Am I hearing rumors of a new Dougley fic? Cause I am ALL IN.

If by Dougley you mean "James Douglass is disgustingly in love with his pilot, who is disgustingly in love with his wife, who is deeply, deeply concerned by all of this" then yes. We're about to get the Margaret Blakely POV of proximal damage...

Snippet? Snippet.

Through all of it Jamie is there. He follows Ev like a shadow, cheerful face in place, passing him hammer and nails and laughing at him when he hurts himself, intervening when he’s messing something up. 

Like they’re the same person, split in two, Margaret thinks again, watching them bicker as they put her marriage bed together. There is nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

It’s such a comfort.

“I feel so much better knowing you’ll be there with him,” she says that night, as Jamie’s taking his turn with her on the dancefloor. “I’d be so much more scared if I didn’t know you’d be with him all the way.”

The look on his face turns her heart over in her chest. It shocks her, a little, the way in which the grief is written so clearly across his handsome features, as if he already feels it, as if Ev is already dead. 

“That’s my job,” Jamie says, with just a little hesitation, and he twirls her perfectly under his arm, a better dancer than Ev, if she’s being perfectly honest with herself.

“We’re so lucky to have you,” she tells him, and thinks maybe she loves him almost as much as Ev does.

WIP Wednesday snippets giving me life.

ASKS giving me life!! have a bit more proximal damage pt3, just cos you boosted my ego

Ev kisses Margaret goodbye, so deep and thorough and private that she blushes under it even as she presses into him for more. He kisses her, and kisses her, and Biddick whistles at them and he kisses her again and again, and then pulls back to let her breathe, just for a second. She steps out of his arms because if she doesn’t she might fall apart, and as she does she looks up, and there’s Jamie. 

Jamie looks like the bottom is falling out of his world, and Margaret doesn’t know what to do, needs to do something. She reaches for him, burning determination, because she is Everett Blakely’s wife and he is Everett Blakely’s man and so they are made for each other. Jamie takes hold of her the way he does when they’re dancing, hands on her waist, so familiar and so proper.

“Write him lots,” Jamie tells her. “So we don’t have to put up with too much whining.”

He’s telling her something else, she can tell, this is not what he’s trying to tell her, but she can’t quite work out what he’s trying to say. So she answers what he’s given her.

“Every day,” Margaret says. “And twice on Sundays. Keep him away from English hussies, and look after yourself, Jamie darling, please.”

Jamie makes a little noise in the back of his throat and Margaret thinks, maybe, if he was a woman, he’d be crying. Margaret is not going to cry. She will not. They deserve better. 

She goes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek. James Douglass leaves America with a smudge of her lipstick on the blade of his face, and she lets him go unsure if she’ll see him again.