Work Text:
your hand fits in mine, like it was made just for me
.•*•.
1
On a surprisingly sunny day in an airfield in England, Collins was doing some maintenance on his Spitfire. His hands were scratched and calloused, and covered in oil and soot. He wiped them on an old tattered cloth, and sat under the shade of the wing, thinking about someone. Rather, daydreaming about him, before the bell rang and they had to go back up in the air.
Now, four weeks into the war, and experiencing the first major loss in his life, his gauntleted hands trembled slightly as they gripped the joystick.
Back on land, his thoughts, if not consumed by guilt, would be on someone else. Pining for him, dreaming of him, but having no outlet for it.
But, as much as he thought the feelings were unrequited, the lingering gazes, “accidental“ run-ins, and seemingly random talks about his conduct and academics suggested otherwise.
On days like this, he yearned for the touch of a lover; his will weathered, and spirit tired.
Love’s fruition
Still, many a day past, and many a look exchanged, before one dreary, dark night a confession was made. a note, “in my office 2200 hours“ it said, as it floated down his doorframe
It was raining, everyone was in their room, asleep, or contemplating, writing or lovesick.
He made his way down the dreary dark corridor to the beacon of light that shone through the door. He knocked.
“Come in”
“lock the door behind you,” he added. Collins’ pulse quickened at the ramifications, and his face flushed. The room was illuminated by a single candle, to make it easier for the singular blackout curtain covering the only window in the room.
He couldn’t see many details, just the man of his dreams, in front of the table - just standing there, looking perfect like he usually did.
The air in the room was rife with tension, the blond shunning all the other thoughts, wondering why else would he be called at this hour, completely alone…
The signs were all there, the air was thick. And that night, a realization was reached. That there was no use hiding their feelings anymore. And on that rainy night, in the middle of a war, rosebuds of love bloomed…
Now another set of hands made him feel loved, made him feel safe.
The same toughened hands that doomed the enemy in the sky, now wandering gently, softly over his skin, as if he were made of porcelain. And now, lonely nights didn’t seem quite so lonely anymore.
On a little walk one night, just behind the hangars, Out of sight of everybody, they gazed at the stars. Their hands in their pockets, they wished every night was as peaceful as this.
Collins pointed out the constellations that Dawson had taught him.
“Isn’t it beautiful?“ He whispered.
“hmm” came the distracted reply. He was too busy admiring his ethereal beauty in the moonlight.
As Collins brought his hand down to put it back in his pocket, it was intercepted by Farrier, who immediately felt a tiny icy shock. “Your hands are so cold” he said, lacing his fingers with Collins, kissing his hand, and putting their hands in his pocket, eliciting a giggle.
“It’s getting cold“ Collins said. “Let’s go back in“
They headed back in, a safe distance away from each other, lest someone see them.
Like most nights, Collins did not spend it in his own room. And like most nights, he lounged on the bed looking at his boyfriend with hearts in his eyes, as he wrote his poems. They were mostly about him. Sometimes they were about the war. He loved them all, though they made him sad sometimes.
Collins’ hands were getting a little restless since there was no piano to play there. so, he tapped his fingers on the bedpost imagining the tune in his head. Sometimes he would draw too , but he felt he wasn’t good at it. Sometimes he’d make paper planes out of old pages of sheet music.
The rest of the time, they would spend talking and snuggling. That was the safest bet out here.
Often he would feel a warm feeling in his heart, and butterflies in his stomach. A feeling he perhaps knew, but was too afraid to name. It was a feeling they both felt unbeknownst to each other. But were too afraid to say it.
Perhaps they shouldn’t have been.
Separation
Another day dawned, and once again a bell rang. once more a silent promise was made, the touch of a hand, and a look.
Now, in the air, still nervous but resolute hands gripping joysticks, they headed out towards Dunkirk.
An order, a command, gunshots, smoke and debris. Two down, one left. A voice full of concern over the intercom and no reply. A terrifying assumption, a hand peeking out of a canopy. A sense of relief.
Exhaustion, more gunshots and sirens.
A sputtering engine.
A bleak realization.
He’d saved many, but who would save him? A silent guardian, a beacon of hope. But who will guard the guards? Who will save the saviour? What would Apollo say to Icarus? It is said that sometimes even gods become frightened by the penances of mortals.
Perhaps what he did for love frightened them.
Now, back at base, Hope was dwindling, as Collins registered the gravity of what had occurred. He had a false hope that he would come back, a day, a week, a month from now.
When one day he finally received a letter. He opened it with shaky hands, and read what was written. It wasn’t a lot, a pleasantry, a small apology. But it was enough. He was glad that Farrier was alive, more so that he was being treated well
“ Don’t worry, darling, the airmen are far more respectable. We don’t have to do much around here, which is why I’m here writing this to you. But no matter how well they’re treating me here, they’re still the enemy. And I want to come back home. I don’t know what got into me that day, that I didn’t land near the allies. Maybe it was my own hubris that was my downfall. There isn’t a single day that I don’t miss your touch, and your voice. I miss you ever so much, it’s impossible to put it into words. I only hope that I will be able to get out of here soon. Take care.
F.”
Days turned into months, and months turned into years. Collins would regularly receive letters, and he accepted the fact that this was all he would get for god knows how long. Perhaps this was when it clicked: he didn’t want to regret not saying it. He didn’t want to wait until it was too late, god forbid. And so, with trembling hands he wrote. For the first time, the thing he was to afraid to say.
“Darling
You don’t know how much I miss you, or how much I care. Maybe you do. It’s becoming harder and harder for me, every day to live without you, but the fact that you’re still alive and breathing keeps me going.
Recently, however, I’ve begun to realise something. Actually, I had reached this realisation a while ago, when we were still together. But I was too afraid to say it. Now I realise how completely stupid I was, not having said it when you were still here with me. Now I realise that things can change in an instant, this is war, we cannot avoid it. Still I was apprehensive, even after losing you. But not anymore. At this moment I am more sure than ever. And so, I’m going to say it.
I love you.
I love you ever so much, from the day that we met, and I will love you till the day I die. I hope you feel the same as well. I never had the courage to say it to you directly, but now I have no shame, no apprehension, I said it once, and I’ll say it again, a million or more times. I love you. I love you, please come back as soon as possible, for I cannot live without you.
I love you
And I will love you till my dying breath.
All my love, C”
Together at last
Upon reading the confession, a spark lit up inside him. One he didn’t know existed. It was the feeling of absolutely wanting to find a way to get back home no matter what the cost. With a rejuvenated will at the confession, he set to work with some others.
And for weeks, the letters stopped coming. Worrying Collins, making him fear that the worst had indeed, happened.
But then, one night that wasn’t too dissimilar to when they’d first confessed their feelings, he heard a knock at his door. Wondering who it could be, at such a time too, he set down his pencil that he was using to draw that picture of theirs, sitting on the wing of his spitfire. His fingertips were covered with the charcoal from the pencil, as his hands yet again shook slightly as he turned the doorknob to open it.
What he saw, perhaps made him believe that god was real. There, standing in front of him, soaking; stood the man that he loved. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but quickly regained his composure, letting him in and shutting the door first, before jumping into his arms like a long lost puppy and found its owner.
“I’m soaked, pet” he said smiling.
“Don’t care” came the muffled reply. Collins had buried his face in the crook of his neck, and was silently crying tears of joy. Farrier couldn’t stop the tears from coming either, and so they stood there, locked in a tight embrace, thanking the stars, thanking whatever god was responsible.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, love” Farrier said, rubbing his back, once he’d got it together. They finally pulled away, tears still streaming down Collins’ face. Farrier looked at him tenderly, and kissed them away. Collins was so overwhelmed by all this, he didn’t even notice the change in nickname.
“Shh, now. they might hear us. I should probably go and change now.” He whispered, sniffling, then holding Collins’ arms and looking him directly in the eye,
“I love you too”
He bought his hands up, cradling the blond’s face, and kissing him.
They headed to his room, to finally get changed into something warm and dry. Collins hijacked a turtleneck, and sat on the bed, still sniffling and in disbelief. He watched him get changed, completely enamoured. He was really here, in front of him, living, breathing. He was real. Now in the turtleneck that smelled like him, the man himself in front of him, lighting a cigarette, then proceeding to come sit down next to him, Collins hoped it wasn’t a dream.
It was every bit as real as the war.
They lay there again, after so, so long, holding each other, in love, and knowing.