#reg seekings x oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hesbuckcompton-baby · 5 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 9

Summary: As the group returns from the raid on Benghazi, Diana is forced to confront the secrets she's kept from Paddy

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd @regseekings

A/N: Sorry this one's a little shorter than usual! I was originally going to include this part at the end of the previous chapter, but it got too long so I decided to separate them. Enjoy!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Exhaustion tugged at Diana's eyelids as the jeeps rolled into their rendezvous point, the familiar figure of Mike Sadler lounging tiredly beneath a makeshift shelter, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched them approach. She was jolted sharply awake by the sudden ceasing of the engine's constant hum, a noise she had grown accustomed to over the past few hours, and hurried to re-button her shirt, her makeshift camouflage now nothing more than a frankly embarrassing memory.

But Mike was not the only figure awaiting their arrival. Over by the car stood a woman, dressed sharply with a pair of designer sunglasses to shield herself from the glaring light. Diana suddenly recalled her first day in the SAS camp - had she truly looked as out of place then as this woman did now? The idea almost embarrassed her. But the woman's presence immediately raised a million questions in her mind - questions none of the gawking men around her seemed to share.

Men. Pathetic.

"There's a rumour going around in Cairo that Winston Churchill's son went on a mission behind enemy lines with the SAS," The woman spoke, fanning herself with the brim of her hat as she approached. Scanning Stirling's face, Diana could tell he recognised her. Actually, the more she looked, she wasn't entirely sure she didn't recognise the woman.

On her right, Reg let out a low whistle, staring unashamedly at their new visitor. Diana raised a brow, shooting him a disapproving look, which he didn't seem to notice. That stung. That stung far more than she had expected, and that was... concerning. She wasn't supposed to give a shit when fucking Reg Seekings of all people looked at another woman like that.

But he'd looked at her like that. And maybe she'd been stupid enough to think she was the only one who got that look. Maybe she even cared that she wasn't.

And the more she stood there, the more she was sure she had seen this woman before. "Sorry-" Diana interjected, suddenly realising the others had been halfway through a conversation when the entire group's gazes fell upon her. "Have you been in my house?"

"I have," She nodded, a slight smile curling her lip. "I've spoken with your father on a few occasions - he's one of the only senior officers I can count on to stay in one place."

Diana smiled, nodding. That was her father alright - a nester if ever she'd seen one. He'd lived in Cairo all her life, but she wasn't confident he could navigate beyond the end of their street. The woman held out her hand, and she received in, introducing themselves in turn. She could feel Churchill's gaze boring into the back of her skull, and could tell he was irritated at his meeting with yet another good-looking woman being interrupted.

As her hand was released, she sidestepped towards the Prime Minister's son. "Chin up, Randy. 0 for 2 isn't too bad when we're both out of your league," Diana spoke with a tone of mock sympathy. "I'm sure there'll be a whole fleet of boring little posh-o's with a history of inbreeding in the family for you to choose from once you get home."

He looked nothing short of horrified, face turning bright red, visible even under the layer of sunburn. She let out a snort, patting him on the shoulder and turning away. Making the man squirm was one of the small joys in life, and Diana cherished her chances.

But when she turned, the sight before her almost stopped her in her tracks. Reg had since discarded his shirt, arms raised in a not-so-subtle attempt to show off his muscular build as he continued to stare blatantly at Eve, giving Diana not so much as a second glance. Before her mind had quite had time to register whether her actions were altogether reasonable, she had reached down, grateful for the loose laces on her boot as she tugged it off. Standing awkwardly on one foot so as not to fill her sock with sand, she took a swing and lobbed the shoe straight at Seekings, striking him in the side.

It had not been a hard throw, but enough to elicit a yelp from the man, who stared back at her with an expression of equal parts outrage and confusion.

"What the fuck-?"

"Put your fucking shirt back on," Diana frowned. "Making us look bad, ya creep."

"Fucking Christ," Reg muttered, rummaging for a replacement shirt as he eyed her remaining boot with unease.

"And give me my shoe back," She demanded, leg raised like some kind of enraged flamingo. Seeking chuckled, shaking his head in a wordless reply, holding her boot by the laces as he began to walk further out of her reach.

"Reg? Reg?" Diana prompted, gesturing dramatically at her bare foot as Cooper noticed the situation, beginning to laugh along. Eve, along with Stirling and Churchill, had moved far enough away to continue their business without being disturbed, but she found she had little choice other than to hop after him, suddenly regretting her impulsive act of aggression.

"Oh, you shit," She called, tearing off her remaining shoe with as much zeal as she had the first, throwing the second with greater force as it collided with Reg's back. If it had hurt, he hadn't shown it, for he was too amused at the sight of her standing there in her socks upon the sand, already grimacing at the feeling of it between her toes.

"Well, what are you gonna do now?" Seekings laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing as he held out the shoes to her like she were some dog failing at fetch.

"Fuck!" Diana cried, her dismayed expression suddenly turning to a grin as Cooper swooped in from behind, snatching the boots from Reg's grip in the second that he was caught off guard. She gasped, chuckling at Seekings' stricken expression as he tossed them over, scrambling to catch them before they hit the sandy ground below.

"Johnny, my darling, someday you'll make some girl very happy," She said, craning her leg at an awkward angle as she tugged the thick leather back over her heels. Cooper batted a hand at her, wordlessly wandering off, but she noticed a spattering of red across his cheeks accompanying his boyish grin. Reg frowned, turning around and almost walking straight into a jeep when Diana smirked back at him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the remainder of the trip back to Jalo, Diana kept her feet propped up on the dashboard beside Stirling, attempting to get the sand out of her socks. He complained frequently, but in the months they had known each other David had long since grown accustomed to her complete disregard for what he did or didn't want her to do. Frankly, he was just glad she wasn't driving.

"You're flicking sand on me," He droned, eyes on the horizon as they led the small convoy behind them.

"You're annoying," Diana retorted, shaking out one of her socks as she flexed her toes, making him grimace.

"Very mature, thank you."

"You're welcome," She replied sweetly, and he caught a glimpse of her smile in the crooked rearview mirror. Dammit. No matter what she did, he could never quite hold a grudge. Stirling found himself wondering if he would have liked to have had a sister growing up. Although, he wasn't sure he could have coped living with Diana every day, especially not in the more petulant days of his youth.

It was silent for a long moment, but he could feel her gaze boring into the side of his face. "Whatever you're about to do, don't."

The sudden feeling of her finger in his ear made Stirling yelp, and Diana let out a loud snort, laughter erupting like a bubble from her throat. "Stop acting like a child or I swear I'll crash this jeep," He barked, attempting to sound authoritative but sounding altogether far too alarmed, succeeding only in making her laugh harder.

"You think the pair of us dying in a horrible crash is an appropriate punishment for that?"

"I'll probably enjoy it the same amount," David stated, beginning to chuckle himself as Jalo came into view up ahead. "Do not tell the others you just did that," He sighed.

"Think it'll undermine your authority, eh?"

"I find you do little else, Diana," Stirling smiled sarcastically at her, pulling up the handbrake as they rolled to a stop outside the oasis.

She grinned, taking her feet off the dashboard and straightening up as the pair got out of the car, matching frowns tugging at their expressions as they noticed the new French troops lounging about in the sun chairs, flipping through newspapers and sipping on their booze.

"What the fuck..." Stirling muttered.

"They're definitely supposed to be training," Diana pointed out.

Beginning to march up the sandy slope towards the gaping hole in the wall they used as an entrance, Stirling called back to her over his shoulder. "You're in charge for the next thirty seconds until I get back."

Planting her hands on her hips, she let out a snort. "Promotion. Nice."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time he returned, blustering and pissed off, Diana had taken to staring at the tent pitched just beyond the boundaries of their little territory, the canvas blowing slightly in the breeze, a recently shot gazelle strung up over a wooden frame like the hunting trophies her father used to collect.

She hadn't even had to ask what the situation was when Stirling returned - if she knew anything at all about Paddy, she could figure this one out. "He's not done shit since we left, has he?"

"What he has done is break bones, knock out teeth, and almost inspire a fucking mutiny," He fumed, brushing past her as he made an angered beeline for Mayne's tent. At the feeling of her hand grasping his shoulder he stopped, turning to look irritably back at her. "What?"

"I'll go. He doesn't like either of us but he respects me more than he does you."

Stirling raised a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"In fairness, it's a low bar," She nodded, patting him on the shoulder before taking his place in the march towards Paddy Mayne's makeshift sanctuary.

In the dim light of the tent, he lay down on his bunk, book propped up against his chest as he read in silence. He somehow looked even worse than he had the last time she saw him, covered in dirt and dust, his hair greasy and his beard matted. Diana didn't bother waiting for an invitation, grunting as she crouched down to sit on the floor, stealing the half-empty bottle of whiskey from beside his bed.

Paddy hadn't looked up from his book when he spoke. "So. How'd it go."

"Blew up a car," She spoke, pulling out the cork with her teeth. "Tore a hole through a building, probably killed a dozen men, didn't stay to find out. Beat up a guy in an alley though - scratched his eyes so bad he couldn't see."

He let out a grunt that could've almost been a laugh, putting the book down, open against his stomach. "Buildings don't count for the tally."

"You know I never gave a fuck about that," Diana shrugged, taking a sip of the whiskey. "I do care about this though," She gestured to the tent around them. "About you not doing your job - beating the shit out of those French wankers."

"They deserved it."

"Fucking probably, doesn't mean you get to do it. D'you think I'd be here if I broke the ribs of everyone I met who deserved it? They'd give me the fucking death penalty," She chuckled, almost passing the bottle back to Mayne before rethinking it.

He smiled then, a sliver of teeth showing. After a pause, Paddy spoke. "Why'd Stirling send you, then? Scared to deal with his own problems as usual."

"He was gonna come - I stopped him. Figured you and I could have a more productive conversation."

"And why the fuck did you think that?"

"Because, unlike Stirling, I don't feel threatened by you."

"Oh, bullshit, yes you do."

Diana's brow furrowed, her frown creasing her cheeks. "No. I don't."

Paddy's head lolled to the side, his gaze finally meeting hers. "Then why won't you talk about Eoin?"

She almost choked, a held breath stoppering her throat and making her feel the need to gag. No one had mentioned Eoin's name to her, not since it had happened. Those that had been there knew what she'd been through and left it alone. Those that hadn't didn't know enough to ask her about it. Until now.

"You don't need to know about what happened to Eoin," Diana spoke, her voice meek, barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed angrily. "You don't get to fuckin' tell me what I do or don't need to-"

"No, no!" She pushed, holding up a hand to silence him. "Let me speak. What I mean is you - specifically you - don't need what happened to him stuck in your head..." In the dim light of the tent, Paddy could still spot the beginning of a tear welling in her eyes. "I know what you went looking for out in the dunes, Paddy, and I know you didn't find it."

He sucked in a sharp breath, the air hissing as it was dragged through the gap in his teeth. "I think you should leave now."

"I didn't tell you about what happened because I blamed myself. And I was scared of what would happen if you did too."

No one spoke for a long time, the desert wind whistling through the gaps in the canvas, the open tent flap swinging back and forth with a repetitively smacking sound as it collided with the outside. The whiskey bottle was tucked between Diana's knees, but she didn't reach for it.

"Weren't your fault." He uttered. She looked up at him with those big, brown, sad eyes of hers, and he almost wanted to hit her. Paddy had never known how to deal with sad people. "Maybe you'll never tell me what happened, but-"

"One day I will."

"But, I know it wasn't your fault."

Diana sniffed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Yeah," She nodded. "Yeah... thank you."

Paddy nodded, picking up his book and resuming his reading. She almost laughed, pushing herself up onto her feet.

"Y'know... you're gonna have to apologise to the French."

"Oh, fuck off - you know I won't."

Diana chuckled. "I do. But now I can tell Stirling that I told you to, so it's not my fault when you don't."

The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. She turned to leave, pausing in the opening of the tent. "Oi."

"Aye?"

"... Wanna go cook the gazelle?"

Paddy took a long pause, thinking this over. After a prolonged moment of silence, he tossed the book aside, pushing himself to sit up with a grunt.

"May as well. Not giving that Jordan prick any, though."

She smiled. "We'll see."

#sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #david stirling #paddy mayne #reg seekings #reg seekings x oc #johnny cooper #eve mansour #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas: rogue heroes #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

18 notes · View notes

bobparkhurst · 7 months

Text

writing pattern game

tagged by the lovely @mercurygray

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

The wind feels like needles against his face, already red-raw from the over-zealous shave he had undertaken that morning, some furious and undoubtedly futile effort to keep his mother’s tongue from tutting over his appearance. (untitled paddy mayne x mat tierney, sas rogue heroes)

Paddy knows as soon as the door opens that he’s completely, utterly and absolutely fucked. (though i will not tell him this for now, paddy mayne x eoin mcgonigal, sas rogue heroes)

Don rarely sleeps through the night. (untitled don malarkey x kitty beck, band of brothers)

David doesn’t know how he gets himself into these situations. (untitled david stirling, sas rogue heroes/star trek crossover)

Kitty knows it’s a mistake as soon as they turn the corner. (untitled don malarkey x kitty beck, band of brothers)

Mike is almost out the door and already congratulating himself on a job well done when the upstairs window flies open and a loud voice rings out into the evening. (untitled mike sadler x christine basset, sas rogue heroes)

In the low dusk-breeze of evening, the smoke wisps to almost nothing as Mike exhales, catching the ember glimmer of the end of his cigarette like the final fading note of a daydream. (breath., mike sadler x bill fraser, sas rogue heroes)

It is not a luxury Mike allows himself often, and certainly not outside these relatively private hotel walls. (silk, mike sadler, sas rogue heroes)

There’s a perfume in the air in these rooms, something light and spiced that has always meant Eve. (you can come back another day, mike sadler x eve mansour x tristan travers, sas rogue heroes)

Mike hears the sound of boots approach the truck, though, situated as he is with most of his body underneath it, he isn’t entirely sure who it is until the metal clangs with a series of thumps, he feels his ankle being kicked in a small, but insistent manner and he is forced to slide himself back out to glare at whoever it is who has unwisely decided to interrupt him while he is in the middle of one of a hundred jobs he has for himself today. (interlude, mike sadler x reg seekings, sas rogue heroes)

patterns:

so it's interesting, aside from the paddy x mat, my dashed off quick ficlets seem to start with someone's name. in fact, looks like i'm super person first and i do think that's probably a trend of my writing that i want to investigate, 'cause i bet i've been doing that since forever.

ok it's not a first line pattern but would you believe i barely wrote any mike sadler before october? most of this is bc i wrote eight mike fics for sas kink heroes just because i could (three of these are sas kink heroes fics and five are for @almost-a-class-act's war is helloween prompts, which was my oc-challenge to myself and then i didn't write much of anything in the last few weeks)

i do enjoy starting with something sensory when i'm writing, often weather related. i looked back at a few other fics, and quite a few start with scents or the feeling of sun or breeze or something similar. i'm constantly writing about how things smell, which i think i personally find evocative of setting.

tagging: @almost-a-class-act, @latibvles, @multifandomlover01, @davidstirlings, @roseszirnheld, @eoinmcgonigal, @revolutionarybillfraser if you'd like.

#writing meme #sas rogue heroes #band of brothers

6 notes · View notes

homeahoy · 1 year

Text

Masterlist

SAS: Rogue Heroes

Paddy & Eoin

Sometimes (18+) 1, 2,3, 4 University/Modern Day AU

Paddy & Augustin

A Twisted Kind Of Love

Bill Fraser

Desert Rain (18+) 1 , 2, 3

In my Defence - Werewolf AU

Black Coffee & A Smile ( Bill x Mike) - Modern AU . 1, 2 , 3, 4

Johnny Cooper & Reg Seekings

Your so Fucking pretty

Dave Kershaw

I was a teenage werewolf (Werewolf AU)

Some kind of Heaven - Drabble Male oc

To sin and back -Demon AU Smut

High School AU - Everyone

* Welcome to Jallow High- (Smut)

A Rumour, A Chicken and a Date (Smut)

The pretty boy, the jock, the nerd & the weird kid

What happens at Daves House

David Stirling

* God Complex

Mike Sadler

A Poker Game in Cairo (Smut) 1, 2, 3, 4

If i could ever ask for more (Smut) Bill x Mike

Pat Riley

I'll be your American Boy 1, 2

Drabbles

As I lay dying - Walter Essner

Vampire AU

SAS AU - The thing with the French (Smut) 1,2, 3,4,5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Brothel AU - All Smut

Tied in Knots - Andre Zirnheld x Male OC

Tongue Twister - Pat Riley x Female OC

#masterlist #sas: rogue heroes #au concepts #smut #brothel au #high school au #vampire au #male x male

18 notes · View notes

ceapa-mica · 1 year

Text

The Choices We Make | Chapter 6: The Hideout

{cross-posted on ao3} {masterlist}

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

Pairing: Imperial!Crosshair x Tholothian!OC

Warnings: angst, suggestive remarks

Word count: 2102

Summary: Crosshair realizes his feelings for Zareena are not as platonic as he thought.

a/n: Welcome back! This chapter will show you how differently Crosshair and Zareena deal with their emotions. I sprinkled a little romance in there too, but still, this is a slow burn fic and has a main plot (the crimes of the Empire) to follow.

Crosshair left Rampart's office keeping up an emotionless expression until he was sure nobody else was around. As the elevator doors to the basement levels closed he dropped his stoic facade. After his mission to Desix and Commander Cody apparently deserting afterwards, made Crosshair think. Rampart had mentioned how more and more clones were going AWOL. Not that Crosshair cared about what the regs were up to, but the least person he expected to desert was Commander Cody. He had been one of the very few regs he had respected.

How can he throw away his rank within the Empire?

Usually he would have talked to his brothers about it, but since they were Maker knows where, he decided to seek the company of the only friend he had right now.

On his way to the maintenance room he saw Zaree's new co-worker smoking in the corner, his overall still clean. "What's going on mate?" he waved at Crosshair, who looked annoyed and chose not to pay him any attention. "You know some spice could lift your mood! No need to be miserable!" he heard the guy call after him.

The door to the maintenance room was ajar, so he already heard Zaree cursing from outside. She had crawled under the desk to pick up some flimsi notes and folders. Crosshair averted his gaze from her backside, biting his lip, trying to think of something that would make the warm feeling moving to his lower regions go away.

The smell on the Marauder. Wrecker's loud snoring. Rampart in his underwear. Yikes!

"Just a minute, Crosshair. Kilien sorted the folders not the way he should and put them in the wrong place and the entire stack fell down. Now I have to pick them up because I can't find this kriffing loser anywhere."

"Your new co-worker? Saw him in the hallway when I came here. Offered me spice." Crosshair wasn't someone who liked snitching on others, but Kilien annoyed him and he wouldn't mind seeing him getting fired.

"Dank farrik! Drug dealing? I would kick him out if I could, but this is up to my foreman." Zaree stood up, the entire stack of flimsi folders in her hands. "The thing is my foreman's family knows his family. He would never fire him."

Crosshair crossed his arms. "Have you talked to him?"

"Well yeah, but he said Kilien just has to get used to his new workplace et cetera."

"If that guy is still lounging around and smoking in the hallways in a few weeks, you talk to your foreman again."

"He'll just make up another excuse to keep Kilien employed." He didn't like seeing Zareena so annoyed, so he tried to think of something to cheer her up.

I don't cheer people up. How does this work? Fuck… Is there a holobook called 'How To Maintain Friendships'?"

Zaree looked at the chrono and sighed in relief. "Great, my shift is over in two minutes. Did you come down here for a particular reason?"

Crosshair shrugged. "I- no not really, just checking if you're up to shenanigans again." he lied, but Zaree saw right through it.

"Something's bothering you, Crosshair. Do you need someone to talk to? To vent? If that's the case, I'm your girl. Actually I have a brilliant idea! Come with me!" She grabbed his wrist, went to check out of her shift right on time and they went out a back door and up a metal staircase on the right side next to it. At the first step there was a chain that held a sign saying 'Maintenance Only'. They went up several floors until they reached a platform with a railing. The view of Coruscant was incredible, the sun was setting and a fresh breeze was in the air. Zaree opened a silver metal box that was standing in the corner, taking out some blankets, instant caf and two ration packs. Crosshair raised a brow.

"Surprised? That place is my little secret. Only Lyle knows of it. I come up here when my co-workers are being annoying or when I simply had a stressful day." She sat down at the edge of the platform, letting her legs dangle in the air. Crosshair sat down next to her and took the dark blue blanket and a steaming hot cup of caf she offered him.

"There are no security cams up here. And any speeder lanes are too far away to notice us. I kinda wanna put a tent up here. My quarters don't have windows, and I'm not disturbing anyone here."

"It's… nice." Crosshair admitted and took a sip of his caf which tasted a lot better than the one at the mess hall.

"You know what I love most about this view? Every evening when the sun sets, the lights turn on. Lyle and I… we always made bets which building would turn on the lights first as that varies from day to day." she chuckled, but her expression became sad.

"I was on a mission last night. I met a clone I have worked with during the war. Admiral Rampart told me that he has gone AWOL, like apparently many clones right now. I don't understand why he did that. He was a Marshall Commander, the highest rank a clone can have."

Zaree put a hand on his arm and Crosshair flinched. At his reaction her hand retreated as if she had burned herself, but her gaze was ever so empathetic. "The clones were never given a choice. Maybe he wanted to be more than just a soldier. I mean don't you all have something you would rather do than serving in the military? Dreams? Hopes?"

Crosshair frowned but then his gaze on her hardened. "Deserting is an act of treason. I was born to serve the Republic, now the Empire. I see no other purpose for me…"

Out of nowhere she playfully punched his arm, a spark of mirth in her eyes. "Then let's find a purpose for you! You're a sniper. Ever considered bounty hunting? Or moving to a green planet, hunting game?"

"You trying to convince me to desert is also an act of treason." He spoke in a firm voice and an unreadable expression. The smile left Zaree's face and her eyes widened at the now serious look in his face. Before she could say something a smirk formed on Crosshair's lips. "Naughty girl. Keep breaking rules like that and one day I may have to discipline you." The sentence left his mouth before he realized what he had actually said. Crosshair usually chose his words carefully, so how could this happen? Zaree stared at him, mouth slightly agape before she found the words to answer.

"Good luck with that, you don't know what you would get yourself into."

Crosshair almost choked on his caf at her words and she patted his back until he stopped coughing. "You alright?"

He nodded, wiping his mouth before continuing the conversation. "Probably nothing I can't handle, kitten."

A shy smile spread on her lips and she looked down at the traffic lane. Crosshair took in every part of her face and it felt natural to him as his hand moved to brush two of her soft tendrils out of her face to get a better view.

"I hope I didn't overstep by calling you a nickname." he said, searching for consent in her eyes.

"It's fine, it's not derogatory. Then I'm gonna call you Cross, if that's alright with you."

Only the Batch had called him that and it made him feel things, but hearing his nickname come from her mouth felt so right.

"Cross is my nickname, but only you get to call me that. Understood?"

"Of course! I don't have any friends to tell anyway…"

They remained silent for a moment. Crosshair thought about what she would sound like moaning his nickname, how she would feel around him.

NO! Get a grip, Cross! Nicknames regs call you, mess hall food, the Emperor taking a shit, that droid almost killing you on the last mission… blue eyes… soft lips on mine…Dank farrik.

“Lyle’s family contacted me, they wanna host a get-together tomorrow to discuss the security fee issues, and they invited us. Do you have time?”

“I’m not scheduled to go on any missions tomorrow, but I request leave just to be sure.” He was glad he wore a codpiece at the moment, but he was tense nonetheless.

“That’s great! Um… are you okay?” She had noticed how his posture had stiffened.

“Yeah it’s just… I gotta go.” He stood abruptly. “Sorry, I have some reports to attend to. Thank you for the caf and… everything.” He gestured at her secret hideout and went down the stairs in a hurry, putting his helmet back on.

She sighed. Crosshair was a bad liar and she knew something else bothered him. She drank the rest of her caf and stared at the cityscape, playing the little game she and Lyle used to play by herself. The smile she put on in front of others had faded and the longer she remembered the good times she’d had with Lyle, the emptier she felt. While she put on a happy face around her new friend, ever since Lyle’s disappearance she broke a little bit more every single day, but couldn’t show it. Showing vulnerability in the face of those bullies in the mess hall was no option, and as much as she liked Crosshair, she was afraid - afraid that he would turn away from her when he found out how she was actually doing. So she kept her fear and this nasty empty feeling growing in her chest to herself. She loved watching Crosshair become relaxed when he was with her. Sure, he was moody, but that she could deal with. This growing friendship meant a lot to her, and if she was honest with herself, he was a smart man, tall and handsome and above all someone she felt a connection with. If this connection would remain strictly platonic or turn into something more only time would tell. Around him she felt safe and understood. He was one of the few people who appreciated her. When problems, especially at work, came up she always asked herself what Crosshair would do in her situation. She hoped one day she would be just as brave as he was.

In the meantime Crosshair stood under the cold stream of the shower, the water washing away his dirty thoughts and the resulting erection. He needed to clear his mind, cursed at himself under his breath. He had promised Zaree to accompany her to the get-together Lyle's family hosted, but after that he needed some distance. She got under his skin, a feeling new and terrifying to him. He reminded himself of the rule that inappropriate fraternization could get him decommissioned, which would mean Zareena would be on her own in this mess. He couldn't let that happen, so keeping a certain distance was the only reasonable thing he could do. After he had rubbed himself dry with a towel he rested his hands on the bathroom counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. He looked a little better than a week ago. The gloominess in his eyes was gone, and he knew it was her doing. His grip on the edge of the counter became so tight his knuckles turned white. Crosshair was mad at himself for having allowed these feelings to grow inside his heart. At first they had felt like a soothing plaster, but in just a few days this feeling had grown to take over his mind. He had to think about her constantly, wanted to be near her and valued her opinions about things. Crosshair cared - he was becoming attached, and attachment was a weakness, making one vulnerable. So he made up his mind to keep conversation with her to a bare minimum and distract his mind somehow.

That night he spent three hours at the shooting range, with each shot trying to let go of those feelings, to no avail. With a frustrated huff he took his firepuncher rifle and returned to his quarters. Under his helmet he wore a deep scowl and thought of other activities to get rid of those unwanted feelings. Getting absolutely hammered at 79s was one of them, perhaps even letting his frustration out on some nameless woman he would never see again after one night together, anything that would help him get his mind off Zareena.

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

a/n: I love to write Crosshair's internal struggle with his feelings. Also Zareena deals with her depression differently than he does. They're both going through a lot of shit mentally rn, they don't see (yet) how much they need each other.

#tbb crosshair #crosshair x oc #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #crosshair fanfiction #tbb #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction

1 note · View note

m0mmat0rtle · 3 years

Text

Star Light Chapter One

Pairing: Tech x Pantoran!OC

Words: 1498

Warnings: none (future warning: major angst & character death)

Summary: Tech seeks the medical attention of a medic in training due to regularly staffed medic’s of Kamino being over staffed. He meets the curious Pantoran, Star Light who has a secret that he feels he must find out.

Tech looked down at the small abrasion on his forearm from today’s training with his brothers. It wasn’t often that members of the Bad Batch ever got injured, they never got injured on a major scale. But Hunter had miscalculated ever so slightly with his knives and accidentally snagged Tech’s arm in the process. The cut wasn’t bad but it was enough to warrant some medical attention. And so Tech was heading to the wing of the cloning facility on Kamino. He held his forearm in his hand, glancing down at it every so often. The cut was still there with blood smeared around it. On his way to the facility he passed a group of regs who had been stationed on cleaning duty, cleaning up another mural that had mysteriously appeared on the walls of the facility. Tech and every other clone on Kamino was familiar with these murals. They would mysteriously appear over night and have to be scrubbed away the next day by order of the Kaminoans. However they were always beautiful, this particular mural showcased a sunset over green grassy plains that reflected the soft light of the setting sun. Tech seemed to get lost in the artistic nature and skill of the piece that he was a bit shaken when a reg swiped his soapy sponge right over the center of the painting, washing away the very focal point of the painting and taking out the setting sun. Just like that the light of the painting was gone. Tech felt his heart drop for a mere moment. The art that was so stunning was now permanently messed up, but a spark of hope ignited in him when he remembered each mural that was washed away would soon be replaced by another even more lovely then the last. And another thought dawned on him before he continued to walk, the sun must always set. He thought to himself as he moved on to the medical wing. Because if the sun does not set then it is impossible to see the STARLIGHT.

“We can’t help you trooper.” A busy medica said as she worked diligently to disinfect a blaster wound on the shoulder of another trooper. “We are understaffed and overworked. And the 212th just came back from a terrible battle. We don’t have the space for a clone with a small cut, I’m sorry.” She added as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve before taking out the supplies needed to stitch up the same wound that she had just disinfected. “We could send him to that medic in training.” Another medic suggested. “Would Lama Su be okay with that?” The first medic replied and the other one shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I mean she never gets to see any action and it’s not like this is a major wound, it’s just a small abrasion. Just a little disinfectant and maybe a batcha patch and he’ll be fine.” The other medic replied as they turned from one injured clone to the other, taking on two of the injured clones as to show just how short staffed they were. The first medic sighed before turning back to Tech. “Alright, go see Star Light. She’s down the hall to the right. Second door. She can help you.” Tech nodded and thanked the medic before leaving the busy medical wing.

Star flipped the page of the only book in her possession as she laid on her stomach on her bed. Her quarters on Kamino weren’t large or spacious by any means but they were enough for one person. “GONK” Her gonk droid spoke as it waddled up to her, nudging her bed as it did so. “Yes, Gink, I know I have read this book at least a dozen times this week.” She muttered to the droid. “GONK” It replied, the word being the only word in it’s vocabulary. “Well what do you wanna do? It’s not like I have anything else to do and Lama Su won’t let me leave without her permission.” “GONK” “I can’t sneak out now! It’s daytime! Someone will notice!” She replied as she looked down at her droid. “I like it in here and so do you.” “GONK” “Oh come on, Gink it’s not so bad in hear.” Before the droid could even respond the door to her quarters swooshed open and Star sat straight up in her bed, yellow eyes wide and nervous. She was expecting to see Lama Su or another Kaminoan visit her to remind her of the rules in place for her stay on Kamino but instead she was met with a clone. And not just any old run of the mill clone, this one was different. Unlike any of the others she had seen before. “Are you Star Light?” The clone asked, his accent was also different from the others which only peaked Star’s curiosity. “I am.” She replied as she stood from her bed and brushed a loose strand of violet hair away from her face. “Hi.” She added meekly with a small wave. “What are you doing here?” She asked once it clicked that there was someone who probably shouldn’t be in her quarters now standing across from her. “My name is Tech. The medical wing sent me here because they were overwhelmed.” “They sent you to me?” Star asked as she pointed a blue finger at herself and her yellow eyes widened once more in surprise. “But I’m just a medic in training- I don’t know how to-” “It’s just a small cut, miss Star Light.” Tech said as he lifted his arm, showing her the wound and Star sighed in relief. “Oh.” She said softly. “Well let me see what I can do, please sit.” She offered as she gestured to her bed where her singular book stayed open to the page she was just reading. Gink watched the clone sit down on her bed and turned in the direction Star went to get a bachta patch. “GONK” “It’s fine Gink let him sit.” Star replied as she got the supplies and walked over to him. She sat down next to him and gently took his arm in her hands. “Can you either roll up your sleeve or take off your shirt?” She asked politely and Tech nodded. He removed the shirt of his blacks leaving his upper half bare and giving her a clear space on his arm to work. She quickly used a clean cloth to wipe away the blood from the cut and clean the wound. Tech’s eyes wondered as she worked and looked over to the open book on her bed. “You were reading about Naboo?” He asked, making small conversation. And indigo flush covered her cheeks as she worked. “Oh, um, yes. It’s an Atlas it has information on all kinds of planets I’ve never seen and probably won’t ever get to see. It’s also the only book I have so I spend a lot of time reading it over and over again.” Tech’s eyes focused on the picture at the top of one of the pages in the book. A sunset. It was identical to the one he had seen painted outside on his way to the medical facility. Perhaps Starlight was the artist responsible for the murals that always seemed to spontaneously appear.

“What did you mean when you said you will probably never be able to see these planets?” Tech asked as he gestured to the book and Star put the Bacta patch on his arm. “Well, I’m not exactly supposed to leave my quarters on Kamino.” “Why not?” “Well-” “GONK” Star flinched as she heard Gink interrupt their conversation. “You need to go.” She said quickly to Tech. “What why?” He asked as she quickly pushed him up and out of her bed before tossing his shirt to him. “I’m not supposed to have visitors.” Sher replied. “And Lama Su is on her way here now.” Star added in a panic. “But why can’t you have visitors?” He asked, wanting answers. Tech was only doing what he knew best, research and investigating. There was something about this Pantoran that was being kept from him and naturally, Tech wanted to know everything that he possibly could. “There’s no time for me to explain. You need to go now!” Star ushered him one more time before finally her door swooshed open and she got the man to step outside and leave. Once the door swooshed shut she let out a sigh of relief. “GONK” Her droid barked again. Lama Su was closer and therefore, Star was in danger. She quickly moved to “act natural” and threw herself back on to her bed and continue reading her one book. And it was just in time too, the doors swooshed open and there was the Kaminoan who monitored her every move. “Good afternoon, Lama Su.” Star said quickly and politely. “Hello Star.”

Chapter Two >

25 notes · View notes

leah-halliwell92 · 4 years

Text

Crush

Summary: It’s 5th year, Professor Flitwick had the idea, in tandem with Madam Sprout, to do something different for that year’s Valentine’s Day. Something extra aside than just a ball. Professor Burbagge had suggested a karaoke list for the students and teachers alike. When the announcement was made that it would be a thing, one Katherine Tanner thought it was the most detestable idea she’d ever heard. Pairing: Sev x OC

Saturday...finally. The weekend, time to rest and get ready for another week of school work and lessons. But also a set timer for the Valentine’s Day ball that would surely be happening at the end of the week.

Katherine made her way to where Severus, her best friend since first year and secret crush, was sitting at the Slytherin table a few minutes before morning announcements were said.

“Good morning Severus,” she said with a kind grin as she sat down next to him.

“Morning,” he said with a small kind grin, “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have all week you?” She asked.

“About same...until I remembered what this coming weekend will bring about,” he said with a sneer.

She nodded half heartedly at this. She wasn’t opposed to the ins and outs of the general idea of what happens on the day. And didn’t think the Valentine’s day was a bad idea...especially if it gave her the chance to ask out who she had in mind.

Sadly for her though, two professors were about to dig her grave.

“Good morning students!” Professor Dumbledore said jovially, “As you all know this upcoming weekend is the Saint Valentine’s Day ball, please remember that semi-formal attire is expected from all participating. Two of your professors have decided on adding activities to the already set festivities. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and Burbbage please.”

The three teachers stood giving the Headmaster their thanks and announced that instead of magical band coming to play for them, karaoke shall be the music entertainment supplied additional to the magical jukebox that will be provided.

Despite the pureblood Slytherin’s reactions to the idea, most of the school seemed to like the idea of something new to try that wasn’t part of the norm.

Katherine could practically hear Lily Evans squealing in delight at this and could have groaned as she saw a small smile appear on Sev’s face as he turned to look at her. Katherine felt her heart drop to her stomach at that but shook her head and focused on not tearing up. She’s had quick developing crush on Sev since the beginning of third year, she’d hoped he'd see her in the same light. Despite knowing he seemed to only have eyes for Evans.

She came to some when she saw breakfast appear on their plates and table.

Severus spoke at her as she focused on eating her her breakfast.

She caught a word here and there but remained deep in thought. She thought of the constellations and their names, she thought of what hand movements belong with what spell. Anything to keep from thinking about the elephant in the room.

“Kate?” She came to as Severus called her a worried look on his face.

“Yes?” She said quietly.

“Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, “You seemed far away.”

“It’s nothing,” she said with a shaky grin, “I’m fine.”

With that she took one last drink of her pumpkin juice before rushing out without another explanation.

Despite being in another house, Kate had found comfort under the wing of the head of Gryffindor Professor McGonnagall. It hadn't taken long for her to convince the professor of who was picking on Severus. She had argued that a school is a space for learning and exploring. And while the slytherin stereotype did not afford them much of anything regarding a neutral standing, the very idea of being bullied for being in Slytherin the moment they are sorted as first years is as traumatizing as it is abusive.

Needless to say the professor found this brave and found it a valid reason to be more involved with students from other houses if need be. It wasn't until the end of their third year that some students had come to her with complaints of being jinxed from nowhere and laughing that follows it. The professor had taken matters into her own hands when the headmaster wouldn’t do anything. Give came to shove and the professor discovered something that led to not only James Potter but his entire crew being put in detention after Pettigrew ratted them out. Rumor had it around school that Mr. Potter the elder was non too pleased to find his son had stolen, or “borrowed” as Kate was sure James had put it, his heirloom invisibility cloak.

“Miss Tanner?” Professor McGonnagall said as she walked into her office to find Kate sitting on the chair opposite the teacher’s desk.

Kate looked at her and gave her a small smile.

“Oh dear,” the older woman said tenderly.

With a wave of her wand the professor cleared the desk before transfiguring it into a small round table and asking a house elf to bring tea and all the fixings with some biscuits.

“You my dear will have to tell him,” the teacher said after taking her seat opposite Kate.

Kate nodded and said, “I wanted to be cliche and do it at the ball.”

Minerva grinned softly in understanding and said, “Your young still lass. This is just a passing fancy...it’ll pass.”

“I want to say I understand, I want to agree.” Kate said sadly, “But...it feels like all I've known is slipping away. I’ve known him since first year ma’am. And for four years I've been his friend and in that time he’s somehow managed to have me following him around like a lovesick pup.”

Minerva felt for the young lass and wanted to give her comfort, but sometimes heartbreak is inevitable.

“There is high possibility he’ll unwittingly break Professor,” Kate said feeling like she’s about to cry, “But I’m sick and tired of having him there but not. I’m tired of almost telling him only to have him stare at Lily Evans like she walk on water. I understand she’s one of your ma’am, but she acts like she deserves all she’s getting and more for knowing and achieving the same things I have in the same amount of time.”

Minerva let the girl talk, it wasn’t too often that she got this side of the mirror between students who have similar if not equal achievements in school.

“The only reason she’s getting more notoriety and roses and rainbows thrown her way is because she’s a riotous lion who can do no wrong,” Kate raged tears of pain and anger running down her face and she went on, “What they don’t see is that she is cold, self-centered, attention seeking, dismissive and vindictive. Especially if she doesn't get what she wants how she wants in the manner of which she wants it.”

This was and wasn’t news to Minerva. Ever since discovering the ins and outs of what had been the torrent of attacks by the so called Marauders. Not only that, she’d taken the precautionary measure to do a little digging on Mr. Snape. The discoveries she made may as well be the very thing to aid magical children muggleborn or not so they do not grow in such environments...Dumbledore or not.

“To Sev, she is on this unbeatable pedestal that no one can reach no matter what,” she said with a defeated sniff, “So much so that he cannot see that her love for him is that of a sibling’s. Or worse, that she will discard him as soon as he shows his supposed true Slytherin colors and fall pray to the dark arts as they think he will. Have they ever thought that without studying them, grey areas would’ve never been found? Or that some would be too dangerous for the general public? I’ve learned that magic is never truly dark or light...its the intent and emotion that judge how a witch or wizard use their magic.”

Minerva stared at Kate in awe at what she’d said and how she’d said it. She could see the truth in Kate’s words, she also knew that the young woman is right. Without those willing to study the dark arts, understanding would not be gathered. After all this is how cures or antidotes are created, this is how one understands what a spell or jinx does.

“What will you do?” Minerva asked the silently crying girl.

“I’ll sing him a song,” Kate said with a small smile, “And probably go with Reg and Remus. I’m not shooting for a happy ending ma’am...I know that is impossible.”

~Time Skip~

The weekend after that went by slowly for Kate, Severus tried to get her to talk to him to tell him what was bothering her all the while getting looks from both Remus and Regulus.

Severus did not understand what these looks meant nor how they had anything to do with Kate. This drove him to ask Lily and Alice what was wrong with his second best friend.

Lily said that it was most likely Kate’s time of the month and didn’t go any deeper into it bar from opening the conversation to something else. While Alice pulled him aside before going into dinner Sunday evening.

“Have you ever thought that Kay may like you?” She asked gently in a hushed tone.

The look on his face told her in no uncertain terms that no he had not.

“What makes you say that? She’s my best friend,” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Only second to Lily though,” Alice said trying to see where it is fell in relation to her friend.

Alice had known of Kate’s crush for Sev for a while now, had even spoken to her at length of it. She never thought Sev would be so blind to Kate’s attentions to block out the very idea that she could be better for him than Lily.

“It’s different with Lily,” he said emphatically, “She gorgeous, smart, talented and–”

“And everything Kat is,” Regulus finished for him.

Regulus Black while young, has seen more than he’ll ever care to admit. Affording him the knowledge necessary to garner what he wants, like a true slytherin. In this case, he just wanted the one he saw as his sister to be happy with his house brother. Sev may not see how Lily uses his natural gift in Potions but the tight knit group of friends do.

Severus glared at Regulus. He knew Kate was good...just not like his Lily.

Regulus rolled his eyes at him practically hearing the thought and pulled him to their table to wait for dinner.

“So I’m not good enough,” Kate said from a hidden alcove.

Alice’s gaze softened as she approached.

“I’m not...” Kate stopped and breathed deeply swallowing her tears, “I’m not pretty enough, smart enough or talented enough to garner his attention. Is that it? Alice is that really it? That I’m not enough.”

Regulus stepped out having settled Severus in their spot Remus not too far behind him.

The boys shared a look hating how Severus was breaking down their friend bit by bit and didn't even seem to not only know it but care.

Alice pulled Kate into a hug and said, “We don’t have to have dinner here tonight Kay, let’s go to the kitchens a pick something from there yea?”

“I have to stay with him,” Regulus said nodding in the direction of the great hall, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him.”

Remus nodded mutely and watched Alice practically drag Kate away from the hall.

“Do you think he’ll ever piece everything together?” Remus asked.

“He’s too far gone over Evans to see his own bloody feet as he walks when it comes to her so no,” Reg said anger clear in his voice as he answered, “To him Kat is a good friend a second best friend...But as Alice has said, only second to Evans.”

“Ever since James has been in detention and all he’s done to Sev over the years came out, she’s been acting as if Sev’s just popped up from wherever she though he was,” Remus said with a hum.

“Like he realized that Slytherins are pure evil and all bad,” Regulus said with a scoff, “What you lions don’t seem to realize is that good or evil, us snakes stick together and help each other out when we can instead of breaking each other for being different. Not to mention he’s acting like she hung the moon and stars affording her a love sick pup that would do anything for her.”

Remus nodded at that knowing that there is truth behind the words.

“We should head back before we’re missed,” Regulus said.

“I’ll keep you included on the ins and outs of Lily,” Remus said weakly.

“No need,” Regulus said with a sad grin, “There’s nothing to be done with the information that would end in a favorable manner for either party. Sev wouldn’t believe it if the information was proof that Evans is the worst form of hellcat and the back lash would probably be against Kat. For things she’s never been or felt in relation to Evans.”

“Kay’s never been envious or jealous of Lily,” Remus said, “What annoys her is that she’s not getting the same or equal treatment for her achievements as Lily.”

Regulus walked away with a nod over his shoulder at Remus.

In the kitchens, Alice held a sobbing Kate as the information sunk in.

“What am I supposed to do Alice?” She asked as she calmed, “I can’t keep going on like this.”

“I agree, but none of the boys our year seem to know their heads from their dicks,” Alice said nonchalantly.

This caused both girls to laugh and for Katherine to say, “Except for Frank?”

Alice blushed at this making her break into a fit of giggles.

The duo spent a while there just enjoying their time together and talking before it was time for them to go back to their respective houses.

The week went on cold when it came to her relationship with Severus. Kate managed to get herself together enough to pretend she wasn't hurting and approached him as she usually did only to have him get pulled away by Lily. Remus and Alice both said she was hoping, or “hoping”, Severus would ask her to the ball.

Kate rolled her eyes at that and continued on with her week as usual despite Remus telling her that Sev had been trying to talk to her...Lily apparently had good, or rather bad, timing.

She wanted to believe that she really did. But all Severus had done and said when it came to Lily Evans told her otherwise.

It was the day before Valentines Day, and the ball, meaning last minute shopping, tissues, chocolate, and spelling her preferred crying spot after the whole event that is Valentine’s Day.

She’d woken up that morning semi-hopeful that it would be tolerable at the very least. Sadly that would not be the case...

As soon as she stepped into the great hall for breakfast, owls and folded notes were flying from one end of the hall to the other. She saw a few girls crying either in happiness or heart break, she saw cheering as well as shy blushing declarations and worst of all the kissy and affectionate couples celebrating their love. She spotted Severus and was about to join him when Lily stood from her table and pulled him to sit next to her.

Kate sat at the end of her house’s table closest to the great hall’s doors ready to bolt if the occasion called for hoping to not receive anything, yet a small part of her did. She ‘read’ the book she’d brought with her staring at the card she’d made for Sev as if giving it to him was no longer an option. She tucked it between the pages and read on as if nothing was happening. She forced herself to eat and go over the lyrics of the song that she’d chosen earlier that week.

She snuck a peek at him and saw the look he was gracing Lily with. Such devotion and love, it ate at her. A tear fell on the page she’d been reading. She knew this would happen, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt all the same.

The day seemed to drag on as lessons were half given due to the buzz that seemed to have pretty much everyone feeling alive through out the castle. Severus looked like he would approach her on a couple of occasions but all Evans had to do is walk by and it was like someone had obliviated her from his mind. Since afternoon classes were canceled for the ball, this gave Kate time to go over her lyrics in more detail than she had that morning.

Kate went over her plan for the ball was to go in sing her piece and leave. There was no point in prolonging the agony. And being her mother’s daughter, she’d wear black. She always looked beautiful in black, or so people had informed her. Plus, when one has the opportunity to be extra you don’t pass it up.

~Time Skip~

Kate remained close to Minerva once inside the great hall. To her great relief, the hall itself had been tastefully decorated. The golden hue brought in with the warmth of the seemed to pop with he red sashes that horizontally lined the walls and the hearts that took over half of the amount of normally floating candles. All in all, the combination of hearts and candles made the hall look warm, inviting and romantic.

“I was in charge of decorating this year,” Professor McGonnagall said with a satisfied grin, “The plans Professor Dumbledore had are not for human eyes.”

“Oh?” Kate said with a small smile.

“The red was too much even for my eyes,” she said with a chuckle.

Kate breathed a laugh and shook her head.

She didn’t know when it was that the singing would start, she was coming the minutes hoping that she didn’t bolt before hand. It’s been close to two hours now, night had fallen and all this may or may have anything to do with the fact of how Severus did and didn’t react to her when he saw her at the great hall’s entrance.

“Did he really do and say what I heard?” The professor asked her quietly as she kept an eye on the crowd.

“He did,” Kate said her voice small, “He saw me and it was like he was seeing me for the first time. He looked at me and it was...it was so tender and sweet. He’d said I looked beautiful.”

Minerva saw the small smile on Kate’s face and would have shaken her head at how star struck she looked; but let her continue.

“He’d said I looked beautiful, he then took my hand and kissed it like a proper gentleman,” Kate swooned as she saw him dance with Lily a dreamy look on his face, “We were talking before he said ‘look at how beautiful’, I thought I was referring to me but then I turned to see Evans looking resplendent in her dress. He then turned to me and said that he was escorting ‘the most beautiful lass he’d ever had the honour of laying his eyes on’.”

Minerva put a supportive hand on her shoulder and was about to say something when...

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Dumbledore called out jovially, “I’m here to announce the first group to sing either in groups, duets or solos.”

Kate draws a breath and was ready to bolt when...

“Don’t worry lass,” Minerva said, “I’m here as are your friends. There is no shame in leaving if it becomes too much.”

Kate nodded as she heard her name called out.

She spotted Severus’ look of astonishment at this along with his searching gaze. She deliberately kept to herself not wanting to lose her footing at seeing him.

“The groups will go first followed by the duet,” Professor Dumbledore said, “For the first wave. Everyone find your places and your partners. The first will be called in fifteen minutes.”

The music was returned to its original volume and couples went back to dancing. Kate sighed and focused on her breathing, there is no point in getting overtly nervous before she got on stage.

Minerva hid a grin as she saw Remus approach them.

“Kat?” he said a soft blush on her cheeks.

Kate looked at Remus eyes wide, “Yes?”

“Would you like to dance?” He asked a soft grin on his handsome face.

She nodded and took Remus’ hand where he led them to a corner of the dance floor.

Together they danced and for once Kate felt ok. Not something huge but ok, enough to at least do what she’s set out to do and finally move on from this crush. A few minutes before the first set was due up, Reg to her for a spin doing all he could to make her laugh and distract her not only from the obvious elephant in the room but also baring her soul in front of the entire, almost entire, school body.

When the time came for the first group, she’d been impressed with how they sang “Light My Fire” by The Doors. She could see their respective dates swoon and one nearly faint causing her to laugh in delight. Kate while not into super public or overstated displays of affection, could see the appeal of your significant other do such a thing. It looked nice to see that he was happy with her...it had to feel nice from her end too.

The following was a duet, this one was even bolder that what she had planned. This duet was singing to each other via Elvis. Kate felt tears building as magic seemed to radiate from the stage from the heartfelt words the couple was singing to each other.

Kate was surrounded by her friends when all too soon her name was called for her to sing her set.

She met supportive grins and smiles from her friends as she went wait for the person ahead of her to finish up. She caught Professor McGonnagall’s eyes and reassuring grin making her feel a little bit better. Her gaze shifted over the hall looking for the object of her affection and her heart broke as she spotted them in the middle of the floor leisurely kissing to the soft swing of Elvis.

‘Can’t help falling in love with you indeed,’ she thought her head spinning at the realization that Evans like always...had won.

With this in mind she swallowed her tears and put on her big girl bra and got on stage when called. She ignored the surprised look on Severus’ face as the music started and she began to sing.

I got a girl crush Hate to admit it but I got a heart rush Ain't slowing down I got it real bad Want everything she has That smile and that midnight laugh She's giving you now

Kate focused on the lull of the song, pretending the hall was empty but her and a darkened room.

I want to taste her lips Yeah, 'cause they taste like you I want to drown myself In a bottle of her perfume I want her long blonde hair I want her magic touch Yeah, 'cause maybe then You'd want me just as much I got a girl crush I got a girl crush

Kate changed a look and saw Sev’s astounded expression. Whether they are at what she’s singing, to whom, or the meaning behind the song she didn’t know. It was...bittersweet to know that she did indeed still have somewhat of an effect on him.

I don't get no sleep I don't get no peace Thinking about her Under your bed sheets The way that she's whispering The way that she's pulling you in Lord knows I've tried, I can't get her off my mind

Kate drew a final breath as the last chords of the song echoed through the hall before being engulfed in a sea of applause. She smiled at her crowd and bowed before getting off stage.

Once off, she was met with a nearly frantic Severus.

“Why,” he said clearly not knowing how to feel, “Why didn’t you say something? Anything!?”

Kate looked over his shoulder and saw a smirking Lily.

“Because I’m only second best to Lily Evans,” Kate said simply, “Tell her she won.”

//00//00//00//

A/N: Like and reblog if you liked the first part!! Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Tag List: @disneymarina @hoefordarkness @thebeautyofdisorder @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @toooftenobsessed @smailaway @lady-sigyn, @therealcountdracula1931 @lokiisbrucebanner @197863451 @always-severus-stan @miranak @nanasoo @thehallowsden @the-life-and-times-of-a-nerd

#severus snape #lily evans #minerva mcgonagall #one-sided crush #Minerva is good cat momma

22 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 6 months

Text

OC Masterlist

Band of Brothers

Valerie Harmon - Once a bright-eyed university student, fascinated by all things art history, Valerie's life in France is thrown into chaos by the Nazi invasion, severing her from her family back in Vermont. A chance encounter with an Easy Company Captain reignites previously forgotten hopes of ever seeing home again, but even this is not without its trials.

Camille Whitney - Following the death of her youngest brother on the Western Front, Camille puts her nurse training to use and accompanies Easy Company on their journey through Europe. Utterly family-oriented, she finds new brothers in the men around her, but none could replace the one she has lost.

Faye Warren - An aspiring journalist, driven by the legacy of her father, Faye finds frustration in her line of work, constrained by the expectations thrust upon female writers. In a last act of desperation, she chases a story all the way from London to Nazi-occupied France, hoping to find an opportunity amongst the men of Easy Company.

The Pacific

Anna March - After her family is rocked by horrendous tragedy, Anna finds herself permanently changed by the time her childhood friend, Eugene Sledge, returns from war. Both irrevocably scarred by the events of the last few years, they must come to terms with the new people before them whilst still struggling with old, long buried feelings.

SAS: Rogue Heroes

Diana Fayed - Adopted out of poverty by an infamous army general, Diana’s whole life has revolved around proving her worth and becoming the soldier her father believes she can be. Overlooked and dismissed by her superiors, she finally finds a place among the unruly ranks of the newly formed L Detachment, a group that will prove to be her biggest challenge yet.

Masters of The Air

Frances 'Frankie' Bevan - A qualified aircraft mechanic and member of the WAAF, Frankie has spent her entire youth fascinated by all things mechanical. Her latest posting at Thorpe Abbotts promises to be no different from her previous jobs at first, but the 100th Bomb Group are nothing like the RAF pilots she's used to, and Frankie's about to learn that the pain of war will find you no matter where you are.

Georgina 'George' Aarons - Frankie's best friend and a telegraph operator at Thorpe Abbotts, George's budding romance with the pilot Curtis Biddick was only ever going to end in tragedy.

Susie Lamb - A Captain and driver in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, Susie has a reputation for being perhaps the most disliked woman in all of Thorpe Abbotts. However, as the sixth of eight children from a near-impoverished family, it becomes alarmingly clear that the answers to her present lay in her past, and she's not quite the woman everyone thinks she is.

Gwen Dastrup - Chicago native and daughter to Danish immigrants, Gwen's dreams of becoming a published historian are dashed by the breakout of war, and she volunteers with the Red Cross, becoming a clubmobile girl at Thorpe Abbotts. But when she catches the attention of John Brady and RAF Captain Michael Fenton, she is torn between choosing the man she loves and the easiest route to achieving the career she's always aspired to.

20 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 6 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 7

Summary: As L Detachment is granted leave in the wake of Jock Lewes' death, more of Diana's personal life comes to light, and her friendship with Reg is cemented more than ever

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, drunkenness, violence

Word Count: 5.2k (Got a bit carried away with this one)

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates! Anyone who's been to university knows November is ROUGH and I honestly had zero time to write until now, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"We're all down right now - give it time, give them time, let them get some rest. We'll bounce back soon enough."

David Stirling would never admit how desperate a bid it had been when he first gave the order for the men of L Detachment to disperse - to take some time away from the bleak desert wasteland and dwell amongst the living for a while, to see what Cairo had to offer and wash the taste of grief from their tongues. The loss of Jock Lewes had hit every single one of them in a variety of ways, the stagnation o death hanging thick in the air at Jalo, and it seemed they were hanging on by a thread. They could only live at half mast for so long before something went wrong, before they lost someone else too.

And so he had sent them packing - dispelled the group with the distribution of their uniform, and L Detachment had been allowed to descend on the streets of Egypt's capital. He almost pitied the rest of the city, but from high up in his apartment, Eve resting comfortably in his arms, he found he couldn't quite give a shit about what the rest of them were getting up to.

The Cairo sunshine was beating down on Diana Fayed's scalp as she made her practised way through the city streets, a stack of bangles jangling on one wrist, an antique watch ticking away on the other. A cigarette hung from between her lips, a long stump of ashes building up on its tip as she wove through the bustling crowds, narrowly avoiding a few stray Brits and carefully dodging the street vendors she had come to know as the most persistent. It was a hub of life, and she knew its walkways like the back of her hand, each step so rehearsed she scarcely had to think, years of repetition ingrained in her very bones.

It was this intimate knowledge of the place that made it so easy to tell when something was off. Which was why the din of a brawl down a nearby alley made her ear prick as she passed, pausing to stomp out her cigarette against the pavement.

The alley in question was usually quiet, especially during the day, its path better trodden at night when the brothels on either side were most active. Shuttered windows, often used to lure in customers from the street below, had been bolted tightly shut, the inhabitants of the two establishments decidedly ignorant of whatever was going on outside. In cities such as these, people perfected the art of minding their business very quickly.

Dian leant her shoulder up against the brick arch that lined the entryway, peering through the rabble as the uniformed men scrapped and beat each other senselessly, and she fought to suppress a sigh at the familiar-looking berets she spotted in the crowd.

Only had the uniform for a day, and already they're showing us up.

As the chair in Fraser's hands collided swiftly with the back of another soldier's head, she winced, beginning to rather enjoy the spectacle as it went on. Here in Cairo, she wore no uniform - here in Cairo, she didn't have to worry about being associated with this band of beloved morons. Bill's decisive blow seemed to end the squabbling, and a moment of stillness almost had a chance to descend upon the group before the far-off sound of the MP's whistle shattered any illusion that this was over, that there might not be a consequence for their actions this time.

There wouldn't be if she could help it.

Roughly shouldering past a confused-looking soldier, necklace bouncing against her chest with each forceful step, Diana raised her fingers to her lips, filling the absence of a cigarette, and released a sharp whistle. The sudden sound drew the attention of every man in the alley, alarmed expressions of recognition spreading across the faces of her comrades.

"MPs. Move." She barked, the others bolting to flee the scene before they could be reprimanded or returned to the military prisons some of them had been recruited from.

Reg fell in step beside her as they hurried to escape through the opposite end of the alley, fidgeting to adjust his beret as he spoke. "Y'know, we only did it 'cause they were-"

"Yeah, I don't care," Diana interrupted, tugging at his arm and gesturing for the others to follow as she led them through a labyrinth of dark, narrow passages - remnants of what had once been streets, now built up and over so much so that they were little more than tunnels, hidden from even the sunlight above. They could hear people walking over their heads as they navigated the alleyways, the MPs' whistles growing fainter and more distant with each turning.

The men squinted in the sun as they emerged back into daylight, the maze of back streets opening out onto an actual road, trafficked by the expensive cars of the city's richest, men dressed in military uniforms with women on their arms traipsing the pavements. She had not taken pause even once since their escape had begun, taking each twist and turn on their route without an inkling of hesitation, and the others noticed. Reg had never known her in the city she'd grown up in, but it was as if Cairo became an extension of her own body, the streets so familiar beneath her feet it was as if they had been born as one, created as a single entity. She was almost a different person here - above them in every conceivable way.

Reaching the front door of a large residential building, he paused to frown at the armed guards posted on either side of the doorstep, Diana fumbling for a key in her pocket before sliding it into the lock and herding them inside with a sweeping arm. Whatever this place was, Reg had never seen anything like it - Persian rugs lined the stone floors, pieces of stained glass dotted in every window, the hallways leading inwards to a huge central courtyard, visible from the foyer, a fountain bubbling away peacefully within.

"Where are we?" Fraser asked, passing his weight from foot to foot as if still expecting the MPs to burst in at any moment.

She turned to reopen the door they had entered through, craning her neck to survey the street outside before addressing his question. "My house."

"Fuuuuck me," Seekings muttered under his breath, taking a moment to look around, pausing as he noticed a painting hung on the wall at the base of the stairs. He could tell it was Diana - or supposed to be her, at least - although the resemblance wasn't quite there. Her hair hung in the elegant, artificial curls he saw the Englishwomen sporting, far from the wild, tight ringlets he was used to. Her eyes were gentler, her smile softer, as if every bit of hardness she possessed had been filed down and dulled. The woman in the painting was beautiful, but she wasn't Diana - not the way he knew her. She wouldn't even spare the artwork a glance as they stood there in the hall, as if she were ashamed of its existence.

The low hum of conversation could be heard from somewhere upstairs, and the men turned their heads at the sound of footsteps against tile, the figure of General Hannigan strolling merrily towards them. Even the months of SAS conditioning had not removed the deepest impulses of military training, and their small group snapped to attention, hands raised to their foreheads in salute as the General approached, jacket emblazoned with medals yet hanging unbuttoned, one of his shirt tails hanging untucked from his trousers.

The General surveyed their appearances, left a mess by the alleyway brawl, bruises already blooming on the skin left bare. "These are your boys then, eh?"

Diana was perched on the bottom step of the staircase, untying the laces of her shoes, the bangles on her wrist jangling noisily with the movement. "Aye," She nodded, a slight smile curling her lips. Her boys. Reg supposed they were really. There was very little she could ask of them that they would not do.

"Well, I'm sure you lot have some stories under your belts. I'll have to have you round to tell me about them soon, don't you think Diana?"

"Yeah, sure," Diana replied, padding barefoot across the hallway to an opening out into the courtyard, attempting to wrangle a stray cat that had made its way in as it lapped at the water in the fountain. Reg's brow furrowed, and Dave struggled to suppress a laugh beside him as she reached out and grabbed the creature, holding it at arm's length as it hissed and scratched the backs of her hands. Letting out a flurry of curses under her breath, Diana hurried to the front door, her father holding it open just long enough for them to expel the beast and bar its re-entry.

"Damn things," She muttered, sucking one of the cuts on her knuckles as the General straightened his jacket.

"Right, well, I've got half of senior command upstairs drinking their tea and wondering where I am, so I ought to go. Will you join us, Diana?"

"I'd rather be shot," She replied without hesitation, her jovial tone making Pat snort loudly. Hannigan seemed unphased by this response, giving his daughter a pat on the shoulder before disappearing up the staircase.

Silence hung among them for a long, awkward moment, droplets of blood blooming against her skin from where the cat had scratched at her. Diana looked up after a while of nursing her wounds, noticing the frown creasing Kershaw's expression. She shrugged. "We get them in here all the time. Dad keeps birds, so we've got to keep them out as best we can."

"... Right."

"Do you usually have half of senior command drinking tea in your house?" Fraser asked.

"Only on Wednesdays."

"Ah."

The coast outside had cleared, not a single MP in sight amongst the hustle and bustle of wealthy Englishmen sweating through their expensive suits in the Cairo heat. Diana had made sure to lightly scold them before letting the boys go, writing a shortlist of clubs they could actually enjoy and get appropriately hammered without military intervention. Kershaw took the list with a grin, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt with as much care as if it were the holy grail itself. Their evening plans secured, the small group made to leave, filing back out through the front door, keeping a keen eye open for any more cats attempting to gain entry.

Reg was the last to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at her one last time. The afternoon sun slipped through at an angle, and in the light, he could see light shades of brown running through her dark curls. Whoever had painted her had been a fool. They hadn't looked close enough - they had missed everything that made her truly beautiful.

"Forget something, soldier?" She asked softly, a smirk teasing her expression. He reached out, taking her hand in his with all the care he had the day Jock had died, brushing the pad of his thumb across her scratched knuckles, leaving a slight smear of blood in his wake.

"Look after yourself, eh? Have a good night." Reg nodded, dropping her hand as swiftly as he had taken it and leaving without a word.

The sensation did not come easy to him. Reg Seekings had only ever been familiar with anger - with rage, violence, and the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his body after he committed it. It was hard to be gentle - hard to force his hands to work softly, as if he were reeling back every muscle in his body that knew how to hurt, tucking what seemed the biggest part of himself away and digging down deep in the hopes he might find something better. As they headed down the street, getting further and further from the house with each step, he looked down at his hand, a smudge of Diana's blood dried and dark against his thumb. It was the first drop of blood Reg had felt on his hand that had not been born of violence - that had not come from the force of his fists.

"Y'alright there, Reg?" Kershaw's voice came from ahead, looking back over his shoulder.

He pushed his bloodied hand into his pocket and out of sight. "Yeah."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Reg, Dave and Pat had decided to go out that night, they were almost certain the address Diana had given them was incorrect. She had doodled a star beside the club's name - a sure sign of its quality - but the men could not help but share a look of uncertainty as they were led down a dark, narrow alleyway, silent in the cool evening air, the only sound the whirr of engines a few streets over.

"We better not be lost," Dave muttered, tearing the map from Pat's hands who surrendered it with an almost insulted scoff.

"The address is wrong, it ain't my fault."

At the other end of the alley, a basement door opened, a sliver of warm light escaping towards them along with the soft sound of music. A man and woman emerged, arm in arm, swaying side to side, clearly intoxicated as they staggered past the three of them and disappeared around a corner, the heavy metal door they had existed through being pulled shut with a creak.

"Well. I s'pose that's it then," Kershaw said, ignoring Riley's sideways look of 'told you so, asshole'.

They approached tentatively, Reg's knuckled rapping against the metal with a loud thud thud thud. A letterbox-sized slot was tugged open, a man peering at them from inside, bathed in the golden glow of lamplight.

"What d'you want?" He demanded.

They could not simply demand entry. That wouldn't work, they were smart enough to know that. Reg opened his mouth, hoping something smart would come to him, but nothing did. Shouldering his way to the front of the group, Pat spoke up, turning on his American charm, his voice coming calm and smooth.

"We're friends of Diana Fayed."

The door was hauled open wordlessly, creaking on its hinges, and the trio looked at each other in disbelief at their luck, Dave clapping Pat on the shoulder in approval as they headed inside. The sound of live music hit them the moment they entered, the club opening out before them with as much wonder as a distant mirage in the desert. They entered through the basement into the club's second floor, balconies adorned with tables running around the walls, the centre open above the main floor below. Despite being burrowed deep in the ground without a window in sight, they had somehow created the illusion of daylight, and it felt as though they had stumbled upon a time machine, transporting them to the heat and brightness of midday sunlight.

A band was in full swing on the main floor below, playing raucously atop a small stage that had been built up opposite the bar, the tiled floor dotted with tabled and dancing couples, Cairo society mingling freely as the alcohol ran ceaselessly.

"She knows her stuff, our Di'" Dave chuckled, unable to wipe the giddy grin from his face as they made their way to a table. Reg lowered himself into a seat, doing a double-take as he noticed a pair of beautiful women nearby, gossiping amongst themselves as they stared at the uniformed men. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a smirk coming on. But there was an inkling of hesitation, a sense of unease somewhere deep in his stomach. This wasn't like him. He needed a drink.

"Speaking of Diana," Pat frowned, peering over the balcony railing at the crowd of people below. Reg looked down, spotting her almost instantly.

She was making her way from the bar, a glass of whiskey in each hand, red lips spread in a grin as she chatted to a uniformed soldier next to her, his shoulders carving a way through the crowd for her as they headed towards a table. Her curls fell neatly without the disruption of the desert wind, the dark hair in stark contrast against the white silk of her dress. It held her close in all the right places, a flattering v-neck in the front, and a deep back exposing the curve of her spine. It was as if she had been carved from marble, so perfect did she look in Reg's eyes. He felt his mouth turn dry.

"Hey, Di'!" Dave called, and she met their gaze, lifting one of the glasses in something between a wave and a toast. Whatever she called back had been lost beneath the din of the music, but Reg couldn't tear his gaze away from her, try as he might.

"She looks good," Pat observed. Seekings almost glared at him.

"Oi Reg, look out, got an admirer over there," Kershaw teased, gesturing towards the pair of women who had been watching since they entered. He spared another glance to Diana down below. She had reached her table, sitting amongst a crowd of military men and well-dressed women, the group chatting and laughing like old friends. She didn't need him looking out for her, even if he wanted to.

Fuck it.

Reg picked up his glass as their drinks arrived, taking a sip and rising from his chair. "Fellas," He nodded, the others jeering in encouragement as he made his way over.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It had been the first drop of real, good alcohol she had felt on her tongue since everything had happened. She hadn't had a drink when Eoin died, she hadn't had a drink when Jock died. Tonight it seemed Diana was drinking for both of them. No more sipping out of scavenged bottles they'd stolen from the New Zealanders. This was the good stuff.

"You sure you're good?" Jas asked from beside her. Jaspreet Nadar had been her best friend since they were children, since her father had followed the flow of cash from India to Egypt and decided to set up his business here, becoming friends with the General along the way. The pair hadn't seen each other in months, but their much-awaited reunion was becoming somewhat tainted by the tragedies Diana had witnessed. The moment the first drop of drink rolled down her throat it was as if she remembered everything she could be drinking for - and with that came the urge for another glass. And another.

Diana reached over and took Jaspreet's hand in hers, their palms slotting together perfectly. "Will you get drunk with me?" She asked sincerely.

The corner of Jas' mouth curled upwards in a smile both sympathetic and mischievous. "You know you never have to ask me that twice," She said, and Diana laughed as she watched her best friend upturn a shot glass and let its contents spill down her throat.

Their company for the night was largely comprised of the sons of Diana's father's friends - young, bright, military men hoping to live up to their fathers' legacies - and university students who had crossed the river in search of a good time. Neither Diana nor Jaspreet knew any of them as more than acquaintances or drinking buddies, but the atmosphere was jovial, and for a moment one could almost forget there was a war going on outside of that basement.

Except Diana couldn't forget. Sometimes she would wake in the dark, and for a moment find herself back in the desert the night of her first jump, staring up at the endless blackness, Eoin McGonigal's corpse a dead weight behind her, every muscle in her body screaming for release. She had ached for a week after that night, and was beginning to suspect Paddy had noticed her reluctance to meet his eye. In the SAS there was no time to stop, to process, to find a healthy way to cope instead of drowning in the horrors you had seen - and those you had committed yourself. The warmth of the alcohol in her throat was a calming presence, a mellowing influence that held the memories at bay. She began to find herself reaching for the next glass before she had finished the first.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reg's night was coming to a close. Comfortably buzzing from the alcohol, a beautiful woman ready to accompany him home - it was everything a night should be in a place like this. Downing the last of his drink, placing the glass down with the finality of a man ready to leave, he held out his arm to the woman - whose name he found he was struggling to recall - and she took it as they rose to their feet, a sense of anticipation hanging between them for what was to come.

It was just as he was about to leave when a hand seized his shoulder. He felt his entire body tense, mind suddenly racing in an attempt to pin who it could be. An off-duty MP who recognised him from the brawl? One of those cunts from the alleyway looking for a round two? Reg squared his shoulders in preparation for a confrontation as he turned, only to fall limp again as he found himself face to face with Kershaw, his brow furrowed in concern.

"What is it?" Seekings asked, tilting his head towards the woman on his arm to signal his preoccupation.

"We've got a... situation," Dave frowned.

"What the fuck is it?"

"Well..."

Over the din of the band, Reg heard a familiar cackle erupt from down below. Expression furrowing to match Dave's, he stepped towards the balcony railing, peering down at the main floor below. Diana's table was now empty save for her and another woman he didn't recognise - thick black hair curled fashionably, draped in a dress of purple silk - and the both of them were visibly, utterly, unmistakably shit-faced. Pat had already gone down, and had a gentle grip on Diana's arm, attempting to help her up from her chair as she continued to tell the other woman a very loud story, her words coming slurred as her companion struggled to contain her giggles.

"Oh, fuck," He muttered, his companion for the evening suddenly forgotten as he made his way to the stairs, descending with Kershaw close behind him.

Riley was visibly embarrassed by the attention they were drawing from nearby patrons as he attempted to steady Diana on her feet, ankles almost buckling as she tried to balance in her heels. "No, because he had a gun!" She slurred, halfway through her story, the other woman at the table letting out another laugh.

"Jesus Christ, how much have you had?" Reg scolded, wrapping an arm around her torso as he reached her side. Diana's brow rose in surprise at this, peering down at where his hand had a firm grip on her waist.

"Handsy," She noted, snorting back laughter.

"Fucking hell. Let's go."

The men attempted to steer her towards the exit but she tugged against them with all her might, craning her neck to look behind them. "Nooo, we have to bring Jas!"

"Who?" Dave asked, preoccupied with shouldering his way through the crowd ahead.

"She's my best friend, we have to bring her!" Breaking free of Reg's grip, he let out a frustrated sigh as he realised she had kicked off her heels, leaving them discarded in the middle of the floor as she returned for her friend, the pair swaying against each other as Jas stood up. "If you don't bring her I'll shout kidnap. I'm not fuckin' around."

None of them had the energy to argue, and so they helped the two women up out of the club, emerging into the cool night air, squinting in the darkness. Kershaw had a firm hand on Jaspreet's arm, and it was only once she was certain the other woman was with the group that Diana let Reg help her along, leaning into his side as he kept an arm around her.

"What happened to all your fancy friends, eh?" He asked quietly, feeling the warmth of her skin through her dress.

"They got bored - we got loud and they got embarrassed - went off to find somewhere else to sit."

There was that anger Reg knew all too well, bubbling up inside his chest so quickly he had to keep himself from clenching the hand that had a hold on her. She had been vulnerable, and they had ditched her. Who knew what could have happened, where she could have ended up had someone less savoury showed up? The possibilities flooding his thoughts made his blood boil, and his grip on her tightened slightly.

It had taken almost a half hour of wandering for the three soldiers to admit that they could not remember the way to Diana's home, the realisation hitting them with a sense of slight panic. Even with her knowledge of the city, there was no way she'd be able to guide their way back in this state. After some time deliberating, it became clear that they had only one option.

Stirling's butler opened the door to his flat promptly, an immediate expression of dread crossing his face at the sight before him. Reg, Dave and Pat were stood in the hallway outside, smiling hopefully as Diana and Jaspreet attempted to recall the lyrics to a song that had been playing in the club, giggling as they failed to find the words.

"No. No." The man protested, shaking his head despite his willingness to step aside for the group, the men shuffling past him and into Stirling's living room.

"Where's Stirling?" Kershaw asked, guiding Jas into a nearby armchair.

"He's out. You're lucky he doesn't have anyone over tonight, or you'd be in real trouble."

"Yeah, well. If he had a problem with this, tell him to call General Hannigan," Reg grunted.

The butler left the room swiftly, clearly choosing to pretend he hadn't seen anything at all. Diana was half-lying down on the sofa, her head pressed against the armrest, kicking off the shoes Reg had made her put back on before they left.

Without a word, Seekings turned to leave, fists clenched. "Woah, where are you going?" Pat called. He was satisfied that Diana was safe, but another pressing issue was tugging at him.

"I'll be back soon," He said simply, the door to the flat closing behind him with a slam.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was well into the early hours of the morning when Reg returned, entering far more quietly than he had left as he eased the door shut behind him. The flat had slipped into a comfortable silence, the only light creeping in from the streetlamps outside, a faint orange glow bathing half of the main room.

He collapsed backwards into the nearest armchair with a sigh, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids as he nursed the cuts and bruises that now littered his knuckles. The sudden shift of the light somewhere to his left startled him, sucking in a loud, sharp breath. "Fuckin' hell," He whispered.

"Sorry," Diana's voice replied from the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted he realised she was crouched on the hardwood floor, gently removing the pins from Jas' hair as the other woman slept soundly, her face pressed into the sofa cushions.

"Oh, it's you," Reg sighed, relaxing into his seat once more. "...What are you still up for?"

"These'll hurt when she wakes up," She pointed out, forming a neat pile of hairpins in the palm of her hand as she removed them one by one. It was such a caring gesture that he couldn't help but smile, almost forgetting the twinging pain in his fists.

"... Where did you go?"

"Oh, uh..." Reg looked down at the cuts on his hands. Diana shuffled across the floor towards him, the skirt of her dress creasing and bunching up around her hips with the movement. Even in the dark, he could make out the exposed skin of her thighs, and tried his damndest not to look. She was still drunk, after all. "Had some shit to deal with."

She reached up, taking one of his wounded hands in hers and squinting to make out the blood that was now beginning to scab. "Did you beat someone up?" Diana asked, almost teasingly.

"Went back to the club," He admitted. "Found one of the blokes who ditched you..."

He could make it out in her expression the moment she realised what he had done. Reg tensed, half expecting her to be angry, but in her intoxicated state, she merely smiled, letting out a giddy chuckle.

"Well, I am flattered," Diana grinned, and he had begun to do the same when she pressed her lips against the cuts that covered his knuckles, holding them there for a moment before turning her head to rest her cheek against the back of his palm, curled up on the floor beside him.

Reg sucked in another deep breath, fighting hard to bury anything he might have been feeling in that moment. In the dark he could feel the band-aids wrapped around her fingers from where the cat had scratched her, could feel the warmth of her cheek against his hand and hear the slow lull of her breathing. He could have stayed in that moment forever, but all at once it began to seem selfish.

"Right, come on," He grunted, pushing himself up from his chair. Diana looked up at him in confusion, and he spared a glance around the flat. "Where's the others gone?"

"Bed," She shrugged.

"Right then, that's where you're going too," Placing a hand on either side of her rib cage, she gripped his wrists as he hauled her up onto her feet, her skirt falling back down past her knees. Suddenly it was a little easier to breathe. Reg manoeuvred her awkwardly towards the sofa, accidentally stubbing his toe on something hard in the dark. He almost swore, and she pressed a finger to her lips, fighting a laugh as she shushed him, Jaspreet still sleeping soundly close by.

"Yeah, yeah," He whispered, shaking his head dismissively as she lay down along the length of the couch, curls splayed against the cushions. "Goodnight then," Reg nodded affirmatively, taking a step back.

"I think, technically, it's morning."

"Oh, shut up," He muttered, fighting a grin as he turned to leave, heading towards the spare room Stirling kept for guests on nights like these.

Just as he was about to leave, Diana's voice came, quiet and soft, from the darkness. "Thank you. For beating someone up for me, that's very sweet."

Reg nodded, a long pause lingering in the cool night air as he fought to find the right words.

"I will always be there to beat someone up when you need me," He said. Even in the dark, he could tell she was grinning.

"How romantic."

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas rogue heroes fic #reg seekings #reg seekings x oc #dave kershaw #pat riley #david stirling #eoin mcgonigal #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

7 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 4

Summary: Diana's first mission with L Detachment begins with a loss that shakes her to her core, as Eoin McGonigal's jump takes a tragic turn

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Graphic injury descriptions, death, sooo much angst jesus christ

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl

A/N: listening to Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier whilst writing this chapter was the most painful decision I've ever made. Do with that what you will

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pain rippled through Diana's knees as she hit the ground, falling sideways as her ankle rolled over a rock embedded in the sand, landing with her face against the ground as her parachute caught the wind. For a moment she was flailing, dragged blindly through the night across the sand as stones grazed the side of her cheek until it began to ooze blood. Seizing the knife from her belt, she severed the parachute chords just in time before the buckle on her helmet broke with a loud crack, the force sending it spinning off her head, vanishing over a nearby sand dune as the chute was carried away into the darkness, disappearing from view.

She winced as she pushed herself up onto her feet, the damage in her ankle sending painful twangs up her leg with every step as the grazed skin of her face burned, strands of hair that had fallen loose upon losing her helmet sticking to the warm blood. But still, it could be worse. Diana had seen men encounter worse injuries jumping off the back of the jeep during training, and it suddenly hit her that she was likely to see far nastier before sunrise.

Gritting her teeth through the sting of each stride, she began to move in the direction of the cries she had heard upon descent. The sandstorm was clearing now, but the moon and stars were nowhere to be seen, and she was only half certain she was heading in the right direction at all. Diana had been lucky to keep most of her belongings close, her precious rifle surviving the fall, but the weight of the pack now only served to worsen her discomfort as she clambered up and down the sand dunes, hands clapped around her mouth to project her voice as she shouted against the wind. "Hello? Anyone?" Somewhere over the next slope, she swore she heard a groan, an agonised grunt rising out of the desert brush. Quickening her pace, Diana ignored the way every muscle in her body begged for rest as she scrambled up the sand, skidding down the other side as she reached the unfortunate soldier.

But nothing could have prepared her for what she found.

Eoin was half devoured by the rough, dying plants, his body propped up against a ragged bush, blood covering half of his face. She let out a gasp, dropping to her knees in the sand at his side. The thorns had torn half the flesh off his cheek, hanging in ragged strips as he let out one slow, wheezing breath after another. But the real damage did not begin until she tore her gaze from his agony-stricken eyes, allowing herself to look at the rest of his body.

His parachute must have dragged him over the rocks for quite some way, for his clothes had been torn to shreds and the flesh beneath was a deep, ugly purple from bruising, littered with deep gouges where chunks of skin had been lost. Although the external damage did not appear too severe, there was a rattling sound as Eoin struggled to breathe, and from looking at his chest it soon became clear that at least half of his ribs had been shattered in the fall.

"Oh, Eoin," Diana spoke, attempting to stifle the quiver in her voice as she raised a hand to his forehead, stroking his hair to offer some kind of comfort. Although he could not find the strength to speak, he offered her a slight smile, his teeth stained with blood, one of them broken and half-missing. It was an agonising sight, and she held his hand close to her chest, a finger pressed against the inside of his wrist to feel for the moment his pulse ceased.

Something left Eoin's eyes the moment his heart stopped, some glimmer draining out of his deep brown pupils, and suddenly he looked like a thing, not a man - an object, no more alive than a piece of roadkill. His head lolled to the side, the bush he had been dropped on top of obscuring the injured half of his face, and for a moment he almost appeared unharmed. But Diana could feel the way his fingers turned limp in her grip, and over the whistling of the desert wind, she could tell the rattling breathing had stopped. Hot tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked fiercely to drive them out, letting them slip down her cheeks so they could no longer obscure her vision as she placed Eoin's hands gently back on his chest.

She had never seen a man die before.

Diana would not leave him here - she could not abandon him to this heartless wasteland, the very place that had torn him apart and killed him. Rising to stand, a single sob ripped through her chest as she looked around desperately for something that could help her carry him.

His parachute lay strewn across the bushes nearby, ragged and torn but serviceable for her purpose. Tugging it over the thorns, careful not to ruin it any further, she freed the fabric, laying it out flat as best she could in the wind, pinning the edges down using nearby rocks. Looking down at it now, the fraying white carpet below her, she felt her heart stop. It had been her who had checked Eoin's straps before they jumped - it had been her responsibility to ensure he would be safe, to ensure everything worked as it should. Was it her fault now that he was here? That he had died in the dark, in pain and afraid? He had been frightened up in that plane - she could see it, even if he hadn't wanted her to. He had been right.

Sliding her arms under his and wrapping them around Eoin's torso, Diana lifted the man as best she could, his heels dragging lines in the sand as she hauled him over to where the parachute was laid out, lowering him gently onto his back. His eyes were still open, watching the dark sky above. As she followed his gaze, she realised the stars had begun to appear, bright lights peering through the clearing haze as if coming to guide him away - to lift him up and take him home. Diana couldn't help but smile, wiping tears away with the back of her hand as she closed his eyes, wrapping him up in the remnants of the very chute that had killed him.

She tied the surviving parachute straps to her pack, knotting them around and around until they were tight enough, until she was sure she would not lose him again. Using the parachute as some kind of sledge, she hauled his body back up the sand dune, eyes trained on the stars above in some hope they could help guide her way even as her body felt as if it were tearing itself apart with the weight and the strain she forced upon it.

Their pace was slow, laboured, as Diana dragged Eoin McGonigals' body through the desert, pausing at the top of every slope to turn and haul him upwards, her arms growing just as fatigued as the rest of her with time. Her teeth chattered in the cold of desert nights, arms bare to the wind, as she had used her jacket to cover his wounds in a final act of respect. How many of the others would she never see again after this night? How many others had been lost to the fall and the wind and the rocks?

As the morning sun skirted the horizon in the distance, the temperature began to rise instantly, and in moments there was sweat beading where she had just been wracked with shivers. The muscles in her shoulders were raw and dead, each step agonising under the weight of Eoin's corpse, dragging limply behind her all the way.

The next dune they came to was the largest she had yet faced, but with a sigh and gritted teeth, she began the climb, sand giving way under her feet whenever she put her weight down, their progress seeming infinitely slower than it had before. Halfway to the top, Diana let her knees give way, collapsing to the floor, sand filling her shoes as she began to weep, filthy palms pressed over her eyes, skimming the painful grazes on her cheek as she sobbed. Where were they going? What the hell was she doing? Surely she'd never find the others in this wasteland, and for the last few hours she had become consumed by the idea that perhaps the others had not survived either - perhaps she was alone out here, fated to drag Eoin's body behind her as she grew more and more lost. She would never see her father again, never fulfil the mission she had spent her whole life training for, and all because she had failed the man at her back, because she had missed something in her own nerves, condemning him to die in her carelessness.

The feeling of hands pressing onto her shoulders didn't even stir her for a moment until she heard someone's "Shhh," and she peeled her hands from her eyes, squinting in the blinding sun. There was Kershaw, and for a moment Diana was convinced this was all a hallucination as he crouched down beside her, offering up what little water he had left in his canteen. But when she glanced further down the slope, there was Reg, unfurling Eoin from his bundle, the other boys helping him to lift the man and carry him to the bottom of the hill where they could offer him some semblance of a burial.

"How-?" Her voice trailed off, savouring the feeling of water sliding down her coarse throat.

"We were lucky," Dave explained, a grim frown creasing his expression. "Landed close to each other, we were waiting over the hill for the rest of you. After a while, we started to think you hadn't made it."

Diana let her head fall to the side, resting against Kershaw's shoulder. The simple relief of not having to hold up her own head felt like a ten-tonne weight lifted from her back, and she sniffed loudly, blinking away the last of her tears.

"... How far did you carry him?" He asked quietly.

"No idea. We've been going for hours, I found him as soon as I landed," She explained, never daring to let slip the suspicion that Eoin's death may have been her fault.

"Jesus."

Against her better judgement, Diana rose to her feet, yelping slightly at the pain in her legs as she skidded down the slope, Kershaw following at a cautious distance. She would not allow them to bury him without her. The graze on her cheek had already begun to scab over, but it was large and burned an angry red, and the moment Reg's gaze found her his mouth opened slightly in horror, unable to quite find the words. He held out his hand to help her in her last few steps, and she accepted, gripping him tightly as she limped towards the place they had begun to dig McGonigal's grave, the edges of the pit caving inwards with each breeze, the sand too loose the even hold itself up.

Seekings had felt the instinctual urge to offer up a "You alright?", but it was clear the question would have been redundant. She was not alright, hovering briefly on one leg to relieve the pressure on her injured ankle before lowering herself to sit again, his hand still firmly in her grip.

"You alright?" It was Diana's turn to ask, looking up at Reg as she raised her other hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"... Yeah," He nodded stiffly, barely injured save for a few scrapes that littered his face.

She looked around at the rest of them, Dave aiding the others as they lowered Eoin into the ever-collapsing pit they had dug, shovelling sand over his body as the grains rolled down his cheeks, covering him until, bit by bit, he disappeared from view, nothing but a bulge in the ground to identify him. There were so few of them - not even ten survivors amongst them. How many of them had died the way Eoin had - dragged over the rocks until their insides were reduced to mush and their skin was torn from their bones. How many corpses were they leaving to rot under the sun, how many would go without a burial even as primitive as this, how many mothers would spend the rest of their lives not knowing where their sons' bodies were?

In the bright morning light, Diana began to realise she had not done as good of a job freeing Eoin's parachute from the bushes as she had thought, for poking through the ragged holes in the fabric were half a dozen sticks, which must have poked and scratched at him the whole way here as she dragged him across the desert. The thought had originally pricked at her chest with guilt, but then she had an idea.

Reg's brow furrowed as he felt the sudden release of pressure, Diana's grip on his hand relenting as she reached out for the tatters of fabric, frowning in concentration as she tugged the sticks free, careful not to ruin the parachute even further. Then, producing her knife, she cut the chute straps away, releasing them from where they remained tied to her backpack, and used them to wrap and tie the sticks tightly together into the shape of a crucifix, stabbing it into the sand above where Eoin's head now lay buried beneath the dirt. It was a gentle gesture, a kind determination that McGonigal would not be forgotten, a physical testament to all of the unspoken feelings the men dared not voice - not here, when hope already seemed so lost to them.

They stared at the grave marker in silence, its beams battered and uneven, far too fragile to ever last. But the men assembled there would always know this was where Eoin McGonigal was, even if they could never pinpoint it on a map, even if they'd never find it again. For now, it was enough.

"He was Christian, right?" Diana asked quietly. "Only, I don't know how to make any other shapes."

Varied huffs of laughter tittered through the group, and Kershaw sniffed loudly before speaking. "I think he was, aye."

She nodded, but before anyone could say another word, the sound of a gunshot echoing somewhere close by pulled their attention, Reg's hand instinctively finding her shoulder as they turned in its direction. It was suddenly silent, neither the wind nor the sounds of breathing were heard as they waited for another shot, another sound of life. The thought briefly occurred to Diana that it might not have been one of their own at all, that there was still a war going on in this desert, and it was foolish to assume they were alone. Even more startling was the realisation that they didn't have enough serviceable guns to cover even half of them, and their pathetic supply of hand grenades had little use out here.

And then it came again - a single bang echoing across the dunes, closer this time. The shots were too sporadic to be returning fire, and whoever was releasing them was moving, slowly but steadily towards them. There was only one person she knew ridiculous enough to waste bullets on such an endeavour.

"Paddy?!" Diana called, silently praying her voice would not be lost in the ever-swirling desert wind.

And then he was there - windswept and filthy but unharmed, clambering down from the crest of the dune ahead, squinting irritably in the sunlight. Paddy Wayne was only a few paces away from the others before he hesitated, finally noticing the makeshift grave they were standing around, his frown depending further.

There was something stuck in her throat, something painful and hard and a figment of her own imagination, but just real enough that Diana could not speak a word, could not tell him the news herself. She realised Reg was staring at her, wordlessly waiting for her to talk, but he accepted the slight shake of her head without delay, his expression contorted in a sorrowful scowl as he approached the Irishman himself.

"McGonigal, sir," Seekings stated, his body squared before Mayne but their eyes never quite able to meet.

"... Oh."

Diana had never heard Paddy have less to say than now, the stifled agony that twisted his frown into a silent grimace making up for all that was left unsaid, his gaze unable to pull itself away from the mound of sand that concealed Eoin's body from them. She hadn't known either of them long enough to see the true depth of their companionship, but she knew it was there - knew that Eoin was the only member of the detachment that he'd actually given a shit about from the start, knew that they came firmly as a pair even if Mayne would never truly admit to it. Losing Eoin was like tearing a limb from Paddy's own body, incurring a lifetime of phantom pains that would never truly fade. There would always come times when he would forget McGonigal was even dead - Diana knew this. She felt it herself sometimes - her mother's life ever-present within her even when the memory of her face was gone.

He tried to brush past the grief that had suddenly crippled him, attempting to surmise the state of their supplies and plan their next move as if any of that meant anything to him right now - as if he could do anything but rattle half-hearted orders when his mind was somewhere else entirely.

"We will head North, that fucking way, and we will reach the coast and find out airfields."

"Paddy, we won't destroy a single fucking thing with what we've got," Dave protested. He was right - they all knew he was right, even Mayne - but she knew he was looking for an opportunity to destroy, to displace all the anger and guilt bubbling within him.

"We need to head South, it's going to rain," Diana informed him, Reg beside her, nodding in agreement. "There's dark clouds forming, and we need to get to high ground or it'll wash everything away, believe me."

Mayne didn't want to leave, that much was clear. To him, it was the same as giving up - to him, it was a waste of Eoin's sacrifice. But the storm was rolling in fast, heavy, deep grey clouds approaching from over the horizon. She'd known people who had been stuck in such storms - who had seen the sand eroded away before their eyes, who had waded through mud so thick and deep that it rose to their waists - and Diana knew there was not enough energy left in her very bones for that, not now. They had to get out of here, or everything would get much worse, very quickly.

"We're not waiting around out here to fucking die," Diana declared, Paddy's indecipherable expression finding her, the look in his eyes somewhere between agony and rage. "Unless you know some way of keeping the grenades dry and getting us through a flooded desert, we have to move, Paddy."

Her tone had been severe, unrelenting, a mask to cover her own guilt. But as she watched the way he stared down at McGonigal's makeshift grave, she felt the pain again, tugging at her heart. He was ready to die out here, that much was clear now.

"Paddy, I'm sorry," Diana offered gently. "But if we even make it to the airfields now, it'll be the only thing we ever do. We need to go so we can come back again - we will come back armed to the teeth, and make this worth it."

Still, he did not move.

"Paddy, we can't leave without you." Seekings spoke emphatically.

"It's fine. Go."

The others did not seem to wish to continue arguing, Mayne's dismissal all the prompting they required to gather their belongings and begin the hike back up the sand dunes to higher ground. Reluctantly, Diana followed, the weight of the decision seemingly worsening the strain she still felt consuming her body. There seemed no certainty now that they would see him again - no surety that he would not lay down beside Eoin and wait to die, wait for the rain to flood that dip in the sand and drown him in the mud. In that moment, it seemed all was lost - their leader, their mission, their entire fucking reason for being stranded out in this wasteland.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The rain came quick and heavy, and without her helmet, there was nothing to protect Diana from it, her overalls soaked three shades darker, her hair clinging tightly to her neck and face. It became immediately obvious that their choice had been the right one, as torrents of water washed the sand away from the crests of the dunes into the basins below, creating murky ponds that would have been impossible to wade, their group reduced to walking single-file along the muddy ridges.

She wondered where the others were - how many of them were stuck in this storm. She wondered if Eoin's grave still stood, though she suspected it long washed away.

"Hey," She heard Reg call over the constant pittering of rain behind her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm, the soaked fabric sticking to her skin where his palm had skimmed against her.

"Yeah?" Diana asked, blinking away a raindrop that had landed on her eyelash as she turned back to look at him.

"Lemme carry that for a while, yeah?" He offered, gesturing to her pack. She was the only one of them who still had all of her belongings intact, and as the rain poured down upon the canvas, the bag's weight only multiplied, wreaking havoc on her already exhausted shoulders.

Wordlessly, she shrugged the thing off, grunting slightly at the feel of release before handing it over. "Thank you," She said, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

Seekings nodded. "Yeah, well... you've done enough today."

Diana accepted this, about to speak when she noticed a silhouette clambering along the sand ridges some hundred metres behind them, his rain-soaked uniform clinging tightly to his frame as he gradually caught up to them. She let out a surprised chuckle, and Reg turned to look, offering a similar grin as he clapped a hand on her shoulder, the pair in silent acknowledgement that things would be alright. They weren't going to die here, they were going to live. They were going to live, and they were going to avenge the death of Eoin McGonigal a hundred times over until the loss didn't sit so heavy on their hearts anymore, until the ache became bearable.

They had no words to offer Paddy, letting him silently trail behind him as they crossed the desert, heading South towards what they hoped would be their comrades. As the hours passed and the storm's gloom turned to true night, the clouds continued to roll further onward, lifting the downpour, and by the time they spotted the funnel of smoke rising from a speck of orange fire in the distance, they had almost dried off, the wet sand caking onto their boots, their clothes releasing their tight grip on their skin.

"Bloody hell, that's Stirling," Kershaw uttered, though none of them had the energy left to rejoice. And as they approached the small camp, one by one the ground remembered the code, the song they had to sing to save them from a bullet's worth of misunderstanding.

'Hail, hail, the gang's all here.

What the heck do we care,

What the heck do we care?

Hail, hail, the gang's all here.

What the heck do we care now?'

The words rolled bitterly off of Diana's tongue as they sang, the lyrics entirely too jovial for their current state. They weren't all here, and they would perhaps never know the true cost of this failed mission, for they would certainly never find the men they'd left out in the desert, not now that the rain had covered their bodies in sand and mud. Even as Stirling and his men sang to welcome them, their nakedness becoming visible the closer they got, she did not stir. She could not even find the energy to laugh at the mixture of horror and embarrassment that struck many of the men's faces as they realised they had exposed themselves to her, Jim hurriedly dashing for a blanket, profuse apologies rolling off his tongue as he covered his front.

There was no relief in this reunion. Diana did not want to sing, and she did not want to laugh. She wanted to lay down and sleep until she could feel her limbs again - until she could go five minutes without remembering the look in Eoin's eyes the moment his heart stopped. She wanted to go home.

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas: rh #sas: rogue heroes oc #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #reg seekings #dave kershaw #david stirling #jim almonds #reg seekings x oc #oc: diana #paddy x eoin #fic | damage gets done

11 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 3

Summary: Tensions arise between Diana and her father as the SAS prepares to depart on their first mission into the desert

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, smoking

Word Count: 3.1k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wind swirled and whistled in Diana's ears, drowning out the constant humming of the plane's engine as it slipped further and further away into the night sky above. She could scarcely breathe, every inhale punctuated by the pain of sand scraping against the flesh that lined her throat as the storm raged all around her, grains colliding with the glass of her goggles so hard she feared they would break.

Her hands held the straps of her parachute tightly, a silent prayer going out then suddenly fulfilled as the thin sheet of fabric caught the wind, inflating in a great canopy above her, the rapid descent suddenly slowing. She couldn't see anything - the dark clouds of sand blinding her to anything but a sea of deep blue that seemed to envelop her on all sides, the night sky indistinguishable from the desert floor below as it inevitably inched closer and closer by the second, her legs gone slack in the hopes her knees would not shatter on impact.

Somewhere to her right, Diana heard a howl of agony rise, the terrible sound gone as soon as it came, siphoned by the wind that encircled her. She opened her mouth to call out in the hopes that they could find each other, but the sand choked her, drying her mouth and clumping in her throat. Before she even had time to cough, the ground was coming up to meet her.

And then everything went dark.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The air inside the tent was tense as the survivors of the last three months of training stood quietly, waiting to be called up, waiting to board their plane as the sand storm outside battered the canvas, a high-pitched whistling piercing the silence. A few of them had taken to distracting themselves from the anxiety by tossing a handful of pebbles one by one at a row of empty beer bottles Kershaw had lined up against one side of the tent, sighing and tutting as they missed, the stones hitting the fabric with a soft thump.

Cooper's tongue was drawn between his teeth, eyes narrowed with concentration as he took his shot, the bright green glass shattering as he hit his target to a scattering of half-hearted cheers. The waiting was perhaps more torturous than the training itself had been - lingering here with nowhere to go and nothing to do, uniformed head to toe in their overalls and helmets, heavy packs piled high in one corner to save their shoulders the strain of wearing them for who knew how long.

A table had been set up by the tent's opening, atop which a field telephone began to ring. The sound drew a dozen expectant gazes, anxious for any news that would signal they might be able to leave soon. Diana did her best to ignore it, lining up her next shot with care, ready to toss her last pebble.

Pat Riley was the one to pick up, most of their more senior officers seemingly vanished, off somewhere to haggle with their would-be pilots. "Fayed," He called across the crowd. "It's your old man."

A few titters of disappointment could be heard around the room, and she let out a groan as she missed her shot, Dave letting out a chuckle at her frustration. "Tell him I'm busy, will you?" She asked, retrieving a few of her stones and dusting the sand off of them against her trousers.

"You're not busy," Pat pointed out, and she huffed irritably.

"Well just lie?"

"... He's a general, Di. I'm not risking my ass so you can do... whatever that is."

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Diana crossed the tent, taking the receiver from Pat's hand and discarding her helmet so that she could hold it to her ear. "This is a field telephone, I told you not to call me on it," She stated, sparing no time to greet her father. Over the quiet buzz of the tent, her conversation was clearly audible, and upon noticing a few men stare as a result of her frigid tone, Diana made the switch to her native tongue. "What do you want?"

"I'm a general, I can do as I please. Besides, the line was free, I'm not interrupting," Hannigan's voice came, somewhat muffled as a result of the terrible weather. He replied in English, as his spoken Arabic had never been good, and he had devoted little effort to remedying this.

"We're waiting for the planes, this better be important."

"I'm just making sure you're ready. Talk me through the jump - how to stick the landing - then go through how to clean and load your rifle for me," Her father prompted, talking as if he were one of the many tutors Diana had gone through as a girl.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Dad, I've been training for months, I don't need you to brief me."

"I'm just making sure you're ready, you-"

"Do you trust me? Do you trust that I actually know what I'm doing, or are you worried that if I fuck up it's you that'll come out looking bad?" Diana's jaw was set tightly, and she had begun to draw the eyes of the men closest to her. Although none of them understood a word she said, her hurried speech and aggravated tone were enough to set them on edge, brows furrowed with concern.

She heard her father sigh over the phone, his voice softening. When she had answered, he had spoken with all the authority of his rank, but now he sounded like a father, not a general. "I wanted to hear your voice before you go," He admitted.

Letting out a breath, she allowed her body to relax, leaning against the table. "Yeah, I get it. Listen, Dad... If this goes bad - if something happens before the next time I can see you, I-"

"Don't worry about that now, Diana. Just think about the next task at hand, nothing else is important."

"Ok, but I'm just saying - the task at hand is going to be dangerous, and if I don't make it back-"

"You will." Hannigan declared. His determination, his belief, his stubborn refusal to let her utter the words, were driving Diana to frustration, unable to say what she felt was needed, unable to part with him on her own terms. Perhaps it was fatherly affection - a man unable to cope with even the possibility of his daughter not returning to him - but there was arrogance there too. Such strong belief in his own teachings that he believed her incapable of failure, forbidding her from even entertaining such a possibility.

"Alright, whatever," Diana huffed, reverting back to English as she prepared for an unsatisfactory goodbye, the receiver already hovering further away from her face. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Goodbye, Diana," Her father's voice came, and she wasted no time waiting to see if the man had anything else to say before hanging up the line, replacing the receiver with a rough clatter.

Reg had watched the encounter from nearby, a frown drawing creases across his forehead as Diana returned to the others, muttering angrily under her breath and only half paying attention as she put her helmet back on, the strap below her chin twisted and loose as she did it back up, distracted by her own vexation. If she jumped like that, it would be a disaster. He stared for a moment, waiting for her to notice, but Kershaw had begun chattering in an attempt to lighten the mood, pulling her attention away.

He needed to fix it, but something stilled his hand. The room around them was so busy, and his acts of kindness came so rarely, that it would almost inevitably draw attention. If someone made a comment, would he be able to quell his anger? Reg knew he had a problem - albeit a problem that L Detachment valued - but he sometimes found himself treading on eggshells, wary of anything that could drive him to anger, even if, to an outsider, it would appear he remained just as rough as ever. Get the fuck over yourself, he scolded, and reached out to fix the problem.

The moment Diana felt his finger brush against her skin her talking ceased, gaze snapping towards him, confusion evident in her expression. Her brow knitted, a small crease appearing across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes were so bright - so deep and so warm, even now - that Reg almost stepped away, so taken aback he was by her. He had seen her every day for months now, but with her face so close, every freckle and feature clear to the eye, it almost seemed as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"Yer strap's all fucked," He uttered, looking away to focus on the leather band as he fixed it, untwisting the fabric and re-buckling it tight, his knuckle skimming the soft skin beneath her chin. "Jump with it like that you'll smash yer fucking skull."

"Shit, thanks," She said, tucking a stray curl back under the brim of her helmet.

"Yeah, no problem," Reg shrugged it off, looking swiftly away before the blood could make it to his cheeks, sunburn hiding the hint of a flush. Diana's gaze lingered on him for a moment as he turned his back to her, reaching up to tug the strap as tight as it could go. He had been right, and she felt foolish at having made a mistake so potentially catastrophic.

However, the brief moment of shame was swiftly dispelled when she spied Paddy, lingering by the tent's entrance, seize a pistol from the table, and duck out into the sandstorm outside. Letting out a huff, Diana shouldered her way through the crowd, tugging her goggles down to shield her eyes as she followed after him, yelling against the blustering wind.

"Paddy put the gun down," She drawled, requiring no explanation. The man was frequently impatient and always volatile, and it was clear all their time spent waiting around had become too much.

"If they make me wait another hour in that fucking tent, I swear I'm putting a bullet between their eyes," He declared, storming over to where Stirling and Lewes were already negotiating their imminent take-off with a team of disgruntled pilots.

"Oh yes?" Diana challenged, falling into step with the Irishman. "And then what - you're planning on flying us, are you?"

"Nowt but an ambitious truck, could do it in my sleep," The man yelled, the pair only just able to hear each other over the storm that encircled them.

She nodded along sarcastically, mocking his self-confidence. "Oh, wow, yes, you're so smart, how did I never think of that - Shut the fuck up!" Diana cried, pausing to spit as the wind blew a clump of sand into her mouth. They continued to bicker as they reached the other two men, and Paddy cut straight through them, coming face-to-face with one of the pilots. As he yelled, flecks of saliva landed against the other man's cheeks.

"Do you postmen have a problem with a wee bit of wind?!" He hollered, and came halfway to raising the pistol above his head before Diana grabbed his wrist, the pair glaring at each other as he failed to shake her off, her grip far stronger than he had anticipated.

"Will you fuck off?!" He yelped, attempting to tear her hand away, but upon realising this would be unsuccessful, Paddy jabbed at her shoulder, giving Diana a rough shove.

"Oh, you bitch!" She replied, striking out herself. Diana had intended to return the hit to the shoulder, but the weather was proving detrimental to her vision, and Paddy moved at just the wrong time, her hand colliding with his face with an audible smack. He looked at her with a mixture of shock and feral rage, the loaded pistol hanging between them like a time bomb, ready to go off at the next unpredictable movement. She was certain he was about to tackle her, before Jock's voice split the air.

"Will the pair of you stop scrapping like fucking children?" He snapped, and Diana released her grip on Paddy's wrist, the Irishman taking a firm step back, the pair of them pausing for a moment, standing like scolded schoolboys.

"... We have to go tonight," She called after a moment, her tone mellowed as she implored the stubborn pilot. "If we don't go, we're letting those Nazi fucks walk all over us - they'll take my home, and then they'll come for yours, I fucking guarantee it. If Tobruk falls-"

"Tobruk will not fucking fall!" Paddy interrupted.

"Aye, see, that's the spirit. They're fucking parasites and we're the cure - if we don't get in there and destroy those planes, whatever shitstorm rains down on us next is on you, am I clear?"

The pilot nodded timidly, clinging to his hat as the wind attempted to tear it away from him. "But the wind is thirty knots, half this is considered unsafe-"

"War. Is. Fucking. Unsafe!" Mayne roared, and Diana had to yank him away by the shoulder to prevent another outbreak of violence among their little group.

"Would you like to explain to General Auchinleck why his advance was unable to continue?" Stirling prodded. "Or perhaps General Hannigan? He was just on the phone with his daughter here, I'm sure we can get him back. I'm sure he'd love to hear why you're keeping her from completing her mission, eh?" He turned to Diana, brow raised as he waited for her to back him up.

"He'll be pissed," She confirmed, nodding. "Certainly got enough sway to make the rest of this war look pretty grim for you, dear."

There was no certainty that these threats would work - that they would make the pilot see their side of things rather than simply rile him further - but after a moment of thought he ceded with an uncertain nod, the idea of taking off clearly still frightening him. "Get your men boarded."

With a grin, Diana turned back towards the tent, Stirling close behind. "That went well," He admitted. "Good job."

"Arguing's one of my greatest talents," She smiled. "Apparently I make people feel insecure."

"I can see that."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In spite of their conflict, Diana was assigned to Paddy's group for the jump, her back pressed up against the cold metal of the plane's cabin wall. The wind was proving just as difficult as the pilot had said it was, the group tossed side to side in the storm, murmurs of discomfort rising among them. A loud crack rang out just above her head, as if something hard had slammed into the side of them, and she reached out to tighten her seat belt, releasing a nervous huff.

"Hey," Dave spoke up, his elbow lightly nudging her from his seat on her left. When she looked over, he raised a single cigarette, balanced between his fingers. "Fancy one last go before we die?"

She nodded, sighing. "God, yeah."

With a grin, Kershaw paused to rummage through his pack before retrieving a lighter, the flame bursting to life in his palm as he held it to the last cigarette he had. Taking a moment to raise it to his lips, he let out a long puff of smoke before holding it out to her. Diana accepted gratefully, the familiar warmth filling her chest as she felt her heartbeat begin to relax, letting the nerves ooze out of her body.

"Y'know, I've never been on a plane before," She admitted, releasing the smoke in a great cloud.

"Oh yeah? They're not usually like this."

Diana chuckled as another tremor shook them. "I'd guessed as much."

All at once, the wind outside seemed to change direction, the plane lurching one way then the other, the men letting out a united cry of distress. From his place on her right, Eoin reached over and gently took the cigarette from her, taking a long drag of smoke before returning it as Paddy let out a chuckle at his friend's unease.

"You alright there, Eoin?" She asked, their fingertips brushing against each other as she took the cigarette from him, briefly inhaling the smoke herself before passing it back on to Dave.

"Aye, all's well," The man nodded, patting her knee with a smile. Diana liked Eoin - she liked him a lot. He was infinitely gentler than any of the other men here, aside from perhaps Jim, and always seemed to have the right words to offer when things got tough. She was glad he was here with her, glad they would be doing this mission together. Nothing felt quite so dangerous when Eoin McGonigal was there.

A few shouts from the cockpit roused Paddy's attention, and in a moment he was calling for them to stand up, to ready themselves to jump. Diana released her seatbelt, rising to her feet as she clipped her parachute to the metal bar that ran along the ceiling. Kershaw at her rear, McGonigal in front, they spared a brief moment to ensure all was sound and ready, Diana tugging on Eoin's parachute to ensure it was secure as Dave playfully rapped his knuckles on her helmet to ensure Reg had done a sufficient job of securing it. Sparing her friend one last smile over her shoulder, they began to step forward, one by one breaking free into the terrible weather outside, each figure disappearing into the darkness as if they had never been there at all.

McGonigal stepped up to the door and briefly reached behind him, finding Diana's fingers and giving them a squeeze. "See you down there!" He yelled against the wind before taking the last step, the ground disappearing beneath his feet. She watched as his parachute unfurled - a blanket of white piercing the deep blue sky - before he began to drift down and out of sight, vanishing through the clouds of sand being constantly thrown up at them.

"Alright, duck. Best of luck," She heard Kershaw call behind her, a reassuring hand patting her shoulder as Diana poked her head out of the door, her toes teetering over the edge as she stared down into the void below. With one last, deep breath, she stepped forward, her heartbeat catching in her throat as she felt everything fall away, her body beginning to plummet towards the sandy floor below as her parachute billowed outwards above her head.

But Eoin McGonigal would not be there when she landed.

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas: rh #david stirling #paddy mayne #jock lewes #eoin mcgonigal #reg seekings #dave kershaw #reg seekings x oc #pat riley #johnny cooper #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

9 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 16 days

Text

welcome! i'm helena (she/her) - resident history nerd and hbo war enthusiast. i've been meaning to remake this masterlist for months at this point, so here we are!

OC MASTERLIST

GENERAL TAGS:

miscellaneous writing (oneshots, prompts etc.)

edits and collages

web weaves

art

WRITING:

BAND OF BROTHERS

-> JUST COME HOME - RONALD SPEIRS X OC (Completed)

FIC TAG AO3

-> OLD MONEY, NEW WORLD - EUGENE ROE X OC (Discontinued)

FIC TAG

THE PACIFIC

-> I STAYED THERE - EUGENE SLEDGE X OC (Completed)

FIC TAG AO3

MASTERS OF THE AIR

-> I'M YOUR MAN - ROSIE ROSENTHAL X OC (Ongoing)

FIC TAG AO3

-> BETTER OFF - BERNARD DEMARCO X OC (Ongoing)

FIC TAG AO3

SAS: ROGUE HEROES

-> DAMAGE GETS DONE - REG SEEKINGS X OC (Ongoing)

FIC TAG

AUs:

-> BAND OF BROTHERS - THE TERROR AU

-> RONALD SPEIRS X VALERIE HARMON - MEDIEVAL AU

-> BERNARD DEMARCO X SUSIE LAMB - WARS OF THE ROSES AU

MISC.

-> BAND OF BROTHERS AS HOZIER SONGS - PART 1 || PART 2

-> BAND OF BROTHERS AS F+TM SONGS - PART 1

#masterlist #hbo war #band of brothers #the pacific #masters of the air #sas rogue heroes

12 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 5 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 8

Summary: Tension runs high as the SAS carries out a potentially disastrous raid on Benghazi

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, descriptions of graphic violence, implied death, Randolph Churchill

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana crouched down to eye level with the jeep's side mirror, squinting against the sun that reflected in the glass behind her as she did her best to tuck every last curl safely away beneath the headscarf she had shrouded herself in. Their raid on Benghazi was fast approaching, and it had been decided amongst the group that the easiest way to smuggle her into the city would be to dress her like a regular civilian, rather than attempt to explain away her military garb.

Once she had finished the task, pinning back one last curl that simply would not stay put on its own, she had moved to stand, but the sight of her own reflection gave her pause. It was rare that Diana remembered much of anything of her mother, but some days she looked so remarkably like her that it seemed to draw long-buried memories back to the surface. She had those same dark eyes, the same curve of the lips and point of the nose. She could almost half-remember sitting in her mother's lap as she put on her hijab each morning, the calming tones of her singing keeping the child from getting in the way. When she was herself, the similarities were hardly noticeable. But now that she dressed like her mother too, those brief, hard years were becoming visible again in the back of her mind, as if watching on through a veil.

"Hey," Jim Almond's voice rang out behind her. Springing upwards to resume her regular posture, she glanced at him with a welcoming smile. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Diana nodded assuringly. "Yeah, I just... I look like my mother." She grinned at the confession, and he couldn't help but return the smile. Jim squeezed her shoulder affectionately, and their heads both turned as Stirling's voice came from over by the well where he stood with Randolph Churchill. Since the Prime Minister's son had arrived, she had managed to avoid speaking to the man, but it appeared Stirling was not going to make it easy on her.

"You've been summoned, milady," Almonds teased, and she slugged him gently in the shoulder, kicking up sand as she marched over.

"Oi," Diana greeted, tipping an imaginary hat to Stirling as she rested a hip against the side of the well.

"Diana, it seems you haven't yet been introduced to Mr Randolph Churchill, here," David spoke. His tone was jovial, friendly, but she could tell he was teasing her, and sent him a sideways look as Churchill reached for her hand, pressing dry lips against the back of her palm. She did not attempt to disguise her grimace, especially as she heard Pat and Johnny chuckling at her discomfort from back by the truck.

"A pleasure," He greeted, maintaining his attempt at a charming smile even as he noticed her wiping the back of her hand against her trousers.

"Winston's boy, eh?"

"... The Prime Minister. Yes."

She shrugged. "Not my Prime Minister."

Randolph let out something between a huff and a laugh. "Oh, you didn't vote Labour, did you?"

Diana's brow raised as she lit one of the cigarettes in her pocket. "I'm Egyptian, Randy."

"Right, yes... Of course... You're a rather striking young lady, you know."

Stirling almost choked on the dirty water he had pulled from the well as he tried not to laugh, and she stomped hard on his foot, digging in her heel. "Yes. I do know. Is that all?" When neither of the men spoke, she nodded firmly, patting Stirling on the shoulder. "Wonderful exercise, thanks David."

Pat was still laughing at her as she returned to the others, his enjoyment only enhanced as she flipped him off, propping herself against the back of the lorry with her elbows.

"He liked you," Cooper teased, a boyish grin overtaking his expression as he jammed a fresh cartridge of bullets into his gun. Beside him, Reg didn't say a word, his brow furrowed, expression thunderous, the only sound coming from him the occasional indecipherable grumble.

"Fuck off," She sang, holding her cigarette between her teeth as she sifted through the bullets they had brought to fill the small pistol she had been given to conceal on her person. To go with her civilian costume, Sadler had acquired her own car - a creaky, unassuming thing with a bad paint job, but an almost brand-new engine that could get her out of a tight spot should the need arise. It was risky, to enter Benghazi alone, to separate herself from the rest of the group, but once inside the walls she would find them again, and finally receive a gun that was worth a damn.

Seekings had scarcely looked away from his weapons since the moment of her approach, checking and re-checking every gun and knife he had on his person as a permanent scowl etched his face. His hat was resting in the truck bed beside Diana, and she noticed, seizing it by the visor and planting it firmly onto his head, forcefully capturing his attention. A smile curled the corner of her lips, and he couldn't help but do the same, finally able to take in her new appearance up close. He missed her hair - the only part of her wild enough to reflect the spirit inside. She looked wrong without it, every inch hidden from the world.

"Chin up, soldier," She teased. Reg hated this plan. He hated it more than he'd ever hated any of Stirling's batshit insane ideas before.

They were putting Diana in danger. More danger than they ever had before. She would take her own car into Benghazi, alone, with nothing but a tiny pistol to protect herself and a cache of explosives hidden under her seat. They were relying on nothing but her pretty face and Arabic tongue to get her into a building none of the others would dare try to breach for fear of a bullet to the skull. And worst of all, she didn't seem to care.

"You're good on the plan?" He prodded.

Diana let out a chuckle at his uncharacteristic concern. "All good."

There was no certainty they'd all see each other again after tonight. And one question plagued Reg - one question he ached to know the answer to yet could never bring himself to ask. Did she remember that night in Stirling's flat? The night she had spent sitting on the hardwood floor in that wonderful dress, the night she had kissed his bruised knuckles and smiled at him and made him feel all kinds of confusing things. If only she cared as much for herself as he did.

In order to avoid any suspicion, Diana was ordered to pass the checkpoint into the port city an hour before the others - a measure taken to dispel any possible assumption that they may be arriving together, but an altogether risky move. If the others were intercepted at the border, she would be in Benghazi alone, forced to carry out her objective and escape without any backup whatsoever. In the Great War, General Hannigan had made his reputation through acts of reckless daring, and it seemed he had passed this lack of regard for self-preservation onto his daughter. A quiet fell over the small group as the time came for her departure, a duffel bag of explosives hidden in a compartment Sadler had hollowed out beneath her seat. Diana seemed unphased, quickly affirming their rendezvous point with Stirling, but the others watched on in grim silence, hesitant to even wish her good luck for fear of jinxing their fortunes. They all knew there was a chance that this could be the last time they were all together. It wasn't an impossibility. They'd lost Eoin. They'd lost Jock.

Tonight had the opportunity to ruin everything.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The desert road unfurled itself before her, the wheels of the car kicking up sand as Diana streaked across the landscape, radio tuned to a local station as she sang off-key to an Arabic cover of a Billie Holiday song, occasionally interrupted by static from the terrible reception all the way out here.

It was not until the checkpoint came into view that she realised she was driving altogether much too fast, and the breaks let out a terrible shriek as Diana attempted to slow down, jostling the wooden barrier with the bonnet as she rolled to a clumsy stop. Now she remembered why Stirling had initially appeared so horrified at the prospect of letting her drive herself.

One of the soldiers marched up to her window, knocking harshly on the glass until she rolled it down to let him speak. He scolded her in a flurry of Italian that she only partially understood, and Diana attempted to thrust her forged papers at him, matching the man's irritated tone in her own rambling Arabic, spouting meaningless nonsense whenever she ran out of things to say once she as confident he didn't understand a word.

The soldier examined her papers, occasionally asking her questions as he peered closely at the writing. Diana could only decipher a few words here and there - certainly not enough to gauge the soldier's meaning - and so she continued her meaningless tirade in the hopes of moving things on.

"I really like this song!" She declared, brow furrowed, tone angered as she pointed sharply at the radio, the soldier's expression growing more confused by the minute as he attempted to decipher what the frustrated woman was yelling at him. "It's very good! But I'd like to get moving, I'm very hungry!"

"Cosa?" The soldier asked, still clutching her papers.

Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes, reaching out and tearing the document from his grip. "Is this really the best your lot could do? Fucking embarrassing really." His mouth hung open, gaping as he found himself helpless to decipher a word of her ranting. With a pointed gesture towards the barrier, she finally seemed to get through to the man, who hurriedly ordered for her to be let through.

Nodding to the soldier in mock appreciation, Diana cranked the radio back up to full volume as she passed, resuming her sing-along as she trundled towards Benghazi, taking extra care to regulate her usually reckless driving as she entered the pedestrian-littered streets. It wasn't entirely unheard of to see a woman like her driving alone here, but just unusual enough to ensure that, whenever she slowed down or stopped for traffic, she would hear a wolf whistle or jeer from some passer-by. It was nothing Diana hadn't heard before, but still, her grip on the steering wheel tightened with agitation each time.

Benghazi was littered with administrative buildings and headquarters for the Nazi and Italian forces, with guards at every entrance. This was not a problem. Diana didn't need an entrance. One of the key Italian admin buildings had a side wall facing a nearby alleyway, used almost exclusively by street vendors and tourists, when there were any. But there was not a guard in sight, for the wall had no doorways or windows that could be used for infiltration. Engine rumbling to a stop, she yanked the gearstick, pulling in to park along the side of the alleyway. Rummaging below her seat, Diana retrieved the explosives she had been given, concealing them in a small compartment she had sewn into the bottom of her handbag, hidden beneath all manner of day-to-day belongings.

The only explosive she left behind was a primed Lewes bomb, prying open a loose seam in the driver's seat cushion with her fingernails and burrowing it deep inside among the stuffing. Worst case scenario, the car would be removed by guards hoping to keep the perimeter clear, and provide a helpful distraction come nightfall.

Best case scenario, this explosion would rip a hole straight through the building, killing dozens.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The moment their truck pulled to a stop, Reg was on the lookout, his gaze scouring their surroundings for any sign of Diana among the sparse, moving crowds of civilians.

"Hey," Almonds hushed voice reached out to him as they clambered out of the truck bed. "She's not coming. Stirling told her not to be seen with us until it's time to go." Reg almost questioned this - questioned why, of all things, Jim knew he was searching for Diana. But it struck him as best not to ask, best not to come face to face with his own weakness that apparently everyone could see. This wasn't the time for it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana had spent her afternoon in a nearby cafe, sipping on herbal tea to calm the beating of her nervous heart as she waited for nightfall, pretending to read a book as she watched the soldiers walking around in her peripherals. Anyone who had paid enough attention would have noticed that she hadn't turned the page in almost half an hour, but there were hundreds of women in Benghazi who looked just like her. She was utterly unremarkable, utterly unworthy of notice. The disguise was working wonders.

But darkness was falling. And the longer she stayed, the more suspicious her presence would become. Ensuring her headscarf was still on properly, Diana departed, shoving her book back in her bag as it covered the concealed explosives within. She prayed the carefulness with which she handled the bag had not been too obvious as she made her departure, slipping away down a nearby side street.

The car was still there. She made a mental note as she passed, tossing a crumbled paper bag containing a Lewes bomb into a nearby trashcan, one of many lining the back wall of another administrative building. Laying individual charges was never going to do a significant amount of damage, but it would certainly provide ample distraction. If the guards were too busy chasing after exploding bins and cars, they would miss the real targets.

She wanted a cigarette, but frankly, the idea of smoking one so close to a bag full of bombs made her nervous. Diana was just about to throw out her matchbook as a precaution when a lone guard turned the corner towards her, rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, gaze pinned on her from the moment he entered the space.

"What are you doing?" He called, eyeing the matches in her hand with suspicion. His Italian accent was heavy, but his English wasn't half bad. He thought she was a local - that was good, he was searching for some in-between dialect to bridge the language barrier between himself and the Libyans.

"Smoke break," Diana replied simply, trying to maintain the accent of her mother tongue even as she spoke her second language. It was difficult - she had been taught Arabic by Egyptians and English by the Brits, it was not a line she was used to blurring.

The guard flicked his wrist, beckoning her closer as he reached into his breast pocket for a proper lighter. As she plucked a cigarette from the battered box in her bag, he held the flame up to her, just far away enough that she had to lean in towards his chest, dipping her chin to meet it. She could feel his eyes on her, tracing every inch of her face and quickly travelling downwards. His hand reached up, knuckle brushing lightly against her cheek. Diana felt the urge to recoil, nausea dredging up the pitifully sparse contents of her stomach. Instead, she pulled herself back up to full height, a pleasant smile curling her lips as she took a puff of smoke.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't be out here alone," The guard tutted, a glint of lust in his eye that made her want to vomit straight onto his boots. "Anything could happen."

She let out an easy laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Well, then it's a good thing I have your gun, isn't it?"

He paused for a moment, head tilting to the side as he squinted in confusion. "...What?"

Diana's hand shot out at his face, not even pausing to drop the cigarette, its burning butt scorching the flesh of the soldier's cheek as her fingernails met his eyes, scratching painfully at his corneas. Before the man could scream, her free hand, balled into a tight fist, punched him sharply in the windpipe, and the guard choked for breath, staggering backwards as blood began to run down his face from where her nails had taken chunks out of his eyelids.

Blinded and winded, he groped for his rifle, but Diana seized it in an instant, a kick to the stomach sending him toppling backwards onto the ground. If she had shot him, she would've drawn half the guards in the port. Besides, this was more fun.

"Fascist fuck," She muttered, tearing off her headscarf, curls erupting outwards like a lion's mane as she balled up the fabric, stuffing it down into the guard's mouth so he couldn't speak. With the pocket knife tucked in her boot, she sliced off one of the straps on her bag, using the long strip of fabric to bind the man's hands behind his back. The guard whimpered helplessly, sounds muffled by the fabric that he found himself unable to spit out as his feet lashed out, kicking wildly but never landing a blow, his vision still blurred and useless in the dark.

Diana manoeuvred the thrashing, whining man into a nearby alcove, propping him up against the backdoor of a local restaurant. Delivering a swift, sharp blow to the head, the guard fell unconscious, and she was free to leave his limp body for someone else to find once she was long gone.

But now there was a problem. Her disguise was ruined - her headscarf gone, bag noticeably torn, blood staining her fingernails. A wad of spit was enough to clean most of the visible dirt from her hands, and she realised she had little choice but to get rid of her bag. Carefully retracing her steps back towards the car she had abandoned, Diana tossed the entire cache of explosives into the trunk and made a run for it. Perhaps multiple distractions were off the table for tonight, but this distraction was certainly about to be a big one.

Tousling her hair and undoing the top few buttons of her shirt, exposing a sideways view of her cleavage, she felt satisfied with her new disguise. If she couldn't pass as someone's dutiful housewife, she could at least do her best to blend in with the local prostitutes.

God this was humiliating.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reg and the others were waiting impatiently behind a nearby car, anxiously watching Stirling and Churchill approach as soldiers swarmed their truck, which had - until now - been their only means of escape. David approached the group, strolling casually so as not to betray his agitation, although his brow began to furrow as he surveyed the group.

"Where's Diana?" He whispered, leaning in close. Reg thought he might vomit.

"She's supposed to be here?" Riley hissed. One by one, their expressions began to fall with concern.

"I told her to meet us at the rendezvous, she's supposed to-" Stirling had gone from a state of panic to one of confusion, trailing off as his gaze locked itself upon something behind the others. Reg turned to follow his eye, brow raising as he spotted Diana across the street, purposely avoiding meeting their gaze as she strolled through the crowded space. But something had changed since that morning - she looked different. She looked good.

There was no time to express relief, no time to calm the thumping of his heart as Stirling ushered the group out from their rendezvous spot, marching across the street. They were making it up as they went along now - the most dangerous way to be. But she didn't follow, simply stood in a nearby doorway, leant casually against the wall.

"Seekings, go over and pretend to chat her up," Stirling ordered under his breath. Reg suddenly realised what was going on. "Get her over here with us, now."

Seekings slipped away from the group, taking extra care to look at ease, confident, not like he was following orders. His eyes met Diana's, and he stepped up onto the doorstep beside her, the pair standing close. "...You look different," He pointed out.

"It's been an... eventful afternoon," She explained. As she spoke, she maintained an easy, flirtatious smile, ensuring that anyone passing by would still believe she was a prostitute trying to chat up a client, despite the words being exchanged. Reg felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, turning his face redder by the second.

"We've gotta go," He said, and she nodded, following alongside him as they moved to rejoin the others. He felt her gently nudge his side, and slug his arm casually over her shoulder. They would have to keep up this pretence until the very last minute, until they were somewhere free from any prying eyes. But Reg couldn't even pretend to dislike the position he now found himself in, her body slotted against his in a way that just felt right, her shoulder somehow comfortable as it dug into his side. Her hair blew gently with each exhale he took, and he was almost too distracted to pay attention to the others, watching her instead of the guards Johnny was attempting to negotiate their way past. Reg couldn't even understand Italian - in his mind, this was a much better use of his time.

It seemed Diana had realised this distraction, for a sharp poke to the ribs alerted Reg that they were moving again, sauntering past the men after whatever ruse Cooper had concocted had worked. "Start paying attention," She muttered, beginning to smirk.

But there had been no time to formulate a retort before an earth-shattering explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet, a great ball of fire turning the sky red as a building burst into flames a few streets over. It was bigger than the blast from any single Lewes bomb, and Reg raised a brow, looking down at Diana who had begun to cringe slightly. Stirling turned to stare pointedly at her.

"I had to improvise," She shrugged, and Reg almost laughed before his own charges exploded somewhere behind them, and the group broke out into a sprint, making a wild dash for the nearest side road that could potentially promise a means of escape.

The first explosion had been so huge that almost every guard in the port had began running towards it, and once the other bombs went off as well, the place was plunged into chaos, no one sure of which crises they should tend to first.

"Where's your gun?" Stirling hissed as she ran alongside him.

"Like I said, change of plan," Diana huffed, catching a pistol as he tossed it over to her, the group crouching around the corner of a nearby building to evade the scattered guard force.

"Well, y'know," Almonds shrugged. "At least the bombs worked."

She let out a breathless laugh, but no sooner had she stopped running was she compelled to start again, dashing towards a jeep Reg had managed to commandeer.

"You got it?" Diana asked, a grin spreading across her face as he touched two wires together and the engine burst to life, rumbling steadily as they dogpiled hurriedly inside. They trundled away at a regular pace, so as not to draw attention, but it may as well have been a hundred miles an hour for how quickly her heart beat inside her ribcage, chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, feeling as if it were the first full breath she had taken since the moment she had first arrived in Benghazi.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Stirling's car ahead had burst through the checkpoint they had passed that morning in a flurry of bullets, picking up speed, the jeeps going faster and faster by the second until they were streaking across the desert. Johnny had been standing atop the back of David's jeep, mowing down the nazis with his machine gun as they passed. As they passed back into safe territory, he turned back to face the second car, grinning elatedly, and Diana replied with a whoop, laughing at their success. She had not quite realised how scared she had been to die tonight until the relief of surviving had settled in, and now she was euphoric, the desert wind whipping her hair wildly in all directions.

Reg had the wheel, unable to tear his eyes from the road for how fast they were travelling, but he began to grin as Riley started singing a raucous drinking song, Diana and Jim joining along by the second verse. Almonds had taken off his hat, jokingly attempting to plant it on her head, but she let out a yelp as the wind caught its brim, tearing it clean off as the hat vanished into the night. They laughed at this too, everything suddenly hilarious as they were consumed by the joy of victory. The jeep's side mirror had been jostled in their hurried attempt to climb in, and rather than reflecting the road behind, Reg could see her - smile visible even in the darkness, both hands trying in vain to hold down her hair against the desert wind.

It may have been the greatest night of his life.

#sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas rogue heroes fic #sas: rogue heroes #reg seekings #david stirling #pat riley #johnny cooper #jim almonds #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

19 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 2 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 10

Summary: On a mission to meet with an informant, more of Diana's past is uncovered, and the group's plan is thrown into jeopardy

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, violence, blood/gore

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd @regseekings

A/N: I'm SOOOOO SORRY for the hiatus this fic has been on for the last couple months - I was struggling with writer's block for a while and then other fics sort of took over my life, but I'm really glad to be back writing this again. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck around, I really appreciate your patience <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She could taste the sea air on her tongue, feel the salt spray turning her hair sticky as they pulled up along the beachfront of the small, coastal town, barely fifty miles away from Benghazi. On a routine intelligence mission, Stirling had sent their small group - Diana, Seekings, Kershaw and Cooper - to get in, find their informant, exchange information, and get out. It was nothing, not for the four of them, who had all performed dozens of missions ten times more dangerous than this. It was practically a day off.

For an occupied town, the military presence was scarcely noticeable save for the occasional soldier smoking outside a cafe. The citizens seemed almost unaware that there was even a war on, visiting shops and taking their children to the beach as if all was normal, nothing like the tension that had hung thick in the air at Benghazi.

Their uniforms had long since been discarded, the men dressed in civilian clothing, a jarring sight after so many months in their company. Diana's curls erupted outwards from beneath the brim of her sunhat, tinted glasses shielding her from the sun's glare reflecting against the waves.

"Remind me who we're looking for again," She uttered under her breath, hands resting loosely in her pockets. Everyone in this town looked the same, and without a photo to work from, finding their informant seemed nearly impossible.

"Stirling says we'll know it when we see it," Cooper drawled, practically rolling his eyes from boredom. He'd been a strange choice for a mission like this - the absence of violence made him twitchy.

"Oh, wonderful, very helpful," Diana huffed, fiddling with the watch around her wrist. They were exposed out here, the four of them wandering the streets in a neat little row without any clear direction or purpose to guide them. It was clear they had no idea where they were going, and sooner or later someone would notice. If only Stirling had let her come alone-

Diana stopped.

She knew that face. And she knew he wasn't meant to be here. Which could only mean one thing. Stepping back on her heel, she began a retreat, much to the confusion of her companions, who watched her turn with furrowed brows.

"That one over there, sitting at the table by the door," Diana nodded, the others following her gaze. "I'll just wait in the car, I'll see you later."

Before she could walk away, Seekings' hand found her arm, seizing her gently, but with just enough force to root her to the spot. She glanced up at him, rolling her eyes to hide the tension that had overtaken her.

"What's goin' on?" He asked, voice hushed. "You've gotta come, you're the only one who can read the bloody thing."

He was right. The files they'd been sent to retrieve were written in Arabic - she was the only one who could confirm its legitimacy. Damn, Stirling. There was no doubt in her mind he'd had a hand in this. Their informant had looked up from his newspaper, meeting her eye from across the street, the colour draining from his cheeks.

"Stirling's a fucking bastard," Diana muttered, roughly shrugging Reg's hand away and storming over, taking a seat at the table opposite the man. He was staring at her, mouth slightly agape, barely even noticing the other men as they approached and took their seats, exchanging wary glances.

"Afternoon, Andrew."

He folded his newspaper away, a stray golden curl falling into his face. "Diana. Long time no see."

Kershaw's brow arched in question, his gaze flitting slowly between the pair. "Right... who's this?"

The informant stretched his arm out across the table, reaching for a polite handshake. "Andrew Schulz," He introduced himself, German surname inducing an instinctive bristle among the men. Reg hadn't stopped glaring at the man since the moment they'd sat down, and Cooper had to elbow him hard in the side to snap him out of it.

"We used to be engaged," Diana stated nonchalantly. Johnny had reached for the cup of coffee on the table, pilfering a sip, and Dave had landed a hard slap between his shoulder blades to stop him from choking at this revelation.

"You were gonna marry a German?" Cooper asked, boyish eyes wide in horror. Seekings's entire face had turned two shades redder.

"Yeah, until he developed an affinity for the Third Reich."

"I think the fact we're sitting here would indicate I wasn't exactly genuine in my regard for the Nazi party," Schulz hissed, voice lowered to avoid attracting attention. His English was fluent, albeit tinged with a German accent. Everything about the man screamed wealth - the perfect state of his hair, the neat knot of his tie, the pristine skin of his hands - he bore the look of a man who'd never worked a real day in his life. Even on her best day, Diana wasn't as polished as him. Sitting opposite each other now, Reg found it impossible to picture the pair ever having any sort of regard for each other. Or perhaps he just didn't want to.

"Just gimme the file so I can leave," She huffed.

"No. You've got to sit here long enough that it doesn't look suspicious. We're meeting for drinks, nothing more."

Diana's jaw clenched, staring anywhere but at the man across from her. Dave had begun to fear she was going to make a break for it when she sucked in a sharp breath, reaching for a cigarette. "At least tell me where it is."

"In the bag next to my seat."

"Fine," She shrugged.

An almost unbearable silence hung upon them for a moment, the three SAS men sucking their cheeks for something to say as she puffed cloud after cloud of smoke, seemingly revelling in Andrew's discomfort.

After a few minutes of skin-crawling quiet, Reg cleared his throat. "Oi, Di, d'you want to go get drinks?" She was up before he'd even finished the sentence, the pair of them scurrying inside the cafe. At least with half of the bitter couple gone, Kershaw and Cooper could carry some semblance of conversation.

He frowned at her as they entered the cafe - if she clenched her jaw any harder, he reckoned her teeth might shatter. The woman behind the counter glanced up at them with a smile, and it was as if a switch flicked within Diana, the tension sapped from her body, a pleasant smile curling her lip. She ordered quickly and politely, conversing in Arabic so that Reg simply had to hope she'd ordered his coffee how he liked it. As soon as the exchange was over, she stepped silently to the side to await their order, tugging at the cuffs of her shirtsleeves agitatedly.

Reg had never known her to be like this - on edge, certainly, but not fucking quiet. She was dynamite with a pretty smile, and no man made her nervous. Perhaps he had despised Andrew Schulz from the moment he'd sat down, but his impression certainly wasn't getting any better.

"So are you gonna... talk about it?" He prompted, voice kept low beneath the hum of patrons' conversation.

Diana turned her head to him, brow raised. "You, Reg, want to talk about... feelings."

Passing his weight between the balls of his feet, Reg cleared his throat slightly. "Uh. Yeah. I guess."

She hummed, disbelief evident in her expression. "Right. Well, there's not exactly much to tell - I was a socially isolated teenager, and he was handsome and rich. There wasn't much to it."

He nodded along as she spoke, keeping his clenched fists in his pockets and out of sight. "... Right. So you don't still-"

"No," Diana snapped, a little faster than he was perhaps comfortable with. "God, no. I haven't seen him in years, and it's not exactly like I've been sitting around with a lack of something to do."

Reg took a sliver of satisfaction in this - in the idea that what the SAS did had successfully replaced any presence this man had had in her life. "... He's a bit of a prick, isn't he?"

"He's absolutely a prick," She had clearly been resistant to talk about Andrew at first, but the more she spoke the more energised she became by it. "Y'know, he joined up in '38, before the war even started. Yunno who does that? Freaks and fanatics."

"Cunt."

"Exactly," Diana nodded firmly, bouncing slightly on her heels. It had clearly been a long time since she'd vented these frustrations to another soul. "But no, apparently I should've just fucking predicted the fucking future and guessed he would've turned out to be a you know what."

"Unreasonable."

By the time their order was finished, the waitress passing a tray of coffee cups across the counter, she was practically red in the face, a different kind of tension taking over. Diana no longer looked like she was considering hurling herself into the harbour to avoid talking to Shulz - she looked like she wanted to drown him in it instead.

Kershaw noticed the moment she stepped outside, looking up with a cautious frown as she put the tray down at their table, taking her seat with an elegant rigidity. Reg raised a brow at him as he came to sit down, accepting his coffee with a nod. She had gotten his order right.

Lifting her cup to her lips, Diana took a long sip of the still-burning liquid, her gaze never leaving the German officer sitting across from her.

"Alright. New plan," She stated as soon as the silence had lingered just long enough to make Andrew squirm.

"Oh?" He enquired, a hint of condescension in his tone that made Reg's knuckles whiten.

"I'm gonna drink half of this. Then I'm gonna pick a fight. When I do, you boys back off and get the car - swing 'round back and I'll meet you there."

"What do you expect that plan to do?" Shulz scoffed.

"I expect it to work."

Lips pursed, the German swallowed hard, staring as if the mere act of glaring at Diana could make her go away. "You always were reckless."

"Ah, ah," She tutted. "I said I'm drinking my coffee first."

Johnny snorted, unable to wipe the childish smirk from his cheeks as he watched the pair dart back and forth. Glancing at the three SAS men at the end of the table, Andrew seemed to be fighting the redness flooding his face. This was a man unused to being laughed at. Diana's head lolled to the side, flashing Johnny a grin, a melodious laugh escaping her throat at the hostility that seemed to envelop the group.

"So," Schulz began. "How's... Jasmine?"

"Jaspreet is fine. Dave fancies her."

Kershaw looked up from his coffee with a start, almost choking on it. "Wha'? No, I don't."

"You do a bit."

Dave considered this for a moment. He shrugged. Johnny chuckled - he had seemingly revelled in every moment of uncomfortable awkwardness since the second he'd sat down.

Diana stared down at her drink. It was more than half empty already - how had she drank it so fast? She realised the tip of her tongue had turned numb, tastebuds tingling painfully from the heat that she'd been too busy antagonising to notice. Stray coffee grounds were already sticking to the porcelain, the bottom of the mug in sight. But for a moment she almost didn't want to fight. Why did everything always have to be such a bloody fight? Fuck this mission, and Fuck Stirling for sending this man back to her, for reminding her of the time she'd spent living under his boot, even if he'd never realised it was on her neck.

She bolted to her feet without bothering to move her chair, the whole table rocking to the side with the force of her body, the remains of Andrew's tea sloshing over the rim and into his lap as the cup clattered sideways against its saucer. Letting out a yelp at the sudden heat, he too leapt to stand, hands help up in irritation, redness flooding his face. Reg caught her eye. She nodded - such a minuscule movement that anyone not looking for it would have been none-the-wiser. But they were looking. Her comrades in arms were up and gone before Schulz could even stammer a word, retracing their steps towards where they'd left their car further along the seafront.

"What the fuck?!" Andrew hissed, a dark stain spread across the lap of his uniform trousers.

"You know her name's Jaspreet you fucking prick," Diana spat, teeth gritted. "She was my only fucking friend, I know you remember."

"Do you really think I think of you that often to remember your fucking friends?!"

The cafe's other patrons had begun to stare, sitting in awkward silence as they found themselves suddenly unable to avoid the row.

"Oh, you practically begged me to marry you, and you expect me to believe you don't think about me?"

"You always did think you were the absolute shit, didn't you Diana? You were an egotistical bitch when I met you and you're still one now."

"What I was when I met you was seventeen-fucking-years-old. You were twenty-five, you don't get to stand here and make out like you were some kind of victim in this scenario!"

Diana bent down, snatching the bag beside Andrew's seat like an enraged spouse grabbing for her purse, tucking it and its contents tightly under her arm. She hadn't heard the hum of their car's engine yet - it was time to start stalling.

"And you know why this never would've worked out, Andrew? It wasn't because I was young and naive, and it wasn't because you decided to become a bloody fascist - it's because you knew what Hannigan was turning me into and you did nothing."

Schulz had opened his mouth to yell out a reply, but her jab had caught him off guard, jaw snapping shut before the words could reach his tongue. She sucked in a long, deep breath, somewhat surprised herself. She hadn't expected to say that.

"Andrew?" An unfamiliar voice sounded behind her, his accent running thick and distinctly German. Diana didn't tear her eyes from Schulz for a moment, watching the way the colour suddenly drained from his face as the man approached.

The uniformed officer stepped between them, brow furrowed as his gaze flicked between Andrew and Diana, assessing the scene.

"Paul!" Andrew cried, forcing a friendly demeanour as he held out a hand for the other man to shake, which he accepted somewhat hesitantly.

"Is everything alright, my friend?"

"Uh, yes, of course," He nodded, stepping closer towards her. "This is... Juliet. We were just-"

"-He cancelled our date tomorrow night," Diana interjected, the lie spilling out before it had even taken proper shape in her mind. "I... overreacted."

Paul nodded slowly, continuing to look back and forth between the pair. There was something keen and discerning in his gaze, as if he could see her bones straight through her skin. Diana almost squirmed. They were treading a fragile line now. She eyed the gun on his belt - how fast could she reach it if needed?

"You should count yourself lucky for having such a beautiful woman," Paul chastised lightly, nodding towards her. Her grip on the bag tightened.

"Oh, I do," Andrew nodded. "It's just this job, you know? Always busy."

A flicker of confusion crossed Paul's face, and he began to frown. "... Tomorrow night?"

"...Yes."

"...There's nothing happening tomorrow night, my friend."

His gaze darted towards Diana, staring at her hand, knuckles whitening under the force with which she gripped the bag.

"Breathe, Diana," She could hear her father's voice echoing in her mind. "The moment you give in to fear is the moment you lose."

But he had never trained her for this. Damn him.

"I have to go," She blurted. "You should catch up with your friend, Andrew. Call me later."

Before he could speak she began to walk away, sucking in a long, quiet breath as she tried to soothe the ache in her lungs. The car had to be close - just around this corner and she was free.

"No, wait - Diana - " Schulz called. The moment her name slipped from between his lips he froze, and without even looking she could picture the stricken look that must have been contorting his features. She stopped, turning back towards the men.

Fucking incompetent bastard.

"...Diana?" Paul asked, and it was as if she could see the gears turning in his mind, piecing everything together. In an instant, his hand reached for his belt, wrapping around the grip of his pistol.

Time seemed to slip by in slow motion. He was raising to shoot her as she pushed off with the ball of her foot, darting towards him, speed the only possible thing that would keep her alive in that moment.

Until it wasn't.

Schulz seized Paul's arm before he could pull the trigger, jolting him sideways as a terrible bang sounded, the nearby patrons scattering for safety.

For a split second everything was silent, until a gurgled cough escaped Andrew's throat, his knees going slack beneath him, blood blooming against the fabric of his shirt just below the waist.

Paul's jaw hung slack with shock, staring down at his friend, chest heaving as he fought for breath. But he hesitated too long. Diana leapt forward, seizing the pistol in his hand and twisting downwards, feeling the bones in his trigger finger crack as a cry of anguish escaped him.

She had put a bullet in his neck before he even had time to process what was happening.

The two men lay side by side on the pavement, Paul's eyes glazed over and staring blankly up at the sky, blood pooling around his head. Andrew was on his stomach, laying on his hand as he kept it firmly pressed against the wound, fighting for each breath, eyes wide with shock as he stared across at the man beside him.

For a moment, Diana just watched, the gun still gripped in one hand, the bag with its files held tight in the other. She could just leave him here. She could let him bleed out, and die in the uniform of a regime he'd never actually believed in. Perhaps it would be for the best - it was safer to die here, to let the blame fall on the enemy, than to survive as a traitor, his betrayal like a target on his back until the day this war was over.

She could do it. She knew she had it in her - and really, that was the only thing about this prospect that frightened her. He hadn't been the first person to break her heart. But he was the only one she could punish for it.

"Come on," Diana breathed, stuffing the gun into her bag as she crouched beside him, lifting his free arm to wrap it around the back of her neck, grimacing as Andrew let out a yelp of agony at the sudden movement. "Get up," She spoke through gritted teeth, tone entirely void of sympathy.

He was panting heavily, blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers as he forced his feet beneath him, turning his face up towards the sun as he pushed with any strength that remained to him. With a shared grunt, the pair hauled him upright, dragging him to stand. Diana's heart was pounding out of her chest - they had to leave now, or they were both dead.

Every few steps, Andrew's feet began to drag, his strength coming in short, weak bursts, never enough to propel him more than a few metres. He was too much taller than her, their stance too awkward for her to properly support him when his knees gave way, groaning as his sudden weight pulled her downwards every few seconds.

"Get it together, you fucking imbecile," She hissed, frustrated more by the desperation of their situation than at the man himself. "I'm not dying for you."

Andrew almost chuckled, letting out another gasp as a jolt of anguish shot through him. "You're not the person he tried to turn you into... You're not a monster," He breathed, voice barely able to rise above a whisper as they turned down the alley running alongside the cafe, hopefully leading them straight to the car.

"You should see how I spend my evenings," Diana joked, a sliver of teeth visible as she cracked a faint grin.

"If I survive this... you've gotta tell me... what the hell are you doing out here with them?"

"Deal," She grunted. Limping their way around the corner, it was as if a ten-ton weight was hauled off of her shoulders as the car suddenly came into view, catching Johnny's eye in the rearview mirror. Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely hear anything else as she dragged Andrew the last few metres, Kershaw leaping out to open the door for them, strewing his body across the backseat.

"What the fuck happened?!" Dave cried, looking over at her with a stricken expression. As Diana looked down at herself, she realised her hands were stained with blood, dark red smears streaked across her blouse. She couldn't even remember when it had happened.

"Just get in the car and fucking drive," She barked, attempting to keep her voice as level as possible as she climbed in, Andrew's head and shoulders forced to rest in her lap, his legs stretched across Kershaw so that they could all fit inside.

Johnny was at the wheel - just quite why, she had no idea - but he turned to look at the scene in the back seat, wide-eyed and hardly moving. "Where do we go? What do we do with him?"

"Just fucking go, Johnny!" Diana yelled, her fringe slick with sweat and plastered to her forehead.

As the engine roared to life, she stared down at Schulz, writhing in agony against her, eyes screwed tightly shut as blood continued to seep from between his fingers, and for a second she had to fight the urge to gag. It was nowhere near the worst thing she'd seen - it wasn't even the worst thing she'd been responsible for. But this was different. Diana felt the warmth of blood against her hands, and when she closed her eyes the darkness took her back to the night of her first jump, dragging Eoin McGonigal's corpse across the dunes without any ending in sight.

If Andrew died here, now, where could she take him? Would she bury him out in the sand like she had Eoin? It was a hero's burial for bastards like them - maybe he'd like it that way.

As they pulled out of town, he vomited a mouthful of blood over the backseat.

#sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes #reg seekings #dave kershaw #johnny cooper #oc: diana #sas:rh #fic | damage gets done

11 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 10 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 1

Summary: Seeking support for the foundation of the SAS, David Stirling finds himself a new recruit in the most unlikely of places, and Diana Fayed is offered her first opportunity to make a real difference in the conflict that has taken over her home.

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language, descriptions of injury and sickness (fever, vomiting), death

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The room was spinning, the fountain - now broken beyond repair - spilling out a pool of water that edged slowly closer and closer. There was blood on her hands. On her chest, on her face, the taste of it reaching her tongue. One of her eyes was swelling shut, but even as her vision began to blur, she could not tear it from the body at her feet - him sprawled across the tiles, lying on his face, her sitting silently beside him, leaning back on her elbows, the metal pipe in her hand leaving her palm cold and numb.

There were footsteps echoing off the walls, approaching from the corridor behind her, speeding up from a stroll to a run, getting louder and louder with each passing second. But the sound scarcely reached her, the thrumming of her heartbeat the only thing that felt real. Solid. The only thing she could truly focus on.

How did she get here? Was this her mission - her purpose?

The footsteps reached her, and she grew aware of a figure standing beside her, pausing a moment to take in the chaos.

"... Fucking hell."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

David Stirling marched along the streets of Cairo with purpose, an idea blooming and taking root further in his mind with each laboured step, his crutches clacking noisily against the cobbles. The sun scorched the exposed skin of his scalp, and he cursed the layers of woollen that made him sweat so profusely.

This was a long way to come - especially alone, and especially in his condition - but Stirling was seeking affirmation in the best place he could think of. The SAS was an insane, reckless, borderline insubordinate notion. Who better to seek approval from than a General known for his insubordination, recklessness, and insanity?

Armed men were posted at either side of the mansion's main entrance as he approached, keeping watch with as much seriousness as if they were guarding Buckingham Palace itself. The pair watched David with keen eyes, and he tried to ignore them as best he could as he stepped up to the door, rapping upon the wood with his knuckles.

Barely a moment passed before it was flung open, and Stirling almost stepped back in surprise, his grip on his crutches tightening. He had expected a butler, or another guard perhaps. What he had not expected was to be greeted by General Hannigan himself - peering up at him between a thick brow and even thicker moustache, his front emblazoned with countless medals from the Great War.

"Ah! Stirling, I take," the General smiled, ushering him inside. "You look rather like your mother. Ears like your father, though, I'm afraid," He sighed, offering a sympathetic shrug. David might have been offended somewhat had he not been so busy being utterly taken aback by the man as he followed him deep within the house. He had heard stories about Hannigan - of his maverick tactics on the battlefield, of his staunch dislike of any authority that wasn't his own - and even remembered meeting him briefly at Keir many years ago. But somehow the General still defied his expectations.

The house seemed to expand exponentially on all sides, every surface covered in souvenirs from travels all over the world. At the centre of the building, an open hallway snaked around the perimeter of a large courtyard, palm trees casting shade in every corner, a huge fountain bubbling away in the middle. One of the garden tables was littered with military papers, at least half of which Stirling was undoubtedly forbidden from reading. Nevertheless, Hannigan invited him to sit without making any effort to conceal them. "Right, tell me about this idea of yours, then. I've heard it's really something," He prompted, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But as David laid out the plan for his proposed regiment, littering enticing images of destruction and mayhem to further draw him in, he found his spiel derailed, distracted by two figures on the other side of the courtyard. One was a huge brute of a man, tattoos covering his muscled arms, handlebar moustache sliced through by a scar that covered much of his top lip - even from here it was as if he could sense the force that would come with each blow as he raised his fists. Standing against him however, was a girl. A whole head shorter than her opponent, bruised knuckles bared, she watched him with dark, sharp eyes, peering out from beneath freckled skin, an unruly mane of curls piled high atop her head. They were smiling at each other, smirking as if they had done this a hundred times before, and without a word of warning the man leapt at her. Before he could blink, the pair were going at it, wrestling against each other's bodies, hurling blows, their feet occasionally slipping against the polished tile floor.

Hannigan followed Stirling's gaze, and a pleased grin tugged at his expression. "Oh, yes. That's my Diana," He passed a glance at his watch. "If she's sparring already, we must be having tea soon. Perhaps you would join us?"

He ignored this offer, watching intently as they fought. Everything he had come to learn led him to expect that she would lose - that this man would hurl her on her back, knock her down with one blow, that she would be crushed beneath his hulking weight. But she was not. She held her own - hell, she seemed to enjoy it, grinning every time she sent her opponent reeling, clutching at his nose or crotch.

"She's good," He nodded.

"Well, she'd better be. She's been training near twenty years longer than any of your boys."

Stirling barely had time to respond to this before an ear-splitting crack echoed across the yard, making him cringe. He was unable to tell where it had come from until the man was knocked flat on his back and finally yielded, taking a moment to nurse his wrist, pain contorting his expression as Diana turned to approach the table.

"We'll need to find someone else for a while," She informed her father breathlessly, her fringe plastered to her forehead with sweat. "I think his wrist is broken."

"Very well," The General nodded, his tone startlingly non-committal despite the grunts of pain still coming from the man in the corner. "Diana, this is David Stirling - He's founding an exceptionally interesting new regiment, sounds like something you'd be interested in."

At this, David raised a brow, opening his mouth to speak but receiving no chance as Diana stepped forward, extending a hand to introduce herself. "Ah. Diana Fayed, a pleasure to meet you-?"

"Lieutenant," He nodded politely, accepting her hand with a shake, before suddenly remembering what her father had said. Still gripping her palm in his own, he turned his gaze back to the General. "Sorry, one moment - what do you mean she would be interested?"

"Oh, you really ought to take her with you, David. It's about time she saw some real action - not much use keeping her here so she can break the bones of every un-enlisted man in Cairo, is it?"

Stirling frowned, his brow creased with uncertainty. "Are you... familiar with parachutes, Diana?"

"Not intimately. Although I daresay I could manage it without paralysing myself," She smiled, and he suspected she knew more about him than he had previously thought. It suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly the type of person he was searching for to join his unit, and had she been a man he would have accepted her on the spot. It appeared the only person not thinking clearly here had been David himself.

"Have you enlisted?" He asked.

"Don't worry about that," Hannigan waved a hand dismissively. "I'll get the paperwork through by tonight, it's no matter. Now, let's call for some tea-"

"Actually," Diana interrupted. "I'm going out." With an affectionate kiss to her father's temple, she turned away, and made it halfway across the courtyard before calling out. "Aren't you coming, David?"

Unsure of what to make of such a family, Stirling's gaze travelled slowly from her to the General still sitting opposite him. Hannigan shrugged. "Don't look at me, son. Just do as she tells you, and you'll make it out alive."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In all his life, David Stirling had never met anyone quite as bad at driving as himself. Until now, that was. Streaking at blinding speed down the streets of Cairo, he could have sworn the wheels lifted off of the ground on one side of their car as Diana took the corner at speed, her hair flying wildly at all angles in the wind. At one point, she almost hit a tradesman as he scurried about in the street attempting to hock some watches, and called out over her shoulder in Arabic a string of what was either apologies or curses - both of which seemed equally likely to him at the time.

"So, the plan is to raid the airfields and destroy the planes before they can take off, yes?" She asked, the vehicle slowing to a somewhat manageable speed. Stirling felt the sudden and rare urge to thank some higher power.

"That's right, yes. It's never been done before, which is why I need to find some mad, tough bastards to do it."

"You have anyone in mind?" Diana turned to look at him, tearing her eyes from the road, and he fought to suppress a yelp as they crossed a busy junction without so much as a pause.

"... Have you heard of Paddy Mayne?" Stirling asked, his fingers digging into the side of the leather seat to steady himself as they rounded another tight corner.

"Heard of him? I've met him - at least I think I have. Saw him in a bar a few months ago, he mistook me for a prostitute and then got arrested for punching some bloke's teeth out."

"That was... definitely Paddy," He admitted, running a hand over his brow.

"Well, he seems a good fit. If you can get him out of Ghadzi, that is," They drove in silence for a while, slowing as they reached traffic. "Where was it you needed us to go, by the way?"

"I will be getting out on the corner and going to the nearest bar I can find in an attempt to make myself forget every minute I've spent in this car with you, Diana. You will be going to Ghadzi, to pick up Paddy Mayne."

She raised a brow. "What?"

"I've already gotten him out of prison, it's all sorted. They will, however, be in need of a lift, and this car is... very large."

The pair rolled to a halt at the changing light, and Stirling seized the opportunity to get out of the vehicle, taking his crutch with him as he clambered out and closed the door. Before he could walk away, he bent down to poke his head through the open window. "Oh, and... let one of the others drive once you get there."

Diana chuckled, leaning across the passenger seat to call after him as he began to leave. "You're going to want to stop at the second nearest bar! The first one is... It's really bad."

"I will take that to heart," David nodded, and they offered each other one last smirk before parting ways.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana was leaning up against the bonnet of her car, hand raised to shield her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun as Paddy Mayne stepped out of the gates to Ghadzi Prison, deep in conversation with the man at his side. He appeared filthy and battered, but ultimately in no worse condition than he had been in the first time they had met. The man with him was dressed in the standard army uniform, head tilted towards Mayne as he muttered into his ear, occasionally letting out a huff of amusement at something the man said. Neither of them seemed to notice her presence until the moment she spoke.

"Lieutenant Mayne?" She called. For a moment, he looked irritated that someone had interrupted him, severing his train of thought, but once it appeared to register who was standing before him, he sighed.

"Noooo. No. No, no," Mayne shook his head, raising a hand as if to bat her away whilst his companion watched on with a furrowed brow. "Whatever you've been sent for, I'm not fuckin' interested, alright?"

"Well, Stirling was certainly under the impression that you were coming," Diana shrugged, watching as Paddy's expression twisted with indignation.

"You know Stirling now, do you? Christ alive, he'll let anyone in, won't he?"

"Do you know her, Paddy?" The other man asked, slotting his hands into his pockets as his gaze flitted between the two.

"I'm Diana Fayed," She smiled politely, and he returned the gesture, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Eoin McGonigal."

"Aye, we've met," Paddy scowled. "Handed me over to the MP's, she did."

"I did not. I suggested you should be removed from a club after you punched a man so hard half of his teeth fell out. And, if I remember correctly, you mistook me for a prostitute and tried to pay me to leave you alone."

McGonigal let out a bark of laughter at this as Mayne passed his weight from foot to foot, staring at Diana as he found himself suddenly short of reasons to be angry at her. With a clench of his jaw, he tore his gaze away from her, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he leaned his back up against the side of the car.

"Parachuting into the fucking desert," He muttered, his head still shaking side to side, seemingly unable to suppress the motion since the moment he had left the prison.

"It would seem so," Diana confirmed.

"General Hannigan's daughter, she is," Paddy told Eoin nonchalantly, gesturing to her with one hand.

"Oh, really?"

"Adopted," She shrugged - an answer that seemed to satisfy them all.

It fell silent between them, just long enough to become awkward. Diana craned her head to the side, glancing back at the traffic passing by behind them. Becoming suddenly agitated at their stillness, she let out a huff, turning to seize the passenger door handle. "Alright, let's go-"

"Nope." Paddy shook his head. She planted a hand on her hip, gnawing the inside of her lip irritably.

"Why?"

"Waiting."

"For who?"

His head lolled to the side, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in a smile she could tell was intended to annoy her. "Fresh meat."

Opening her mouth, she found her tongue had run dry of anything to say. Her gaze darted momentarily to Eoin, who stood to the side with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently and quietly, content to ignore Paddy's attempts at riling her. Looking back at Paddy, she finally spoke, her jaw clenched. "... What?"

At that moment, the door to Ghadzi was pulled open again, the rusted metal hinges drawn back with an uncomfortable screech. As the guard stepped aside, a man emerged into the daylight, peering up at the bright sky above him. Blonde hair slicked back away from his face, he sported a slew of minor cuts and bruises, littered across his face and knuckles. He carried a small bag of his belongings and walked with a confident swagger, and it became alarmingly clear that this was Paddy's idea of a good candidate... although she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

"This is Reg," Mayne introduced, pushing himself away from the car with his boot, leaving a muddy imprint of his heel upon the door that made Diana frown.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eoin stepped forward, offering his hand. He seemed by far the most agreeable of the bunch, accepting Reg's handshake as the newly released soldier eyed him up and down.

"Another fucking Paddy," Reg teased, his accent thick, gaze travelling back and forth between the other two men as Eoin let out a chuckle. "This regiment isn't all fucking Paddies, is it?"

"Nah, not all, we have women too, eh?" Mayne teased, giving Diana a playful slap on the shoulder. Side-eyeing him, she stepped closer towards Reg, reaching out for a handshake. If Paddy Mayne sought to make her regret coming here, she would ensure he found it awfully hard work.

"Oh, yeah?" Seekings asked distractedly, shaking her hand as they introduced themselves to one another. He treated her far more graciously than he had the others, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been in Ghadzi - how long it had been since he'd last seen a woman.

"Right, if there's no one else lurking inside we need to collect, shall we go?" Diana asked, and Paddy nodded, the party turning towards the car. She had made it all the way to the driver's side door before she paused, her hand hovering over the handle before withdrawing. "David ordered that someone else drive the car. Apparently, I display 'a concerning disregard for the sanctity of human life', according to him."

Seekings laughed at this, and Paddy agreed to take the wheel, shunting her into the backseat. It would be a long drive to Kabrit, and God knows how long before she would see her father or her home again. For as long as she could remember, she had been preparing for this moment, fighting all her life to make herself into a soldier her father would be proud of. She was his prodigy, his legacy, and it was only now that she was here, swaying with each turning as they wove through the city and out towards the desert, did she realise what enormous pressure she was under.

The year had been 1920, some time after Diana Fayed's third birthday, although the exact date of this had long been lost to years of inadequate record-keeping. The ceiling of the tiny flat hung low, drapes covering every window to shield its inhabitants from the fierce afternoon sun, the water in the glass upon the table slowly evaporating in the sweltering heat. Years down the line, Diana would remember little of this time, save for the overpowering stench of sweat and sickness that bathed the place, an ever-present reminder of the life that ebbed further away from her mother day after day as she lay, curled up in the bed they shared, passing in and out of delirium, weak groans escaping her dry throat. A fever ravaged her body, droplets of sweat beading on every inch of her skin save for the dry flesh of her lips, which had grown chapped and cracked as she found herself increasingly unable to hold down food or drink, her vomit coming more and more watery with each passing day.

They could not afford a doctor. They could scarcely afford anything since the day Diana had been born, her father's death on the Middle Eastern front savagely ripping away the only real income they had. When she had been strong, her mother had been a seamstress, sewing gowns for the wealthy white women who lived on the nicer side of Cairo. When Diana had been a baby, she had been strapped to her mother's back, carried to and from their home to the lavish houses of her clientele, and laid to rest in a wicker basket as the woman worked away at her sewing machine, the constant whirring soothing the infant to sleep.

But once the sickness had set in, everything had stopped - the walks across the city, the comforting sound of work, the money. There was little food left in the flat, and what they did have was turning sour in the oppressive heat, flies gathering in the corners of the room, feasting on the fruit that had gone too foul to eat. For weeks now, Diana had survived on little more than scraps of bread, the meats and cheeses running out a few days prior. She had grown thin, waiting for her mother to die, her ribs sticking out under the thin fabric of her shirt.

When her mother finally died, her last breath escaping her in a violent fit of coughs, the sound of the child's inconsolable crying had alerted the neighbours, and an old woman had come to the door, holding a scarf to her face to ward off the stench that now permeated every inch of the place. She had taken Diana's tiny body in her arms, feeding her out of her bountiful pantry before taking her to the orphanage, handing her over to live among the other children who had lost their parents to war, sickness and poverty. She could not remember if Diana had been the name she had been born with, but somewhere along the line, it had become hers. She had always been Fayed. The people she had grown up around remembered her father, remembered his loss and remembered his name. If she had lost everything else she had been born into, she had always kept her father's name, the sound of it as it rolled off her tongue a constant reminder of how far she had come.

General Rupert Hannigan had saved her. He had brought her out of the gutter and into his home, had called her his daughter and never made her relinquish the name that had once been hers. The least she could do was make him proud.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you sure about this, David?" Jock Lewes asked sceptically, brow raised as the pair examined the file put before them. It had been alarming how swiftly these papers had found their way to Stirling's desk, as if Hannigan had had Diana's file assembled years ago, keeping it close to his chest, waiting for a chance to send her out onto the battlefield. As her photograph stared back at him, Stirling remembered watching her in the courtyard - the way she had taken that beast of a man down in moments, shattering his bone without hardly breaking a sweat. When the SAS had been but a figment of David Stirling's imagination, he had not known it yet, but Diana Fayed had been exactly the soldier he had in mind.

"I'm sure."

"You really want her?"

Stirling looked over to the man beside him. What they were doing was insane. It was unthinkable, the first of its kind, and unspeakably dangerous. And he realised then that this was one of the only things he was really, truly certain of.

"I need her, Jock."

#sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas:rh #david stirling #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #reg seekings #jock lewes #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

21 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 8 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 5

Summary: Still reeling from Eoin McGonigal's death, Diana prepares for L Detachment's raid on Tamet Airfield

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, violence, very brief gore, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl

A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while! I moved for university recently, so I had to take some time to adjust to a lot of changes, but I'm settled now and back to writing again!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The road to Jalo - if it could even be called that - was uneven and inhospitable, their jeeps swaying precariously side to side as they travelled dunes and rocky trails, the wind disguising their tracks as they filed through the barren wasteland to god-knows-where. Diana sat silently in the passenger seat beside Paddy as they followed behind Sadler, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, curls piled atop her head in a failing attempt to cool herself down, the desert breeze succeeding at nothing save for blowing more hot air directly at her, carrying sand with it, and it sometimes seemed as if the group had accidentally swallowed half the desert already.

Paddy had somehow become even colder since Eoin's death, regarding her with little more than an even stare. She could not - would not - tell him the whole story of that night - how it had been her job to check McGonigal's parachute was safe and secure, how she had found his battered body down in the bushes and dragged him for hours, how she could not help but blame herself for the soldier's death. Mayne was hot-headed at the best of times. If he thought Diana was responsible for the death of his best friend, she wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't kill her. No. It was her burden to shoulder alone, at least for now.

Jalo protruded, stout and square, from the blanket of dunes ahead, its walls of sand and dirt disguising it against the monotone landscape, its facade unassuming, with a few gaping holes in its perimeter wall to testify to its state of abandonment. It didn't look like much of a base as they pulled up beside it, Diana craning her head to peer at the wide, empty yard inside, but it certainly had potential. As they clambered out of the jeeps, Kershaw wordlessly tossed her his flask, the water stale but good enough to wash the dirt out of her mouth as Stirling emerged at the head of the group, hands on his hips as he surveyed the place.

"This is good," She assured him, standing at his side. "They won't find us out here in the middle of fuck-knows."

David nodded in agreement with this assessment, glancing sideways at the woman. He had not missed the ever-present scowl that had been creasing her expression since their failed parachute jump. Stirling knew the loss of McGonigal had shaken the team, but he had never thought him and Diana to be particularly close, so her state of seemingly constant misery struck him as strange. It would not do.

Clapping a hand over her shoulder, Stirling turned to address Sadler, the newest addition to their group. "How far to the nearest German airfield?"

"Sirte is 350 miles north-west."

"And the Allied front line?" Diana added, taking another sip of Kershaw's foul-tasting water as she suppressed a grimace.

"The first position we'd come to is East - 80 miles to the New Zealand Reserve troop. Although, they've been sent north, so the camp is empty."

Stirling had an idea. His hand still on Diana's shoulder, he looked to her, brow raised. In the months they had spent together, they had come to know each other well, and in times like this, they scarcely even needed to speak to one another to convey their thoughts. Their natures were similar, their thirst for chaos and danger one and the same. Diana arched her brow, as if to say 'Seriously?', and David shrugged a 'Why not?'. A smirk had begun to creep its way across her expression by the time David turned to the others, who had witnessed this wordless conversation with varying looks of confusion.

It was Paddy who first caught on. "...The New Zealand camp is empty, eh?"

"They may have left some trucks behind," Stirling suggested.

"Some guns - ammunition," She added, her smirk spreading into a mischievous grin. Among the small crowd, the others seemed to realise what they were implying, an air of excitement settling over them. Sadler was frowning intently, the realisation of what he suddenly found himself involved in one that unsettled him. Diana shrugged as she walked past him, heading back to the truck. "We're all on the same side. It's just... re-distribution of resources," She assured him with a smile, clambering up into one of the jeeps. The thought did not seem to bring him comfort.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was a free-for-all the moment L Detachment arrived at the New Zealand camp, splitting off all over the place as they pilfered tents and loaded crates of ammunition and alcohol onto the trucks. In one of the officers' tents, Diana had found a stack of books, many of which her father had shelved in their library back home, and these had been unceremoniously shoved into her bag, the weight nothing compared to her parachute pack days earlier.

At one point, she and Johnny Cooper had attempted to smuggle out a large crate of bullets, which they proceeded to almost drop with a loud clatter. The men around them froze, the air filled with a tense silence as they waited to see if any of the remaining men in the infirmary tent had awoken and raised the alarm. When it appeared they had not been disturbed, Diana and Johnny struggled to suppress the fits of laughter that threatened to spill, delighted at their own success as they finished loading the truck, Sadler watching on with an ever-disappointed glare. She sent him a thumbs-up, but his scowl only seemed to deepen.

By the time they made it back to Jalo, it was already broad daylight the next day, the brief respite from the scorching desert sun already over, sweat dripping down their brows as they began to unload the trucks. Diana had been given the task of pitching the tents as some much-needed shelter from the elements, and Kershaw had taken it upon himself to help, holding up the poles for her as she attempted to drive tent pegs into the loose sand below.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you ain't said a word to Paddy since he came back after the storm," Dave said, driving another tent pole into the dirt. She looked up at him, stilling the movement of the mallet in her hand.

"We've been busy, if it escaped your notice."

He frowned at her. "I'm not thick, Di. I was there when you checked Eoin's parachute, I've pieced it together even if no one else has."

Diana sighed, throwing up her hands in surrender. "And if it was my fault he's dead, then what?"

"Then it was an innocent mistake. But I don't think it was - we all made the same checks, I didn't kill you, Reg didn't kill me. You didn't kill McGonigal."

"Paddy wouldn't see it that way," She shook her head, driving another peg into the sand with a mighty whack.

"No one knows what Paddy thinks of anything. But he'll notice you've gone all fucking weird, I'll tell ya that."

"... Let's just go blow some shit up, eh? Give us something else to think about."

The frown did not leave Kershaw's face, but he did not press the matter further. Diana was his best friend - that was true enough - and he would follow her lead in this, even if he did not agree. It was her burden to bear, but he would defend her against Paddy should the need arise. With a silent nod, he watched her hammer in the last peg, the tent now standing alone, and followed as they returned to the jeeps.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Grease paint streaked her face, the smell of it lingering in the air, her coat collar turned up against the desert wind, which grew ever colder as the night rolled on. Her rifle sat comfortably in her palms, so familiar it felt like an extension of her own arm, but there was one key difference that set Diana apart from the men around her - she had never seen combat before. She had trained longer and harder than any of them, but she had never seen enemy territory, never fought without the supervision of her father. Never killed a man. She had hurt people - so many that the guilt no longer weighed on her conscience, but those men were paid for their troubles, offered leave to heal up. These men would not have that. When Diana hurt these men, they would stay down.

Her back was pressed up against the side of an Italian jeep, the sounds of chattering seeping from a large building across Tamet Airstrip. Reg was crouched beside her, their shoulders pressed against each other for balance as they prepared their weapons.

"You ready?" He spoke, voice scarcely more than a whisper.

Diana nodded, a stray curl bobbing up and down in front of her face. "Always," She smirked. Reg looked over at her, quickly returning the smile. In a single, swift movement, he raised his hand, flicking the curl out of her face before returning to his gun, loading it with a fresh magazine. Glancing over at Dave, it became clear he had witnessed the entire interaction, intrigued expression barely visible beneath the grime that coated his face. But she could always tell.

Wordlessly, Paddy reached out, passing her a couple of Lewes' bombs, gesturing for them to be handed to Sadler. As she passed them on, the navigator peered at them curiously, the objects foreign in his hands.

"The famous Lewes bomb, that is," Mayne nodded.

"Never heard of them," Mike frowned.

"They're only famous amongst us, in fairness," Diana shrugged. "Jock invented them."

"Have you used them before?"

Paddy and Diana glanced at each other, the lingering silence the only answer Sadler needed. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, he stuffed the bombs in his pocket as Mayne handed Diana another pair of explosives.

"These are primed to go off in ten minutes," He explained, passing the rest out to the other members of the group.

"From now?" Sadler asked cautiously.

"Aye."

She looked down at the bombs in her hands, her mind suddenly plagued by images of her own hands being blown off in a mighty explosion. "Right, so we should fucking get on with it then, eh?" Reg's voice came from beside her, his breath fanning across her face as he leaned forward to speak to Paddy.

"We have plenty of time," He spoke dismissively.

"For what?" Dave asked.

Their small group watched as Paddy turned, craning his neck to look beyond the jeep they crouched behind and at the building across the strip - lights glowed golden inside, the gentle din of laughter and music emitting from within. In a moment of sudden clarity, Diana realised his intentions.

"They're drunk, Paddy," She tutted, "They-"

"They are low-hanging fruit. They are pilots and engineers when they sober up. If you don't like that, take Mikey over there and plant the bombs while we deal with the rats."

Her jaw was set tight, teeth grinding uncomfortably, fingers drumming irritably against the hilt of her rifle. They stared back at each other in silence for a moment, the others fidgeting with both discomfort at the apparent tension and fear for the ever-shortening timers on the bombs in their hands. Reg opened his mouth to speak up again, but before he could find the words, Diana was on her feet, the jeep's shadow still shrouding her from the view of their enemy. Stuffing a pair of bombs in each of her coat pockets, she gestured for Sadler to stand. "Let's move."

Scrambling to his feet, Mike was swiftly at her side as they made their way around the rear of the jeep, the shadows at the edge of the airfield camouflaging them as they headed for the rows of aeroplanes lined up at the other end of the strip. In the edge of her vision, she could see the silhouettes of their comrades, creeping into the light as they approached the building opposite, weapons bared.

Sadler watched them make a beeline for the pilots' mess, glancing occasionally at Diana, whose gaze remained focused and firmly ahead, never wandering to the others. He crept up alongside her, the primed bombs in his bag a constant source of tension for the man.

"So... what, you don't kill?" Mike whispered, eyeing her sideways.

Diana scoffed, surprisingly jovial in response. "Oh, I'll cut, maim and butcher if the occasion calls for it - but I find no enjoyment in a turkey shoot."

"... I see," He nodded. The man appeared overall unnerved by the company he had found himself in, but it did not stop him from planting the explosives as ordered once they reached the planes, tucking the bombs below wings and into open cockpits.

"My father is General Hannigan - I don't know if you're familiar - but he's trained me in combat since I was a girl," Diana chatted as Sadler clambered up onto the wing of the next plane, and he noted her almost eerie sense of calm as she passed him up another bomb, not even flinching as the sound of gunfire erupted behind them, a sure sign that Paddy had hit the jackpot. "I've broken just as many arms and legs as bloody Paddy Mayne, if not more, but Stirling was the first willing to take me on."

Sadler clambered down from the plane, eyeing the chaos that had erupted at the other end of the strip. Their men stood silhouetted against the light of the doorway, firing bullet after bullet into the mess hall. Diana's back remained turned to the scene, entirely nonchalant as she tossed another explosive into an open cockpit.

"Sounds like a strange childhood," He pointed out. "Training for... this."

She shrugged. "Well, to be honest, I specialise in - hang on-" Turning towards the chaos, she raised her rifle, eyeing the minuscule figure of a stray enemy soldier as he ran up behind Seekings and Kershaw in the dark. Within a moment, Diana had taken aim and pulled the trigger, a single shot echoing from their end of the airstrip before the figure toppled to the group in a lifeless heap. "I've mostly been trained in sharpshooting, but it's all good experience," She smiled.

"Blimey," Mike breathed. "Good shot."

A few minutes later, the pair were accompanied by the rest of their group, the others sporting fairly dazed expressions as they emerged from the mess hall to finish the job, planting the remaining bombs. "How long have we got?" Diana called, digging into her pocket for the last of the explosives she had been given.

"Two minutes!" Kershaw barked, working in a frenzy to get rid of the devices whilst they still had time. She nodded, gesturing for Mike as they began to jog back towards their original rendezvous point, the others close behind as they returned to the shelter of the jeep.

Pausing a moment to catch their breath, it became suddenly evident that their numbers were short. "Where the fuck's Paddy?" Reg huffed. Looking up, Diana surveyed the dimly lit airstrip, catching sight of a figure still climbing on the planes, clothed in one of their large, leather coats.

"There," She nodded, the others quickly catching sight of him. Letting out a loud whistler, Kershaw barked for him to follow, the fuses on their explosives only seconds away from detonating. They needed to get away, and they needed to do it fast. Suddenly she recalled that day out in the desert - how resistant Paddy had been to finding higher ground, to evading the oncoming storm that would've surely killed what was left of their group had they gone through with Mayne's plan. The man seemed entirely averse to any notion of self-preservation, something she could oh-so-clearly see now, as he persisted to smash a cockpit's controls with the butt of his rifle.

"Fucking hell," Diana muttered irritably, stepping forward as Paddy finally began to jog towards the group. Dave reached out, seizing her arm to prevent her from going any further, but she shrugged him off before he managed to get a firm grip. The others had not seemed to notice the lone survivor of their rampage, barreling full force towards Mayne from across the strip. Lifting her rifle, she took aim, the flash of the first explosion through the viewfinder momentarily blinding her. Blinking away the spots in her vision, she found the figure once again, now only metres away from Paddy's back, and pulled the trigger.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Almost there, go again," her father had ordered sharply, staring at the spot where a dark bullet hole marred the brick wall across from them, mere centimetres from the desired target - a green glass bottle, propped up across the courtyard.

"How long will we do this for?" Diana sighed, tearing her eye away from the viewfinder, which had begun to leave a pink ridge upon her cheek from the hours she had spent pressed against it. "We've been at it all day - I've hit most of the targets already."

"We will do this until you hit all of the targets," Hannigan instructed, re-opening his newspaper as he reclined in one of the garden chairs. "There is no room for mediocrity, Diana, and I will not tolerate failure. We go until you can take out the whole row without a single miss, even if we have to go into the night," He paused for a moment, then hummed to himself. "That may be a good idea - we will practice shooting in the dark tomorrow night."

Diana suppressed a sigh, wiping sweat from her forehead as she peered up at the sky above. The midday sun hung high overhead, the cloudless sky offering no reprieve from the miserable heat. She was thirteen years old, her knees aching from hours spent kneeling upon the tiled ground of the courtyard as she practised with the rifle her father had gifted her the previous Christmas. At the time, he had called it a present, but the hours she spent working on her skills were no gift.

Christmas had been the only time Hannigan ever gave her anything at all. There had been no birthdays - she had no birth certificate, nothing to dictate when her birthday actually was. To remedy this, her father would simply declare her a year older come the first of January each year, and the occasion would go unmarked - it was not a real birthday, so why should they celebrate? Besides, Christmas had been mere days before, and Hannigan had always used this as a time of change in her training regiment - a milestone for which he would introduce some new skill or weapon he expected her to master.

This Christmas had been no different. In the months since, she had spent hours each day crouching in the courtyard, aiming at bottles and jars and all manner of targets, her father's watchful eye always urging her on. If he had a prior engagement that day, he would simply hire someone else to oversee her training, and these men did not always have the... soft touch her father did. She had been shouted at, bullied and belittled, had her ears and hair tugged at in punishment for her moments of incompetence - so much so that she came to long for her father's unflinching discipline, his commitment to their hours of drill, no matter how much she ached afterwards.

But it had paid off. The first time she had taken out a whole row of targets without a single missed shot, Hannigan had let out a celebratory cheer, pouring the child a glass of straight whiskey as a reward. It had burnt her throat, but she had drank it anyway. It made him smile.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the bright orange glow of the fiery explosions, they could see the way the soldier's face was torn apart, his skull shattering as the bullet made contact, ripping a hole through his nose and cheek as he was knocked backwards by the impact, landing on his back in a pool of blood. He had been mere metres behind Paddy when she took the shot - a dodgy aim could have meant killing Mayne himself. But Diana did not miss. Not anymore.

Reg let out a guffaw, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they staggered back a few paces, distancing themselves from the explosions as they grew ever-closing, the planes erupting into flame one by one, lighting up the barren desert all around them. "Hell of a fucking shot!" He laughed, and Diana began to grin too, whooping along with the others, their faces bathed in the flames' warm glow. There was an air of celebration amongst them as they retreated from the airstrip and back into the wasteland, cheering and chattering noisily about their accomplishments. Reg's arm remained slung around her the entire way back to the jeeps, drooping against her neck as he vowed to get her a drink upon their return. The unease that had filled her seemed to ebb away as he chuckled, breath fanning the side of her face as they reached the jeeps, the cars shrouded in the shadow of a sand dune, patiently awaiting their return.

Piled into the vehicle, swaying side to side against the uneven terrain, Kershaw let out a cry of elation as he produced a bottle of gin from under his seat, a remnant of their spoils from the New Zealand camp. Reg had stolen gallons of the stuff the previous night, but they had gotten through a concerning amount already, and what was left was now scattered in strange places in an attempt a preservation.

"Well, well, well," Dave grinned, cracking the seal. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took a long sip, a line of gin trickling down his chin as the jeep hit a bump in the road, spilling some in his lap.

"Careful!" Seekings barked.

Letting out a satisfied exhale, Kershaw bulled the bottle away from his mouth and peered at the label in approval. "Oh, yeah. Good shit."

Diana gratefully received the bottle as it was passed to her, taking a swig and passing it on to Reg, slumping backwards in her seat. The exhaustion of the night's pursuits had suddenly caught up with her, eyes drooping slightly. It had been more than twenty-four hours since any of them had slept, and once the adrenaline wore off they would surely turn comatose, desperate for their sleeping bags once they made it back to Jalo.

"Wonder how Stirling's boys did," Reg grumbled, passing the bottle across her back to Dave.

"What if they didn't get any?" She joked, voice turning bleary with tiredness. "God, that'd piss him off." The others laughed, amused by such an unlikely prospect.

It was not unfounded.

#sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes #david stirling #mike sadler #dave kershaw #reg seekings #paddy mayne #johnny cooper #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas: rogue heroes oc #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

12 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 2

Summary: Arriving for her training, Diana finds herself buckling under the pressure of being the only woman in the SAS.

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Mild injury description, language, brief mentions of violence/gore, mentions of violence towards animals

Word Count: 3k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl

A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while! Writer's block is a bitch, but I can't fully blame it because I stopped working on all my wips to binge The Terror. it was. a problem. Nevertheless! Hope you enjoy <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The air in the camp was sweltering, unbearably dry, so much so that simply breathing it in seemed the purge the body of its moisture and leave a coarse pain in the throat. Sunglasses had shielded Diana's face from the sharp flecks of sand churned up by the front wheels of the car as Paddy pulled into the training ground, the engine whirring to a stop and suddenly falling silent. She was aware of how ridiculous she must have appeared, with her expensive car and fashionable clothes, a stark contrast to the crowds of uniformed men that surrounded them. But it was of little consequence. All her life she had found her own home filled with army men of a much higher calibre than these, and all her life they had looked at her as something 'other', something entirely separate from themselves. She was used to being seen as an oddity, because she was one.

Stirling was sheltered beneath a nearby gazebo, seated at a desk piled high with files, watching the man stood before him with a half-bored expression. Diana made a beeline for the place, ignoring the lingering stares of the men she passed. The soldier standing before him held his shoulders back, saluting respectfully, his voice tinny and polite, his moustache neatly trimmed, hair combed beneath his hat.

"Has my shit arrived?" She asked, sauntering into the tent and coming to stand just behind David, peering over his shoulder at the file in his hands before frowning at the wannabe candidate as he stammered to regain his train of thought, startled by her interruption.

"Your tent's over there with your belongings," Stirling gestured to the edge of the camp, neglecting to look up at her but clearly glad for the interruption. "Your butler caused quite a stir when he showed up - I didn't know you could drive a Bentley in the desert."

"Well I wouldn't exactly call it a good idea," Diana shrugged, turning away to head over to her tent. Just before she passed from under the gazebo and out into the sun, she swivelled on her heel, pointing once at the other soldier and then to David. "Oh, and... don't hire him."

Stirling's candidate frowned, opening his mouth to protest before swiftly rethinking it, clearly hesitant to speak dissent in front of his senior officer. Diana nodded, as if to say 'See?', and David let out a chuckle, gently dismissing the man, who turned away disappointedly.

Her tent was tiny, the ceiling too low to stand upright, but it seemed that was the cost of having a private space, tucked safely away from the others. The men shared with each other, camping in communal space under large canopies, but it didn't take a genius to understand why Diana was not allowed to sleep there. Her belongings had been piled neatly on the bed - a trunk of clothes and books, on top of which lay her trusty rifle, the very one she had practised with since the day she'd been big enough to hold it. The weapon felt like an extension of her arm when she held it in her hand, offering a macabre sort of comfort in such an unfamiliar place. Stirling had left for her the closest thing he could find to a woman's uniform, and she changed quickly into the khakis before slinging the rifle strap over her shoulder and re-emerging into the sunlight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ground passed below in a blur, the jeep rocking slightly over the uneven terrain as they built up speed, running straight along the practice route they had gone back and forth along all morning, tossing men in various states of preparedness over its rear. Reg sat on the bench beside her, watching as one after another the other men in the car leapt off the back, some landing with far more success than others, the pair of them letting out a laugh whenever one rolled particularly badly, flailing limply in the sand - the type of failure that ensured they would not be around for much longer.

"Right," Paddy spoke, his voice raised above the roar of the engine. "You're up, milady."

"Git," Diana declared, both of them smirking as she stepped up to the edge, peering down at the cloud of dust kicked up by the speed of the wheels. She only had a moment now to figure it out, only one chance to get it right. Thinking back to every man she'd seen jump, she considered what they had done wrong, and what had prevented them from making fools of themselves.

She would not make a fool of herself. It was not even a question, not a possibility she could entertain. One slip-up would be as much proof as any of these men needed to send her away - to prove any doubts they had right. Bending her knees, Diana pushed herself away, raising her arms to protect her head as she launched into a roll. Colliding with the ground at such a speed was sure to leave a bruise, even in the sand, but she did it - the landing was good, the roll was good, she couldn't hear them laughing at her as the car advanced further away. But as Diana peeled her arms away from her head, one of the back wheels kicked up a small stone, sending it flying straight for her. She felt a sharp jab of pain as it hit, piercing the skin of her forehead, a steady stream of blood already running down towards her eye by the time she had lifted herself to her feet. Raising a hand to the wound, she hissed in pain as her fingertips came away red - it was small, but deep. Painful.

Back in her tent, she sat cross-legged on the ground, peering at the compact mirror she had propped up in front of her, attempting to angle her head enough that she could see the wound in such a small glass. Bandage in one hand, Diana tried her best to lift her hair out of the way with the other, but it was rapidly becoming evident that this was a job best suited to three hands, and with each failed attempt she grew more and more irritated, sighing and cursing under her breath.

"You need a hand there?" A man's voice came, his accent so thick it took her a moment to fathom what had been said. Looking up, she recognised the man - he had sat opposite her in the back of the jeep less than an hour ago, but in that time she had entirely forgotten his name. The realisation caused a swell of guilt at his kindness.

"Uh-" Diana had been about to refuse him in some futile attempt to prove her competency, but it occurred to her that if she failed in this task one more time she might have gone insane. "... Yes. Thanks."

He nodded, smiling slightly as he came forward, crouching down to her level. She lifted her hair away from her forehead, exposing the wound to the sting of the air as she surrendered the dressing to him. "Oof," He huffed, raising a hand to wipe away some of the blood. His thumb was calloused and rough but gentle as he touched her, careful not to cause any pain as he cleaned the wound. "There. Not as bad as it looks." Once he had pressed the bandage down securely, a pleased smile creasing his cheeks, dirty from rolling in the dirt.

"Thank you, uh-?"

"Dave Kershaw," He nodded. "Next time you need help, just ask, yeah?"

Although everything about his exterior seemed coarse - from his voice to his crooked, doggish grin - there was something warm to this man, a friendliness that she found herself trusting immediately.

"I know," Diana admitted. "It's just..."

"You think you've got summin' to prove, eh?" Kershaw shot her a knowing glance, pushing himself up off his knees.

She sighed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "If I'm as good as them - their true equal - they'll still see me as less, no matter what. The only way I can get the respect of people like this is if I'm better and stronger in everything, and I'm-... I'm scared that if the wrong people think I'm weak, they'll send me away."

He frowned, arms crossed tightly across his chest, head shaking side to side slightly. "You'll be alright. These fellas aren't like that. Well - some of them are, but those ones are pussy enough to beat in a fight."

Diana let out a laugh, the sound of which made Kershaw smile. "Oh, yes, that will definitely help." She grinned, accepting Dave's hand as he helped pull her to her feet.

"Well, y'know," He shrugged. "Never met a cunt that hasn't been stopped by a broken nose."

"I look forward to testing the theory," Dusting sand off of their trousers, they emerged from the tent, squinting in the sunlight. Diana had grown up beneath the scorching Egyptian sun, but somehow every aspect of the environment seemed amplified to the extreme in the desert, so much so that even she was not quite used to it yet. Across camp, those of the men that had survived Paddy's training were gathered together to eat, talking and laughing noisily as the food was dished out between them. The idea of joining them became suddenly daunting, the chance of any one of them taking issue with Diana's presence a very real prospect. She hesitated for a moment, her heel digging into the sand.

"They can smell fear," Kershaw leant down, whispering in her ear, teasing in an attempt to alleviate her anxiety.

"Shut up," Diana chuckled, thumping him in the shoulder with her fist. He grinned, swaying to the side before correcting himself, and strolled over to the others with a cheery whoop.

Accompanying her new friend, they sat down on opposite sides of the long wooden table, slipping seamlessly into the conversation as McGonigal handed her a plate of food with a smile. "-and I swear to fucking God, you could see halfway to the fucker's brain, it was brutal," Seekings explained, jabbing at his food as a startlingly young looking blonde boy laughed along.

"What are you on about?" Diana asked, mouth half full of food.

"Best scraps. Reg here's telling us about his boxing days," Eoin explained. "- Although, as I keep saying, if you wanna see real boxing, you should see Paddy."

"Aw, we've reached the dick-measuring contest part of the afternoon already, have we?"

Reg put his hands up as some of the other men laughed. "Look, if we wanna go there, we'll go there, just not with ladies present, alright?"

She scoffed, flicking her spoon as a few beans splattered against Seeking's shirt, the table erupting with laughter at his offended expression, and Diana yelped as he returned fire, a blob of particularly runny mashed potatoes colliding with her cheek. She had never met military men like these - so at ease with one another, so rowdy and rough around the edges. Her life had been spent brushing shoulders with the higher-ups, with generals who would sooner look down their nose at her than shake her hand, but these men were different. There was a sense of comradery here with them, even when half of them couldn't even recall each other's names. This was where she wanted to be - a place she could feel at home in time, even as sweat poured down their brows and sand burrowed itself between their toes.

"If you're gonna get smart, what stories have you got, eh?" Seekings asked.

Diana raised a hand to wipe the potatoes from her face, shaking her head. "Oh, no - I don't have anything like that."

"We'll take anything, as long as it's not another damn bar fight," An American man noted, his friend fighting to suppress a smirk.

She hummed, taking a moment to think as she scraped the last of her food off of her plate. "Ok. So, once when I was younger, I went with my father and his friends to hunt Nile crocodiles, which - look, I know it sounds bad, and it was, I was thirteen and stupid, I just wanted to watch - but we went down to the river, right? My father and his friends and their guides had all gathered around this one bit of riverbank, because they were sure that was where they could catch one - I mean, you've just got this group of English toffs with rifles in the middle of the desert, they've all got fucking horses of all things, and they're absolutely drenched with sweat - anyone who knew what they were doing could have told you, they did not know what they were doing," A scatter of chuckles rippled through the men at the table, the group falling quiet to listen to the story.

"-But anyway. I'm on my horse further down the river where the bank is high, because no one thinks it's dangerous, and I've got with me another horse without a rider - I don't remember why. But they're all in the shallow part of the river, because that's where they think the crocodiles will be, but just as I'm sitting there, one of them comes bursting out of the water - it comes up the bank so fast I barely notice it, until it takes a bit of the other horse's leg, and the thing is kicking and screaming and it gets dragged into the river, and everyone's shouting and I almost got knocked off my own horse in the panic, but- ...Yeah. It was so close, it was like I could feel the air move next to me when it took that horse down, it was nuts."

It was quiet for a moment, the men taking a pause to process what they had just heard. "Sorry-" Kershaw said, frowning in disbelief. "You were how old when this happened?"

"Thirteen," Diana spoke nonchalantly, slowly noticing the looks of astonishment and concern on the faces of those around her.

"Fucking hell," Reg exclaimed. "Yeah, that was... That was better than my bar fight story."

"Most stories are," The American pointed out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As the SAS's training continued, Diana came to discover that many of the others had intriguing stories of their own, ranging from tragic to downright ridiculous, and for those among them who most enjoyed talking about themselves, it became a regular occurrence for the group to gather of an evening and tell tales about where they had come from and the people they had known. She learned about Almonds' son, Kerhsaw's slew of past girlfriends, and one night Stirling even told her about his brief foray as a mountain climber. They were, slowly but surely, becoming a unit, and each gruelling day of training only seemed to bring them closer.

Diana lay on her back somewhere out in the desert, eyes closed against the relentless afternoon sun, some twenty miles into a seemingly endless march, an untouched canteen carrying only an inch or so of water strapped to her belt. There was a rock digging painfully into her spine, but its presence paled against the agony that filled the rest of her body. Her knees felt as though they were filled with broken glass, so exhausted they were from countless treks up sand dunes and rocky slopes, and the soles of her feet hurt so severely she almost worried that if she were to remove her socks, the entire first layer of skin would rub off with them. She was sweating through every inch of her uniform, sprawled on the ground as if already unconscious, her fellow men sat in fatigued silence a few feet to her left.

"Right, come on," Almonds grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Diana did not respond for a moment, eyes screwed tightly shut, until she became suddenly aware of his shadow, blotting out the sun and casting darkness over her face.

"Ah, thank you," She sighed. "Just... stay there for a moment, will you?"

"Come on," He bent down, seizing her wrists and tugging her upright. "Ten more miles, let's go."

"You should leave me here to die. Let the vultures feed on my corpse."

"There are no vultures."

Diana tentatively opened one eye, peering up at the sky. Almonda was correct. There was not, in fact, a single living thing visible in any direction. "... Fuck."

"Besides, you don't want to die before you get to kill your first Nazi," Jim pointed out.

She considered this for a moment. "Alright," Relenting, she pulled herself to her feet, groaning loudly at the pain in her legs as Almonds helped her up, similar utterances of discomfort rippling through the group as they all rose one by one.

Seekings seemed particularly incensed by the situation, grumbling and muttering to himself as they continued their trek, the sun leaving bright red marks across his cheeks and forehead that would inevitably itch and peel come nightfall. "Fucking walking," He fumed to himself, inaudible to everyone against the desert wind, save for Diana, who walked beside him. "When the fuck will we ever have to walk thirty miles at once?"

"I'm sure you'd rather get some practice now than die tragically in the middle of the desert in a couple weeks," She pointed out, expression contorting as she stretched out the stiffness in her shoulders.

"Tell me the story again," He requested, breathless as he hauled himself up another hill, pressing down on his knees with his palms in an attempt to propel himself forward. "The crocodile one."

Diana shook her head, strands of sweat-soaked hair sticking to her face as she did so. "Nah. You make it back to camp alive and I'll tell you a better one."

Reg shot her a glare, but considered her offer all the same. With a heaving sigh, he relented. "Alright. Deal."

She nodded, giving the man an encouraging nudge on the shoulder. As he batted her away, she let out a chuckle, and began the task of coming up with a convincing enough lie to tell him upon their return.

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes oc #sas:rh oc #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes fic #sas: rh #david stirling #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #reg seekings #dave kershaw #johnny cooper #pat riley #jim almonds #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

14 notes · View notes