#watm

When her cheeks cooled down and she’d assumed some semblance of composure, Millie resumed her walk to work. Really, she lectured herself, he might not even be waiting for her. She wasn’t the only wireless operator who worked in the tower, let alone the only person who worked in there - he could have been waiting for anyone, one of his superiors included. But when she got close to the door he turned, as though sensing her, and straightened his posture. The way he was looking at her told her she’d been right; he was there for her.

“Harlow,” he greeted coolly.

“Brady,” she replied. “You’re not even flying today and yet you’re still here to lecture me on my skills as a wireless op. That’s true dedication, Brady, really, but I can assure you you’re the only pilot on this base who takes any issue with the way I do my job.”

Brady’s lips turned down in a sour approximation of a smile but he didn’t retort, as she might have expected. Instead, he said quietly, “About last night -”

Hearing him acknowledge it while the sun was high in the sky, while she was looking directly into his eyes and watching his lips move, while no single part of him was concealed by darkness and no single part of her was, either, was too much. Millie felt her stomach flip and her hands start to sweat. She hurried to cut across him, “Nothing happened last night.”

Brady raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh? So I must’ve dreamed that we kissed.”

“I’m sure it’s a dream you have often,” Millie replied. “Not to worry, you wouldn’t be the only one.”

He rolled his eyes. “We kissed, Harlow, and you know it.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. But, regardless, when he opened his mouth to reply she took him by the elbow and towed him behind her around the back of the tower, away from prying eyes and ears who may have been curious to know what the two of them were arguing about this time.

“So -” Brady began when they were alone.

Again, Millie cut him off. “We didn’t kiss.”

Brady scoffed. “We did. Twice, in fact.”

“Why would I ever kiss you?” Millie demanded, squeezing her hands into fists and tucking them behind her back. “I don’t even like you.”

Brady was smirking even as he rolled his eyes at her. “You don’t need to be so defensive about it. I was just coming here to say it’s never gonna happen again. So, you know, don’t get your hopes up or anything.”

He was so self-righteous, convincing himself he was letting her down gently. He’d come here thinking he was rejecting her?

“Don’t get my hopes up?” Millie echoed with a scoff. “How typical of you, to convince yourself that you’ve got the upper hand. What, did you fancy that I’ve been twirling my hair and kicking my feet, waiting for you to come ask me to marry you?”

Brady shrugged. “Something like that.”

“You’re a real arsehole.”

“But am I wrong?”

“Yes!” Millie cried. “If you remember correctly, you kissed me!”

“You kissed me after!” Brady exclaimed right back at her.

“A major lapse in judgement!” she defended herself.

“On my part as well,” Brady hissed.

Millie scoffed. “You grabbed my arm and took me away from the club -”

“To talk -”

“We could’ve done that outside the club! We didn’t need to be in some alley to argue, we do it everyday!”

“Maybe I didn’t want everyone overhearing!”

“Everyone’s overheard us a million times before,” Millie pointed out. Now her eyebrows were raised with palpable suspicion. “Why did you only decide it mattered last night? Hm? And only after you interrupted my dance with Benny?”

Brady stared her down. He had no answer for her. Millie could tell by the twisting of his lips and the way his fingers were twitching in his pockets, straining against the fabric of his trousers like he was pressing down on the keys of his saxophone, that he was fighting for a viable explanation.

Her eyes were dancing. Her smile was smug. “Because you wanted to kiss me,” she deduced. “Admit it. There’s no shame in it, Brady, you’d hardly be the first man who’s wanted to.”

“You’re so goddamn arrogant,” he snarled. “You’re the last woman on this base I’d want to kiss, Harlow. The very last.”

“Yes, because the ladies are just lining up for you, Brady, you miserable -”

“I don’t see anyone else tripping over themselves to fall at your feet,” Brady cut her off.

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Yes, you do.”

“So why don’t you go for them? Why do you spend all your time in the club staring at me?” Now Brady was smug, removing his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest.

Millie scowled. “I do not stare at you.”

“You do.”

“Only if I feel you glaring at me.”

“I only glare at you when I feel you staring.”

“Chicken and egg,” Millie replied. “It’s beside the point. The point is, you took me to that alley last night because you wanted to kiss me.” Her eyes were penetrating, fiery, as they bore into his. “Admit it,” she said slowly, savouring the taste of the words.

“No,” Brady said lowly. “I didn’t want to kiss you, Harlow. In your dreams.”

“You didn’t want to,” Millie repeated, “and yet you did. You did kiss me. And you wanted to. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Admit it.”

“No.”

Millie took a step closer to him, craning her neck back to maintain the hold she had on his eyes. Her smirk was small and yet it was there, playing at the corners of her lips. Her gaze, she knew, was sultry.

Close enough that they could hold a sheet of paper aloft between them, Millie lowered her voice to only barely above a whisper. She gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Admit it, John.”

She could only admit to herself that she’d wanted him to kiss her when he did, when he had her pressed up against the wall of the tower, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her hip, tugging it towards him. Just like last night, his lips were fast and feverish, desperate against her own, like he was worried this would be the last time he’d ever get to touch her like this.

She couldn’t find it within herself to resent herself for kissing back. Just like last night, it was addictive. She’d never been kissed like this, never kissed anyone like this either. Kissing was something entirely other when it was done with John Brady.

His hands kept to modest areas but the heat they trailed may as well have been against her bare skin. As his hand slid up from her hip, past her waist and over her shoulder, up to the back of her neck beneath her hair, as his other hand slid down from her cheek and drew across to the centre of her back, encouraging her to arch up off the wall into him, the hold he had on her felt more intimate than anything she’d ever done with any other man.

It was just kissing.

Why did it feel like so much more?

When they drew apart briefly, so briefly, for breath, it was just enough time for Millie to gasp, “So you did want to kiss me!”

It was also just enough time for Brady to reply, “Shut up,” right before he caught her lips in another searing kiss, slower than the last and somehow more intense because of it.

Millie wanted to take advantage of their closeness and put her hands all over him the way he was doing to her, but she could not for the life of her seem to get her hands out of his hair. It was exactly as soft as she’d imagined - maybe even softer - and the way he groaned lowly into her mouth when she tugged on it just a little bit too hard was more intoxicating than any alcohol she’d ever consumed.

She knew she was making a mess of him. Knew that he’d have to go all the way back to his hut to redo his hair in the bathroom, return the strands to their rightful positions meticulously like he did every morning - as she imagined, at least. And it brought her joy to imagine him having to hurry back there to do it, lest he get caught and anyone ask why he looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge. He’d have an excellent time trying to explain this, she was sure; the way his tongue was licking hotly into her mouth, the way his hands were dragging reverently over her curves, the way he was pressing his body into hers - all of it would be a tough thing to explain to anyone without blushing.

The foggy haze smothering Millie’s critical thinking cleared only when she heard Freddie’s voice, presumably talking to Jem as the two of them walked to the tower. They’d been taking forever to get ready this morning so Millie had left ahead of them; they would know that something was off if Millie was later than them into work.

Carefully, this time, and with significantly less force, Millie placed her hands on John’s chest and pushed him back. When he started to speak she covered his mouth, narrowing her eyes to make him remain silent, and the two of them listened to Freddie and Jem talking about breakfast before they disappeared into the tower, their voices fading away.

Millie kept her hand over John’s mouth for a few more beats, just to be safe, before finally letting it fall away and sighing. Leaning back against the tower once more, her breaths came heavy, her chest heaving. Still, she found resolve enough within herself to murmur, “Tell no one,” and with that pushed herself upright, skirting around the side of the building and heading into work. She would tell Freddie and Jem she’d been in the bathroom, she decided. There was no reason for them to suspect a thing.

*

If anyone asked Millie why she was taking so long getting ready tonight, she’d have no real excuse. They all went to the officers’ club often and, yes, they put effort into their appearances, setting their hair nicely and straightening their uniforms and freshening up their makeup after the workday, but no one went to this length. Millie had taken a shower and brushed her teeth and redone her hair and makeup entirely, had put on a fresh pair of tights and the pair of fancy earrings her parents had gotten her for Christmas which she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to wear. She repainted her nails and put on hand cream, plucked her eyebrows and shaved her upper lip.

If anyone asked, she would have to lie.

“Someone you’re trying to impress, Mils?” Jem asked when Millie finally emerged from the bathroom. It was only she and Freddie left in the bedroom of their hut, sitting on their respective beds with their shoes on and their eyes bored, as though they’d been ready and waiting for a while.

“Got all sweaty today,” Millie explained, trying to be casual about it. “Tried to keep my face away from the shower water but when I washed my hair it ruined my makeup so I had to start again.”

“Are you wearing new earrings?” Freddie inquired curiously.

Millie felt herself blushing. She prayed she’d put on enough makeup to hide it. “Got them for Christmas,” she confirmed. “Mum wrote me in her last letter asking if I’d worn them yet and I lied and said yes, so I thought I should probably put them on.”

Freddie smiled, accepting this readily, innocent little flower as she was. “They’re pretty,” she offered. “They make your eyes strikingly green.”

Millie smiled back at her. “Thanks, Fred. And you’re gorgeous as always. You too, Jem.”

“A compliment from Millie Harlow?” Jem gasped in mock shock. “What’s the matter, Mils, you got an upset tummy? Are we all set to be smelling the contents of your stomach when we go to bed tonight?”

Freddie scoffed. “Jem, that is vile.”

Millie just rolled her eyes. “D’you want that drink I owe you tonight, Jem, or do you want me to conveniently forget that it’s my round?”

Jem clamped her mouth shut immediately. “I want that drink,” she said as she rose from her bed.

Millie smiled smugly. “Yes,” she said, “that’s what I thought.”

Millie didn’t speak during the walk to the officers’ club. Her mind was filled with thoughts of one man, of his stupid smirk and his stupid soft hair and his stupid saxophone, which he was no doubt set to spend half the night married to. She tried to imagine what he might say to her, how he might look at her, whether he might try to get her alone. Did she even want him to get her alone? Did she even want to talk to him?

All too suddenly, Jem was pushing into the club and holding the door for Freddie and Millie behind her, then leading them to the bar.

“I’ll have a pint, thanks, Mils,” Jem declared, draping herself over the only available space at the bar with a twinkle in her eye.

Millie rolled her eyes. “I know what you’ll have, you little ponce, because you have the same thing every night.”

“Lemonade, please, Mils,” Freddie added.

Millie scoffed. “No, Fred. Wine or nothing.”

“What is your problem with me and my lemonade?!” Freddie complained, pouting.

Millie simply laughed, leaning past Jem when Atley the barman approached to take their order.

They’d gotten to the club too late tonight to secure themselves a table, so, once they all had their drinks, the three of them found an empty patch of wall to lean against and surveyed the room and its occupants.

Millie kept her eyes carefully diverted from the band just in case Brady was looking at her. She didn’t want to seem eager.

“Your makeup looks nice tonight, Mils,” Freddie spoke into the brief quiet which had fallen. “Did you get a new lipstick?”

“Borrowed Jem’s,” Millie replied easily, taking a sip from her beer.

Beside her, Jem sputtered. “Disgusting.”

“We’re all friends here,” Millie dismissed her.

“It suits you,” Freddie said. “A paler shade of red, no?”

Millie smiled at her sidelong. “I think so. Thanks, Fred.”

Freddie hummed her acceptance of this thanks.

Millie couldn’t take it any longer. Her eyes sought Brady of their own accord, as though they were being pulled there by magnets, and she met his gaze instantly. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her but she liked to think it was a while.

As such, she refused to be the one to break eye contact. She raised her eyebrows at him, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips, before lifting her glass to her lips and taking a slow sip.

Even from all the way over here she could see the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

Her smile was sweet when she lowered her glass.

Brady looked away, turning back to his sheet music.

If Millie didn’t know better, she would have thought she could spy a pale blush in his cheeks.

Millie kept an eye on Brady the entire time the band was playing, trying to force herself to find his saxophone playing unattractive and failing miserably. She only half-listened to the conversation going on around her, mumbling yeses and nos when asked any questions, smiling and laughing when she thought it was appropriate. When some of the other airmen joined them briefly she greeted them warmly but couldn’t help the glances she shot over their shoulders at their fellow pilot where he was playing with the band.

No one noticed, she thought. That was, until she caught Benny DeMarco smirking.

“Something catch your eye, Mils?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet enough that no one else acknowledged their private conversation.

Millie was starkly conscious of the burning in her cheeks. “What?”

Benny shrugged but there was an amused smile playing at his lips. “You just seem awfully interested in the band tonight. ‘S all.”

“I’m not,” Millie replied hastily. “I just - Brady, he - he’s -”

“Staring?” Benny finished for her.

“Yes.” She tipped her chin up defiantly.

“That makes two of you,” Benny observed.

Millie took a long sip of her beer to buy herself time - so long, in fact, that she ended up finishing it. When her glass was empty and she had nothing else to distract herself with, she finally replied, “If you’re trying to imply something, Benny, why don’t you just come right out and say it?”

Infuriatingly, Benny laughed. “Something you want me to say, Mils?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Benny said easily. “Funny. Neither was he.”

To anyone else, the timing would have been coincidental. Well, to anyone except Benny. But, secretly, Millie knew exactly what she was doing when she declared she was getting another drink about halfway through the last of the band’s songs.

She was still waiting to order when she felt someone come up on her other side at the bar. “Harlow,” he said.

“Brady,” she replied without turning to look at him.

He laughed. “You spend the whole night staring at me from across the room but won’t even look at me when I’m right beside you?”

“How would you know what I’ve been doing all night,” Millie replied, “unless you’ve been staring back?”

He scoffed but left that line of debate alone.

“Not dancing with any of your thousands of suitors?” he ventured instead.

Millie smiled to herself, tracking Atley as he moved around the bar, preparing drinks for other patrons. “Jealous, are we?”

Brady scoffed lowly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Still smiling, Millie shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter much to me.”

“I think it would.”

“Think what you like, Brady.”

“Do you wanna dance?” he asked suddenly.

Millie’s eyes shot to his. She blinked at him. “You mean, with you?”

“No,” Brady drawled, “with Meatball.” He rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, with me.”

Millie fought to keep her voice level. “Why would I want to dance with you?”

Brady didn’t take the bait. “I don’t know, Harlow,” he replied simply, staring at her hard, his gaze smouldering, “why would you want to dance with me?”

Swallowing hard, Millie searched his face for a sign he was making fun of her but she came up empty. For once, he looked entirely in earnest. And the longer she took to answer, the more he started to fidget. He was uncertain, she realised. Nervous, maybe.

He thought she was going to say no.

“One dance,” Millie decided, putting both of them out of their misery. “And if you step on my toes you’re dead.”

“Worry about yourself, Harlow,” Brady replied easily, offering his palm to her. “I’ve seen you dance, you’re no Rita Hayworth.”

“And yet, you still want to dance with me,” Millie teased, laying her hand in his. Instantly, he curled his fingers around hers.

“Charity work,” Brady said as he started to lead her to the dance floor.

Millie rolled her eyes.

The two of them had never danced together. The first time they’d even touched had been last night, and they’d been completely alone. With everyone around, in the midst of a sea of couples, it should have felt awkward, uncomfortable, clunky, trying to figure out how they fit together as dance partners. But it didn’t. They slotted together as naturally and as easily as puzzle pieces, the wrong ones forcibly attached for so long that the right ones clicked instantly.

The song was slow. For better or for worse, that gave them time to talk.

Millie could not, for the life of her, keep her eyes off his lips.

“What were you and Benny talking about?” Brady asked when they started to sway together.

Millie let out an amused huff of breath. “None of your business.”

“Did he ask you to dance?”

“No.” He was asking me about you.

“Something about you looks different.”

Better? “New lipstick.”

“Right.”

“I borrowed it from Jem.” Silly thing to say. Why would he care?

“It’s - uh -” He cleared his throat.

Millie’s eyes drew up his face until she could meet his gaze. “It’s what?”

“Nothing,” he decided.

Millie nodded. His gaze was intense. “So you hate it,” she said.

He shook his head. The hold he had on the small of her back tightened slightly. “I don’t hate it,” he assured her softly.

If they had been alone, the both of them knew they would have been kissing by now. How quickly they’d fallen into a routine. This time yesterday they’d only ever dreamed about it, and only late, late at night when it was impossible to hide anything from yourself. Now it was something of a habit, unavoidable when they were in each other’s presence.

It was all either of them could think about.

 “I, uh,” Brady began. He tilted his head down closer to hers, speaking so softly his voice felt like feathers. “I’m flying again tomorrow.”

Millie nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of her head. “I know,” she replied. “I work here.”

“Right.” He smiled and breathed a laugh.

Millie smiled right back at him.

“Good luck,” she offered quietly. “On your mission.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. He was staring so deeply into her eyes she felt like she was under a microscope. “I might - uh - I might get you on the radio.”

Millie laughed softly at this. “Only if you’re unlucky.”

He didn’t laugh with her, only kept on gazing deep into her eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed after a moment, when the joke had already passed.

It was impossible not to kiss him when he was looking at her like this, so Millie looked away. She set her eyes over his shoulder at the group of friends she’d left behind, watched as Jem joked with Benny and Freddie played with Meatball, as Dougie leaned lazily against the wall and Hambone came ambling over.

Millie and John were quiet for the rest of the song. Neither of them noticed, but they curled into each other more and more as time wore on, like a pair of mourning doves.

When the song ended and the next was ready to start, they untangled themselves from each other. They gave each other a nod, all formality as they tried to think up something, anything, to say, and parted ways without saying a word. They had only agreed on one dance, after all.

*

“Harlow,” Brady said as he came up behind her. “Can we talk?”

Silently, Millie sighed. She didn’t turn to look at him. “About what?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re talking,” he said. “In private.”

Millie knew exactly what that meant. They’d done this enough times by now to establish a pattern.

“I’m not in the mood to talk in private with you right now, Brady,” she said quickly, coolly. Freddie was having nightmares again - she hadn’t had nightmares since she’d first transferred to Thorpe Abbotts - so Millie had been up half the night trying to soothe her back to sleep. And Jem wasn’t very well - she’d gone home for the weekend and come back with food poisoning. Not to mention the fact that all this sneaking around was starting to make Millie anxious. She and Freddie and Jem didn’t keep secrets from each other, it wasn’t how they operated. It had taken a lot of courage for Freddie to tell them about Daniel, to open herself up to reliving the trauma of losing her soulmate if just so that Millie and Jem could know her entirely and understand her entirely, too. It felt wrong, after that, to hide this from them - from Freddie especially. She’d never had a friend like Freddie. It wasn’t right that she comforted Freddie about nightmares about her lost love, listened to her recount the gory details of his death and how she’d found out while she assured her everything was going to be okay, all the while sneaking around behind her back with a pilot of her own.

It felt wrong. Dirty. Millie wasn’t sure how she’d even gotten herself into this situation in the first place.

Brady wasn’t so easily dismissed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, falling into step beside her. When she didn’t spare him a glance he hissed out a sigh between his teeth and took a gentle hold of her elbow, tugging her behind him into the alley between buildings. Just like that very first time. The way it had all begun.

“Is this going to keep happening between us?” Millie demanded before Brady could get a word out. “You ask me to talk, in private, we fight, we kiss, and then we pretend to hate each other again. Is this the way it’s always going to be?”

Brady looked bewildered, like she’d just thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. He blinked at her for a few moments, his mouth half-open as he processed her words, and then he clamped it closed and said, “I’m only following your lead, Mils. You don’t exactly go out of your way to give me the time of day when we’re with everyone else.”

Millie rolled her eyes and turned away from him, staring at the patch of sky visible between the edges of the two buildings. “I won’t let you make me into an idiot, John,” she told him firmly. “Men have messed me around before and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Then what do you want from me, Mils?” John demanded. He reached for her hands but she wouldn’t let him take them. “You’re so goddamn difficult to read,” he said. “One second I think you like me, the next I think you’re about to knock my head off my shoulders. One second you act like you wanna dance with me, the next you’re dancing with Benny.” He shook his head with a low scoff. “You want me to show up at your door with roses when you won’t even make it clear to me what you want?”

Millie ground her teeth together and crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t think, for a moment, how on earth she wanted to reply. She could be vulnerable or she could be venomous, could pour her heart out to him or make him out to be delusional. She didn’t know which was wiser.

“I hate roses,” she said after a beat. “They’re cliché. And prickly. Any man who gets me roses is a man who doesn’t really know me - or really like me, more to the point.”

John didn’t say anything.

Millie’s heart was pounding in her ears as she ventured, “A man who was really after my heart would know to buy lilies.”

John was quiet for a moment. And then: “Lilies?”

“Orange lilies,” Millie confirmed softly. “They’re my favourite.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she felt the change in the air around him when his posture loosened and he started to smile. “Of course they are,” he said.

Finally, she turned back to him, but only to narrow her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s so like you,” he said, grinning. “Red roses are everywhere. I can’t remember the last time I saw an orange lily.”

“Maybe you just weren’t looking,” Millie said.

John was still grinning, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. “Do you know how long it’d take a guy to find you orange lilies?”

“If he really liked me, he wouldn’t mind, would he?” Millie fired back, tilting her chin up defiantly. “One day I’ll meet a man who would welcome the challenge because he just wants to make me happy. Don’t concern yourself about it, I’ll find him.”

His smile became strained, hard. “I’m not concerned about it,” he informed her evenly.

“I know you’re not,” she replied. “You’re content to kiss me in dark alleyways like some sort of -”

“Why do you always insist on arguing?!” Brady demanded, cutting her off. “Just when we’re making progress! You shut me out at every available opportunity, send me mixed signals and then complain that I’m not dropping to the ground and shoving an engagement ring in your face!”

“I wouldn’t want you to shove an engagement ring in my face, Brady,” Millie hissed, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “Forget I ever even said anything. I’d be embarrassed if anyone found out I’ve been entertaining your little charade.” She was being spiteful and she knew it but she was embarrassed, so embarrassed, that he was calling her out on her vulnerability. She’d tried to hide it, tried to be casual, but he could see right through her - of course he could! He always did. And now he was making fun of her for wanting more from him than whatever casual arrangement they’d fallen into. It was clear to her now that she’d misread him, had taken for granted that good Catholic boys only ever behaved as such when in reality they only behaved that way with women they were serious about.

Brady’s smile was bitter and full of disbelief. “Mils, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” she snapped. “You won, Brady. You made me into an idiot. Thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t make you into anything,” Brady disagreed. “All I’ve ever done is try to be nice to you -”

“Oh, is that what all this was? You were just being nice? Taking pity on me? God forbid you ever actually listen to a word I say, Brady, but for the last time, you are not the only man who has ever shown an interest in me, hard as that may be for you to believe! Your charity work is over. Congratulations, you passed with flying colours.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?!” Brady demanded as she started to storm away from him. His footsteps were loud and echoing as he followed after her.

“Just leave me alone, Brady, for god’s sake,” Millie said over her shoulder. “Go back to ATA-Alice or literally anyone else, I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

Brady slowed to a stop, watching in utter bewilderment as Millie turned the corner and stomped off elsewhere. He really and truly had no idea what had just happened. But did he ever, really, with her? She was as infuriating as she was fascinating. He couldn’t stay away from her if he tried, and he had no interest in trying.

*

There was a rose waiting for her on her desk on Monday morning. A single red rose, all by itself, and Millie wasn’t sure whether to smile or scowl.

“Idiot,” she muttered, and the smile won out.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, Mils,” Freddie remarked as she took a seat at her own desk. “Did they leave a note?”

“No,” Millie said, still staring down at the rose. Tentatively, she reached out and picked it up, bringing it to her nose to smell.

“Who’s buying you roses?” Jem asked as she took her seat on Millie’s other side.

Millie smiled to herself as she set the rose back down and sat down in her desk chair. “No idea.”

Work that day could not have dragged on any longer. Millie felt like she was being suffocated by the many, many hours which stretched out before her. But, eventually, all the ATA pilots and all of the outgoing planes returned - those which were ever going to return, that was - and she was dismissed.

The other girls went straight to dinner.

Millie knew where she’d find the mastermind behind the stupid rose.

“Save me a seat!” she called over her shoulder to Freddie, Jem, and the rest of the wireless ops. “I’ll only be a minute!” She’d deliberately spilt water on her blouse right before the end of the workday to give herself an excuse to head back to the nissen huts. She wasn’t sure whether she’d really only be a minute. She didn’t think so.

True to prediction, John Brady was dawdling in the grass outside her hut when she approached. He didn’t see her just yet, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted back as he squinted into the sunlight, but she stopped a few metres away so she could really look at him.

He had no business being as handsome as he was. All boyish smiles and innocent blue eyes, biting wit and soft, fluffy hair. How was she ever supposed to come up against him in any significant way when he looked the way he did, said the things he did, acted the way he did? She’d been powerless from the start.

“You,” she called as she finally set her legs back into motion, “are such an arse, John Brady! Even when you’re nice you’re an arse!”

John was grinning when he turned to her. He shrugged. “A little birdie told me you like roses.”

Millie rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle shove when she came to a stop before him. “Shut up,” she said.

She kissed him, then, and couldn’t have given any logical reason for why other than she wanted to. She really, really wanted to.

He certainly wasn’t hurrying to make any complaints.

They wrapped themselves up in each other immediately, instinctively, like this was where they belonged and every second they spent apart was a second the world was off kilter. Anyone might have walked by for any reason and yet neither of them paid the outside world any mind. All of their attention, focus, thoughts were solely on each other.

When they pulled apart they were breathless, so close their chests pressed together as they breathed.

John was smirking. Because of course he was.

“If I knew I was gonna get a kiss anyway,” he said, all cocky and pleased with himself, “I wouldn’t have run around the whole of East Anglia trying to find these.”

He stepped away and Millie reached for him. His smile was soft as he took hold of both of her hands and pressed gentle kisses to the backs of both of them. Then he disappeared behind the door of her hut and emerged a moment later, still smiling, with a bouquet of orange lilies in one hand.

Millie’s smile ached in her cheeks. “You didn’t,” she said.

John shrugged. “I like to think I have my moments.”

“Where did you find them?” she demanded, accepting them from him and cradling them to her chest like a puppy.

John was grinning as he watched her. “Some East Anglian town. I couldn’t pronounce the name even if I remembered it.” He breathed a laugh. “But I thought they might make you happy, so they were worth the trip.” You were worth the trip. Worth an entire weekend pass spent looking for one bouquet of flowers.

Millie was still smiling wildly as she stepped back towards him, still cradling her flowers close to her chest. “Did they take you long to find?”

“A little.” He shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”

Her smile turned sheepish. “I feel like I need to make a confession.”

John’s heart dropped. “Oh.” She had a boyfriend. Or she had a husband. Or she didn’t even like him in that way. Or -

“I actually love roses.”

His jaw fell open.

Millie was grinning. “Oops?”

“Millie Harlow,” John said, fastening his hands on her hips and tugging her to him, shaking his head with a wide smile on his lips, “you are such a pain in my ass.”

“We probably should’ve asked for your preferences, but I just decided to give you a bit of everything,” Shuri chuckles. She sets the tray on your nightstand and smooths out the wrinkles in the skirt of her dress. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m just…overwhelmed, I guess,” you answer. “I mean, this whole situation, these powers, the fact that I still don’t really know a lot about me…I don’t think I’ve really processed it all.” Shuri sits on your bedside ruminating over the possible options she has for you. She doesn’t want to cause your anxiousness to reemerge, but she does want to get you started in the right direction towards healing, even if that means she doesn’t have all the exact answers you’re looking for.

“What if we could find someone who knew how to help you? Someone with similar abilities,” Shuri asks. You awkwardly clear your throat when the first person that crosses your mind just so happens to be that pesky god of mischief. Shuri notices the grimace that quickly crosses your face and mistakes it for a negative response. “Or we can -”

“Actually, I’d appreciate that,” you ease. “There was someone…right before you found me, he told me he’d been through something similar. I never got his name, but if I saw him again I would recognize him.” Shuri pulls your tablet off of your nightstand to quickly pull up some familiar profiles from the Wakandan data files. 

“Here,” she says, handing the tablet to you. “If you recognize anyone -”

“I know most of these faces,” your brows furrow seeing the collection of people who refused to mind their own business. “You know them?” 

“We do. They are friends of ours,” Shuri says cautiously. “They are all part of the Avengers.” That word causes you to immediately tense, moreso at the thought that the stranger you immediately found attractive was active in this group. 

“So what’s their deal? They just run around looking for damsels in distress?” Shuri huffs out a laugh.

“More or less,” she confirms. “‘Earth’s best defenders’ is what people usually call them.”

“How subtle,” you chide back. Scrolling down the page, you are near the bottom when you see him. Your heart stutters for a moment, both at seeing him again but also the disappointment that he’s associated with them more than you realize. 

“Him,” you tap in his photo and his entire profile appears on the screen. Shuri’s eyes widened briefly.

“Loki of Asgard,” she reads over your shoulder. “Makes sense, he is a sorcerer, extremely powerful. A great choice for an ally on your part.” She catches the way you shift uncomfortably and smirks to herself. 

“Plus, he’s relatively easy on the eyes.” You whip your head towards her and can’t form a sentence.

“Oh, I, uh, I mean yeah, I guess -”

“It’s alright,” Shuri chuckles. “I agree, he is most likely the best person for the job. T’Challa and I can pay him a visit tomorrow.” You nod and sigh in her direction.

“Thank you again. I can’t even begin to repay you for everything you’ve done for me,” you smile. 

“No repayment necessary,” Shuri replies, standing from the edge of your bed. She turns back to look at you from the doorway. “I hope you’re able to find some sort of peace while you’re here.” Shuri exits as the weight slowly but surely eases a little more off of your shoulders. 

“Sir, it appears a Wakandan jet has just landed outside,” Jarvis informs Tony, interrupting both him and Dr. Banner in the middle of a lab project. 

“Were we expecting a visit?” Bruce asks, pushing his clipboard and supplies off to the side.

“Not that I can think of,” Tony replies, turning off the holographic screens surrounding him. “Probably just an update on their outreach center. I heard someone broke into the building last night, maybe they found the guy.” 

Reaching the main conference room, Tony and Bruce are met with a smiling Shuri and T’Challa conversing with Natasha, Steve, Clint, Thor, and Loki. They nod to the two Dora Milaje on either side of the glass door before shaking the siblings' hands in greeting.

“No Barnes or Wilson today?” T’Challa inquires.

“Nah, you know it goes: tracking another super person who keeps evading our heroics requires both an assassin and a soldier,” Tony jokes.

“Remind me why we keep pairing them together? They’re like an old married couple with their bickering,” Clint wonders. The group chuckles as Steve gets right to business.

“Not that we don’t enjoy a surprise visit, but I’m assuming there’s something you might need from us? You usually keep the drop-ins to a minimum unless it’s serious,” Steve addresses.

“Actually, yes. We are looking for the counsel of Prince Loki,” T’Challa’s sentence alone was enough to cause most of the group to freeze in place, tension spreading like quicksand across the entire room. Thor, on the other hand, was ecstatic for his younger brother.

“Well done, Loki,” clapping him jovially on the shoulder. “Your first solo assignment, with a very worthy group, no less.”

“Right,” Loki drags out. “That assignment would be…?”

“We’re hoping to regrow the heart shaped herb, but none of my efforts have succeeded,” Shuri quickly threw out. Loki knows immediately that this isn’t the case, but he wasn’t going to reveal this information quite yet. “While science can do quite a lot, I’m thinking it might just need a little push to fully start the regeneration process.” T’Challa is grateful for his sister’s insert, but it still draws some concern from the other Avengers.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone else? Like Dr. Cho? Or an energy efficient lightbulb?” Tony offers. Loki rolls his eyes, annoyed that they are still weary around him.

“You trusted me to enter the spider-boy’s apartment in your company, you’ve trusted me on missions since. Why is this so different? I’ll still have a superior, it just won’t be any of you.” Loki glances around the room, pausing to wait for an interjection from any of the team. When he hears none, he continues: “Also, if there’s one group I don’t want to anger, it’s not the Avengers…it’s the Dora Milaje.”

“Damn right,” Shuri agrees, turning towards the larger group. “You have our word, if he steps out of line, we will handle it. He’ll be on the next jet home.” Without any valid reason to hold him back, the group exchanges quick but cautions nods in Steve’s direction.

“Alright,” Steve relents. “Best of luck to all of you.” Shuri cheers with a sudden clap, practically dragging Loki out of the conference room. T’Challa makes quick rounds to say proper goodbyes while Loki chuckles at his sister’s eagerness.

“Are you planning on telling me why you really want my help?” Loki questions. Shuri continues to smile with glee as they enter the jet and take a seat on one of the leather-clad benches.

The sun setting against the clear Wakandan sky is a sight you consider yourself lucky to behold. Even with the chaos in the last couple days, you’re almost caught off-guard at how the tension has slowly melted off your body. Your legs are splayed out over the cushioned bench of the window seat in your borrowed room. The stack of pillows supporting your back with the blanket wrapped over your lower half are an almost foreign sensation of comfort, but not at all unwelcome. 

“Fancy meeting you here, dove,” Loki gently interrupts your train of thought as he closes your door behind him. You swivel your head to the left, meeting his gaze with a tiny smile. 

“Seems like you have a bad habit of breaking into stranger’s rooms,” you tease. 

“Well, based on recent events, as do you,” Loki quips back. 

“Touché,” you laugh. “I’m assuming they’ve told you why they whisked you away so quickly.” Loki sits on the bench opposite you. He’s ditched the intricate armor and cape for a simple white t-shirt, navy zip up hoodie, and black sweatpants. You’re still not certain why you feel so at ease in his presence, but you can’t help how your walls start to crumble when he’s around.

“They have,” Loki looks up at you with a timidness you have yet to see from him. “I know technically you had a say in my summoning, but I do want to ask regardless: are you alright with this? I don’t want you to feel pressured or like you can’t do this on your own. If your performance at Parker’s home was any indication, I could probably use some lessons from you.”

“I want this,” you answer quickly. There’s a shift in the air that both of you notice; it feels like you’re answering a lot more than his initial question. Any feelings of disappointment regarding his affiliations were thrown right out the window next to you once he flashes a smile your way and stands, already missing the closer proximity the seat allowed.

“Very well. We’ll start tomorrow,” Loki takes one step towards your door before swerving back to look at you. “Apologies, I realize I’ve never properly introduced myself. My name is Loki, Prince of Asgard, semi-reluctant Avenger,” You think he’s holding his hand out for a handshake, but he catches you completely off guard placing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. Clearing your throat and moving your hair behind your ear, you make an attempt to introduce yourself.

“I, uh…I don’t remember my name yet,” the realization embarrasess you, but Loki is quick to remedy your discomfort. 

“Not to worry, dove. I’m sure it’ll find its way back to you very soon.” Finally, he completes his exit and quietly latches your door shut. It takes you a few seconds before you shake yourself out of your infatuation, already nervous for what tomorrow holds for you and the prince.

An open grass field on an exceptionally sunny day proved to be a perfect spot for you and Loki to test your powers. Borrowing a sectioned-off space typically used for Dora Milaje training, you let out a shaky breath as you close your eyes in concentration.

“Relax, for me,” Loki eases. “We don’t need to perform anything outrageous today.”

“Easy for you to say, you already know how to do everything,” you scoff. You’re currently channeling your golden energy in between your fingers as if you’re twirling a pen in the middle of a writer’s block. 

“Not everything…just most things,” he laughs. “Does that feel alright?” After you nod, he continues. “Wonderful. Now, we’re going to see if you can use your energy to levitate.” Your eyes shoot open as you openly gape at him.

“What happened to ‘nothing outrageous?’” you laugh “You’re literally asking me to test if I can fly. In the air. Off the ground.” Loki laughs alongside you as he demonstrates with his own magic, slowly lifting his body a few feet off the ground. You get lost in awe as he hovers with his signature emerald green formed into bright spheres of energy in the palms of his hands.

“Humor me,” Loki challenges. The energy intensifies in your hands as you center it in your palms. Pushing slightly away from the ground, you let out a surprised squeak as you lift up to meet Loki’s eye level. 

“See? You have more control than you realize,” Loki smiles, already incredibly impressed and proud of your vulnerability.

“Do I?” you retort. A pained look passes over Loki quickly as you both lower yourselves back to the grass. You inhale deeply before taking a seat in your spot. Loki walks to you and places himself across from you, a similar position he met you in yesterday. The silence is comfortable as you gather your thoughts in an attempt to explain your small outburst.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re only trying to help me. I just…these…memories…they’re bad enough when they happen for five seconds. What happens when I learn everything? I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it. What if…what if I’ve hurt people? Done things that were so…awful and I can’t even remember them?” Loki bites his lip in thought as an internal debate spirals in his mind.

“They didn’t tell you much about me, did they?” You shake your head slightly.

“Just that you were easy on the eyes,” You look up as if you can’t believe the words exited your mouth. “Shuri’s words, of course.”

“Of course,” Loki chuckles at your attempt to save face. He sighs before turning to sit beside you, knees hugging his chest with you patiently waiting for his explanation. 

“Before the Avengers, I attempted a takeover of New York City. While all my motivations weren’t necessarily my own, I still did those things. I remember all of it. Honestly, it’s been quite difficult for most people to forgive me…even harder for me to forgive myself.”

“Have you? Forgiven yourself?” Loki’s eyes glance around your face, as if you have that answer hidden within you. He purses his lips and narrows his eyes as he replies.

“I’m not sure. I know there’s not necessarily a perfect solution, no equation for every good deed I attempt that clears away the bad. But nonetheless, I will continue to try. And if it comes down to it, I know you’ll try too. Regardless of anything you may have done, you can always decide to be better.”

“I can already tell you’re a good person, Loki,” you speak almost sheepishly. “You said it yourself, you’re trying, in spite of everything that’s happened. That does make you a better person…well, god in your case.” You both laugh and meet each other in an intense gaze, noticing Loki’s face is definitely closer than it was just seconds ago. You interrupt the moment with a rushed question. 

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Breaking eye contact, you wring your hands in your lap. “You all looked… borderline distraught when I had Thor’s hammer in my hand. What’s the significance?” Loki waits until you’re looking at him again before he tells you.

“It means you’re worthy.”

“Of what?” you ask, looking up at him with big doe-like eyes. Loki has the sudden urge to reply in so many different ways. You’re worthy of peace, of happiness…of love. Instead, he turns back to his mischievous comfort zone.

“Whatever you want.” 

“Oh well that clears up everything,” you sass back, causing a deep laughter to rumble in Loki’s chest.

“Shall we continue?” Loki stands, holding both hands out in front of him. You grasp them without hesitation and giggle at the sudden formality.

“Of course, my prince.” In a second of hesitance, Loki nearly stumbles over his own feet hearing his title come from your sweet melodic voice. While he seems totally calm and collected on the outside, he only has one thought in his mind: he wants to be worthy of you.