#cyeco

Years of isolation from the Allies, and here you finally were, breathing the smoky air of the place you had left with heavy regrets.

You shivered as you stepped outside, braving the biting cold and clutching your coat closer to your form. You recognised almost everything as you walked down the canal to the east- every street, every shop... Everything except for the many buildings burned or left abandoned, shattered. German bombs had come this far, and your heart constricted at the thought. Could they have possibly reached Longsight too?

You hastened the pace, dragging your suitcase behind you.

To your greatest relief, you saw that little has changed in the red houses boarded lane, your heart beating steadily again upon seeing life buzzing around you with bikes, motorcycles and children playing around in the cold. But when you finally stop in front of the brown door and your destination, removing your gloves in order to reach the knocker, you feel your fingers tremble slightly.

At least, it looks the same.

When the door opens, you can’t repress the shaky exhale that escapes your throat when wide blue eyes stare down at you.

“Afternoon, Douglas,” you greet with your first genuine smile since you got off the train.

The man before you looked undeniably more tired than back when you lived with them, years of war and worry having taken a definite toll on him. But there is that imperceptible glow about him that revives your hope.

 “Well, Y/N, this is… quite a surprise!” he stammers, visibly pleased. “Come in, come in!”

You take on the invitation with thanks, pushing your suitcase forwards and dragging what you hold into your other hand gently in. When the door closes behind you, you instantly feel the words pouring from your mouth, an attempt to soothe your anguish.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call to warn you of my visit or… write, for that matter. The truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I needed to…” you take a deep breath, settling your nerves at once. “I mean, if anything had happened, I couldn’t bear to have learned it over the phone or by letter, I just had to come and see for myself.”

“Of course, I understand,” he nods, straightening his sweater nervously. “I know what it is, not knowing…”

You give him a comprehensive smile before taking a look around the room. Looking for something, anything - traces of his presence.

Please.

His hesitant voice barely reaches you among the tensed atmosphere. “Erm… do you want some tea or-”

But the faint sound of shuffling near your long skirt renders him silent, and his eyes immediately widen. Finally noticing that you’re not alone, he freezes in place.

“Douglas, this is Marcel,” you introduce as you bring the shy boy before you, out of the shadows. “My son.”

Marcel’s big blue eyes look up at Douglas, so strikingly alike his. Blond curls spill from beneath his beanie, and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold peek out from beneath the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. You run a soothing hand over his small shoulder as you watch the older man’s speechless expression. 

“Marcel, you want to say hi to your grandad?”

“Hi,” comes Marcel’s timid voice.

Douglas’ eyes snap between Marcel and yourself in confusion, blue globes searching yours frantically before drawing them back to the boy. You bite your lips when the man’s croaky voice emerges from deep within his throat. “Is this… is he?”

You nod nervously, clutching your son’s shoulder as if to ground yourself, but when Douglas crouches near him gently, levelling with him in the small kitchen, you feel some of the build tension leave your body.

“Hiya… Marcel, is it?” he starts, fumbling with his hands but quick to smile at the boy. “You… have my eyes, I reckon.”

You don’t know what makes your heart swell the most at this moment. How easy it seemed to be going, or the glint of excitement in your son’s eyes when he looks up at you.

“Does he… erm, understand what I’m saying?” Dougla asks, unsure.

“He doesn’t properly speak English, but I’ve been talking to him since he was a baby. He understands enough,” you say proudly.

The kettle suddenly whistles, breaking the spell of the moment and Douglas' growing smile as he jumps to turn off the stove. As you’re left begging in the entrance, you can’t help but look further around, your throat turning dry again.“Douglas, I was wondering if… I mean, is he…?”

You can barely believe you managed to say the words out loud, throat constricting yet again. 

“He is outside with the girls,” he simply states as he comes back to take three cups out of the cupboard, hand slightly shaking. “You’re lucky, he is on leave right now.”

The relief that passes over you at the news is indescribable, as if a weight was being lifted from your shoulders, one you carried heavily during the last four years. You don’t feel cold anymore, but when your son’s hopeful eyes lift up at you, this feeling of relief is suddenly replaced with apprehension.

“They’ll be back in an hour or so,” Douglas continues, setting the kettle on the table. “You’re welcome to wait here.”

You nod, letting a pregnant pause fill the room as you start taking some layers off your son, already counting down the minutes.

Until you decide otherwise. “Douglas, I’m so sorry but would you mind… telling me where they are? It’s just that I really need to-”

“Oh, yes, of course, I understand,” he cuts, waving a comprehensive hand at you. “They’ll be off at the park, near Crowcroft.”

A surge of excitement fills you, but it disappears as you look down at Marcel with pinched lips. “Actually, could you… Look after Marcel for a while? I think I need to see him without… I mean, alone at first.”

“Sure, of course, better this way, I ‘spose,” he nods before making his way to you. “You and I will have to get acquainted, eh?” he says as he lowers to Marcel. “You like stamps?”

Marcel melts into your front as he looks up at Douglas coyly, but when the latter comes back with a book full of colourful stamps, his eyes have turned full of vibrant interest.

You exit the house with renewed anxiety after giving a quick kiss on your son’s head and thanking Douglas thoroughly. The biting cold is the last thing on your mind as you set your steps towards the park.

It’s a ten-minute walk to the park, but the uneasiness in your stomach seems to bend time, turning it into five. Before you know it, you’re in front of the little park, coming to a stop before the small fence that separates you from the sand, gazing upon the swings and playgrounds where children play loudly. Your heart starts beating faster as you scan the place for any recognisable faces. Any moment now.

Until your gaze lands on them.

His back is turned to you, his arms pushing a little girl high on a swing and making her giggle with glee as Lois stands in front of them, smiling cheerfully.

She is the first to notice you, her smile dropping as her lips begin to move, forming words you can’t hear. A second later, Tom has turned on the spot, blue gaze falling on you and the air in your lungs is drained out as soon as your gazes finally meet.

You see his lips form the shape of your name like a silent prayer, see his eyes, so bright against the grey light run idly over you as if to assess that you’re real. Your body turns to ice as he starts walking, his gaze locked on yours, and by the time he’s standing in front of you, whispering your name, you’re utterly speechless.

You feel his arms wrap around you in a timeless space, his body pressing against yours in a firm embrace and you feel the tip of his nose brush your neck. He is so warm through the thickness of your coat it burns and you never want to let go.

“Shit, that feels good,” he exhales in your hair, so low you’re uncertain it was meant for you, but your eyes close at the sensation.

“Hi, Tom.”

He smiles where your neck meets your jaw, and when you part you gasp as his mouth brushes your cheek. You are able to touch him, he is right there and it’s so thrilling you struggle to believe it’s real.

Only when Lois’ voice comes boasting to greet you do you realise how close his face is to your burning cheeks and how strongly your hands linger on his shoulders. You clear your throat as you let go.

“Y/N!” exclaims Lois as she comes to hug you with the little girl scooped in her arms as Tom is forced to take a reluctant step back. “I’m so glad to see you… What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, as soon as I was able. Needed to know that you were alright,” you say in an unexpected feeble tone. “Went by your dad’s, ‘told me you would be here.”

“It’s us that should’ve been worried about you, especially since what Tom told us,” she says gravely, making you glance at him furtively. “But we’re all alright! You haven’t met Vera, have you?”

You beam while Lois adjusts the dark-haired girl in her arms, the latter looking at you curiously with big blue eyes and a sweet round face. She is very alike her mother, you notice, and everything like her father.

“And Jeff, my fiancé.”

For the first time, you notice the ashed blond man standing behind them, broad smile on his face as he extends a hand toward you. “Hi, I’m glad to meet you, heard a lot about you!”

You retain a blush, shaking his hand back. “Oh, have you really?”

“Yes, all from Tom here,” he answers, making you draw back your eyes on the man next to you.

You haven’t seen him look at your hand while you shook Jeff’s, haven’t seen his disappointment upon seeing that you wore gloves. But now all you see is how intensely he stares at you, and you’re not sure about what to do, how to act.

So you feel relieved when Lois has the good sense to notice that you are in dire need of time alone with Tom, here, standing right in front of you.“We’ll meet you back at the house, yeah?” she says as she takes Jeff’s hand and nods to Tom. “You’re invited to dinner.”

You didn’t even have time to agree while they walked away, leaving you and Tom behind on the playground. It takes you a full minute to realise where they’re headed, what they’ll find at their destination. You haven’t even had time to explain. 

“Wait!” you shout, but you’re unheard over the children’s screaming.

“If being alone with me scares you, you only have to say so, love,” teases the voice behind you, dripping with amusement as Lois walks away.

You glance back at him, a guilty look on your face. Somehow, looking at him seems harder now that it’s just the two of you. But he is what’s important. Him, right here. “No… I’m glad to see you, Tom.”

“Likewise,” he smirks, putting his hands in his pockets to stare at you.

He looks like his usual self, nothing like the stunned version of him who was in your arms minutes ago. You finally take time to examine him properly for the first time: his hair is longer, his features are deeper and more marked by the years but there is still that youthful mischievous glint in his eyes as well as that smile that makes your heart jolt in joy and warm your cheeks. His skin wears the remnants of a tan despite being in the middle of winter, making his blue eyes stand out and you can’t tell if it’s the thick vest he wears, but his shoulders look broader, more defined.

“You really don’t do things the easy way, do you? Popping out here, unexpected.”

“I’m sorry. I explained to your dad, but I couldn’t send a letter and-”

“Hey, it’s alright, ‘m not complaining,” he smiles as you step out of the park and out of the ruckus and wind.

You feel more relaxed at his remark, but what you ought to tell him is still looming over your head. It feels odd, having him next to you. It feels odd not to reach for him.

“What... happened to Harry?” you find yourself asking, the question floating in your mind. You just have to find the right words.

Tom’s expression turns gloomy. “Died out there, in the Middle East. It was two years ago. Lois’ been coping pretty well, considering. Mrs. Chase, not so well.”

Swallowing seems hard all of a sudden, your mind gathering thoughts of little Vera, who would never grow up without her father. It could have been Marcel. It could still be Marcel.

“And Jeff?”

Tom cocks his head with a shrug. “He’s alright, good bloke. Think he’s scared of me a little, I like that.”

His smirk is contagious. You’ve missed it. “Why would he be scared of you?”

He shrugs the question off, his gaze drawn right ahead. “No reason.”

You let the silence fill the space before continuing. “Your dad told me you were on leave?”

“Yeah, last ship I was on got damaged beyond repair. I have to wait to be reassigned. Lucky me.”

You try not to imagine the damage that would have made the repairs needed. Not to imagine what Tom could have lived. “Do you know when?”

When he shakes his head, he doesn’t miss the way you bite your lips, and his fingers curl in his pockets. He doesn’t assess how miserable the news makes you despite the straight expression you maintain. He doesn’t, because he feels the same way, the same dread at going back. He doesn't express anything either because he feels the same way.

The rest of the way is spent in short stories of the last four years. You hear about Lois’ time in the Middle East, ask about Tom’s journey back to England before being set off at sea again while you carefully avoid obvious details of your life, as you speak of Albert’s role in the Resistance and Giulia’s help. You withhold the difficult pregnancy, the guilt of bringing a baby to a world on fire, a world where he would possibly grow up without a father and the regrets that gnawed at you for four years because of how you parted with Tom.

But as you near the familiar street, you know perfectly well that your time is running out, but you’re still helplessly unprepared. Terrified. 

“Listen, I… have something to tell you,” you start as you stop on the road, turning fully to him. “I didn’t come alone.”

His heart drops in his chest at your words. You’re the pretty thing he left behind years ago, he thinks somberly. Of course you would find someone.

“His name is Marcel, he is four,” you begin with a skittish step. “And he has… well, he has your wits, Tom.”

Blatant confusion adorn his face as he looks down at you, brows constricted downwards and mouth slightly parting.“... What?”

You give him a little smile, a barely helpful gesture, you think. “I left him at your dad’s, I wanted to see you first. I wanted to talk to you.”

He is frozen into place, so lost you feel the urge to take his hand. So warm and familiar, like home. “Tom?”

“You have a son?”

You look up at him, meeting his serious expression. “Yes.”

“And… he is… mine?”

You give him a weak smile as you nod, squeezing his hand a little more in yours. His breath catches in his throat. “You’re sure?”

“Tom…” you breathe out knowingly.

He looks finally alive as he takes a deep breath, eyes fixed over your shoulder in disbelief as you clutch to his hand still, unwilling to let go. You wait for the news to slowly sink in, understanding how clueless he feels right now. 

You don’t know there is dread and a strongly beating heart inside of him, then realisation that everything has changed, followed by raw curiosity and an unfamiliar feeling that begins to fill his stomach.

“He knows you’re here, I reckon. He is very excited to meet you.”

“W-what did you tell him about me?”

He had feebly leaned over a wall without noticing. You give him a weak smile as you join him, trying to ease him to this new reality with your voice.

Your heart warms at his curiosity. “I told him where we met, how cunning you were, how fun. Your time in France. Well, Albert had his pleasure telling that part with all kinds of stories but I tried to remain impartial,” you laugh at the memory. “I told him that you were a soldier, fighting for us… That it was the reason you weren’t with us. That I didn’t know if we’d see you again…”

He swallows. 

Tom looks at you dead in the eyes, blue digging into yours with awe as he notices the sadness in yours, the longing, and the relief. He is right here with you, he is real, as you are. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve your existence but he knows it is far more than he deserved.

He had a son, as more time goes by standing there on the side of the road, the more he recognises the feeling in his chest as a warmth taking the place of the void he had been carrying for the last three years. For long years of battle at sea all he could see was the darkness that lay beyond, the uncertainty of an escape amidst the war around him, unable to think of an after.

But now, that void filled with purpose, a light he saw for the first time in years. For Lois, his dad, for Vera.

For you and his son. He had a future to look up to now, it changed everything.

“How is he?” 

“Sweet… Impulsive,” you smirk, eyes lost in memories. “Loves ships since I told him what you were doing.”

It was his turn to squeeze the hand that held his. “You raised him alone?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not really, I had my parents, and Albert helped a lot,” you say, silencing the many months of difficult pregnancy and post-natal depression from Tom. He didn’t have to know.

“I should have been there for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Tom, he truly made me happy. I am happy to have him, I know I wasn’t prepared but in the end it was…” The best gift you could ever have given me. “And now you’re here, and we’re having this conversation.”

His thumb grazes the back of your hand, still frustrated by the glove. He instantly yearns for it when you pull slightly away. “Then let’s not make him wait any longer.”

When you turn to the brown door, he can’t help but follow you, drawn to your presence, and what lies behind.

You find the entrance empty when you progress through the silent house, until you reach the kitchen, fuming with steam from the kettle. Lois is there, and as soon as she witnesses her brother’s face, she smiles at him the gentlest way possible. “Congratulations. He is very handsome.”

Tom looks small as he fidgets, the bravery he had going through the door disappearing gradually.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“In the back,” she says, pointing at the kitchen door. “Vera wanted to show him this empty nest she found in the rain gutter. Don’t worry, Dad’s watching them” she adds reassuringly.

She pats Tom on the shoulder, hand lingering there affectionately as he follows your dashing form outside with a hammering heart, steps slower than they have ever been.

“Marcel?”

 “Maman!” answers your son’s voice, little feet almost slipping in the snow to show you the eggshell at the crook of his gloves. There is only a mere moment of glee before his eyes land onto Tom.

He stares a long time before you gently nod to him. “Meet your father, Marcel.”

The child is quick, coming to hug Tom’s legs firmly and taking him by surprise. 

“Wow, strong lad already…” Tom says falteringly. It seems to make the stupor inside of him melt and his eyes turn bright and soft. “Hiya… I’m Tom.” 

Marcel looks up to his father with eyes so powerfully blue with the reflection of the white sky, but he doesn’t say a word, rather staring timidly.

You’re frozen and emotional at the sight, feeling your son’s emotions, mixed with Tom’s ease with him. Nothing prepared you for this, not really.

But soon Marcel’s shyness alleviates, and he produces a boat figurine out of nowhere. “Wow, I recognise that, where did you get it?” says Tom, crouching at your son’s height.

“Market,” you answer for him. “Back in London. I couldn’t argue with him.”

This makes the smile on Tom’s face radiate furthermore. “Well, that’s a good choice of a ship. You came here aboard one, didn’t ya?”

Marcel shakes his head up and down gleefully, the smile on his lips still wobbling timidly.

“Then you should tell me all about it.” 

You helped set the table with the help of Lois and Tom, who’s surprisingly been in a rather quiet mood for the last few hours.

You can feel his knee go up and down next to you as you take a spoon of beans, sitting next to Marcel whose plate was emptying fast.

“Jeff isn’t here?” you ask as Lois pours water into Vera’s glass.

“No, working late, he is.”

“What does he do?” you ask, embarrassed you haven’t done so before.

“Carpenter,” she tells you.

“And God knows we need them, with all those buildings that went down during the bombings…” comments Douglas, eyes twitching imperceptibly towards Lois.

There is a short pause before she talks again. “So how long will you stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it depends…” you say carefully, risking a glance at Tom. “I’ve been looking at hotels on my way here.”

“Nonsense! Stay here, we have two beds, one for you and one for Marcel, you’re more than welcome, right dad?”

You blink between Lois and Tom. “I don’t understand… Aren’t you living here anymore?” 

“We’ll be at Jeff’s tonight,” she explains with a smile in Vera’s direction. “Her stuff is over there anyway.”

You turn your gaze to Tom who only gives you a proud shrug. “Couch,” he says, matter of factly. “Can’t say I’m not used to it.”

You shake your head. “No! You’re already sleeping on cots most of the years, I’m not robbing you of-”

“It’s okay,” he stops you, fully turning to you, and you see his hand reach out to you under the table. “I want you here. Both of you.”

You get lost into his eyes for a bit, willing to argue, but you soon abandon it. His hand burns you a bit under the table.

“I hope Marcel takes more after his mum than his dad. Wasn’t an easy lad, Tom, I reckon,” you hear Douglas say with a warm smile as you feel Tom’s hand retreat.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, he looks quicker,” Lois adds with a taunting expression.

It makes Tom seemingly annoyed sigh deeply.  “Well, now that I’m a father, you could stop acting like I’m not, eh Lois?” 

“Maybe, but you didn’t raise him through the early years, and we all know it’s not the easiest. Can’t give you credit for that, brother!” she teases openly, rubbing Vera’s hair playfully.

You feel Tom’s body become tense next to you, and his features darken. “Hey, I would have. I would have if I had known. I would have if I hadn’t been out there, with those damn U-boots.”

The room falls silent, Lois swiftly losing her smile apologetically. An awful sensation forms in your throat instantly, one you feel when the empathy is too much to bear, and your hand swiftly finds its way to Tom’s again.

His eyes, fixed on his plate, jolts up when he feels your skin against his again, gaze not quite fixed on anything in particular.

“I would have,” he says, low, and you know these words are meant for you.

They reverberate close to your heart. “I know.”

No sounds could be heard around you, as if the two of you were completely alone, even though you can faintly feel the pain, loss, fear and worry present around the room. All for Tom.

“I’m sorry,” comes Lois’ voice, soft amidst the silence.

Tom shakes his head dismissively, aiming a gentle smile at his sister who gives it back shyly. He doesn’t let go of your hand this time. It’s alright.

You didn’t notice it, but as it all happened, Marcel’s eyes had filled up with something akin to a warmth he couldn’t understand yet, seeing his parent’s hands intertwined.

“He wants you to go up and say goodnight to him.”

Tom looks back at you as you knock softly on the living room door, already dressed in a tight vest, the covers on the couch covering his long legs. His face brightens up at your words, getting on his feet to walk slowly towards you, a joyful smile at the corner of his mouth. “Does he, now?”

The smell of cigarette engulfs you as he aims for the stairs happily, his body accidentally brushing against yours just inside of the door frame., and you’re achingly reminded that it’s the first time you and Tom are alone in the same room since you’ve arrived in Manchester. One last glance is given before he starts climbing, making you hesitate to follow him, but deciding against it. You know it will be a precious private moment between the two of them, and decide not to interfere, rather slowly wandering back to the living room, breathing in the air, slightly tinted with his odour among the smell of dust and coal.

Upon his return several minutes later, he sees you settled on the sofa, a book on your laps and a thin blanket around you, reading silently under the oil lamp. At the sight, he feels almost as if he had gone back in time, back to the night he had found you in this exact position, when you had shared your worries before falling asleep on him so comfortably.

“Brings back memories.”

You lift your head up to him, seeing him at the entrance of the room looking at you so earnestly makes you smile in return.

“He asked to see my wound,” he starts again. “Was curious about it. Didn’t seem frightened by it.”

“Well, he grew up with stories of war… Witnessing, really,” you state sadly as you close the book in a quiet thump.

You stare at each other, his gaze unfaltering as he nods comprehensively before slowly walking up to you. You gently put the blankets aside, standing up, your heart beating as he closes in on you, serious eyes fixed on your face.

“It's crazy, I’ve known him only for like a few days, and I already love him like…”

“Yes, children tend to do that.”

There was so much you wanted to tell him.

But the touch of his hand over your arm stops you, sending a shiver down your spine as he looks down to it. He leans in close, every movement soft, lingering.

You take that opportunity to look at him anew, his defined collar, seeing the glint of steel there. Your fingers reach for under his shirt while his hands trail up your shoulders, unhalted.

“You’re still wearing this, even at home?” you say, pulling the name tag around his neck towards you and examining it.

He looks down at it with a grin, shrugging. “Wanted to impress you.”

You laugh under your breath, tapping your nails over it. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, Tom.”

“Can’t help it.”

He stares at you, unyielding, many words passing through it until he leans even closer.

“I don’t know what it was like… on your side,” he starts, so near your skin. “But it wasn’t easy for me either. I mean, when I left… You were always in my mind, it was… well painful. There was actually one day, one single day I didn’t think about you. And it was the day I-”

He waited for you to recoil as he didn’t have the will to continue, a chance to tell him that you had moved on, that he was alone in his affection, but when you gave him none, he leaned even closer.

It felt like the ghost of a kiss first, shy but burningly present, before you let him in and your mouths meet with soft yearning, noses brushing against each other’s cheeks. His hand was grazing the inside of your elbow, sending a tickling sensation that spread through your whole body and you craved for more, gently flattening your own palm over his chest.

It felt so right, so easy but so meaningful at the same time that you couldn’t think of anything other than how much you had missed it, him. How much you wanted more, all of it.

You barely part from each other, breathing each other’s air as his hand shoots to settle below your jaw securely, making you tilt your head further to him.

“Finally…” he breathes as he sets his eyes on you, eyelashes brushing your skin. “Been thinking about kissing you for days.”

“Only for days?”

You feel his smile more than you see it, his thumb grazing at the underside of your jaw. “Well, more like years really, but I’m not really the romantic kind, so…”

You laugh softly before closing your eyes again and leaning into his touch. “I missed you…”

You feel his emotions spiralling inside of him, willing to respond but unable to do so. So he does what he wants to do most, bringing you to his lips again, hoping it would be enough to convey what he felt.

And it does, overwhelming affection and longing aimed at you and soon there is no more sloppy kiss, no more grazing of lips but chasing mouths, chasing skins and your bodies clash softly as the kiss deepens.

He holds you so tight you’re afraid you won’t be able to leave anymore, unwilling to and you feel your mind filling with fog when a lazy tongue trails below your mouth and down your jaw, tasting you. “Tom… We shouldn’t, they’re upstairs…”

His tongue stops but not his touch, neither the desire you feel for him as he presses his forehead against yours. “We’ll be quiet… We’ll be good.”

“Not too good.”

He arches a brow, deeply surprised at your words, until a smirk comes tugging at his mouth. “I can’t promise anything.”

His gaze is burning, enticingly so and there is the soft caress of your hair to ask for permission before he takes your mouth again. You grab his hair while he grabs your hips, gently lowering down on the sofa in a clash of tongues. 

When you meet his hips, straddling his laps with force, he groans. “Shit… I don’t have anything.”

“No seath?” you breath as you look back at him, his face cupped between your palms.

“Yeah… And given our… compatibility…”

You see the slight frown over his eyes, seriousness mixed with lust inside of it and you can’t help but smile fondly as you kiss him again. “We’ll make do… I trust you,” you whisper, cupping his jaw.

“Hm…,” he groans, feeling you press further into him. “Famous last words, but wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”

You laugh, trying not to be loud, the closed door reassuring you as you fall down into him. The familiar sting inside of your stomach is tightened when you feel his arousal, and the sensation makes the fog in your mind thickens.

He goes slow, like enjoying every minute of it, unwilling to rush, making every moment count, turning you over so he can lap at your skin and thrust into his lower stomach better, wishing to spur the desire in him.

It’s not the first time, but it feels brand new, like making up for all of these years, different in what you’re willing to admit, willing to express through each of your touches, each of your kisses. He makes you see stars, he makes you feel whole. His hands are at all the right places and his mouth is everything you need, nothing feels more satisfying.

He makes you feel dizzy, and you enjoy the feeling of him inside of you. “Fuck, Tommy I-”

His thrusts slow down a bit, still firm and unforgivingly pleasurable. “Tommy? You’ve never called me that before, love.”

“I… I’m sorry, don’t know what came over me,” you blush, panting as you gaze up at him.

He brings his mouth closer to yours, and you can see the blown pupils, the blackness spread inside the blue. “I like it… Say it again.”

You blink rapidly, his tip twitching inside of you and when you do so, you feel him smile against your mouth. “That’ll be ours, just between us… Our thing.”

His thrusts become fiercer, and you have to bite down your lips to stop yourself from moaning loudly,  the knots in your stomach untying one by one and then everything unfolding at once, waves of pleasure hitting you like a heavy and amazing pressure.

The delightful eternity that comes next feels like a warm cocoon as you cling into him, feeling his urgency to leave your warmth before you feel his seed cover your stomach.

You laugh softly, feeling him finally relax by your side, the dazzling fog slowly leaving your mind.

Then, in the blissful silence of regressive breaths, you feel his settle quicker, tenser. “I’m sorry I left.”

You leave the sound of his heart for the colour of his eyes, catching the glimpse of guilt he let appear there again. The guilt you would slain in a heartbeat if you could.

“No, you had too,” you whisper, adamant. “I understand, Tom.”

When you see his eyes soften, you return to your quiet contemplation of his heartbeat, beating against his chest where you rest. Content at the moment. 

“Je t’aime.”

You freeze, not sure if your own heart beats at all, looking back at Tom, making sure he understood the words he just said. “... Are you saying that because I’m-”

“I’m saying that because I mean it. I meant it years ago, when you wouldn't let me say it, and I mean it now.”

You smile, overwhelmed by the sensation that courses all over your body, not recognising any of the glee of it.

“I love you too.”

The platform is cold, wind wheezing in and out of the station as you press yourself around Tom.

“Anyone you know on the train?” Lois asks, looking around.

“Nah,” Tom answers, shaking his head. “We’ll all be on that ship soon, anyway.”

You say nothing, thinking about that letter, left on the kitchen table. That missive that arrived too soon to your taste.

Calling him back to fight.

“Going for warmer waters this time, eh?” Douglas says with a half-made smile.

Tom only nods, dropping his bag on the floor carelessly. You can sense something is bothering him as he turns to you. “Can I see you for a minute?”

He takes you away by the elbow, only feet away from where the rest are, Marcel looking a bit fearful as you walk away.

You say nothing, not sure of how to even make your tongue work at that moment, thinking that in an hour, he won’t be there at your side anymore. He won’t be there to talk, make you laugh, hug you, kiss you…

But you don’t have time to think of anything to say when he takes a ring out of one of his pockets, making you speechless either way.

“This is a ring…” he begins, lowly, gauging your reaction. “That I’ve kept. It’s not a real one,” he adds quickly.

“You stole it, didn’t you?” you tease, looking down at the jewel, interested and intrigued now.

“Well… I found it,” he smiles more broadly. “But I promise to buy you a better one when I get back. I mean if you…”

The words get lost on his lips, but you don’t have to hear them, only feel them, want them. “I do. I do Tom, so much.”

He sighs in relief, and your foreheads connect, taking in the other, the essence of it. A kiss comes after, the last before a long time, you tell yourself.

“Promise me to come back.”

He only smiles, a big one, as you’ve never seen before. But his eyes are sad behind it, mournful as he says nothing more. He takes your hands, squeezing hard as he leads you back to the group, hopping up Marcel in his arms. 

“Take care of your mum, yeah? Do everything like I’d do,” he winks, resulting in his son’s smile. 

“Uh, maybe not?” Lois says, unsure, a fearful glim in her eyes.

“Kidding,” shrugs Tom in her direction before coming to hug her.

When it’s Douglas' turn, all can see the man’s uneasiness, feel the time he lost with his son he wants to buy back, the things he wants to say but never learned how.

“Don’t worry dad. This time I’m not going with regrets.”

End.

Thank you @cyeco13 for that amazing fanart! She has been very patient and as always, very talented and encaptured that moment like I wanted. This is just so cute and I am very grateful to you, you're always the sweetest. Thank you again! People, ENJOY that art (it's an order).

Thank you @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan for the beta reading, and being there from the beginning.

A/N: Even though France was "free" and Hitler dead, war was still going on sadly. Until that dreadful moment of August.

I'm very glad I've finished that fic. I'm sorry it took so long (some might say I was being accurate with the fic timeline?) I'm going to miss Tom a lot.

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