After the World Has Fallen~ John Egan x Reader

I don't Think The British Are Fully Developed

"Hey, Y/N, help me get some drinks, will you?" Crosby asks the girl, sitting up from their table. There were about three or four British pilots on one end while the other end was occupied with a fair amount of the American bombing group. They were in the midst of discussing different tactics of how to bomb the Germans. Each side criticizing the other, even though they did the same job.

"Sure", she smiles following his lead and standing up. They head up to the bar and he leans over the table, waving over the bartender to get another round for his friends at the table.

"Could I get, uh, six whiskeys and a ginger beer?", he orders, tapping his fingers against the dark wooden countertop he was leaned up against.

"Coming up, mate", the bartender replies, turning around to make up the order of drinks that was just placed.

"So, how was the navigating on the last mission?", Y/N asks him as she never saw him after they landed. "I've been hearing the boys talk."

"Yeah, it was good", he says somewhat hesitantly, and Y/N already knew why.

"Except for the fact you threw up your guts?", she joked with a slight grimace. She could only imagine having air sickness when it was your main job to be flying.

He chuckles and nods, "Yeah, except for that."

"Well, you brought everyone home safely, so I call that a win."

He nods once more and turns to look over the bar as the bartender hands them a tray and two glasses.

"Thank you", Y/N says to the man and carries some of the extra whiskey cups that wouldn't fit on the tray to the table back to the group.

"This ought to wet your whistle, boys", Curt calls out placing the tray on the center of the table while Y/N hands out the two glasses in her hand.

"You are beautiful", Curt thanks Crosby, grabbing his drink immediately.

"That is a ginger beer", Crosby says, handing the glass of the non-alcoholic drink to Buck while Y/N takes her seat between him and Curt.

"Welcome back, Angel. What took you so long?", Curt asks her drunkenly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, whatever could you do without me for five minutes?", she says dramatically, leaning into his arm as the rough material of his uniform brushes past the back of her neck.

He grins taking a sip of his whiskey and taps his fingers on her shoulder.

"I admire you Americans", the British captain across from her pipes up. "You're up there in broad daylight, seemingly oblivious to the downsides."

"I... I don't understand what your saying captain", a pilot says seemingly trying to get clarification.

"Never mind old boy. One for the higher ups", the captain replies looking over at Y/N. "Do you prefer higher ups, love?"

"It's a question of philosophies.", another British man adds for which causes the pilots around the table to lean in. "We bomb at night because it doesn't matter what we hit, so long as it's German. But bombing during the day is suicide. I could foresee in the future, American strategy adjusting due to the unfortunate losses you'll no doubt continue to suffer."