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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian and Justin get prepared for the coming raid . . . and other things. Enjoy! TAG & Sally


Chapter 12 - Lover, Come Back To Me.


The meeting with Britcom seemed to take a thousand years that afternoon. The CEO seemed particularly intractable, leaving Brian to wonder whether the old geezer’s weekend plans had been even a fraction as enjoyable as Brian’s were. But he really wasn’t in the mood to quibble over which shade of copper they should use in the little flecks at the corners of the finials on the lettering of the title on the third page of the brochure. Considering the hourly fee Brian charged for his time while working on a campaign, you’d think these guys could find a better use for his talents. But, when Mr. CEO started in on how he wanted to change the layout for the website a fifth time, Brian decided he’d had enough. Without another word, he loaded up his briefcase and walked out the door of the conference room.


An hour later, he’d finished emailing all his notes for the day's projects to Cynthia, had dropped off all the files and other useless items from Britcom at his hotel, changed, and was out the door on his way to Duckett’s Passage.


No sooner had he walked through the door of the White Lion, though, than he found himself attacked by a snarling, angry, and very pushy Gears. Brian had never seen the laconic Gears up off his barstool before. But once the man was standing in front of him, his lanky body unfurled, Brian realized that the slim-looking Gears was actually taller than him and made with a compact muscularity that was deceptive until he had you pinned up against the wall by your lapels.


“You got sum bloody nerve showing yer mug in ‘ere, Mate,” Gears growled, so irate that spittle was flying in Brian’s face. “I warned yer, din’t I? ‘Parently yer don’ listen too good though. Now I got no choice but to follow through on me word.”


“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get the fuck off me,” Brian demanded, trying to pry the man’s hands away from his clothing, but not making much headway.


“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you’re a lowlife bruiser, who ain’t no good for our Sunshine. An’ we look out for our own ‘round ‘ere. That’s what I’m talking ‘bout.”


Brian, who still had no idea what the hell was going on, didn’t bother to comment because by that point Gears had his hand wrapped quite firmly around the base of Brian‘s neck and was choking him to death.


“Holy Mackerel, Gears! Let Brian go. He didn’t have anything to do with this.”


Brian was quite glad to hear his Blue Eyes’ voice intervening on his behalf. He could see, over Gears’ shoulder, the top of a blond head and sensed that Justin was trying to pull the very angry man off of him. So far, though, Justin’s mediation was having little effect.


“Don’t you dare try ‘n cover up for ‘im, Sunshine. Scum like this don’t deserve the likes ‘o you,” Gears snapped, his grip around Brian‘s throat tightening incrementally. “An’ I mean to teach this wise guy a lesson ‘e won’t soon forget.”


“Criminently, Gears! Would ya cut it out already! I’m fine. It’s just a black eye. And I already told you I got it in a fight; Brian had nothing to do with it,” Justin insisted.


His protestations didn’t seem to have any effect on Gears, though. The vice cutting off Brian’s air supply didn’t let up even a millimeter. Brian could hear other voices in the background. The opinions voiced seemed to be about evenly divided as far as who was egging Gears on and who was trying to help Justin calm the situation down. Right about the time Brian's vision started to go a little hazy around the edges from the lack of oxygen, he heard Justin yelling in the background.


“Daph, a little help here please?” Justin pleaded.


“Da! Seems we got us a dif’rence o’ opinion out here. Best you bring out the Enforcer ‘fore we needs ta call ‘Andsome an ambulance.”


The next thing Brian knew, there was a huge, black bear of a man hovering over Gears’ left shoulder. This guy towered over even the well-statured Gears and his neck was as big around as one of Brian’s thighs. In the Bear's hand, was a massive wooden cudgel that appeared to be made of some shining, gnarled, black wood. It was so large, and so ancient-looking, Brian thought it might once have been some Neanderthal man’s weapon of choice. Brian was really hoping that the Bear wasn’t there to help Gears kill him, cause if so, he didn’t have a chance.


“You know the rules,” the Bear proclaimed in a deep bass voice that echoed around the entire bar. “There ain't no fightin’ in my establishment. You gonna let the pretty white boy go, or do we need to have a chat?”


“Did you see what he did to Sunshine? Can’t just let ‘im get away wi’ that, can we?” the intractable Gears answered, although Brian was happy to note his grip had loosened slightly.


“Boom Boom, I already told Gears that Brian did NOT touch me, but he’s not listening. Can you please get him to let Brian go, already?” Justin pleaded, starting to sound a bit perturbed by his friend’s misbehavior.

 

“You heard the boy, Gears,” Boom Boom the Bear directed, his booming voice making the words sound more like a divine proclamation.


“If I find the boy’s jus’ coverin’ fer ya, we’ll be ‘avin this conversation agin’ real soon, Mate. An’ next time there won't be nobody stoppin’ me. You ‘ear me, ‘Andsome?” Gears growled in Brian’s face.


Brian nodded as best he could with his head immobilized the way it was in the man’s still tight grip. With a sub vocal grumble of disgust, Gears finally let go, releasing Brian so quickly that the Stud would have fallen on his face if Justin hadn’t been there to grab him. It took a minute or two, with the strong blond pilot propping him up on Brian’s left side, for him to cough and sputter and gasp his way back to normal.


“Come on, Brian. Sit down over here and catch your breath. Sheesh, Gears, you didn’t have to practically kill him, did you?” Justin complained as he directed Brian over to an empty table.


“Well, whadya expect, Sunshine?” the not-repentant-at-all Gears replied. “First this wise guy comes in ‘ere, sniffin’ round yer like a randy bulldog, then yer goes missing for two days, and when yer do turn up, yer lookin’ like Jack London after a Saturday night matchup. ‘An all you tell us is yer had a fight? Seems bloody suspicious is all I’m sayin’.”


Brian turned his attention back to his boy. “You got in a fight?” Brian asked, finally getting enough wind to speak up. “What happened, Blue Eyes?”


“Hobbs happened,” Justin explained as he sat down on the bench next to Brian and the older man could finally see the left side of his boy’s black and blue face.


“Damn! That looks painful. What the fuck happened after I left this morning?” Brian sympathized.


“The big oaf kept trying to take the Mickey out of me for catching us together and I just got tired of listening to him,” Justin tried to shrug off all the attention, but his spellbound audience wasn’t going to let it drop, so he shook his head and continued. “After you left, Brian, Hobbs just kept ragging on me. Like usual. I tried to just ignore him but he wouldn’t let me be. Then he got between me and the door and wouldn’t let me leave; standing there with a smirk and calling me names. So we got to yelling at each other and, when I said something about how HE must be the queer one since he seems so interested in the topic and all, he hauled off and slugged me.”


“Fucking prick,” Brian commented, reaching out to rub at one of the larger abrasions on the boy’s swollen cheek.


Justin shrugged off Brian’s worry with a small chuckle. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a shiner.” Then the boy got a bit of a mischievous twinkle in his eye and added, “unlike Hobbs, who’s gonna be in the infirmary for the next three days or so . . .”


“This Hobbs fella, he’s the new guy in your Squadron, Sunshine?” Gears asked warily. “The one yer been complainin’ ‘bout fer the past couple a weeks?”


“That’s the one,” Justin confirmed. “He’s been a real thorn in my side ever since he arrived. He’s your typical rich bully. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he comes from money. Although, word is that he’s only here because he got kicked out of the US Air Corps because of some scandal. I’m thinking, maybe, my words struck a little too close to home.”


There was a general murmur of consent and nodding of heads from all the listeners before Justin continued his story.


“Anyway, I wasn’t going to put up with being Hobbs’ punching bag, so I slugged him back. It was a good one too - right in the gut. And when he was doubled over trying to catch his breath, I shoved him aside so I could get to the door and leave, only . . . Well, the idiot somehow managed to trip over Mrs. McCready’s china cat doorstop she had there in the sitting room. Unfortunately, when he fell over, he knocked himself silly against the edge of the bookcase and gave himself a concussion. So he’s out of the mission rotation for the Squadron for the next week or so. Even better, Mrs. McCready is so pissed off ‘cause he broke her cat, that she’s threatening to toss him out!”


That news earned Justin a cheer from the audience and Fancy even proposed a toast to Mrs. McCready’s cat, to which all agreed with gusto.



“The only bad part about the whole thing,” Justin added with a wistful smile aimed Brian’s way, “is that, because Hobbs can’t fly tonight, I have to take his place. So much for my night off, huh?”


Brian wasn’t sure he managed to hide his disappointment or not. “You sure you can fly with your eye swollen almost shut like that?”


Justin ran a finger over his swollen eye, his skin had turned a beautiful shade of purple. “Oh, sure. It’s not that bad. A couple aspirin and I’ll be good as new,” Justin assured him. Then he leaned in to Brian and quietly added, “but if I’d known you were going to be back tonight, I might have played it up a bit more and tried to beg off for tonight at least.” Then he turned back to the rest of his friends. “I have to head out pretty soon. They’re sending me all the way down to Croydon tonight. I just popped in here to get a bite to eat and let everyone know where I’d been.”


“And to brag about your date,” Fancy interjected, causing another Blue Eyes’ blush. “Don’t worry, Darling. We’ll get Handsome here to fill in the rest of the details you didn’t get time to tell us yet.”


Brian looked around at all the leering faces, feeling a little worried. Justin laughed at Brian’s reaction and gave his thigh a reassuring little squeeze under the protection of the table’s edge. Brian could already tell he was doomed to be the evening’s primary entertainment.


“I’m not sure I should leave Brian in your care, gentlemen. I don’t want you to scare him off.” There was a general outpouring of promises to take good care of Justin’s FRIEND, amid lots of laughter and a few ribald comments that Justin chose to overlook. “Well, as long as you all promise to play nice? And, Gears, you better not touch another hair on his head or I’ll have something to say about it,” the protective little pilot promised to the grumbling of the recalcitrant Gears. “Fine, then. I’m off. Wish me luck, gentlemen.”


“You want me to walk you to the station, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked, making as if to get up and leave with the pilot.


“Oh, no, no, no, Darling,” Fancy replied for Justin. “Our Sunshine will be just fine. And we’re not letting YOU escape that easily. Not until we get all the details about last night, that is. So you just sit that cute little bum down and start talking, Mister.”


Brian looked up at Justin with pleading eyes but got only a giggle in return. “Good luck, Brian.”


“You too, Blue Eyes,” Brian answered with resignation. “And remember what I said - be careful, please.”


“I will. You too.”


And then the bold little pilot was gone and Brian was swarmed by the gossip-hungry hordes of the White Lion.


“So, our Sunshine left off right after the part where you wined and dined him at The Palace,” Fancy stated as he slid into the spot on the bench next to Brian that Justin had only recently vacated. “You can start there. And don’t leave ANYTHING out, Darling . . .”



April 13, 1941


Brian,


I hope this note finds its way safely to your hands. I’m sending it via an RAF buddy, disguised as a letter to my ‘sweetheart’ Daphne. I’m sure you find that quite amusing, as do I. It seemed the most expedient means of communication I could devise, and Ralphie is a good guy, but not exactly the type to frequent the White Lion, so I decided to err on the side of discretion.


I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet with you this week at all. I’m in a little bit of trouble over the whole ‘Hobbs Incident’. Nothing serious, but I am confined to base for the remainder of the week while I’m subjected to the most demeaning of chores the CO can come up with for my punishment. This treatment is particularly galling seeing as Hobbs is not being punished at all, even though he is the one who initiated the altercation. At present, the little dissembler is still lying in bed in the infirmary, pretending to be far more injured than he is so that he can escape any consequences. Oh well, I should have known better than to react to his provocations.


I’m only sorry that this means I won’t be able to see you again before the end of the week. I did want to finish the conversation we’d started when Hobbs so rudely interrupted us the other day. I’m worried that - being forced to remain here in Croydon - I won’t be available to follow through on those plans we were discussing for the 17th. The welfare of Daphne and my other friends is weighing heavily on my mind. I would greatly appreciate it if YOU would endeavor to see to their care in my place. I’m certain I will be fine here, but knowing they’ll be in your capable hands would be a huge relief.


Please send me word through Daphne that you have received this and that you’ll acquiesce to my request above.


With warm thoughts,


Justin


Brian eagerly read through the note Daphne had handed him when he arrived that evening at the White Lion. He was glad to have finally heard from his missing Blue Eyes. He’d come in the night before looking for him, but had been told by the locals that nobody had seen him that day at all. Brian had apparently been right to worry that the Hobbs thing would cause Justin even more problems.


For Brian Kinney, the out-and-proud gay man who’d never had to deal with the hassle of hiding who he was, all this deception and secrecy was frustrating, to say the least. Hell, Justin couldn't even send him a fucking letter without couching all his words in a semi-code, out of fear of getting discovered. It was ridiculous. Why the hell should Hobbs - or anyone else for that matter - care who Justin was involved with? It was almost enough to send him running back to the twenty-first century screaming. And if it weren’t for the fact that Brian just couldn’t seem to get the plucky pilot out of his head, he would have done just that.


But especially now, after just being seen with Brian had got his Blue Eyes in so much trouble, he felt there was no way he could simply abandon the boy. Plus, there was the whole thing about those addictive kisses of his. And the adorable blushing thing. And the hip swivel thing that Brian thought might come in useful in the future. And the . . .


“Shit!” Brian caught himself drifting off into Blue Eyed daydreams again and had to stop before he embarrassed himself.


“Language, Handsome!” one of the regulars admonished him again.


“Why does everyone keep calling me ‘Handsome’?” Brian asked, exasperated by the annoying new trend he’d noticed developing.


“It’s yer name, innit?” Daphne stated with a girlish giggle. “As the daughter of the proprietor of this ‘stablishment, I reserve the right to name all me customers. Where’d you think Sunshine an’ Lucky an’ Peaches got their names from? An’ you, my dear, are and for’ere will be, me ‘Andsome.”


“Ah. I was wondering where all that came from,” Brian acknowledged with resignation. “Well, I suppose it’s better than what they call me back home.”


“An what’s ‘at, ‘Andsome?” Daphne asked as she refilled his glass of ale.


“Mostly they call me ‘Asshole’.”


“Oi! Language!” Came the expected chorus of complaints from the peanut gallery, which only caused Brian to smile mischievously.  


“Oh, you are a right naughty one, aint you, ‘Andsome?” Daphne giggled, not seeming all that offended by Brian’s cursing after all.


“I’d like to be, if only Justin would get his Blue Eyes back here sooner rather than later,” he replied with a frown. “You wouldn’t happen to have a piece of paper I could use to send him back a note, would you, Daphne?”


Daphne smiled and, a couple minutes later, brought Brian a leaf of perfumed, pink pastel stationery. He groaned at the indignity of it all, but since he didn’t have any alternative, he accepted the offering and started in on his reply. He also added stationery to the mental list of things he planned to bring with him the next time he came to visit the past.



Blue Eyes,


I got your note. Your sweetheart, Daphne, sends her love. I’d like to send you more than that, but what I’ve got for you needs to be delivered in person.


I’m bummed that you're stuck out in Croydon all week. It’s boring eating all those expensive hotel meals by myself. Plus, I’ve been having this problem that I thought you might be able to help me with - my room seems far too empty and cold at night. But, since you’re not available, I guess I’ll just have the hotel janitor come up to help me with the heating problems. *wink*


About the 17th, of course I’ll make sure Daph & the guys are okay. I’d be even happier to have you here with me then, to make sure the same about YOU, but . . . I guess we already had that conversation. I still don’t like it.


Just get your butt back here as soon as you can, Blue Eyes.


Preferably in one damned piece, please.


Brian



Brian was back again the next night, checking into his 1941 hotel room and then making the now familiar trek to the White Lion for news of his Blue Eyes. Daphne didn’t even ask why he’d come - she just handed him the most recent note from Justin and poured him his usual pint of ale.



April 14, 1941


Dear Brian,


Thank you for your prompt reply to my last note. I’m glad to hear that my correspondence with sweet Daphne is so amusing to you. She truly is the only WOMAN for me, you know.


Your difficulties in finding a suitable dining companion sound quite distressing. I’m sorry I am unavailable to help you out. I realize that it’s likely near impossible to find someone who truly appreciates your particular brand of dinner conversation. I myself am still laughing at some of your more pointed caricatures of our dining companions the other night. Believe me when I tell you I would happily be there with you if I could.


I’d far prefer to be eating five star meals at The Palace with you than the slop they are feeding me here in Croydon. If I weren’t so hungry, I’d refuse to eat it at all. However, they are keeping me so busy day and night that I’m practically starving by the time I make it to the mess hall. Today was especially bad. After cleaning every latrine on the base - on my hands and knees with a nail brush, by the way - they had me help out with the inventory by moving every single piece of equipment and machinery out of the storage barn so they could count it, and then move it all back in and put it away. Oh, and I also had to scrub the oil and grease stains off the floor of the machine shed. Needless to say, my body hurts and I’m so exhausted that I’ll be lucky to stay awake on tonight’s mission.


The scoundrel that originated all this remains on his deathbed in the infirmary. From all accounts, Hobbs is too weak to even lift his head from the pillow when the doctors come in to check on him. However, when Daniels and Riddle went to visit him earlier today, they did not report finding him in such dire straits. I’m beginning to think I did not hit him hard enough.


I have been pondering your heating issues all through the day as I toiled. It was quite a lovely way to distract myself from my problems. Even though it was HARD work, I rather enjoyed our time working together at heating up your room the last time I was there and I look forward to further experimentation along the same lines upon my return. I’m sure your room will be quite warm after we put our two heads together to solve this curious problem.


In the meantime, thank you for your reassurances regarding the events coming up on the 17th instant. I am much relieved. Don’t worry for me, I’ll be fine as always.


Looking forward to seeing you upon my return,


Justin


Postscript - Don’t you dare invite the janitor up to help you with your heating problems! I will be very cross if that occurs in my absence. I would like to immediately assert my claim to being your only heating repairman.



Brian read through the note twice before pausing.


He loved the young pilot’s wit. The kid was sharp as a tack and funny as hell too. Brian had laughed out loud a couple of times reading the humorous way his Blue Eyes described things. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found another guy as intellectually attractive as he found Mr. Justin Taylor.


That stuff about being exclusive though, had sorta thrown Brian for a loop. He hadn’t really thought about THAT before. Back in his real life, Brian had adamantly refused to settle into any kind of exclusive relationship. He’d even avoided the mere appearance of exclusivity. And the few times he’d come close - like the time he’d fallen into a fuck buddy set up with a trick who really was a fantastic fuck but who'd ended up being way too clingy - he’d been burned. Which is why he’d stuck with a strict ‘No Deposit, No Return’ rule for most of his life. Now, though, this pugnacious little twink who he hadn’t even fucked yet, was basically DEMANDING that Brian commit to him right out of the barrell, and Brian truly did not know how to handle it.


Back in 2016, Brian wouldn’t have even considered such a thing. Everyone in Pittsburgh knew Brian Kinney didn’t DO relationships or boyfriends. It was a given. He would have simply laughed off any guy who’d dared to bring up such a ludicrous idea and, if the loser persisted, he’d get kicked to the curb without a thought. But here in 1941 . . .


Things in 1941 were different. Really different. Life was a lot harder here for gays. You couldn’t just go out to the closest gay bar, pick up a trick and have your way in the conveniently located back room. There was no handy hook up web app. Brian COULDN’T live here the way he lived his life in the future. You had to be damn careful who you even approached about any kind of homosexual overture. Being a promiscuous gay lothario who blithely fucked his way through the available smorgasbord of gay men at his disposal was simply impossible here.


He’d been lucky to have run into Justin his first night here. If he’d acted the way he had with anyone else - even though it was completely unsuspecting, or perhaps BECAUSE it was unsuspecting - it could have ended really badly. It was fortuitous that he’d come upon a handsome, intelligent, available gay man right from the start. Brian could look for a long time and not find anyone else he was so attracted to, especially here in 1941. So it followed, if you found someone you liked and trusted, you probably shouldn’t be too quick to move on.


And it wasn’t like Justin was some needy troll begging for Brian’s attention. Justin was smart. He was ambitious. He had drive and a plan to accomplish his goals. And he was fucking hot, to boot. He hadn’t even ASKED Brian to be exclusive - the young man had just outright demanded it as if it was his due. Justin acted like he knew he was worth Brian’s attentions and Brian would be lucky to have HIM. That kind of self-confidence was sexy as hell. If Brian HAD to pick someone he’d want to contemplate an exclusive relationship with, it would be someone exactly like Justin.


But, still, this would be a huge departure from the norm for Brian. He wasn’t sure this was something he really wanted. He wasn’t sure it was something he was actually capable of. And what would it mean for the Brian Kinney that lived in 2016?



4/15


Dearest Blue Eyes,


I had no idea you were interested in pursuing a career as a heating contractor. You told me you always wanted to be a pilot. And, while I’m not opposed to the idea of entering into a more exclusive agreement for your services, you should know that up until now I’ve used MANY different heating services. In fact, I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said I’d tried out just about as many different heating contractors as I could possibly get my hands on over the years. I rather enjoy a good, efficient, readily-available, heating service. Are you sure you’re prepared to handle ALL the potential service calls I might require?


Speaking of which, I could definitely use some of your heating right now, Blue Eyes. How much longer are you on lockdown in Croydon? It was very, very cold in my room tonight.


Brian (Aka, ‘Andsome, per your sweetheart, Daphne)


PS. Please don’t say things like you’re too tired to stay awake during your missions. It freaks me out. Just get your butt back here, already, preferably without any holes shot in it.



On Saturday the sixteenth, Brian finished up the last of the work that was leftover from the week, fired off a few final emails, made a couple of calls home including one to talk to his son, and then informed Cynthia he was going to take a long weekend so she shouldn’t expect to hear from him until late in the day on Monday. Cynthia gave him a hard time, pressing for more information about where he was sneaking off to, but Brian refused to say. Eventually she gave up and just wished him well, telling him she'd hold down the fort, like always. Brian made a mental note to send her a nice gift later in the week, provided all went well.


Then he packed up a bag of clothing and all the other things he thought might be useful in the past and headed out. On the way to Duckett’s Passage, he stopped into a grocery store and bought a bag full of non-perishable groceries, two new flashlights, a box of waterproof matches, a pocket knife, some bottled water and a large, emergency first aid kit. He didn’t know if he’d need all that crap but he figured it couldn’t hurt, right? Laden with all his supplies, he finally made it through the time portal and dumped everything off at the hotel before hurrying on to the White Lion to see if there was word from his Blue Eyes.


April 16, 1941


Dear Handsome,


Please tell Daphne that I approve of the new name she has selected for you. It certainly fits you. And I’m glad she has you there to tease and torment while I’m busy; it will keep her (and you) out of trouble.


As far as my career plans are concerned, yes, my primary wish has always been to become a pilot. That hasn't changed. But I see no reason why I can’t do your heating work on the side. I’m quite versatile, you know.


I am also adamant about holding the EXCLUSIVE rights to providing your heating services. I realize your past may include a variety of previous service providers, but I don’t intend to provide heating for anyone but you and I would expect the same courtesy. If that is not possible, then fine. You are free to get heat from whomever you wish. I do hope you will choose me, though.


I understand I do not have nearly the experience some of your other service providers might have had but, as I told you before, I am willing to learn and I am confident I will soon be able to provide you with the best service you’ve ever experienced, bar none. I am an extremely fast study. I will take every opportunity to educate myself so that I can fulfill EVERY aspect of your heating needs. You should, at the very least, give me a try and see if I do not adequately meet your needs. Based on what I know of you already, I honestly believe that the heat we will make together will surprise you.


With that in mind, I have good news. I have been informed that my current term of discipline will be remitted effective 0800 on the 18th. Our dear Mr. Hobbs has been told that he is expected to have made a full recovery by that date or his services will no longer be required by the Royal Air Force. This means I will once again be able to have the occasional assignment-free night. And I plan to use my free time to complete all the heating lessons I can manage to fit in.


I was hoping to be back with you tomorrow, before the events you told me of were due to occur, but I am afraid that will not be possible. My fellow RAF officers and I will do our best to see to your protection from our airborne vantage points, but it will be up to you to take care of things on the ground. Here’s hoping all will be well. Please stay safe.


Your Favorite (Only?) Heating Guy,


Justin


 

Brian actually spit out his mouthful of ale the first time he read through this missive and got to the part where his Blue Eyes was bragging on his versatility.


“Damn it, Justin,” Brian muttered to himself. “You sure do make it hard not to want to give you a trial run.”


Well, Brian supposed they could at least see what developed. Justin was nothing, if not persuasive. And, since he was presumably going to be back in just over thirty-six hours, they would see soon enough whether or not they had the kind of heat between them that the boy was promising.


Now, Brian just had to make it through his first serious air raid in one piece . . . And hope his Blue Eyes managed the same.

 

 


 

Chapter End Notes:

11/19/17 - Lover, Come Back To Me - Just a fun, schmoopy, fluffy chapter before the real drama starts. Do you think Brian and Justin will both make it through the big raid? What if Brian changed history with his warning to Justin? And if they do both survive, will Brian consent to his favorite, versatile, twinkie RAF pilot taking over all his heating services? LOL. These questions and more will be answered (mostly) in the next episode of . . . Time Blitz. TAG & Sally

 

PS. Both Sally & TAG are going to be doing other things than writing for the next couple days (alas) so updates might be a bit slower. We're sorry about this, but it can't be helped. We ARE writing, we just might not be able to post as often. Bear with us!

 

Research - Jack London - one of the most famous British boxers of the 1930s and 40s.

 

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