Chapter Text
There were certain hours in a day when the mess building was like a ghost town. Harry would leave his hut after being forced from his office for the night, and he would light the fire, serve himself a bourbon at the empty bar and leave money with a note under a coaster. He stared at the fireplace, resting in the armchair in silence, like he was waiting for something unexpected to happen, or someone to appear before him, like a ghost of an old friend, or one of his wartime lovers... he’d give anything to see Johnny and Howard of those dark nights.
On one of those lonely nights in the same chair with the same drink by the same simmering fire, he was found. The glass in his hand sat on his leg, empty, leaning to escape Harry’s loose grip. He failed to react when the glass was taken from him and when a blanket was placed over him. He stirred as a chair was placed gently beside him. Maybe it wasn’t the chair that woke him; perhaps it was the presence of his company.
He opened his eyes and found Rosie examining him. He could tell he wasn’t only looking at him for the sake of it; his eyes traced over all of Harry, taking in the dark bags under his eyes and how small he looked in his uniform these days. Harry met Rosie’s eyes, but his sight was so clouded by how tired he was that he couldn’t focus.
“How are you doing, Harry?” There was a selfless kindness Rosie brought to every friendship he had on base. He asked Harry that question, and it was his smile and the concern in his eyes which woke Harry up.
Harry blinked slowly, “I’m okay. I’m fine. It’s just one of those nights that I can’t sleep in my bed, that’s all.” He groaned as he sat up in the chair he occupied. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep, thought a little stroll would help, then I saw the glow of the fire through the window and thought I might check on whoever was in here. Can’t have a sanctuary like the mess burning down.” He joked, but even his energy was low. It’s eerie to see Rosie so slow-paced.
“Right,” Harry nodded curtly. He turned to Rosie after staring back into the fire. “I didn’t always struggle with this, you know? Not being able to sleep,” he explained further.
“Yeah, is that right?” Rosie responded softly, permitting Harry, if anything, to lay it all on the table.
Harry nodded slowly, “Before Blakely’s crew and this gig, I had a crew that I’d been stuck with since the early days. W-we were close, but I was really close with my pilot and my bombardier.”
“-‘Your’ pilot and Bombardier, huh?” Rosie had a gleam in his grin at Harry’s wording that made Harry blush something fierce at how possessive that had sounded, but that was the truth of the fact; they were his boys, just like he was theirs.
“A-anyway, huh… They’d help me out if there were a night that I couldn’t get to sleep. And there were some nights I helped them, and we’d wake up in the morning. We wouldn’t be exhausted because we managed to get enough sleep to keep going, you know, since we had each other.”
“Now, you don’t have that anymore?” Rosie’s voice dropped low.
“Yeah… I miss Brady and Hamilton like – I can’t even begin to describe it, Rosie. I don’t have anyone to turn to anymore, not like it was with them.” Harry sighed solemnly. He looked down at the blanket Rosie tucked around him, and a frown crossed his face at the lie that just came out of his mouth. He gripped the edge of the blanket up by his chest and closed his eyes as a painful shot of guilt struck him in the chest. It hurt so much that he couldn’t look Rosie in the eyes when he heard the words leave Rosie’s lips.
“I’m still here, Harry. I know I can’t replace two men very dear to you, but I can be around for you.” He spoke with a gentle hand on Harry’s arm.
Harry bit his lip as the promise settled in, and he shook his head. “Don’t… don’t make a promise like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen, Rosie, none of us knows. I don’t know if the fellas I’d give anything to see again will ever make it back to me. I don’t know if you’ll survive the rest of the war, or even the journey home. I can’t… I can’t pretend to have hope about tomorrow when there’s still so much work to be done.”
Harry received a sad smile back from Rosie, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He said to Harry. He was still holding Harry’s arm, steady and grounded. Tears fell from Harry’s eyes before he felt them rolling down his face. He got up fast and stumbled into a table near him, and Rosie caught him. “Hey… hey. I got you. I got you, Harry.” He repeated over again as he pulled Harry closer and gathered him up in his arms. “I got you.” He whispered.
Harry cried with a haunting silence and stillness; no strength to flip out, fight his emotions or sob freely. His tears fell, and that was it. He clung to Rosie, crushing the fur collar in his hand on one side of Rosie’s jacket and resting his head to the side, pillowed by the plushness of the collar on the other side of Rosie’s neck.
Comfort from Rosie was like having a warm, soft wall to fall against. He was sturdy and sound. Different to Ham and Brady by a long shot. Brady forced Harry to face his emotional turmoil head-on and efficiently. It was Ham who was secretly soft. When Harry cried, Ham cried with him, as if he was taking on some of Harry’s hurt, be it physical or emotional. Ham felt so strongly sometimes that it surprised the heck out of Harry and Brady. But Rosie was like a sponge, soaking up Harry’s pain and letting it go through his comforting words.
After a while, Harry let out a deep breath and tried to pick himself up. He was caught off guard by glassy, blue eyes and a kind, tender smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rosie beat him to it.
“You know, it’ll all be worth it for me if you make it through this. Doesn’t matter what happens to me.”
The weight of what Rosie said in that moment was inescapable. Unmistakable. Harry wanted to argue that he didn’t mean it, but he knew Rosie did; he heard it loud and clear. He avoided eye contact for a while, a harsh five seconds, before he faced Rosie again. “Goodnight, Captain.” He knew it must have stung to hear, but with Ham and Brady still in the forefront of Harry’s thoughts, he felt like he had no other choice. Any other route he saw was too dangerous. Keeping a distance was safer. Their futures were just too uncertain. He walked out on Rosie, running away from something good. But if Rosie did mean it and if he did survive, he’d try again. Who knows, maybe Ham and Brady would welcome him with open arms after all Rosie had done to look out for Harry in their absence.