#rangerelizabethwrites

Gale is surprised. He’s never known John to turn down a party. Then again, he figures they’ve all changed in some ways throughout the war. Gale’s certainly not going to argue. This scene has never been his favorite, and he’d much prefer a quiet evening alone with John than navigating the packed, boisterous club. 

They slip outside into the cool night air, and John leads them up to the deserted control tower. From there, they can see the flares that the ground crew are sending up in celebration. They look and sound a little too much like the bursts of a fort going up in flames or the sound of a gun firing for Gale’s liking, but he won't be the one to dampen their evening by saying so. 

They sit in comfortable silence, interrupted only by John taking occasional swigs from his flask, which he eventually offers to Gale. Their fingers brush as Gale accepts it. John looks at him in surprise, no doubt thinking of all the times he’s offered Gale a drink in the past only to be turned down. 

“Well, I promised you a drink, didn’t I?” Gale takes a sip, trying not to grimace at the bitter taste.

Passing the flask back, their eyes meet and they fall silent once more. Gale knows they’re both remembering the same moment.

It’s one of those days where there’s not much to do, so the men get restless. Although, one could argue, that’s most days at Stalag Luft III. They’re all deteriorating, physically and mentally, as the days get darker and colder, but John most of all. He stares at the fence more often, walks close to it. Not close enough for the guards to actually do anything, but still closer than what is wise. He lashes out too, at Gale and the other men. The only time it feels like John’s really there is when they curl up together in Gale’s bunk each night to stave off the cold. There, they have whispered exchanges and press silent kisses to each other's lips, and it feels like the Gale and John he remembers from before they landed in this godforsaken place. 

Gale misses John during the day, even when he’s right next to him. Gale resents him too, sometimes, despite the fact that he also loves him with the entirety of his being. He can’t help but feel like all the responsibility the two of them used to carry together has been dumped on his shoulders, and he’s sinking under the weight of it. Can’t help but feel like since John has allowed himself to break down, Gale has to hold it together for the both of them, even though he too feels like he’s coming apart at the seams.

Now, they sit together on the front steps of their quarters. While it’s cold outside, it’s not much warmer in the bunks and they can only stand being cooped up indoors for so long before getting cabin fever. John rubs his hands together, trying to coax some warmth back into his fingers.

“What I wouldn’t give for a strong shot of whiskey right about now. That’d warm us all up right quick,” John says, with a hint of humor in his voice. But when Gale looks over at him, he’s still staring straight ahead. Staring at that damned fence. “Hell, maybe it’d even get you to finally have a drink with me.”

Gale sighs. John’s said barely two words to him all morning and this is what he chooses to break his silence about? Still, it gives Gale an idea. 

“Tell you what, Bucky. When we get out of this on the other side, I will,” Gale promises.

“You serious?” John asks, turning to raise a skeptical eyebrow at him. Yes, look at me, look at me. Don’t look at that fence, Gale wants to beg.

“If it gives you something to look forward to, then sure,” Gale says instead. At that point, Gale probably would have agreed to get roaring, black out drunk with John when they got out, if it would keep him from getting himself killed doing something reckless in the meantime.

“Alright, then,” John chuckles, turning his gaze back away from Gale. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“We’re gonna make it out of here John. I need you to believe that,” Gale says, more seriously now.

John just hums, noncommittal. “Sure, Buck.”

It’s a sickening deja vu to their conversation in Algeria, and Gale can tell John’s not entirely convinced. It’s fair enough—he hadn’t been either, when John had said almost those exact words to him what feels like a lifetime ago. For now, Gale doesn’t know what more he can say to convince him, so he stays quiet. Knowing they’re under watchful eyes but needing to remind himself that John is still there, he places a gentle hand on John’s shoulder, stroking it down to the small of his back before letting it drop.

“So, what now?” John asks quietly, jolting him out of his thoughts. Right, they’re up on the control tower. They made it out. 

“What do you mean?” Gale returns, unsure of what John’s getting at. 

“I mean, we’re going home. What are you gonna do next?”

Gale’s momentarily taken aback by the question. It’s one he’s pondered often as the war drew to a close, but he’s never settled on a clear answer. He’s thought about going back to school or maybe becoming a flight instructor, but the only constant in all his plans has been John. In every life he imagines for himself, John is right there next to him. But now, John is asking him what he’s going to do next as if he’s not going to be involved, and it sets Gale’s heart racing.

“I’m not sure,” Gale admits. “But whatever it is, I’d like to do it with you.” 

It’s a leap of faith. For all the savored private moments they’ve shared during the war, discussion of their future was never one of them. Perhaps initially there had been some unspoken agreement that this only existed within the confines of the war. Or perhaps the future felt too out of reach, considering the long and winding road it had taken for them both to end up back here now. 

Gale’s words hang in the air, before John surges forward, their lips meeting in a messy, heartfelt kiss. Hands come up to cup Gale’s face, and Gale sighs into it. It’s all he’s wanted all evening. A weight feels like it’s been lifted from his shoulders at John’s enthusiastic response to his declaration.

As they part, John’s hands still cradle Gale’s face, his touch soft. “You sure you don’t want to give this up, have a normal life? You could, with Marge.”

Gale’s heart clenches at the suggestion of a life without John. “Do you?”

“Don’t think I ever could,” John says honestly. The fireworks from the ground crew bathe John’s face in swathes of warm orange light, and Gale likens it to the slow burn of happiness now spreading in his chest.

Gale knows it won’t be easy—they’ll never have everything that others can. There will be no public dates, no wedding bands, no meeting the family. What they have can only exist behind closed doors. But in Gale’s opinion, that’s more than enough.

“Neither could I,” Gale declares firmly. “I’ll never give you up.” 

“You sure the whiskey ain’t clouding your judgment?” John teases, eyes sparking with mirth.