𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐩𝐞 - j.egan [masters of the air]

∣ 015; c a m p

. *. ⋆

John Egan stood in the phone booth, the receiver pressed against his ear with the newspaper regarding the mission from yesterday clenched tightly in his other hand.

"This is Bowman."

"Red, Egan here. How'd the game go yesterday?"

Now, John knew what Eloise had said— that she wanted him back on the runway when she arrived back at Thorpe Abbots after her mission, but he decided to stay an extra day, and for good reason.

He didn't drink. He didn't go to any bars.

John went back to the small shop he and Eloise were walking around in the day prior, buying her the small bracelet she had found to be pretty— he also bought her a small Beagle and unicorn charm, which he figured she could put on one of her necklaces, or perhaps the bracelet he had boughten her.

In all fairness, he had called to have someone tell her where he was when she arrived back, and to send her his deepest apologies.

There was a pause from Bowman on the other end.

"Not as well as we hoped."

"Who'd Eloise fly with? Was Buck in the line-up?"

The two questions he asked came out quickly, not thinking once as he asked them— his grip on the phone receiver tightened, as did his hold on the newspaper.

"She was with Friedkin's crew, and, yeah, Buck was in the line-up."

"They have a good game?"

It was killing him, the anticipation of the answer— his nerves were high, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I— they went down swinging, John. Both of them. I'm sorry."

His heart dropped to his stomach, his entire being feeling empty.

It was a punch to the gut, the wave of grief that washed over him so intense he had to lower the receiver, taking a deep, shaky breath as he looked down. The guilt he felt almost matched the powerful feeling of grief. Eloise had told him time and time again how terrified she was of dying up there, of going down again.

He'd constantly tell her she would be okay— he would always be there when she returned.

His body felt pained like he had been punched over and over— the pain in his heart was the worst, however, his throat and chest were tight with thick emotion, his shaky hands by his side, almost limp enough to drop the phone and the newspaper.

John's jaw tightened, and he rolled his shoulders back— he put the receiver back to his ear, his voice rough as he spoke.

"Who else?"

"Most of the starting line-up."

He looked out the phone booth, his eyes scanning the area as a deep rage settled in the pits of his stomach.

Eloise's words from the night she had fallen drunk, and the two of them went to relax in their grove were prominent in John's mind, yet his anger broke through her soft words, the only thing left in his mind being revenge.

"Is there a game tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Tell coach I'll be there by game time— and, Red," he paused, his anger growing as Bowman's words settled in his mind. Eloise was gone, as of now. There was no telling if she was alive— the love of his life could be dead, "I wanna pitch."

He slammed the phone down, his hands going to his hair as he dropped the newspaper.

He was breathing heavily, his hands shaking more by the second— he cursed loudly, his hand punching the interior of the phone booth. Again, his hands went back to his head, running through his hair anxiously.