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THE MOONSTONE had finally arrived in Dorset by night. It wasn't Louise's home, but she gladly welcomed the smog and fog of the British air with open arms. She had stepped off the boat first, all the men on the yacht thanking her for her service as stepped off. The brunette ushered two soldiers off the boat after her, both holding a stretcher holding the corpse of George Mills. Louise told them to drop him off at the medics area then they could catch their train.
Louise saw Peter watching the stretch disappear out of his sight and walked up to him. She placed a tender hand on his shoulder. Peter turned around and sadly smiled at Louise. The brunette nodded, the two of them silently grieving together.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Louise whispered, tears began to brim her eyes, the guilt of not being able to safe someone sat heavily on her shoulders. "I couldn't save him."
Peter brought the older woman into a brief hug, his grip was tight and comforting, his face stuffed in the crook of her neck. She felt tears fall onto her skin as she cradled the fragile boy in her arms. "Don't be sorry, Louise. You did your best. That's all we could do for him," he crooked out as he pulled away.
"Where the hell were you?!" A loud, demanding voice broke the tense silence that fell over the train station, causing Louise to jump in her place. She looked over her shoulder to see a short soldier staring Jack, dead in the eye. Jack's regretful and offended stare followed the stout soldier as he walked away.
Mr Dawson approached Jack and placed his hand firmly on his shoulder, grabbing his attention. "They know where you were," he said, pointing towards the soldier, his tone proud and smile unfaltering.
Jack shook his hand with a silent nod before both men parted ways. Jack caught sight of Louise and a smile blossomed on his face. Louise furrowed his brows with concern as they approached each other. "What was up with that soldier?" She was defensive, and Jack could tell, which made his smile grow wider.
Jack stepped closer and guided her towards her Newcastle train but stood them off to the side, away from the floods of soldiers who made their way to their trains silently so they wouldn't be in their way. "Nothin' to worry about, love," Jack muttered quietly, only for Louise's ears. No one else in the train station needed to hear their hushed words. They were only for the shipwreck nurse and the crashed pilot. "Thanks for looking after me, nurse," he winked, using his thumb to point back to the Dawson's boat.
Louise blushed. "Thanks for looking after me too, pilot," she spoke, gesturing to her bandaged arms. After all the soldiers were on the boat and settled enough, Jack had wrapped up Louise's arms and neck another two times, while Louise checked up on all the soldiers around the small yacht, stopping by Jack multiple times to chat and to check his temperature.
It was clear to all the passengers on the yacht that the nurse and the pilot had a soft spot for the other. Many believed that they were lovers back home, reunited on the battlefield. But Peter, Mr Dawson and Alex knew that the two would end up married if they both survived the dreadful war. Jack and Louise, to a degree, believed this two. Jack was certain that Louise was an angel sent from heaven, just for him. He had never felt this way around a girl before and he was sure he didn't want to lose the feeling. Lousie was in the same playing field as Jack - she had never experienced the fluttering butterflies in her stomach when she talked or even looked at Jack.
The two seemed to drift closer together and it wasn't until Louise was craning her neck up to gaze up at the blonde man. She absorbed all his features, his swirling blue orbs that stared down at the smaller figure, his long pointed nose that sat perfectly in the middle of his flushed skin, his thin pink lips and brown brows that complimented his floppy blonde locks - which fell adorable over his forehead and slightly over his large eyes. Everything about him was so perfect to Louise, that it made no sense to her that the man before her was single.
"What are ye staring at, aye, lass?" Jack softly chuckled as he spied her reddening cheeks. Jack cheekily grinned down at the girl in front of him. As if a lightbulb lit above his head, his hand reached up, his fingers grasping his RAF pin that sat proudly over his heart. He unpinned the badge and grabbed onto Louise's hand. "Here, lass. I want you to have 'his. To remember me by."
Louise fiddled with the pin in her hand before turning her gaze back up to Jack. "It'll take a lot to forget about you, Jack," she whispered, turning back to the badge in her hands. She wanted to protest, to tell him that he would want the badge when he looked back on the war, but she always wanted something physical to remember him by.
Jack grinned as Louise dug through her dress pocket, she pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it over to Jack, insisting he takes it. Once he did, his eyes scanned over the small rectangular paper. It was a picture of Louise. Her professional profile of her in her nursing uniform - it was from her first day on the job. On the back, her address and full name was neatly scribbled with blank ink. Her mother insisted she did this and kept it on her at all time in case something dreadful happened to here and someone could inform her mother or identify her, at the very least. But seeing as Louise was going to be back home in a day, she wanted Jack to have it instead.
"I want you to write to me when you get home," Louise mumbled softly, her voice angelic to his ears. "If not, at least keep it to remember me by," she used his wording from a moment before, causing him to grin.
"Of course, I will write to ye, love," Jack whispered. He used his index finger and thumb to tilt her chin up to look up at him fully. "Can I kiss ya, Miss Davies?"
Louise grinned, stepping closer to Jack. "God, yes," she nodded. Jack grinned, bringing his head closer to Louise's. She felt her knees grow weaker as his hot breath fanned across her lips and his nose grazed the side of hers. Jack derived to savour the feeling of being so close to the brunette, and although it was romantic, Louise was having none of it. "Get on with it, Collins," Jack chuckled but was cut off when Louise's hands clutched onto the lapels of his navy blue RAF suit, and brought him impossibly closer, smashing her lips to his.
Jack hummed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist, melting into the kiss, just as Louise did the same. Jack tilted his head to the right and brought his left hand to cradle Louise's neck, deepening the kiss further. Louise felt her heart pounding away in her chest - it was her first kiss, yet she knew that no one in the entire world would be able to top the way Jack kissed her.
Jack reluctantly pulled away from the embrace as the pressure in his lungs told him that it was time to breathe again. Louise sighed as her hands landed on his chest, her palms running up and down his jacket softly, trying to remember the touch before they had to part ways.
A whistle blew out for her train and her heart wrenched. She didn't want to leave Jack. What if this would be the last time they would see each other? What if one of them died during this war? What if they found other people in the end? What if Jack never writes?
"I think I love ya, Louise Davies," Jack mumbled against her lips, his arms not flinching from her waist.
The thoughts brewing inside her head soon dissolved into nothing at his words. A grin stretched across her features as her hands clasped onto Jack's fondly. "I think I love ya too, Jack Collins."
Louise reluctantly turned to see her train getting packed. "Promise me you'll write?" She held up her pinky finger to him.
Jack chuckled, linking his pinky with hers. "I promise. Now you best get yourself on your train or I'll have to take you back to Scotland with me."
Louise raised an eyebrow at his statement. "That sounds much more tempting, Jack," She hummed, resulting in a small hearty laugh to erupt from his throat. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
Jack smiled with a nod. "I'll see you later, Louise."
The blonde pressed a final kiss to her lips. It wasn't as passion-filled as their first. It was more loving, tender and caring - the sort of kiss a husband would press to his wife's lips as they went to bed. It was small and short-lived, yet it held all the emotions he wanted to show.
He waved the brunette off as she stepped onto the train, hoping that both of them would see the end of the war and see the start of their future together.
