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thecrazyalaskanI don’t want him to go.
Please understand—I know Devon has to do what he has to do. Queen, country and all that. I do understand. I just don’t want to see him hurt.
Still, here we are, at a train station. Me and Devon, and Mum and Dad. I fidget while I watch him say goodbye to our parents. What on Earth will I say to him? Finally, he gets to me and kneels next to me. I’m almost afraid to look him in the eye, but it doesn’t matter. He hugs me before I can make a decision. I cant help but hug him back, tightly.
“I’ll miss you, Flossie.”
I have to bite my lip and look skyward to keep from breaking down. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“I’m coming home.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
* * *
I write him letters every week.
I don’t know if he gets them, and I don’t care. Whenever there’s a letter from him, I can’t help but smile so. A letter means he’s okay. I read it quickly, then slowly, trying to imagine everything Devon describes. My brother, a knife thrower. He says he’s gotten quite good; I believe him.
I write back the same night, telling him everything Mum and Dad won’t say in their letters—exactly how much we miss him and want him home safe. I tell him everything I would tell him if he was sitting in front of me. It makes us both feel better.
* * *
Devon, I have to worry about losing you. I have nightmares about it.
I always answer the phone, and the voice always tells me, “Devon Miles is dead.” I’m waiting at the train station, and before long no one’s left but me, and I know it’s because he’s not coming home. I always have to look a captain in the eye when he tells me, “We’re sorry, but your brother won’t be coming home.”
They can give me the “died honorably in combat” cockamamie all they damn well please, but it won’t bring you back.
* * *
I’m sending him a scarf for his birthday.
I know it’s April and France isn’t very chilly in April, but he still needs one. I’ve been working on it for months to get it just right. Yarn—decent, proper yarn at least—is very difficult to come by, you understand. It took entirely more saving than I dare to admit to my family, but the end result is something of which I am very proud. A full arm span, cable knit, navy. I hope Devon likes it.
He says he’s due home by Christmas. I can’t wait to see him get off the train, and if he’s not wearing my scarf, I should think I’ll be a little offended.
* * *
The weather is chillier than usual, and the conditions more than treacherous for the wheelchair bound, but I wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere else but here, the train station. Devon told us he’d be on the last train in—the train that’s just now pulling in.
Returning soldiers fill the platform faster than anything. For those of you say it’s impossible to be jostled in a wheelchair, I invite you to try it sometime. It’s very overwhelming—people walking around you and bumping into you and (quite literally) talking over your head.
Then I hear Devon calling my name—and the next thing I know, he’s there, hugging me tightly. I cry. I’m reasonably certain he’s crying.
He’s also wearing my scarf.
-.-.-.-
Title: Moments
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Classic Knight Rider, pre-series (England, 1940s)
Characters / Pairings: Florence Miles (see notes), Devon
Rating: K+ (one spot of language)
Genre: General, family
Relevant Quote:
Warnings / Notes: Prompt from locoexclaimer: Heralded as one of the trickiest styles to master, first person present tense. No introspect or character study because that’s the bitch’s way out.
Summary: Five moments in time—four in war, and one in peace.
Stole the bunny from locoexclaimer, I admit it. Just… for some reason, Flossie called out to me.
Should I be concerned about how awesome I find the thought of Devon being undercover in occupied France as a knife thrower? Y’know, fuck it. I refuse to be ashamed of how awesome I find that because Devon is awesome as FUCK.
I think I met the criteria. Even if I didn’t this is still a good fill. I love writing Flossie and Devon fluff. <3
Devon Miles, Knight Rider © Glen A Larson
Florence Miles © TheCrazyAlaskan
Please understand—I know Devon has to do what he has to do. Queen, country and all that. I do understand. I just don’t want to see him hurt.
Still, here we are, at a train station. Me and Devon, and Mum and Dad. I fidget while I watch him say goodbye to our parents. What on Earth will I say to him? Finally, he gets to me and kneels next to me. I’m almost afraid to look him in the eye, but it doesn’t matter. He hugs me before I can make a decision. I cant help but hug him back, tightly.
“I’ll miss you, Flossie.”
I have to bite my lip and look skyward to keep from breaking down. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“I’m coming home.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
* * *
I write him letters every week.
I don’t know if he gets them, and I don’t care. Whenever there’s a letter from him, I can’t help but smile so. A letter means he’s okay. I read it quickly, then slowly, trying to imagine everything Devon describes. My brother, a knife thrower. He says he’s gotten quite good; I believe him.
I write back the same night, telling him everything Mum and Dad won’t say in their letters—exactly how much we miss him and want him home safe. I tell him everything I would tell him if he was sitting in front of me. It makes us both feel better.
* * *
Devon, I have to worry about losing you. I have nightmares about it.
I always answer the phone, and the voice always tells me, “Devon Miles is dead.” I’m waiting at the train station, and before long no one’s left but me, and I know it’s because he’s not coming home. I always have to look a captain in the eye when he tells me, “We’re sorry, but your brother won’t be coming home.”
They can give me the “died honorably in combat” cockamamie all they damn well please, but it won’t bring you back.
* * *
I’m sending him a scarf for his birthday.
I know it’s April and France isn’t very chilly in April, but he still needs one. I’ve been working on it for months to get it just right. Yarn—decent, proper yarn at least—is very difficult to come by, you understand. It took entirely more saving than I dare to admit to my family, but the end result is something of which I am very proud. A full arm span, cable knit, navy. I hope Devon likes it.
He says he’s due home by Christmas. I can’t wait to see him get off the train, and if he’s not wearing my scarf, I should think I’ll be a little offended.
* * *
The weather is chillier than usual, and the conditions more than treacherous for the wheelchair bound, but I wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere else but here, the train station. Devon told us he’d be on the last train in—the train that’s just now pulling in.
Returning soldiers fill the platform faster than anything. For those of you say it’s impossible to be jostled in a wheelchair, I invite you to try it sometime. It’s very overwhelming—people walking around you and bumping into you and (quite literally) talking over your head.
Then I hear Devon calling my name—and the next thing I know, he’s there, hugging me tightly. I cry. I’m reasonably certain he’s crying.
He’s also wearing my scarf.
-.-.-.-
Title: Moments
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Classic Knight Rider, pre-series (England, 1940s)
Characters / Pairings: Florence Miles (see notes), Devon
Rating: K+ (one spot of language)
Genre: General, family
Relevant Quote:
If people would just demand that war be an absolute last plan of action, to be used after, and only after, all peaceful attempts have failed, this world would see far less bloodshed and fewer birthdays missed and more New Years spent together with loved ones and more summer fishing trips. – Rachel L Adams
Warnings / Notes: Prompt from locoexclaimer: Heralded as one of the trickiest styles to master, first person present tense. No introspect or character study because that’s the bitch’s way out.
Summary: Five moments in time—four in war, and one in peace.
Stole the bunny from locoexclaimer, I admit it. Just… for some reason, Flossie called out to me.
Should I be concerned about how awesome I find the thought of Devon being undercover in occupied France as a knife thrower? Y’know, fuck it. I refuse to be ashamed of how awesome I find that because Devon is awesome as FUCK.
I think I met the criteria. Even if I didn’t this is still a good fill. I love writing Flossie and Devon fluff. <3
Devon Miles, Knight Rider © Glen A Larson
Florence Miles © TheCrazyAlaskan