***I do not own Pearl Harbor or any of its characters in any way, shape, or
form.
The sound of a train whistle blowing caused Lyda to stir. She opened her eyes, remembering where she was. She had missed the train earlier, and waited six hours on the same bench where she had eventually fell asleep. Was this her train? Had she missed it again?
Lyda jumped slightly when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. She sat up and looked over her left shoulder to see a man standing there. He had short, wavy, sandy-brown hair and deep green eyes. He was wearing a pilot's uniform and a handsome smile.
"Excuse me, Miss," he spoke, quietly, "but is this your train?" Lyda stared at him for a few seconds, sleep still fogging her brain, and then shifted her gaze to the train.
"You know, I'm not really sure," she admitted, blushing. The man's smile grew even more. He found how she handled embarrassment to be slightly humorous. Especially the pink color her cheeks turned. It suited her just fine.
"This is the train to New York," he informed her, hoping that that would help her. Lyda's gray eyes widened as she realized that she was about to miss her train again. She jumped up, surprising the young man, who removed his hand from her shoulder.
"Yes, this is my train," she told him, "Thank you so much for your help." The man shrugged and opened his mouth to tell her that it was no trouble.
"Lyda!" a shrill voice called from down the hall of the station. Lyda whipped around to see her grandmother running toward her, a look of panic all over her wrinkled face. How could she have followed me? She quickly turned away and then ran onto the train without looking back.
Once seated, Lyda glanced out the window. She could see Lydia running to where Lyda had previously stood waiting for the train to come. She could here Lydia calling her name frantically and begging her to get off the train and come back home with her. Lyda began to cry lightly. Why wouldn't Lydia just leave her alone?
"Who is that?" a familiar voice inquired. Lyda turned to see the man that she had been talking to, seated next to her. Lyda smiled weakly and turned back to the window, wiping her tears. She blushed lightly, ashamed that a man she had known for less than five minutes was already seeing her cry like she was some sort of five-year-old.
"That is my grandmother," she informed him shyly, "She doesn't want me to leave." The man smiled again and took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly, trying to make her feel better.
"Well, I can understand why," he admitted, beginning to blush himself. He assumed that she and her grandmother had been closed and it was a painful farewell for them. Lyda turned to him, thinking that he was just trying to flatter her.
"Can you?" she inquired coldly. The young soldier lowered his gaze. Obviously she had misunderstood him, and he was wrong anyway. It was obvious to him that there was a reason that Lyda was so upset about her grandmother coming. He shook his head.
"No, I guess not," he confessed quietly. Lyda smiled weakly, a little glad that he was making such an attempt to console her, and ashamed that she was treating him so terribly.
"It doesn't matter," she reassured him, smiling shyly and extended her hand, "My name is Lyda." The man took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"My name is Steven," he informed her, "Lieutenant Steven Ellis." She kept smiling, happy to have met him. She knew Steven could be her friend in the Army, someone that could make her fell less alone.
Shaye sat at a table in the club that the pilots and nurses had gone to. She watched the two people that had been introduced to her as Rafe and Evelyn dance together. They must be the lovebirds.
It made her sick, watching them dance around with that air about them. They had the air that all lovers had, in her opinion. The air of superiority that gave them rights to make fun of and talk about the other people because that person had not found the bond that they had.
"Drives you crazy, doesn't it?" a man's voice asked her. It was a low, rich voice with an accent of the southeast. Shaye turned to see the pilot with dark brown hair that was cut in such a way that it hung in his face, shadowing his beautiful, dark eyes who had been introduced to her as Danny. She arched an eyebrow skeptically, refusing to smile at him.
"And what would you know about it?" she asked in a similarly low voice, sounding as masculine as she could. The man grinned a slightly off balance grin and chuckled quietly, bowing his head a bit. Shaye knew that he could easily make any girl happy, herself included.
"I read your mind," he joked. Shaye shot him a glare. "Jus' kiddin'," he said, "That's jus' how I feel, and you have that same look on your face." Shaye grinned.
"Well, aren't you just a smart one," she joked. Danny laughed a bit. He was glad to have finally met a pilot that understood him even more than Rafe did.
**Author's Note: Thank you again to all who reviewed. Your thoughts and words mean so much to me. Please keep it up.
The sound of a train whistle blowing caused Lyda to stir. She opened her eyes, remembering where she was. She had missed the train earlier, and waited six hours on the same bench where she had eventually fell asleep. Was this her train? Had she missed it again?
Lyda jumped slightly when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. She sat up and looked over her left shoulder to see a man standing there. He had short, wavy, sandy-brown hair and deep green eyes. He was wearing a pilot's uniform and a handsome smile.
"Excuse me, Miss," he spoke, quietly, "but is this your train?" Lyda stared at him for a few seconds, sleep still fogging her brain, and then shifted her gaze to the train.
"You know, I'm not really sure," she admitted, blushing. The man's smile grew even more. He found how she handled embarrassment to be slightly humorous. Especially the pink color her cheeks turned. It suited her just fine.
"This is the train to New York," he informed her, hoping that that would help her. Lyda's gray eyes widened as she realized that she was about to miss her train again. She jumped up, surprising the young man, who removed his hand from her shoulder.
"Yes, this is my train," she told him, "Thank you so much for your help." The man shrugged and opened his mouth to tell her that it was no trouble.
"Lyda!" a shrill voice called from down the hall of the station. Lyda whipped around to see her grandmother running toward her, a look of panic all over her wrinkled face. How could she have followed me? She quickly turned away and then ran onto the train without looking back.
Once seated, Lyda glanced out the window. She could see Lydia running to where Lyda had previously stood waiting for the train to come. She could here Lydia calling her name frantically and begging her to get off the train and come back home with her. Lyda began to cry lightly. Why wouldn't Lydia just leave her alone?
"Who is that?" a familiar voice inquired. Lyda turned to see the man that she had been talking to, seated next to her. Lyda smiled weakly and turned back to the window, wiping her tears. She blushed lightly, ashamed that a man she had known for less than five minutes was already seeing her cry like she was some sort of five-year-old.
"That is my grandmother," she informed him shyly, "She doesn't want me to leave." The man smiled again and took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly, trying to make her feel better.
"Well, I can understand why," he admitted, beginning to blush himself. He assumed that she and her grandmother had been closed and it was a painful farewell for them. Lyda turned to him, thinking that he was just trying to flatter her.
"Can you?" she inquired coldly. The young soldier lowered his gaze. Obviously she had misunderstood him, and he was wrong anyway. It was obvious to him that there was a reason that Lyda was so upset about her grandmother coming. He shook his head.
"No, I guess not," he confessed quietly. Lyda smiled weakly, a little glad that he was making such an attempt to console her, and ashamed that she was treating him so terribly.
"It doesn't matter," she reassured him, smiling shyly and extended her hand, "My name is Lyda." The man took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"My name is Steven," he informed her, "Lieutenant Steven Ellis." She kept smiling, happy to have met him. She knew Steven could be her friend in the Army, someone that could make her fell less alone.
Shaye sat at a table in the club that the pilots and nurses had gone to. She watched the two people that had been introduced to her as Rafe and Evelyn dance together. They must be the lovebirds.
It made her sick, watching them dance around with that air about them. They had the air that all lovers had, in her opinion. The air of superiority that gave them rights to make fun of and talk about the other people because that person had not found the bond that they had.
"Drives you crazy, doesn't it?" a man's voice asked her. It was a low, rich voice with an accent of the southeast. Shaye turned to see the pilot with dark brown hair that was cut in such a way that it hung in his face, shadowing his beautiful, dark eyes who had been introduced to her as Danny. She arched an eyebrow skeptically, refusing to smile at him.
"And what would you know about it?" she asked in a similarly low voice, sounding as masculine as she could. The man grinned a slightly off balance grin and chuckled quietly, bowing his head a bit. Shaye knew that he could easily make any girl happy, herself included.
"I read your mind," he joked. Shaye shot him a glare. "Jus' kiddin'," he said, "That's jus' how I feel, and you have that same look on your face." Shaye grinned.
"Well, aren't you just a smart one," she joked. Danny laughed a bit. He was glad to have finally met a pilot that understood him even more than Rafe did.
**Author's Note: Thank you again to all who reviewed. Your thoughts and words mean so much to me. Please keep it up.