it?" she teased— eyes dancing with mirth.

Egan flashed her a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of humor and affection. "Well, why drive when you can fly, right?" he quipped, the warmth of his words wrapping around Celeste like a cozy blanket on a chilly night.

Celeste's laughter echoed through the desolate streets, a sound so rare in those troubled times, each note a melody that Egan cherished with all his heart. As they passed a small newspaper stand, she was quick to point it out. Of course just in time for Egan to skid to a stop—his sudden halt making her nearly collide into him.

"Ouch," Celeste winced, her hand instinctively moving to her side, the lingering pain a stark reminder of the dangers that surrounded them.

Parking the bike outside a quaint, flower-adorned mom-and-pop shop, Egan hurried to grab a newspaper, his anticipation swiftly turning to disbelief as he scanned the grim headline. The joy that had once bathed his features faded into a solemn mask, his heart heavy with the weight of the news.

Celeste, observing the profound change in Egan's expression, reached for a copy of the newspaper, her eyes quickly absorbing the stark reality of the losses incurred. "30 bombers lost. U-boat base destroyed," the headline screamed, each word a hammer blow to their fragile hopes.

With every word she read, a sinking feeling materialized in the pit of her stomach, a harbinger of dread. Egan, too, must have felt the weight of the news as he quietly muttered, "I'm sure Cleven is just fine," before carefully folding the paper and tucking it under his arm.

"Yeah," Celeste spoke softly, before returning her paper to its place. "How about we indulge in some drinks later? We could use a bit of levity." Egan proposed, a hint of assurance in his tone once more.

Yet, she swallowed hard, her heart at odds with her mind, for she did hold affection for him. For just time on the bike ride with him, Celeste had forgotten this ill fated war—forgotten that loving someone during this time was just as good as a death sentence.

And reading those words on the paper and screams of nearby civilians reminded Celeste once again why she was so cold. For the thought of enduring the loss of another pilot she loved was unbearable. Nor could she muster the courage to tell him she had a mission, one that was potentially dangerous as it would be over occupied territory.

Even if it wasn't, Egan would never let her go—blatantly insisting her wounds would keep her from performing her duties. And because he wouldn't be able to protect her up there—she knew he felt remorse. But Celeste needed to be there for Arnie, for Robert, for Ben—she couldn't leave them hanging now just because her heart had a slight flutter for someone.

"Oh, yes, I intend to make a stop at the photo studio to collect the pictures," she managed to articulate, her voice faltering. "I'll catch up eventually."

Egan sensed a shift in Celeste's demeanor, only when she laid eyes on the newspaper. Was she concealing something from him? But he wasn't letting her anywhere out of his sight. "Oh no you don't." Egan started, locking his arm with hers, " Where you go, I go." He pointed from himself to her.

"Oh Prince Charming to the rescue one again." Celeste uttered sarcastically. But as Egan laughed, he slipped his other hand into his pocket. Fingers brushing against the velvet exterior of a small box.

One containing a gift meant to be a token of his affection, a symbol of his hope that she would reciprocate his love. His eyes sparkled with realization, yet let remain in his pocket. She was being hard to understand, hard to decipher... He didn't want her up and leave him like she did before.

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LONDON, 1943

       || EGAN AND CELESTE HAD FINALLY FOUND THE PHOTOGRAPHY SHOP AFTER what felt like hours. But after that, Celeste took Egan back to the hotel—mainly to get his mind of off Cleven. The sun lingered in the sky, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Inside, the sultry melodies of jazz mingled with the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversations.

Celeste sat at the bar, her emerald eyes reflecting the dim light as she nursed a drink. A few patrons stole curious glances at her, their gaze lingering on the two prominent gashes marring her once flawless complexion. It was a reminder of the dangers, a reminder she couldn't escape—no matter how much she tried to conceal it with makeup.

Beside her, Egan leaned against the counter, his rugged features illuminated by the soft glow of the bar's lights. He nursed his drink, his gaze thoughtful as he observed the eclectic mix of patrons around them. The overly rowdy royal navy servicemen had taken quite the fill and had moved to the floor.

Celeste's lips curled into a smile as she glanced at Egan—a silent challenge passing between them. She took a sip of her drink, the amber liquid burning a trail down her throat. She knew what she had to do—to get Egan to drink more. Well that wasn't going to be an issue.

With a playful glint in her eye, Celeste leaned closer to Egan, her voice low and teasing. "Come on, let's make a night of it. No holding back," she urged, her fingers grazing his arm lightly.

Egan raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips as he met her gaze. "I see what you're doing," he chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "But you won't distract me that easily."

Celeste's grin broadened, a glimmer of challenge in her eyes. She knew the game had only just begun, and she was ready to play. "Oh, but I beg to differ," she remarked, a hint of mischief in her tone as she gestured for a refill of Egan's glass.

Before she knew it, Celeste found herself being whisked to the heart of the room by a slightly inebriated Egan. Their movements seemed to flow in a harmonious dance, each step synchronized as Egan spun Celeste with effortless grace. The air crackled with an unspoken energy, their gazes locking in a silent exchange that transcended words.

As Egan guided Celeste into a gentle twirl, she felt herself drawn closer to him, her body arching elegantly as he dipped her low. The world around them blurred into a tapestry of movement.

Celeste's hand brushed against Egan's cheek, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver down his spine. Drawing closer, their lips mere inches apart, they were on the brink of a kiss.

And then, as if guided by an unseen hand, their lips found each other in a tender, yet electric embrace. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a symphony of emotions played out in the meeting of their souls.

The world around them seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving only the two of them suspended in a bubble of eternity. Every brush of their lips against each other was a brushstroke of love painted on the canvas of time.

Celeste could feel the intensity of Egan's emotions coursing through her. It was as if he was etching his love onto her heart, leaving an indelible mark that could never be erased.

In response, she poured her own feelings into the kiss, a torrent of unspoken words and unshed tears that mingled with the sweetness of the moment. She wanted Egan to feel the depth of her love. Celeste internalized the grim prospect that she might not return.

As they began to part, a sudden urge gripped Celeste's heart, compelling her to speak, to share the mission she was leaving for with Egan. "Egan..." she murmured softly, the words barely escaping her lips before he stumbled backwards, a clear sign that he had reached his limit for the night.

Witnessing his inebriated stupor, she knew it was time to act. Supportively, she offered her shoulder, gently guiding him with a firm resolve. "Alright, that's enough. It's time for bed," she declared, her voice a mixture of empathy and finality. With Egan's arm draped around her neck and her own arm supporting his lower back, they moved as one, a bittersweet dance of separation.

"Oh yes, little lady," Egan slurred, his gaze unfocused as he tried to meet her eyes, lost in his intoxicated haze. This was not the farewell Celeste had envisioned, resorting to alcohol to facilitate her escape. However, the reality of the situation was far more challenging than she had anticipated, for navigating a drunken Egan required all her strength and patience.

Celeste winced occasionally as they made their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the hotel, each step a struggle against the odds. The burden of his towering stature pressed heavily upon her, yet she pressed on, determined to see her plan through. Fortune favored their unsteady journey, guiding them safely to the entrance in a stroke of luck.

As they ascended the stairs, Egan leaned against her, his breath hot against her skin, a sensation that sent a shiver down her spine. His words a jumble of incoherent murmurs that floated in the air like lost whispers.

As fate would have it, her attempt to gently lay Egan down on the bed, his arm inadvertently swept her off her feet—causing her to land on top of him. Her eyes widened with sudden understanding, "Oh, dear," she murmured softly, her figure coming to rest against his on the soft mattress. Almost instinctively, he enveloped her in his embrace, unwilling to let her slip away.

"Please stay with me," he implored, his words slightly slurred as Celeste raised her head slightly, her gaze following the contour of his slightly parted lips. In that heart-wrenching moment, she felt a pang in her chest, sensing the rhythm of his heartbeat, the anticipation pulsating within him. "Oh, Egan," she sighed in frustration silently, attempting once more to extricate herself.

Nevertheless, the officer rolled onto his side, maintaining his hold as though it were a lifeline. Celeste found herself muttering incomprehensible words as she pushed against him with all her strength. "Get back you large oof." With one final effort, she managed to guide him back onto his back.

Yet, as Celeste sought to disengage, her hand encountered something rigid in his pocket. Frowning inquisitively, she succumbed to her curiosity and cautiously retrieved a velvet-lined box along with a photograph—her father's missing picture that had caused quite a fuss. "Ah," she smirked knowingly.

Egan had been the one to take it—though she wasn't entirely surprised. Observing the box contemplatively, Celeste decided to discreetly return it to its place, along with the photograph. After all, her father possessed an abundance of such mementos.

Making one last endeavor to liberate herself from Egan's grasp, he pulled her in closer—cradling her head beneath his chin. Well, it seemed her plan had failed, she thought wryly to herself.  "One, two, three," she mentally counted before gingerly slipping away—utilizing a nearby pillow as a decoy. And just like that, Celeste successfully evaded his hold where a rush of freedom washed over her.

His limbs surrendered limply to her guidance, each adjustment akin to orchestrating a dance of sorrow and finality.

Every move Celeste executed elicited a symphony of drowsy murmurs from Egan, as if the mere act of her touch intertwined with his dreams. With utmost care, she tenderly cradled his listless hands, an intimate caress that carried an unspoken solace. Placing them by his side, she veiled him in a blanket. Emotions swirled within her like a tempest, a whirlwind of love, longing, and unspoken confessions raging beneath her composed façade.

Her fingertips brushed against his cheek, tracing the contours of a man she knew and cherished, his silent leaning into her touch a silent requiem for unspoken words. A pang of bittersweet affection gripped her heart, tears welling in her eyes like crystalline dewdrops.

Time seemed to suspend as her hand hovered in the ethereal space between them, an almost desperate yearning for a connection she knew could never truly flourish. With a soft exhale, she whispered, "Goodbye, Egan...", the words hanging in the air like a melancholic melody.

Reluctantly tearing herself away, Celeste gathered her belongings, each item a weighty burden upon her fragile spirit. The aged leather bag seemed to groan in protest as she consigned each memory into its depths—a physical manifestation of the emotional baggage she carried. Standing at the precipice of departure, her hand poised over the doorknob, she drew a sharp breath that seemed to pierce the heavy silence.

In the backdrop, Egan stirred beneath the covers, his breaths a rhythmic lullaby that contrasted with the turmoil in her heart. She resisted the magnetic pull to look back, knowing that a single glance could shatter the fragile resolve she clutched onto. With veiled eyes and a soul burdened with the weight of unspoken words, she turned the handle and took her first steps towards an uncertain future, leaving behind echoes of farewell that lingered in the empty room like whispers of a love lost in the shadows of time.

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AUTHORS NOTE
————

GUYS IM SO SORRY

I honestly hated this chapter,
like ughhh I don't know why.
TELL ME ITS OKAY PLEASE

Literally you guys right now and the next chapter

Sorry not sorry,

(Chapter name EllieJasmine21  )❤️

NEXT ON AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

—Celeste finds herself in a dangerous situation as her and the crew are briefly more on the mission. Yet something something doesn't go right and Egan found himself reeling for a tremendous loss