#plus she's always been a sweetheart... she was just taught to suppress it

[mandaloriandragontrainer]

Rayla: *loves Callum* "Fans": Oh so she's nothing more than Callum's girlfriend now way to ruin a strong female character Me: *tears out own hair*

[mrsalwayswrite]

Never Alone (Don “Wardaddy” Collier x reader) Fury 2014

Just something that popped in my head today and I had time to write. Yay! Plus I watched Fury recently and my love of that movie grows every time I watch it.

Reader is written as she/her instead of y/n but no other description is given.  

Warnings: none really. some swearing, sadness, fluff. 

Words:1780

  She had been so excited when the Private told her she had mail. Tearing the envelope practically in half, she did not check who sent it. There was only one person (well two technically) who sent her mail. Her grandparents. Her grandfather was the one who wrote the letters though. He was the one who mattered. Since his own son dumped his toddler on his parents' doorstep and walked away, her grandfather had treated her as his own. Better than his own. 

 Ever since she was able to walk she waddled around following her grandfather. He teased her calling her his shadow, but she knew he loved it. He was the one that taught her to fish, to hunt, to shoot, to defend herself, everything he knew about engines and machines. 

He had been in the Great War, a Captain, but when this war rolled around, age and injury prevented him from joining. 

 So she did. 

 The tanks were supposed to be rolling out soon. This was only a short reprieve until they headed to the next town to liberate and secure it. Nothing unusual. 

 For the brief moments she had, she hid behind her current home- the tank Fury. As an assistant mechanic, she knew every part of the tank, almost better than Grady since she could fit into the smaller spots better than him. The rest of the crew- her boys as she teased them- were getting some hot chow. Wardaddy probably was talking with that stupid lieutenant, that acted like he was better than everyone else, to learn where they were going. For the moment, she was alone. A rarity that she planned on taking full advantage of. 

 She tore the envelope and ripped out the letter, eager for news from home. 

 Immediately she knew something was wrong. 

The words were written in a lovely cursive, not the typical choppy, slant she associated with her grandfather's handwriting. There were dried tear marks smudging some of the words and scattered around the paper. 

 Sweetheart, I don't know how to make this any easier on you, so I am just going to say it. Your grandfather is gone. There was an accident. The neighbor's truck was acting up again so your grandfather went to help and then…

 The words blurred before her eyes, no longer recognizable.  Gone… her grandmother could not even come out and say the truth. He was dead. The man that mattered most to her was dead. 

 She wanted to scream at the heavens, she wanted to cry until there was nothing left in her, she wanted to burn the letter and pretend her world had not imploded.

 Mostly she just wanted her grandfather back. 

 Instead she sat there, kneeling in the mud, staring out over the field next to the tanks, the letter clutched in her hand like her life depended on it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, cleaning away the grime and grease that felt like a permanent stain on her skin. 

 The fog in her mind lifted when she heard someone call her name. Turning her head slowly, she glanced over her shoulder to see Bible approaching her. Gordo stood a few feet away watching her, eyebrows furrowed. She could guess why. She never cried. Even when a chunk of tank pierced her thigh and Wardaddy had to pull it out, no tears fell. Even when everyone else in their unit died, tanks blown sky high, she never shed a tear. 

 "What's wrong, Whiskey? You hurt?"

 Silently she handed him the letter. Words felt like too much effort right now.  Even hearing her nickname felt like a stab to her gut. Her grandfather had instilled in her the knowledge of good whiskey so now she was humorously picky when it came to drinking alcohol.  

 It did not take long for him to understand. "Oh, Whiskey. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around her, putting his chin on the top of her head as she pressed her face to his chest. "He's in Heaven now with our Lord, looking down on you. No more pain, only happiness. He probably found himself a bench with Saint Peter and is keeping an eye on you, yeah? Looking out for his girl."

 She nodded, thankful for Bible's intuition of what she needed to hear. 

 He held her for a few more moments before the cries of 'move out' sounded and men piled back into the tanks, war ready to resume. 

 He let her go but stared into her eyes. "You need to talk, or even a hug, you find me."

 "Tha...thank you."

 "We're family. A bit dysfunctional but family."

 She chuckled, quickly wiping away the dried tears with the sleeve of her jacket, caking her face in grime once again. One more nod to each other, they stood up and clambered into Fury. Gordo squeezed her hand when she slipped into the gunner's seat next to him. Coon-Ass patted her shoulder awkwardly. Wardaddy gave her a brief nod, but it was his gaze, all the sentiment in it almost broke her resolve to bury her pain. 

 Now was not the time. They had a job to do. 

 Best job she ever had. 

 ******

 That evening, under the stars, she leaned against a brick building that once was a cafe but now was half demolished. Cigarette between her lips as her thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. Everyone that was not on guard duty was asleep. 

 Footsteps approached her but she knew who it was without looking. She knew he would find her eventually. He always did. 

 Without a word, he leaned against the brick next to her, lighting his own cigarette. They stood that way, silently, watching the stars as the smoke from their cigarettes drifted upward to join the celestial beings. 

 Giving in, she tipped her head to the side, laying it against Don's shoulder, his arm wrapping around her. 

 "He's dead."

 "Yeah."

 "I don't… I don't know what to do."

 "You keep living." His harsh tone made her peer up at him in the dark, but he continued, staring ahead. "You keep living every goddamn day doing the best you can, to honor them, but mostly cause you alive and they aren't.  You live while there is breath in your lungs because one day there won't be and you don't want to realize you wasted those breathes. Trust me on that."

 And she did. She knew about the scars on his back and where they came from. One drunken night he told her and Bible about it. 

 He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "I'll take care of you."

 "I know. But when this damn war is over and we go home, I…."

 "I'll take care of you." He interrupted, exhaling, smoke slipping between his lips. 

 "What?"

 "You heard me. You aren't going home alone. You're coming home with me." His statement said, so matter of fact, as he kept staring at the stars.

 "I am?"

 "Yeah, be my wife. There's land behind my folks place. We'll build a house and you can hunt in the woods all day long or work on vehicles in the garage."

 "You want me to marry you?" She needed to make sure she was not hallucinating.  

 "I sure as hell ain't letting you marry any of these other bastards."

 She could not help it. She threw her head back and laughed. God, it felt good. Anything was better than crying. 

 Turning around so she was facing him properly, his arm still around her, hand on her hip now, she stared at him. Taking one last inhale of her cigarette, she dropped it onto the ground. She had always thought he was attractive. At the beginning she may have even had a schoolgirl crush on him. As time passed and she got to know him more, that crush evolved into something deeper. Something stronger. His loyalty, his  protectiveness for those he cared about, his nerves of steel, his sincerity and his ability to think calmly and rationally even in the most dire of circumstances...those things began to mean more to her than just his pretty face. Even if it was very pretty. 

 "You serious? You really want me to marry you?"

 "That's what I said."

 She stared at him, trying to imagine herself as his wife, as living a simple life together. Something she had never imagined for herself before...until now. And with the picture in her mind, she realized she wanted that. More specific, she wanted that with him. "Well, ok."

 He finally looked down at her, lips turned up just slightly. "Yeah?"

 "Yeah. Yes, Don, I will marry you."

 A full, brilliant smile split his face. He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face, pressing his lips against hers in a mad rush. Her own hands grabbed his jacket, pulling him as close as possible as she opened her mouth to allow their tongues to dance. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be on morphine. A lightness filled her, everything felt right with the world, a warmth stirred in her belly. Kissing Don Collier had to be the best thing she had ever done in her life. Well maybe second best thing, since she agreed to marry him and fully expected more kisses in the future. 

 Breathing heavy once their lips unlatched, Don held her close, his chin on top of her head. Her hands still gripped his jacket but now more to steady herself. Her legs felt like limp noodles and her mind was in a euphoria of bliss. 

 "So, this means we're calling you Warmomma instead of Whiskey?"

 She looked over to see Bible standing nearby, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 "Don't you dare." She glared but his smile only grew and she could feel Don attempting to suppress his own laughter. 

 "We'll don't stay up too late you two…" he pointed a finger at them, "...and no funny business."

 "Night, Boyd." Don said, lighting a new cigarette. 

 Bible shook his head, still smiling before sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling away. 

 "He's right. We should probably bed down."

 "Mmm…" He slowly ran his hand up and down her back. 

 "Want to keep me warm tonight? Gordo stole my blanket yesterday, so…" she shrugged, struggling to keep her voice light. 

 He smirked. "I can do that."

 They walked back towards the others, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his side. She realized in the moment that if they survived this war, she would never be alone. Her future was not how she planned it to be...but perhaps it would be even better.