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xxvi. IN EVERY WAY THAT A
PERSON CAN BE SAVED

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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" Every time you called me your
sunflower I ate back the words
"would you be my sun?"
Not that you weren't already,
I just wanted you to know that
there is a reason that my
gaze shifts whenever you shift. "

————— —————

MAY 8TH 1945
THORPE ABBOTTS
EAST ANGLIA, ENGLAND

|| THE PRICE OF FREEDOM, SHE REALIZED, WAS OFTEN PAID IN BLOOD AND TEARS; in memories that lingered like shadows in the dark. The news of the war's end echoed in her ears like sweet music, a refrain of hope and relief that reverberated through her very being.

Celeste had emancipated herself from the confines of the medical hut. The dismal atmosphere within did little to ignite her spirits; the despondency lingering in the air was suffocating. As her fellow patients languished in lethargy, burying themselves in books to escape reality—Celeste yearned for life beyond the sterile walls.

The brunette had committed to memory the nurses' rotation schedule—her one ticket to freedom. There was just something she needed to do. Each detail, from whispered handovers to the rhythmic shuffle of footsteps down sterile hallways, was etched into her mind with meticulous precision.

As the appointed hour loomed, Celeste seized her opportunity. Slipping past the vigilant eyes of the attendants with a stealthy grace— moving with the fluidity of a ghost unbound by walls. Clad in the hospital's stark white pajamas, their fabric whispering against her skin, she navigated the compound with an air of fragile freedom—each breath a silent rebellion against the confines.

Her presence did not go unnoticed however... The pilots and ground crew, weary from relentless routines—-found their gazes drawn irresistibly to her. Their faces, etched with fatigue and the weight of unspoken stories, bore traces of fascination and admiration as Celeste breezed through. Among them, Corporal Lemmons stood out, his countenance aglow with an inexplicable fervor, his eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and an emotion he couldn't quite name—akin to the radiance of a thousand fireflies illuminating the darkness of his weary existence.

As much as she would have loved to stop and chat, Celeste was embarking on a quest—a pilgrimage of the heart. She seeking her father, Col. Jefferson. But not just to find him, to confront the chasm between them. To lay bare her vulnerabilities, to confess that despite her fierce battles—the sting of perceived failure. The brunette longed to tell him she had fought with every fragment of her soul, and if disappointment shadowed his heart, she would understand—though it would carve deeper wounds than any physical scar.

Yet, upon arriving at his designated quarters, an unsettling emptiness greeted her. The door stood ajar, swaying slightly with the whisper of a breeze that carried the faint scent of ink and old leather—a ghost of his presence. The absence of her father cast a shadow longer than the corridors she had traversed.

Turning to the befuddled gentleman at the front desk, Celeste stood still—the hospital robe clutched tightly to her frame. With a voice filled with poise, she inquired about her father's whereabouts, only to be met with a vague response. The man, caught off guard by her unexpected presence, fumbled for words before revealing that Col. Jefferson was indisposed at that moment.

" Thank you..." Celeste murmured gently before bidding her adieu. The gentleman stood motionless, a look of concern swiftly painting his countenance within that brief moment. With a slight grimace, she hobbled along, her left shoulder smarting, hand pressed against it—the paramount task now lay in locating her boys, and failing that, seeking out Egan.

Oh, how Celeste was well aware that his reaction upon seeing her in such a state would be far from welcoming.

Celeste's footsteps echoed softly against the sterile corridor, each tap a defiant rhythm against the physician's explicit orders. Her heart raced, not from exertion but from the weight of emotions she couldn't quite name. She'd slipped away from the hospital bed, the white sheets a prison more than a refuge, determined to find something—anything—that tethered her back to herself.

But in that fragile moment, a voice rang out, sharp as a blade and achingly familiar.

"Celeste, what are you doing?"

The words were rough, filled with a mixture of concern and fear. Colonel Jefferson stood at the end of the hallway, his imposing figure framed by the dull glow of office lights. His uniform was crisp, every crease immaculate, yet his eyes betrayed the rigidity—softened by worry.

Celeste froze, her body tense, her breath shallow. She couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't let him see the fractures she tried so desperately to conceal. Her head dipped low, shadows masking the tears threatening to spill.

She felt his presence draw closer, his footsteps measured yet heavy with unspoken words. When he finally stopped in front of her, he placed his hands on his hips, exhaling sharply.

"You could hurt yourself," he muttered, his voice firmer this time, etched with the frustration of a man who'd seen too much loss.

But Celeste didn't flinch. She didn't retreat.

Instead, she lifted her head slowly, revealing eyes clouded not just by grief but by guilt, regret, and a longing for something she couldn't articulate.

"I don't care," she whispered, her voice trembling yet fierce. "I've already been hurt, Dad. More than you know." Colonel Jefferson's feature was momentarily clouded with confusion, Celeste hadn't called him dad in years. And so hearing it slip from her lips made him think of a time before. As he gazed upon her, his lower lip began quivering—it was not a grown woman there anymore, but that small, little girl he had cherished so much.

She took a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort to contain the storm raging inside.

"I thought I was strong enough," she continued, her gaze locking with his. "I thought I could be the daughter you deserved. But I failed. I wasn't better—I couldn't be better."

Colonel Jefferson's stern facade had faltered completely. His hands dropped from his hips, his posture softening as he reached out instinctively, but hesitated.

"Celeste..." he began, his voice low, almost broken.

She shook her head, stepping back slightly, needing the space to release the words that had choked her for so long.

"I'm sorry I wasn't enough," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, Colonel Jefferson closed the distance, pulling her into an embrace both rigid and tender.

"You've always been enough," he murmured into her hair. "I just didn't know how to show it."

Celeste looked up at her father, her breath catching when their eyes met. The stern facade he always wore was gone, replaced by unspoken tenderness. His words echoed in her heart. A tear, rebellious and uninvited, welled in the corner of her eye. She blinked rapidly, wiping it away with the back of her hand, as if denying its existence could also deny the vulnerability it betrayed.

But her father chuckled softly, the sound rough yet gentle, carrying the warmth of all the unspoken words between them. "It's okay to cry," he murmured, his voice softer than she'd ever remembered.

In that fragile moment, he reached out, pulling her into an embrace that was hesitant only for a heartbeat before it grew firm and enveloping. The warmth of his arms around her unraveled something deep within Celeste. She clung to him, not as the woman hardened by war and loss, but as the little girl who had once believed her father was invincible.

Nestled against his chest, she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—a lullaby she'd long forgotten. For the first time in years, Celeste felt small, safe, and unguarded. For the first time, she allowed herself to be just a daughter, held not by the expectations of who she'd become, but by the unconditional love of the man who had always been proud of her, even when he didn't know how to show it.

The warmth of her father's embrace lingered as Celeste clung to him, feeling the rough fabric of his uniform against her cheek. The tension of months apart melted into the quiet comfort of that moment. He gently pulled back, his weathered hand reaching to tuck a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear, a gesture filled with tenderness and familiarity.

Before either could speak, a sudden crackle burst from the loudspeakers overhead, shattering the fragile silence. The commanding voice of Winston Churchill resonated through the area, rich and steady.

The words hung heavy, their meaning sinking in slowly. Celeste and her father froze, their heads turning in unison towards the speaker, as if needing to see the source of such monumental news. Her heart raced, a mix of disbelief and tentative hope weaving through her thoughts.

———-

" Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m. at General Eisenhower's headquarters...

      General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Dönitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command.

      Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday, the 8th of May. But in the interest of saving lives, the cease-fire began yesterday to be sounded all along the front and our dear Channel Islands...."

—————-

Churchill's proclamation continued, but the details blurred as Celeste's mind replayed that single, life-altering sentence. She felt her father's hand tighten gently around hers, his eyes glistening with emotion. The war was over.

Tears welled up, not from sorrow but from the overwhelming tide of relief, grief, and the promise of peace. The tidings of the war's termination swiftly traversed the land, akin to a blazing inferno engulfing the hearts and minds of the battle-weary soldiers and civilians alike.

A fervor of unrestrained emotions was unleashed, resounding in jubilant cries that pierced the air. The populous, both near and far, erupted into exultation, their voices raised in a symphony of relief and joy.

As the proclamation echoed through the corridors, the vast expanses of fields, the humble barracks, and the opulent officer's quarters, it was as though a celestial chorus heralded the arrival of peace itself. For Celeste, a daughter of the ravaged lands who had wandered far from her origins in pursuit of anthropological enlightenment—-the news stirred a kaleidoscope of emotions within.

Years had elapsed since Celeste had bid adieu to the comforts of home, embarking on a journey that led her into the midst of a turbulent conflict—to China and Japan. The echoes of her father's tales from the preceding war still lingered in her consciousness—guiding her steps into the annals of history once more. All she ever wanted was to make him proud.

Bearing the weight of innumerable losses and witnessing the carnage wrought by humankind upon its own kin, Celeste's heart had grown heavy. Yet, amidst the desolation that clouded her spirit, a flicker of hope danced within her breast as the words of peace pervaded the atmosphere.

The mere thought of a homeward journey, of reuniting with those she held dear, cast a hypnotic spell upon her senses.

As she sank down upon the verdant knoll, the same earth that bore witness to her anguish and fortitude, Celeste's hands trembled, her bones aching with the burden of conflict.

The supple tendrils of the meadow sward caressed her tenderly as she bowed her head to the bosom of the soil, seeking communion with the earth. A cascade of tears, akin to a mournful symphony, meandered down her alabaster cheeks, mingling effortlessly with the glistening dewdrops that bedecked the lush expanse—like scattered jewels upon a verdant tapestry.

The burden of emancipation weighed heavily upon her spirit, a poignant amalgamation of freedom's elation and the poignant realization of the irrevocable sacrifices that had paved her path to liberty. Oh, the memory of sweet Ana, dearest Ana, lingered within the recesses of her consciousness like a haunting melody—its echoes reverberating in the chambers of her heart, a constant reminder of profound loss and the ache of absence.

Celeste found herself adrift amidst the recollections of Ana's laughter, the tenderness of her touch. The question plagued her thoughts like a relentless tempest—why had she been spared while consigning Ana to the cruel embrace of mortality?

A sudden lance of agony seared through her sinistral flank, a visceral reminder of the corporeal and ethereal scars that marred her being—where the currency of liberation was paid in the crimson ink of bloodshed and the brine of sorrowful tears.

As her verdant gaze ascended heavenward, drawn by a preternatural compulsion, her emerald eyes alighted upon a solitary dandelion pirouetting. Was this fragile bloom a harbinger, a whisper of farewell uttered by Ana's ethereal essence? Did it symbolize a poignant dismissal, discarded for its perceived lack of beauty amidst its floral kin?

A familiar melody caressed her senses, awakening a profound sense of remembrance and yearning within her soul. The gentle meowing of a delicate kitten stirred a poignant chord in her heart. "Nugget?" she breathed, her voice a mere whisper in the wind—as a shadowy form glided towards her on noiseless feet.

The vision of her cherished feline, once a frolicsome kitten, flooded Celeste's being with a wave of affectionate tenderness. A melodious meow escaped the golden furball. Nugget's orbs sparkled with recognition and fondness as she bounded towards Celeste—her steps filled with an ardent yearning. The dark-haired woman extended her arms, eagerly anticipating the caress of the furry being. Nugget sprung into her embrace with swift urgency.

With a quivering hand—Celeste cradled the feline against her bosom—embracing the velvety hum of her purrs blending harmoniously with her own pulsating heartbeat. "Oh, my dearest," she murmured, her voice a mélange of elation and sorrow, as she buried her face into the downy coat of her steadfast companion. The feline happily nestled against her.

In a serendipitous moment, as Celeste lay basking in the cool embrace of the English Sunlight, a melodic voice reached her ears—stirring her from the depths of her somber reverie. "Oh, my gracious stars above! What are you doing?" The words, wrapped in satin tones, belonged to none other than the familiar figure of Rene—a shimmering halo of blonde curls dancing in the gentle wind.

Celeste's ebony lashes fluttered as she turned her gaze, a glimmer of recognition kindling under her darkened gaze. As Rene approached with purposeful strides, her delicate hands clenched into resolute fists. "Celeste, what are you doing out here?" Rene's voice, though laced with concern, bore a hint of admonishment as she took Celeste's delicate arm in a firm grip—lifting her with grace.

A playful smile danced upon Celeste's lips, a fragile façade betraying the tumultuous emotions swirling within her breast. "Ah, it is nice to see you too," she murmured, a glint of mischief gleaming in her darkened eyes. Yet, Rene, her brow arched in skeptical inquiry, made no reply.

Meanwhile, amidst the verdant tableau of the grass, a sudden commotion erupted as Arnie, the irrepressible sprite of their company, cast off his flight jacket with unrestrained exuberance. The fabric billowing like a midnight cloud against the blue expanse of the sky. "We are free!"

Rene, ever the embodiment of poise and decorum, merely rolled her eyes in mock exasperation at Arnie's antics, her gaze flickering briefly towards Celeste—who watched the spectacle with a quiet amusement. "At least he is wearing some clothes," she remarked, her velvet tones suffused with a wistful mirth.

      || THE GROUP OF OVERLY ROWDY MEN GATHERED WITHIN THE GRASSY PATCHES OUTSIDE THE QUARTERS. Each brandishing a libation of the adult persuasion with great gusto. They swirled the vessels in a jubilant manner, causing the amber liquid to cascade over the brims in a carefree dance. The war, that accursed conflict, had reached its conclusion with the allies emerging triumphant—ushering in the era of V-Day, or VE-Day as it was coined.

The populace, both soldier and civilian, had yearned for this fateful day with bated breath, a day that many valiant warriors would never live to witness. The jovial mood permeated the air as the festivities of freedom unfurled like a vibrant tapestry in the wake of victory.

In a bid to inject some life into the weary town, worn ropes that had long languished in neglect found purpose in the hands of Arnie and Jackson. These ropes, now coated with adhesive, were adorned with exquisite Chinese lanterns, each bearing intricate designs reminiscent of those cherished by Lady Qin in her homeland.

Assisted by Celeste, Sammy and the two boys meticulously crafted these lanterns—infusing them with stories of gallant B-17s and noble C-47s that would soar across the night sky.

As Celeste guided the young hands in the delicate artistry of lantern-making, a sense of fulfillment blossomed within her soul—a sensation akin to that which stirred when crafting jewelry with Ana. Among the myriad lanterns, one bore the moniker 'French Kiss,' a tribute immortalized in paper and flame, destined to ascend into the heavens, symbolizing the unwavering spirit of camaraderie and triumph.

The square, once a mere empty canvas, now transformed into a bustling tapestry of camaraderie. Tables and chairs, retrieved from their dusty slumber, stood in the center of it all, resembling the grand feast of a lavish restaurant. Yet amidst this tableau, a contrast emerged in the form of intemperate servicemen, their jubilance lending a disorderly charm to the scene.

The air reverberated with the clinking of glasses and the exuberant laughter of those who had borne the brunt of battle together. Liberated from the shackles of war, they imbibed not only for the cessation of conflict but also in honor of fallen comrades who would never again partake in such revelry.

An ancient radio, lovingly restored, emitted a melody that sought to weave its way through the melee, though its gentle strains were often eclipsed by the boisterous banter of British soldiers and airmen. In this incongruous assembly, men of divergent corps found themselves united in shared jubilation, their past differences dissolved in a sea of libations and nostalgia.

A harmonious cacophony ensued as voices, some melodious and others less so, merged in a chorus of inebriated harmony. Each man, regardless of rank or regiment, contributed his own unique timbre to the symphony of celebration, resulting in a harmonious disarray that might aptly be deemed the inaugural performance of a peculiarly delightful song mashup.

Celeste wandered the airfield's perimeter, her gaze drifting over the numerous C-47's and B-17's that stood stoically in their testament to wartime glory. By her loyal companion Nugget, a faithful hound whose tail waved proudly like a regal banner, she was accompanied throughout this solemn pilgrimage amidst relics of a bygone era.

The brunette beauty approached a particular C-47 christened Joy Ridin', the name itself a whisper of the adventures that had etched themselves into the metal skin of the aircraft. With a delicate touch, she trailed her fingers reverently across its surface, closing her eyes as a flood of memories surged through her mind like a tempestuous wave crashing against the cliffs of her soul.

Visions of missions bravely flown, of lives valiantly saved, and of the haunting specter of loss and sacrifice all weaved themselves together in a tapestry of turbulent emotions. Celeste, who had once soared amidst the heavens over war-torn Europe, had borne witness to the profound duality of human nature—both its capacity for unspeakable horrors and its potential for boundless heroism.

A soft whisper escaped her lips, barely audible above the hum of the surrounding machinery, as she expressed her silent gratitude to the venerable aircraft that had been her steadfast companion through the tempests of war. With a solemn nod of acknowledgment, she bid her farewell to Joy Ridin', an unspoken promise of remembrance eternally cherished.

Turning away from the aircraft, Celeste wended her way through the jubilant throng of revelers who caroused amidst the mingling scents of gasoline and celebration. Each inebriated reveller sought to entice her into the dance of merriment, but with a gentle shake of her head and a graceful turn of her hand, she respectfully declined their overtures, her eyes fixed on a mission far greater than mere festivity.

She was just simply enjoying being able to walk around without hearing those dreaded air sirens or the roar of plane engines. Seeing all the excitement from the soldiers and the civilians was enough to even lift her spirits up.

The brunette slowly made her way through the clambering  crowd of overly dramatic men and women all in a Stupor. All of them cheering and clapping along, some tapping their army issued boots against the hardened pavement.

Of course, she couldn't completely make it through the crowd without hearing a few catcalls. She simply ignored them and casually minded her own business, only flashing a few fake smiles towards them. Most of them knew Major John Egan held a soft spot for the colonel's daughter.

" Hey there pretty little lady!" A man's echoed out from within the crowd. Celeste let out an exaggerated sigh as she turned towards the call. Expecting to see some other soldier coming forward, she instead found Arnie making his way over in a not-so-casual stroll.

" Oh lord, it's you..." She dryly replied with a causal roll of her eyes before continuing on. Arnie slow danced his way behind her almost like a child desperately dying for their mother's attention. Then again, he always tried to getting people's spirits up.

Celeste picked a jeep that had a few chairs beside it, one that were somewhat away but not too far from the crowd. She sat down with a loud thud against the hardened surface. Her body became like jello, conforming into the metal as she slouched down.

Her body was relishing in the feeling of finally being in peace. But nobody could ever rest with Arnie there, the obvious loud mouths of the crew. It wasn't that she didn't mind Arnie, they had been friends since the start but she was exhausted and just wanted to be by herself for a moment.

He smoothly sat down in the chair next to her, humming way out-of-key to the current song playing. She slowly opened her eyes just a bit and tilted her head over in the Pennsylvanian's direction. He was just humming away as he watching the people before him dance while he drank and swayed to the beat himself.

If only he showed that much enthusiasm when guard duty came around. Even Ana wasn't that hyper. Celeste sighed in an exasperated manner, " Arnie, don't you have anyone else to go bother? Friends, family, a rock?"

He stopped humming for a moment as he continued to study the crowd before him," Hmm, good question." She was about to reply but was stopped. " Wait a minute, Now is my time to shine." He proudly remarked upon noticing Rene and another women walking past. The one unknown lady was giggling and playfully hiding her face from him.

Intrigued, he tapped his hand on the table to get Celeste's attention before nonchalantly making his way over—puffing his chest out like he knew what he was doing. At this point, Celeste found watching Arnie making a fool of himself quite more interesting instead of resting.

Celeste was drowsy yes, the pain in her chest hurt tenfold, but there was a show to be seen. Free tickets and first seats to watch Arnie be the ridiculous comedian he was, of course she wasn't about to miss that.

But the show was soon interrupted when the feeling of someone's warm hand against her shoulder made her whole body shake at its core. Her eyes immediately widened and her hands clenched, readying to fight off whoever was there.

Readying herself with her fist slightly raised, she quickly turned to face the perpetrator, only to find the man she loved standing beside her with a silver canteen. It was Egan...that chiseled jaw was lifted with a proud, friendly smile as his bright azure eyes gazed down upon her worried self.

His soft, feather-like brown hair, once wild and unkempt, was cut and brushed away to the side.. She cleared her throat before awkwardly lowering her hand back down to her lap. The major raised a brow upon examining her uneasy posture before giving her a look. " Well, I guess I can add almost-decking-out the man I love to my list of things I've almost done." She uttered with a smile.

Egan's lips curled upwards at one side, his trademark half-smile —something that could melt her heart away and make butterflies in her stomach. She watched him as he pulled the iron chair over closer to her before finally sitting down with huff.

With having his presence there beside her, her overly on high alert body finally started to relax. But of course, Celeste was never truly getting over the war or what happened to her at Ravensbrück. But she was alive to tell the tale and thus, help many women be remembered because of her brilliant thinking. She kept the paper for save keeping, waiting until it would be needed.

" Also what is wrong with you, sneaking up on me like that." Celeste scolded before playfully hitting his arm. He only shrugged in defeat with that same smile before sliding her the silver canister.

Celeste narrowed her eyes at him before taking a long sip of the drink, it was like heaven on earth to her. She wasn't suppose to drink the liquor, but one taste wouldn't hurt. All her problems melted away.

Egan then slowly leaned in, with elbow up against the table, " And you're welcome, I was the one who got Rene to distract Arnie. I was up at the watch tower with Cleven when I saw him bothering you." That midwestern accent was such a refreshing and playful tune, like he were the star in his own movie and it were something she'd listen too all day if she could.

Celeste smacked her tongue at the roof of her mouth. " You are so evil." She playfully smiled but in all honesty, she was thankful for him doing that. He was always coming to her rescue, her true hero.

Before long, both Celeste and Egan found themselves sitting there to the side watching Arnie like proud parents. He was trying his best to win over Rene and the other British woman—surely trying to use the Pennsylvanian charm on them, but to no avail. She simply laughed as his effort, to which the other woman did the same.

" With Arnie around, there's never dull moment with him." Celeste mused with a faint smile upon her lips. Egan nodded in response, " Yea, like a bull in a China shop." He softly chuckled to which Saphire almost snorted her drink.

When she finally regained herself, she looked up to find Joe with the same dumb smirk upon his lips. Celeste couldn't help but slithered a flat smirk through crooked lips. She had to admit, it was a good one. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him, his sense of humor passing the overly cocky determiner.

Egan then studied Celeste as she watched Arnie being joined by Jackson and Robert. There her eyes spoke of a beautiful soul cracked at the very edges from a destructive war, the lord only knows what she truly saw at Ravensbrück.

And her movements told of a need for nurture. But worse of all was the longing she held to see her father, the same longing he felt as well. Egan reached over and gently took her hand into his and squeezed, " We'll see him soon enough." He reassured, but it wasn't soon enough for her.

They noticed Arnie still going at it but this time making a commotion along with Jackson. The major leaned in closer to her, " Eh, do you think we should save him from humiliating himself any further?" Celeste merely shrugged, still looking the Pennsylvanian up and down, " He'll come around when he's done making a fool of himself."

And she were right, soon enough they both watched Arnie  triumphantly smooth dance his way over followed shortly by jsckdon. He held his arms out in a hugging manner while swaying his hips around. Celeste raised brow at his weird antics, " So did you win at least one over?"

He continued to dance off beat, before casting his arms up and placing his hands in a pointing motion with his beer still in hand and his index fingers directed towards at them. He took in a short, deep breath, with a little pause before he simply said," No." But that of course, didn't stop him from dancing and enjoying himself.

Celeste only shook her head, he was way too in.
" You know, if you'd stop acting like an idiot for just one second, they might actually find you attractive." She stated but it only seemed to in one ear and out the other.

" Come on guys, Lets party." Upon realizing her little token of thought went unnoticed by him, she rolled her eyes in annoyance and continued drinking. Egan did nothing to help or he'd surely face her wrath.

" Come on Celeste, we've been friends since kindergarten, let's enjoy this and you too Jackson, Robert... wherever Ben is. Arnie held his beer up smugly before taking a sip. Celeste snorted in response.

The music and the party was in full swing now, more lively than ever before. Celeste watched as both men and women slowly danced beside one another in the middle while others tapped danced and sang along. Men shoulder to shoulder, swaying back in forth— sloppily sang twisted lyrics. It wasn't a dream at all...

Her sight was interrupted when Egan stepped into her view. He stood there for moment, awkward as always before offering his hand out. She kindly accepted, as he helped pull her to her feet.

After enduring the toil and turmoil, the year of labor and suffering, the relentless beatings and the gnawing hunger that stalked her every waking moment. Celeste and Egan finally found themselves at peace. Where a sigh escaped her lips, a release of breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in for so long.

As Arnie ambled past, his mere presence threatened to disrupt the moment with the peculiar and inexplicable sounds that emitted from his smooching lips. Egan, in a  jesting manner, took it upon himself to gently nudge the wayward Arnie in another direction—guiding him towards the direction of Jackson. Eliciting a hearty laugh from Celeste.

"We truly must find someone for Arnie," she remarked, her voice tinged with amusement. Egan, with a measured nod of agreement, replied, "In due time, he'll find someone with a kindred spirit, just as I have with you."

A fleeting smile graced Celeste's lips, a delicate bloom that slowly faded as her slender hand intertwined with Egan's, drawing her closer into an intimate embrace. The agonizing separation, of uncertainty shrouded in fear for each other's very existence, culminated in this moment. Now, as they swayed harmoniously together in their true first dance, their hearts beat as one, unified in purpose and deeply intertwined.

Egan, daunted by the overwhelming beauty of the moment that enveloped them, was compelled to seize the opportune moment—a tender and delicate kiss bestowed upon Celeste's waiting lips.

The toll of their shared experiences manifested in the weary lines etched upon their once-youthful faces, the scars both visible and concealed that bore witness to the battles they had waged not only on the battlefield but within the very depths of their beings.

Celeste's delicate hand clasped around Egan's wrist before guiding him through the dimly lit side paths to her lone quarters. Once inside, the yellow lights casted shadows on the walls, it had been quite a while since she had been here and Rene made sure to keep up on everything. He hesitated at the threshold, his concern for her well-being evident in his furrowed brow and wary gaze.

Egan's concern lingered realizing what she was getting at. Even though it had been two weeks, he was still concerned. Not that he didn't want the same thing, his eyes reflected a mixture of apprehension and love. But he followed in, with Celeste turning the key in the lock.

The air was heavy with anticipation, as Egan observed Celeste's movements with a watchful eye. She moved with grace and purpose, a tranquil confidence in her every gesture.

Yet the concern remained evident in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. He could not shake the worry that gnawed at his heart, knowing of what happened the last time. The child she had lost... Celeste, however, exuded an air of calm assurance as she began to unbutton her shirt—the fabric falling away to reveal the intricate bandages swathing her shoulder and chest.

"Do not worry," Celeste murmured, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. "I want too..." She moved towards him with deliberate grace, each step a silent promise of her resilience.

Egan's skepticism lingered in the air, his gaze trailing the lines of her fading wounds. "Are you sure?... I don't want you to go through that again.." Celeste shuttered at the thought of her lost, pausing in her steps—her hand stopping halfway to his chest.

Her lower lip trembled slightly, his words did hold some truth to them. But she was willing to risk anything, anything to feel alive again. "Yes, I am...

"Are you sure, you sure?" Egan bantered, a playful glint in his eye. Now a twinkle in her eye, Celeste reached up to unfasten the major's jacket—the fabric slipping from his broad shoulders to pool at his feet. Both locked eyes momentarily, before continuing.

She deftly plucked his dog tags from his neck, the metal cool to the touch in her hands. "Of that, I am most certain," she declared, her fingers curling around the tags in a possessive grip.

A mischievous smile played on the brunette lips as she drew Egan closer—the space between them closing with a tantalizing slowness. "Indeed," she purred, the word hanging in the air like a promise unspoken. His slender fingers traced the contours of her collarbone— a silent invitation that spoke volumes of her unspoken desires.

Egan's breath hitched in his throat at the moment their lips met, a fusion of long-desired longing igniting between them like a blazing fire on a cold winter's night. The touch of her soft lips against his made his heart race, and for a brief moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Never before had Egan believed he could feel nervous around Celeste again, but the sight of her bare once more sent tremors through his body, shaking him to his very core. He felt blessed to be in her presence once more—to have her so close to him after all the trials and tribulations they had endured together.

As Celeste gracefully backed herself onto the lumpy bed, Egan remained rooted to the spot at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on her with intense focus. "Well?" she muttered with a chuckle, her voice soft and melodic in the room. The bandages on her arm shifted slightly as she propped herself up on her elbows—gazing at him expectantly.

The major shook his head slightly, his emotions churning like a stormy sea within him. "Nothing," he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I consider myself the luckiest man to have you here by my side." A faint blush colored his cheeks, betraying the depth of his feelings for her.

Celeste, unable to contain her delight at seeing the usually composed Major John Egan falter, teased, "Is the aloof Major Egan blushing, I wonder?" His eyes rolled, a soft scoff escaping him at her playful jab, though the affection in his gaze betrayed his true feelings.

For the rest of the night, they remained together, alone and safe in each other's company for the first time since their reunion. The absence of Brady's sardonic comments and Hamilton's watchful gaze allowed them to savor this precious moment of peace and intimacy, a respite from the chaos and danger that loomed. Both were finally free to do whatever they pleased, to follow the dreams Egan had written about.

_______________________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE
——-

ONE MORE CHAPTER MY HOME-SLICES

SOOOOOOOOOO,

We know what's coming next, so here's what I'd like to know from my readers;

1. Do you guys want the full proposal written out? Like Egan proposing to her, etc or do you just want a quick summary?

2. Spoiler here lol; pregnancy—do you guys want the whole thing? I know alot of readers hate the pregnancy thing, so I wanna know what you all think before I write it?

IT CANT BELIEVE MY STORY IS ALMOST OVER, I WANNA CRY