Chapter Text
Violet had always known she wouldn't live past 30. Her drive to cause trouble was too high, her will to fight too strong and her talent for attracting trouble wherever she went too great. Her father had been keen on reminding her that she was a flower that would wither before it fully came to bloom. A phrase he enjoyed using whenever she came home with a rip in the skirt of her dress and a bleeding knee.
The only thing that remained a mystery to Violet was the manner of how she would come to her end. Would it be by the hand of a man or woman? Perhaps her own? Or simply an unfortunate turn of events that would lead to an aneurism or a heart attack?
Of all the things mentioned above, she hadn't expected her death to be caused by a machine.
Especially not one she was so enchanted by. One she loved more than she had loved her childhood pet named Rusty. Yet, that love seemed to become her deathsentence when she heard the faint crack on the right wing of the machine that was keeping her afloat above the French country side.
Stormy grey eyes shifted to her right where she noticed something was off. Noises were something her flying machine produced often enough, but never like this. And certainly never when it was of the utmost importance that she stayed up in the air, above the clouds where she would not be spotted.
Something stirred deep inside her, her stomach turned and she felt a faint feeling of the realisation that this was how things would end for her.
At the age of 23, she knew she had not seen enough of the world yet but there was a part of her that wanted to smugly smirk about the fact that she had predicted something right in her life. The timing of her own death. Though not entirely.
The right wing made the same noise once more, except a little louder this time. It shook her from her train of thoughts that was already taking her to the afterlife, while her body was still fighting to stay afloat. Another look to her right made her realise that the smoke coming from her engine was not a good sign and the noise that followed was a definite sign that her sturdy girl was not going to last much longer.
She had to descend, below the safe blanket of clouds that kept her hidden from those on earth, if she wanted a chance at surviving this ordeal. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
It was tricky, deciding your own fate as your time was running out.
Eventually her will to take a chance on a life in which she might see something of the world won over her need to successfully fulfill her own prophecy about her death.
She'd have 7 more years to die before the age of 30 and when one was a US air force pilot, crashing your plane into the French countryside in the summer of 1943... there was a big chance you would not make it until the next week.
The dark clouds of smoke started to fog up her window, making a proper landing almost impossible, as she tried her best to land her girl as best she could. It was a terrible inconvenience that her orders had been to fly at night because it left her without the knowledge of where to land. It was pitch black, even without the smoke, and landing a crashing plane safely was a challenge Violet was not up for anyways.
Yet, she tried. She always did. Because without trying, there was no success and without success... Without success, a woman like her would be stuck in a tiny flat in Brooklyn with a husband she despised and would probably poison before their first wedding anniversary.
The plane made a spluttering noise as Violet tried her best to land her in, what seemed to be, a cornfield.
"Easy, girl... easy" she softly urged her sturdy girl as the plane answered her in another noise that most certainly did not sound like she was taking it easy.
The dread that filled her stomach was starting to spread to her chest, her lungs and her head as she realised that, despite being the best and one of the only female pilots in the US Air Force, she was never going to land this plane safely.
"I swear to God Powder, if you are still out there somewhere, I hope someone takes better care of you than I ever have" she felt a tear roll down her cheek as her right wing caught on fire. She knew this was it. She was done for and her beloved plane was becoming her death.
What a tragic fucking way to go was the last thing on Violet's mind as her plane hit the ground with a loud crash, knocking her unconscious from the force with which she hit the ground. The very last thing she saw being the flames in front of her and a flash of her sister's bright blue eyes.
My dear,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you are safe.
I have yet to receive an answer to my last letter, but I know that you have more pressing matters at hand than writing your wife.
Still, I would have a better rest if I knew you were safe and unharmed.
There is not a lot I can inform you of about life at home.
Pauline is doing-
A loud crash somewhere in the distance caused the cerulean eyes of Caitlyn Dubois to look up from her letter. It was an unfamiliar noise. One that did not come form a bomb or an attack, and there was no sound of alarm. Which meant, no reason to go into the shelter.
Yet, her curious mind did not let her go back to her letter. Any other sensible man or woman would have insisted on it being a mere figment of their imagination, but for Caitlyn, it was something to go after. A question she needed an answer to. A mystery she had to solve.
Her mother had always scolded her for her curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat happened to be one of her favourite phrases to cry out whenever Caitlyn would go after a question she needed an answer to. She did not rest until she had her answer and did not care what harm might come to her in search of said answer.
That same curiosity caused her to push her chair back from her desk and hurry her long legs and bare feet towards the window closest to where she had heard the crash.
Two of her long, slender fingers pushed the curtains aside partially. Just enough for one bright, curious eye to observe what was happening.
Her curiosity was repaid in the flaming sight before her. Something had crashed into the cornfield of one of the neighbours and caught aflame. No other noise could be heard outside, no sound of German cars coming to investigate the crash, no curious neighbours who had been woken from their slumber and came to soothe their curiosity that matched Caitlyn's.
So it was just Caitlyn whose feet dragged her to her bedroom before she could think of it, hands that pulled on stockings and boots and legs that ran down the stairs and made their way outside, towards the corn field.
The loyal eyes of her 4 year old black and white Shepherd dog named Pauline were trained on her as she toddled along with her owner towards the flames that were quickly catching on to the corn that surrounded the wreckage.
"Be careful now darling" she softly told Pauline as her feet moved faster than she could think, running over towards what turned out to be the wreckage of a plane. The flames were quick to spread as Caitlyn squinted slightly in order to see what could have happened and who might have been inside.
Pauline made a quick run around the plane and sniffed at the parts that had not yet been damaged by the flames, trying to seek for the one thing that Caitlyn was looking for as well. Or more likely, one person.
The pilot.
Then, a bark alerted her on the other side of the wreck that Pauline had found something. Once again, adrenaline coursed through her veins as Caitlyn's feet carried her around the wreck, towards whatever it was that her girl had found.
Another bark, followed by a soft whine alerted Caitlyn while she made her way around the wreckage and to the one side of the plane that was still slightly untouched by flames. Pauline was pressing her nose against something, whining softly and looking back at Caitlyn once she had arrived at the scene of the crime.
"Good girl Pauline" she softly told the dog as she rushed forward and crouched down by the person that her courageous dog had found. The body of the pilot was half hanging out of the broken window, head turned the other way and blood coming from the copper-like hair that had probably previously been covered with a cap or a hat.
Her hand reached out, shaking as she pressed two fingers against the still warm neck of the pilot.
Alive.
"Merde" she whispered softly as she could hear sirens in the distance. Her head shot up, calculating just how long it would take for the sirens to arrive at the spot she was currently occupying.
Approximately 10 minutes.
She had 10 minutes.
Without hesitating one single second, she carefully rolled the pilot onto his back making sure that there were no injuries that might make moving him a fatal move. Upon quick inspection, it seemed there weren't.
"Come on Pauline" she whispered to her dog as she laid the pilot on his back, not looking any further than obvious injuries as she put her arms under the armpits of the muscular pilot before she got up from her crouched down position.
All the years of working at the farm, working with crops and animals, had not left her without anything to show for it, Her biceps were not unnoticeable but certainly more impressive than they seemed on the surface. She let out a soft groan as she pulled the pilot along with her, instantly cursing herself when she noticed that she was most definitely leaving a trail through the grass and mud. She would have to move faster if she wanted to get rid of the trail before the people belonging to the sirens arrived.
Whatever it was, adrenaline or pure strength, she managed to get the pilot into her farm within time, before the sirens arrived and with a few spare minutes to take care of the trail she had left behind.
The unconscious body of the bloodied, dirty pilot was something she would have to deal with when arriving back at the house, so she decided the safest way to go about it was to put the body in her large, yet almost empty, pantry and lock the door before sliding the key into the pocket of her dressing gown.
Her heart was beating faster than it ever had, faster than the first time she had laid eyes on the farm, faster than the moment her husband had asked her to marry her and faster than the time she had fallen out of a tree and broken her ankle when she was 7.
"We have to hurry Pauline, help me get rid of all of this" she urged the dog as she grabbed a cloth and wiped the mud from the floor as best she could, thanking the heavens that it was the summer time and rain had been scarce, so the mud was all dry and could mostly be swept out if she put some real time and muscle into it.
Her dog was busy putting her paws to work, digging on the wooden floor and spreading out the mud, along with a few paw prints. It made it seem like a very messy dog had entered the house instead of a bleeding, unconscious American pilot.
"Pauline, come" the sirens were closing in on the sight of the crashed plane and burning corn surrounding it. Pauline barked as they made their way back out the door and Caitlyn made sure to drag her feet through the trail she had left behind as she made her way back to the wreck with a look of feigned surprise and worry on her face.
Some of the surrounding neighbours seemed to be awake now that the sirens were getting closer but no one looked at Caitlyn. No one had seen then, or so she gathered. Pauline was by her side the entire walk back as Caitlyn's heart rate picked up with each step she took towards the sea of flames. Neighbours were starting to come out of their houses, some carrying buckets of water, just as the firetruck arrived that would safe them from their farms burning down if the fire on the corn field was not stopped.
Some of the trail had already been destroyed by the fire, much to Caitlyn's relief, and the rest was ruined when she walked over it again and Pauline ran across it several times, making it seem like there was a simply a movement of curious citizens that had created the trail as they came to observe the wreck of the plane that had decided to visit their small village.
"Alright everyone, nothing to see here" a voice called out in German. Said voice belonging to the General that had arrived along with the firetruck and several other German soldiers that Caitlyn had the displeasure of knowing.
Pauline barked in response but Caitlyn quickly put her hand down, her finger tips finding the black and white ears of her loyal companion which seemed to calm her down. Between making sure that the fire was put out and the mystery of what had crashed and where it had come from, no one had yet figured out that the pilot was missing.
That was until a command in German was barked at someone several minutes later and panic immediately arose amongst the German General and his soldiers.
Caitlyn understood enough German to know that they had figured out that they were missing the pilot from the wreck. An immediate fury seemed to ignite in the eyes of the German General, who barked orders at his soldiers and then at the crowd of civilians surrounding the wreckage, telling them to go back to their houses as an investigation would be issued for which they had to be home.
That was her cue to turn around and walk back, walking the exact trail she had walked when arriving at the scene and making sure to drag her feet a bit more to erase the trail from looking anything out of the ordinary.
She wasn't the closest farm to the wreck, so they would not start at her place. They would have to search three farms, at most, before arriving at hers so she had some time. Enough time to figure out a spot to put the unconscious body of the pilot that all Germans were now actively searching for.
The moment she stepped inside, she closed the door behind her, kicked off her boots and placed them messily next to the front door so any mud on the mat would seem like it came from her boots. She told Pauline to stay back as she took the pantry key from the pocket of her dressing gown, unlocked it and made quick work of taking the unconscious body of her newfound pilot under the armpits and dragging him out of his hiding place.
She dragged the body to the end of the hallway, lifted the carpet that ended by the door, and pulled it away far enough to reveal the trap door to the wine cellar that lay underneath her house. Thank goodness for her husband's taste for fine wine.
Her hands put the unconscious body down slowly, pulling up the trap door and not waiting another second before dragging the body down the wooden staircase, into the dark. It was quite the challenge to get the unconscious, muscular body down the stairs without making the injuries that the pilot obviously had, any worse. She winced each time the pilot's boots hit one of the steps of the wooden stairs as she dragged him down, trying to be as careful as possible so she would not fall backwards.
"Work with me please" her French tongue spoke to the American pilot before she let out a groan and pulled the heavy body towards the back of the wine cellar. Behind one of the cases in which they kept bottles of wine, there was a hidden door and an even more hidden room where they kept their most valuable belongings.
At the time that her husband had insisted on the secret room that could barely fit two people, Caitlyn had laughed and shaken her head. In that moment, however, she was more grateful to her husband than ever for creating the hollow space in the wall.
They did not have many prized possessions and Caitlyn hunched down as she pulled the unconscious body of the pilot inside, before crawling out of the black hole into the pitch dark space of the wine cellar. The less light, the better. After all, she knew each space of her own house like the back of her hand. The house held no surprises for her in return for her years of generous care for the farm and its land.
She softly closed the hidden door before putting the case full of wine back in front of it and rushed back upstairs. She had never been so thankful for her own need to keep things clean and organized, which had caused her to have dusted and swept the wine cellar just days before, leaving almost no dust or dirt on the floor.
As soon as she reappeared, she closed the trap door, put the carpet back over it and rushed upstairs. She washed her face, her arms and her legs out of pure pre-care, just so she had less of a chance of being found out.
She had just finished getting rid of any remaining specks of dirt from her dressing gown and night gown when she heard the familiar knocking of German fists on her front door.
Just in time.
She gave herself another quick glance in the mirror, finding that she looked believable enough to say she had just woken up to see the fire, gone over to observe and gone back home when she had been told to do so. Her black curls fell just over her shoulders, giving her a rather classic look as she quickly took a hold of the small amount of make-up she owned. Her fingers added a slightest hint of a blush onto her face before she tied her silk dressing gown around her waist and slipped her feet into her slippers. She took a deep breath before making her way down the stairs with Pauline by her side.
The sight she was met with, was a familiar one. Three German soldiers with impatient and bored looks on their faces as they barged into her house without waiting to be invited in.
"Good evening madame" she was addressed by the one who seemed to be in charge of the search for the pilot. He did not bother speaking French apart from the 'madame' and continued in German. "You will have, without a doubt, heard or witnessed the crash of an American plane on the nearby cornfield. We have reason to suspect that the pilot has been taken in by one of the farmers living in the surrounding farms so we are here to have a look around"
Caitlyn crossed her arms over her chest as she listened to the man in front of her, ignoring the other two who had already begun their search, and she merely nodded as she followed the men around her house while they inspected every corner.
"Name?"
"Caitlyn Kiramman - Dubois"
Her maiden name seemed to catch the attention of the soldier in charge, who gave her a suspicious and not too welcoming look.
"An English maiden name?"
Caitlyn nodded as she watched the men go through her living room. Her German tongue was a bit flawed but she knew enough to answer any questions the soldier had for her. "I have an English father and a French mother"
The man wrote something down on the form he was carrying with him. "Your husband's whereabouts?"
"He's in the army"
"I see" the man wrote something else down before he helped the other two in their search for the American pilot. They found nothing in the house and for a moment, Caitlyn felt like she might get lucky. That she might get away with it.
Until the leader of the three men walked over the carpet in the hallway and his footsteps were echoed once he stepped on the trap door. His head peeked up ever so slightly as Caitlyn was already on her way to the front door. She had only three more steps to go and they would be gone from her house. Then she could take care of her pilot, if he had not bled to death already...
Until that one footstep that changed the course of the visit. The bright blue eyes of the German soldier immediately found Caitlyn's cerulean ones, tilting his head slightly as he gave her the smallest of smirks.
"Are you hiding a space under your carpet Mrs. Dubois?" he asked her in a calm, but painstakingly obvious threatening tone.
Caitlyn managed to press her lips into a forced, apologizing smile as she nodded and rushed towards the man while he stepped off the carpet. Her feet carried her over to the edge of the carpet and she bent down before lifting it until the trap door was revealed.
"It's my husband's wine cellar" she explained in her best German as one of the other men opened the trap door and took a flashlight from his belt. Once it was illuminating the dark, stone floor and walls of the wine cellar, the four of them wandered down the stairs.
Caitlyn's eyes were trained on the man in charge, following every move he made as he looked around the dozens of bottles that her husband kept hidden in their wine cellar. The only sound echoing through the cold, wine-filled space was that of the black boots that made their way through the endless cases of wine and the man in charge even seemed impressed by her husband's collection.
"This is a very large collection Mrs. Dubois. Do you happen to have any German wines?" he was toying with her. He was not here for the wine, he was here to make her crack. To test her and see if she would give in if only he kept persisting on staying longer than he was welcome to stay. But Caitlyn was the last to give in to that type of manipulation.
She simply nodded and made her way over to the case where she knew her husband had stacked some German wines. She picked the most expensive one which she handed to the man who had asked about it.
The man seemed more than pleased as he looked over the bottle and nodded "1937, a fine year for this one"
"I believe so" Caitlyn agreed, keeping a side eye on the men who were still looking through her cellar.
The one thing she was solely focussed on was taking care of the fact that no noise would come from the room behind that one case of wine that hid the invisible door to the space where the pilot was kept. She just needed several more minutes to keep these men happy with the inspection of her house, and then they would be gone. She didn't speak, knowing that protest only caused trouble and suspicion in situations like these. She just watched as the men looked around a bit more and found nothing.
When they gave up and went back up the stairs, the man in charge took the bottle Caitlyn had handed him upstairs with him.
"You don't mind, do you?" he asked as he held up the bottle.
Caitlyn merely shook her head "you're welcome to keep it"
"How sweet" a nauseating grin rested on the man's face "isn't that sweet?" the other men nodded in agreement as they made their way to her front door.
It was humiliating to have to swallow your pride and simply grin and bear it. But it was what had to be done to survive, no matter how bad the urge to set herself on fire after an interaction with one of these men got.
"It seems all is well here" the leader confirmed and he wrote one last thing on his form "have a pleasant evening madame"
Caitlyn merely nodded and gave them a small wave as they disappeared through the door, back into the darkness of what remained of the night. The very second she closed the door behind them, she let out a sigh of relief and immediately locked the door with all four locks that the door possessed.
She rushed towards the kitchen and grabbed a candle in a candleholder along with her box of medical supplies that her father had gifted her when she got married and a bowl of water along with a cloth. She lit the candle, went back to the edge of the carpet, tore it off the trap door and rushed downstairs to check on the pilot who might as well be dead by then.
When she removed the case from the door, opened it and dragged the unconscious body from it's hiding space, the first thing she did was allow her fingers to drift towards that spot in the pilot's neck again. Soft flesh pressed against her fingertips as she held her breath for a few moments before letting out a sigh of relief.
Alive.
Her right hand put the candle down on the floor as she gently took the pilot's face and turned it towards the flame, getting a first good look at the man in question.
Except her pilot wasn't a man at all.
It was a woman.
That fact became more obvious when Caitlyn dipped her cloth in the cold water that was held by her enamel bowl and cleaned some of the blood and dirt from the pilot's face.
Her features were pretty, they were soft when she was unconscious. A lock of light brown-copper hair fell in front of her face and Caitlyn gently pushed it away. For a moment, Caitlyn felt like all air was knock from her lungs as she glanced down and observed the piece of art that was the face of her pilot. Another dip of her cloth in the cold water and she cleaned off the dirt and blood from her neck as she carefully looked for any injuries.
She found a small wound on the back of her head, nothing too severe, and nothing else when it came to the facial features or her neck. That was good news, since nothing seemed to feel like it was broken so far.
So she moved on to the rest, her hands worked tirelessly as they removed the layer of a coat and a jacket underneath, making a mental note to burn the uniform the second she had the chance. Nothing could trace this pilot back to her home and put them both in danger. It took her a moment to actually get the clothes off until the pilot was in her white, though blood stained, uniform blouse and her trousers.
Caitlyn's hands ripped the blouse open without mercy, not caring about the state of things since she needed to get to the injuries that had to be treated if she did not want the pilot to bleed out on the floor of her wine cellar while the Germans were still looking around for said pilot.
All seemed to be well in the faint light of the candle, until she noticed a shard of glass that had penetrated the pilot's lower abdomen. It seemed quite superficial and it was unlikely that it had hit any vital organs, but that did not mean the shard was not of questionable size and if there were any splinters left inside the abdomen, her pilot would die a very painful death over the course of the next several days.
Caitlyn's hands were surprisingly steady as she opened her medical kit and took out one of the supplies she would need to remove the shard of glass safely. She disinfected it with some of the last she had left in her brown bottle gifted to her by her father, and carefully removed the shard of glass.
After removing the largest piece, she managed to pick out several other smaller pieces until the wound seemed entirely clean and the last bit of disinfectant was used to lean the wound before she wrapped it up with some clean bandages.
"I'll stitch you up when you are back to consciousness" she mumbled, completely wrapped up in the dressing of the wound. So much so that she did not notice the voice that addressed her, at first.
A female voice with a very distinct American accent. The voice sounded exhausted, parched, low, but strong.
"If you're talking to me, you're going to have to speak English sweetheart"
Caitlyn's eyes widened as she looked up from dressing the wound and cerulean eyes found the greyest ones she had ever seen, sending a rush through her that she was unfamiliar with.
Then, she spoke.
English this time, laced with a light French accent.
"I told you your wound would need to be stitched up when you were to wake" she simply informed her, ignoring how heart her started pounding yet again.