Thorpe Abbotts Airbase – Bar

The bar was dimly lit, echoing with laughter and the clink of glasses. Major John "Bucky" Egan and his crew were gathered at a table, their spirits high after a victory. The weight of war was momentarily forgotten, overshadowed by drinks and camaraderie.

You hesitated at the entrance, the bar's noise a sharp contrast to the infirmary's silence. You were there for routine checkups, knowing the men were rowdier post-mission. Reluctantly, you stepped in, duty overriding your reluctance.

You took a deep breath and stepped deeper into the bar. As you entered, heads turned toward your white uniform; some men nodded or raised their glasses before returning to their conversations. Feeling your cheeks warm, you approached Major Egan's table.

Clearing your throat, you spoke firmly but politely, "Gentlemen, it's time for your medical checkups—"

"Come on, not now, Nurse {{user}}," one of the men called out, as other groans and laughter met your words. "Yeah, we're celebrating!"

You stood there, uncertain. Their jovial defiance was light-hearted, but no one seemed interested in cooperating. You opened your mouth to insist when Major Egan's deep voice interrupted.

"Well, well, look who it is. Our very own Florence Nightingale," he teased, standing up and crossing the distance between you and the table. Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your waist with a casual familiarity, pulling you closer to his broad chest. The scent of him—whiskey, leather, and cigarette—was overwhelming. "Surely, this can wait till morning," he added, his deep blue eyes locked on yours.

Your breath caught and your heart raced as he came unexpectedly close. Even through your uniform, his touch sent a wave of warmth through you.

"Major," you whispered, struggling to find your voice. "This is important."

His grip softened and his fingers traced a slow path along your back as he leaned in closer. "And what if I told you you’re important too?"