Work Text:
Private Kate Woodward had a child clinging to her leg, another hanging onto her back, both attached to her like little monkeys.
The village kids were always in the mechanics’ orbit. Woody wanted to be a good role model for them, even if she didn’t quite know what that looked like. She wasn’t exactly keen to admit it to anyone except Holly, but offering her expertise as a mechanic to the WAC wasn’t entirely out of love for country.
After years of wandering aimlessly up and down the West Coast, she woke up one morning and realized she didn’t like her friends (if she could even call them that), working almost exclusively on stolen cars because she couldn’t hold down a legitimate mechanic job, and especially not the type of person she’d become. So she signed up, expecting to be working on jeeps or trucks, but instead found herself applying her knowledge to planes.
Her first commanding officer, Lieutenant Deanna Seberg from Glendale, designated her Woody to differentiate her from the dozen or so Catherines and Kathleens who used Kate as a nickname.
She liked being Woody. Woody was tough and competent yet approachable, likable, even. She tried to be good. Helpful but not too imposing. Kept her cursing to a minimum. Checked her temper. Had to. She was part of something bigger than herself, bigger than any of them could have ever conceived of. Finally found a way out through it. She couldn’t afford to fuck it up.
While the handful of other mechanic girls had gotten their experience through family garages or the odd trade school, they accepted her claim that hers came from messing around with friends’ cars. She was good at what she did. No need to push it.
Thankfully, Kenny had their backs, the young Arkansan drawling that where he came from, women weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty to get the job done by the end of the day, whatever it may be. If that also involved entertaining English laborers’ kids, fascinated by Americans and their planes, she’d try her damnedest.
“Miss Woody!” Billy shouted, making a running start toward her.
“Wait!” she yelled. “I can’t—“
Just before impact, which would have surely sent her directly to the ground with three children in tow, Billy was scooped up in Lieutenant John Brady’s arms.
“You could take off with that speed, buddy,” he said, flying the boy around for a moment before setting him on his feet and ruffling his hair.
Woody smiled as the other two children climbed off of her. “You saved the day, Lieutenant.”
“Miss Woody, now you’ve got to give the hero a kiss!” Sarah, the young girl who’d been hanging off her back exclaimed with a flourish of her hands. “That’s what happens in the stories.”
Brady shook his head. “Miss Woody doesn’t have to—“
Woody gave him a quick peck on the cheek, their small audience of Billy, Sammy, and Sarah giggling and cheering in delight. “Why don’t you kids go make some trouble for Mr. Kenny?”
The children ran off, arms spread out wide as they imitated planes themselves. God, had she ever been that carefree as a kid?
Brady cleared his throat. “I came by to see how the fort’s doing.”
“And just in time. That would’ve been a hell of a tumble if it weren’t for you,” she said.
“You’re great with those kids.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I try to be the kind of adult I wish I had around when I was their age, you know?”
“That’s good of you.”
“C’mon, I’ll show you what we’ve done so far.”
He stuck close to her as they made their way around the damaged plane, Woody taking care to let him know exactly what had been fixed so far and where they were having a bit of trouble. Shuffled a little closer to her when she pointed at one of the engines.
He smelled nice, a reprieve from the mix of fuel, motor oil, and sweat. Not to mention the occasional whiff of cow manure drifting through the air on a strong breeze. For a moment, she envisioned her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck while something soft and slow filled the room. Wondered how he’d hold her.
Shit. Stop daydreaming.
She glanced at him every so often. His expression didn’t change much. Brows furrowed, handsome face etched with concern as he scrutinized the state of his plane.
“Really, I’ve seen worse,” she said.
He scoffed. “That’s reassuring.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
Certainly wasn’t the first plane he crash-landed, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he could practically hear his mother’s voice, ‘John Brady, I did not raise you to speak to young ladies that way.’ Except he’d hardly consider Woody a young lady. She was a mechanic with a mouth when she got a few beers in her. More rough-and-tumble than any of the girls he grew up with.
Everyone seemed to like her, though. Hell, he sure did. Hambone already made a stupid comment about how he should ‘ask Woody to kiss it better’ when his fort, so comically named Brady’s Crash Wagon, went up in smoke. Probably why it smarted to feel like she pitied him or something.
Smarted worse to see the way her lips pressed in a thin line. Kept her gaze anywhere but him.
“Kenny told me you stay out here late working on it. Thank you,” he said, a stubborn substitution for an apology. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence.
Wasn’t sure what else he could say, and she was doing everything but telling him to buzz off.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Woody.”
She nodded. “See you around, sir.”
He tried not to kick himself too much as he walked off, not entirely sure where he was going.
“Hey Lieutenant!” Woody shouted when there was a few yards of distance between them.
He stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at her. “What is it?”
“You got something—“ She gestured to her own cheek.
He wiped the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him and fought back a smile at the grease smudged on his fingertips.