Archive of Our Own ^beta

»Do you think that we could ever be forgiven?« 

His fingers ran softly over Collins' back, tracing the countless scars there, like a map made for Farrier – a map of his lover's body. Collins shifted slightly with a sigh, consciously – or unconsciously – pressing himself against the older man's touch, clearly finding comfort in it. That's what they were doing lately, anyway. Trying to get used to warmth, to love again, after all these years they spend as hardened men, maybe not out of their own wills but forced to become that nonetheless. It was the only way to survive. 

While waiting for the other man's answer, Farrier remembered – how his heart ached for his burning Spitfire, how he could  feel  the heat of the fire on his skin as though he was the one set alight. He only realized much later that on that day, at that moment, a part of him died along with his plane. He was no longer a pilot, just a broken soul in a world trying to tear itself apart. 

His mind wouldn't let him dwell on the years spent in the camp – it was still too much to bear. Instead, his thoughts wandered to the day he returned. The familiar smell of his childhood home filled his nostrils. His mother's broken scream made his blood freeze in his veins, unable to move. Her tight hug almost crushed his ribs. He felt everything and nothing at that moment, as though his return was somehow both underwhelming and overwhelming. He remembered how he wanted to scream, scream his lungs out, but was unable to as much as move a single muscle. 

A quiet yelp brought him back to the present. His nails were digging deep into Collin's skin. Farrier blinked, then let go, covering the mark he left with soft kisses as an apology. 

»Forgiven for what?« Collins finally said, his voice soft and muffled. 

Farrier hesitated. 

»For all those things that we've done. For all those lives lost because of us.« 

Silence. Rays of the evening sun setting Collins' hair on fire. His face, serious at first, contorted with a soft smile as he reached to stroke Farrier's own. 

»Is it really forgiveness that you want? Or do you simply want to move on and forget?« 

And Farrier couldn't answer, because  it didn't matter.  All he needed at this time was right there, in his arm's reach.