The hangar was quiet as JC approached the P-51 Mustang. Moments before, he’d finished a routine maintenance check on the plane, one that it had passed with flying colors; still, he thought that it wouldn’t hurt to give it another quick pass before it went out on what JC hoped was its final mission.
Ducking under a wing, JC wiped his palms down the legs of his coveralls and then went to work checking the tightness of bolts he’d already checked twice before. It was warm, warmer than he’d ever remembered a country night to be, even in June, and he periodically stopped to wipe a sleeve over his brow. Meticulously, he made his way around the plane, checking hoses and oiling springs until he was satisfied that everything was in proper working order.
It was late, almost half twelve, but he wasn’t in the least bit tired. His senses hummed, almost as if there were a storm approaching and he could feel it in every cell. It was like this each time he worked on a plane about to fly into battle, but never more so than when the pilot of the plane was RAF Flight Lieutenant Lance Bass.
Slim, blonde, and quiet, the young officer was a favorite amongst the mechanics assigned to Hangar 139. He never failed to stop for a word with any of them, and he always made sure to take a moment and thank whichever of them had been assigned to his plane. For the last month – since they’d become lovers – that person had been JC.
JC closed his eyes and pictured Lance, as he’d been when JC had left him, sleeping, many hours ago. Sleep flushed, the covers a twisted tangle around his waist, he’d looked more like a student about to start at university than he had a polished, decorated, fighter pilot. In fact, the first time JC had seen him, that’s what he’d thought he was.
They’d met right here in this hangar when one of the senior pilots had brought Lance through to show him around. JC had thought he’d been someone’s son visiting on a break from classes. He’s been more than surprised to find out he’d been wrong, still he shouldn’t have been. If there was one thing his time in the military had taught him, it was that soldiers came in all shapes and sizes, and social backgrounds as well.
Lance was upper-class, the only son of one of London’s top lawyers, while he, JC, was a second generation mechanic, with a life far removed from Lance’s. Still, something had clicked between them that day when he’d placed his hand into the young officer’s and though he’d known he shouldn’t, JC hadn’t been able to resist Lance’s invitation of a pint at the corner pub.
His best friend, Joey, had warned him that nothing good would come of it. Lance was an officer, JC was a mechanic; the two didn’t mix, not in the Royal Air Force anyway, but JC wouldn’t listen. Not that day, and certainly not after he’d spent hours with Lance on what he now thought of as their first date.
They’d talked and laughed, regaling each other with tales of growing up, and though they’d been raised in completely different lifestyles, neither had missed the one similarity running through their stories…love.
Unlike many of the officers that JC had come into contact with, Lance hadn’t been shipped off to boarding schools, or packed off to the park with nannies. His parents had raised both he and his sister with a firm hand and a great deal of affection. It had come through clearly in everything Lance had said about them.
It had put JC at ease, though it hadn’t made him lower his guard completely. He and Lance had left the pub friends that day, but neither had known everything there was to know about the other until later.
They met often with friends, to have a pint at the pub, or to play a game of cards at one of their flats, and it wasn’t until they’d been friends for several months that they found themselves alone, again.
Joey had been supposed to meet them at JC’s cramped flat, but he’d been called in to cover for another mechanic at the last minute, and that had left the two of them alone, and awkward, on JC’s couch.
He still wasn’t sure how it happened, only that they’d been talking and he’d looked up to find Lance’s eyes on him. Lance had blushed; JC had leaned in, kissed him, and changed everything.
They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other, and at times it shamed JC to think about how he’d behaved that night. He’d never give of himself like that to a man before; thought of it, yes, but never done it, and he knew, neither had Lance. That had helped him come to terms with the sheer force of the feelings he had for the other man.
It didn’t hurt to know that he was loved just as much in return.
JC wasn’t sure if he’d been given the choice that this was the type of life he’d have chosen for himself. Neither of them had been open with their family about who they were, on their own and to each other.
That, and the separation between their classes made their relationship difficult. Their careers in the military should have made it impossible. Lance made sure that they didn’t.
They needed privacy, so he’d insisted to his father that he’d needed a place where he could get away from the barracks, a cottage that he and his friends could go to when they were off duty.
Or so Lance’s father thought anyway. What Lance had truly used it for, his father had no idea, though he was aware that of all of his son’s friends, JC was the one he brought there the most.
It had amazed JC how willingly Mr. Bass had accepted their friendship, until Lance had taken him home for a family weekend when they’d been on leave and JC had met Lance’s mother’s side of the family. They were working class, much as his family was, and seeing that had gone a long way towards making him feel more at ease with the whole thing. Still, he had no doubts as to what the Bass’s feelings would be should they find out the true nature of his relationship with their son, and so he and Lance worked quite hard at keeping their feelings hidden.
At least until they were alone.
They held nothing back when they were alone, not their love…or their fear. JC had many fears, all of them centering on Lance’s flying. He knew from his years of working behind the scenes of this war how often pilots were shot down, and how many of them never returned home.
Lance had been lucky so far, but how much longer could his luck possibly hold out? JC didn’t think for that much longer, and apparently neither did Lance’s father, for he had pulled some strings, called in a great many favors, and had Lance’s commission shortened. He’d done so under Lance’s vehement protests, still nothing Lance had said had been able to sway him, and neither had anything he’d said swayed his commanding officer. Tonight’s mission would be Lance’s last, all they had to do was get through one more flight, one more dark London night and Lance would be safe.
Even knowing that hadn’t stopped JC from wanting nothing more this morning than to crawl back beneath the covers with Lance and keep him there, safe and away from the skies over London until this bloody war was over. He would have done just that if he’d had even a small hope that Lance would have co-operated. JC knew better, however. As much as he knew Lance cared for him, his duty would always come first.
JC understood that, still it didn’t stop his stomach from clenching each time he watched his lover climb up into the cockpit and take off into the night sky.
"Bring him back safe," he whispered, touching the fuselage of the plane.
"She will." Lance swept the hangar with his eyes and finding that they were alone approached JC, placing a hand over his on the plane. "Because you’ve made sure of it."
"It’s not Betsy I’m worried about," JC replied, turning his hand and curling his fingers around Lance’s.
"I’m too slippery for those German blokes."
"See that you keep it that way, will you?"
Green eyes solemn, Lance squeezed JC’s hand and vowed, "Betsy and I will do our best."
It was the most that JC knew he could hope for.
"It’s time," JC offered, hearing the shuffle of others entering the hanger. He rubbed his thumb over the arch of Lance’s palm in a gesture that was for them as intimate as a kiss and then released him.
Helping Lance ascend the stairs to the cockpit and strap in he was able to shut his mind down until he finished fastening Lance’s helmet and looked up. There were a million things he wanted to say, a million promises he wanted to make, but Lance had firmly put his professional mask in place and JC merely offered the same wish to him as he did to all of the pilots, "God speed."
Lance held his gaze for a moment, nodded, and then returned his attention to the task at hand.
JC couldn’t resist one last touch, and after taking a quick look about he placed his hand against the side of Lance’s neck and squeezed.
"Come back to me."
Lance did stop what he was doing then, and turned his head so that his cheek rubbed over JC’s palm.
"I never leave you. When I’m up there, you’re with me. I can feel you keeping me safe. I’ll always come back as long as I know that you’re here waiting for me."
JC closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump in his throat. ‘I love you,’ he mouthed, and then said, "Then I guess I’ll be seeing you soon."
"Be safe," he whispered one final time and then descended the ladder as he should have long ago and hopped down onto the hangar floor. He watched as Lance latched the cockpit and finished his final check.
He’d barely fastened his protective ear pads in place when the engine roared to life. It was then that he turned away, unable to watch Lance fly away from him, afraid still despite Lance’s words that this would be the last time he’d ever see him, hear his voice, touch him.
It was the same torment he went through each time Lance flew, and so when a hand came to lay gently on his shoulder, he turned, expecting Joey - who never failed to be there in these moments when JC needed someone most.
The person whose face he looked up into elicited a startled gasp from him.
"Mr. Bass!"
Fear gripped JC’s heart. The man standing in front of him held a great deal of power, over Lance, over him, and their fate. How much had he seen? What had he heard?
JC had been so sure that there had been no one near them; he’d have never said the things he had to Lance or touched him in that way if he’d thought there was even the slightest chance of them being seen, and yet obviously they had been. Lance’s father was looking at him through eyes that held too much knowledge.
He searched the hangar, looking for something, someone, anything that would distract him, help him, save him, but they were alone. All of the planes were gone, their mechanics back in the lounge enjoying a quiet moment before the earlier mission’s planes returned and… JC stopped as a new fear clenched his gut. All of the planes were gone. Lance was gone.
Lance was gone.
"He’ll come back." The hand on his shoulder tightened. "He told you he would and my son is a man of his word."
James studied the younger man before him. He was visibly shaken yet he didn’t ramble and make excuses for what James had obviously seen. No, instead he stood his ground, kept eye contact, and reminded James so much of his son in that moment – when he’d gotten a hold of an idea and refused to back down – that it made James heart hurt to look at him.
They were alike in so many ways, his son and this man, and yet at the same time so very different. It went beyond one being dark and the other fair, or even the differences in their social status.
Lance would think that he and JC’s love for each other would protect them from anything. JC, James knew, would know better.
He took nothing for granted, this boy, and though Lance wasn’t the self-centered sort, he was sheltered enough by the kingdom that James’ career had made for him to not always see that even the things you thought the most secure could still be taken from you.
JC knew they could, Lance would never dream of it, and that was why James knew if it were Lance standing in front of him now he wouldn’t be seeing a face more full of fear than hope.
His son would face him uncertain perhaps of his reaction, but still secure in the knowledge of his fathers love to know that he would have acceptance, if not approval, of who he was.
JC had no such knowledge. James could give it to him, or not. He’d held power in his hands before, but never like this. He held his son’s future in his hands. He could, with just a few words, see to it that JC was far-gone long before Lance’s plane returned, if it returned. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Lance would search long and hard for him, just as there was no doubt that James could make that search a futile one.
The only doubt he had was, could he?
He’d heard and seen things that had shown him the depth of his son’s love. Lance didn’t give his heart casually, this he knew for certain, so could he do something that he knew would rip that heart out?
If he thought that it was what was best for Lance, yes.
The question was would removing JC from Lance’s life be what was best from him.
"How long?" he asked, and watched JC’s eyes close at the question.
There could no longer be any doubt as to what Lance’s father had seen; he knew it all.
"I think I’d prefer to wait for Lance to answer that, sir."
"I could, with very little trouble, have you gone from here before Lance returns."
"Yes, sir," JC replied, and though he was shaken by having his deepest fear voiced, he refused to back down. "He’d find me."
"Not if I didn’t want him to."
JC met James steady look with one of his own. "He’d find me."
"And you’d want that, even if it were to his detriment?"
JC refused to lower his gaze. "I would never do anything to hurt Lance." His words were an accusation as much as they were a statement of his intentions.
"Neither," James again reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, "would I."
Confusion showed clearly in JC’s troubled expression. "But?"
"I’m not blind, JC. Tonight may have offered me a bit of a surprise, but I’ve seen the way my son looks at you and I’ve wondered."
"He – "
"Loves you. Yes, that much to me is clear. What isn’t clear is what should be done about it."
"We’re not puppets, to be played any which way you choose."
"No, you’re not, but you are in a very difficult time to be who you are to one another. I’ve worked hard all my life to see that my son’s path was an easy one. I wanted things for him that his relationship with you will make impossible. Should I just stand by and watch all of that be taken away?"
"And what of his wants, sir?"
"He wants to be out there," James pointed to the darkness outside the small window.
"I didn’t ask him to choose."
No, he hadn’t, and neither had James; he’d simply taken the choice away from Lance, though in his defense he’d done so out of fear. Fighter pilots like his son didn’t often live to see as many missions as Lance had successfully completed. James hadn’t been willing to risk his son on the small chance that his luck would hold. He’d taken matters into his own hands and done what he’d thought needed to be done. Lance had forgiven him for it but could he, would he; ever forgive him if he did the same here?
No.
There really was no reason to believe the answer would be anything but no. Especially not now that he was beginning to realize that the reason why Lance had stopped protesting was standing right in front of him. James knew, that if he asked Lance to choose now, between he and JC, or if he didn’t ask and again took the choice away from him, that he would be the one to lose.
JC was right, Lance would look for him, and he would never stop. Even if that meant turning his back on everything he’d ever known.
"I won’t stand in your way."
It was only sheer willpower that kept JC from sagging with those words.
"Though I do have questions," James smiled. "Do you think that we could have a bit of tea while we wait for Lance to come back so that I can ask them?"
Special thanks: To Missy for all of her time, help, and ability to listen to me whine without killing me in the process, and also to Cooper, who is the supreme dealer in ideas. They make me a better writer, even if they have to drag me kicking and screaming to get it done.