New York City

After an hour out in the throb of post-war New York City, Daisy realized she had made a mistake. Frances was in her element. As were the two other girls from the plant who had come with them. In a dress that she'd bought before the war with her hair down, which was odd for her anyway, Daisy had made an attempt with her mother's red lipstick and pearls. But she felt like she was playing a part, smiling for Frances's sake. Her friend had been so happy when she told her that she would go with them.

They had been at that particular dive for the better part of the evening. The dancing was active, girls being swung around the floor by soldiers and sailors to swing music. Daisy had turned down two offers for a dance and hadn't regretted either decision. Rather, she sat at the bar with her beer going warm, watching the other girls enjoy themselves.

Even before the war, Daisy had never been one for crowds. The liquor did nothing for her. The stilted conversations with boys looking for a date were painful. And though the music was nice, at this volume she couldn't rightly enjoy it.

Daisy ignored a sailor as he sidled up to the bar. Leaning heavily on a hairy forearm, his breath damp with whiskey, he motioned to the bartender.

"Her drink is on me," he slurred, taking out a flask.

"No, thank you."

Glancing over her shoulder, Daisy spotted Frances happily flirting with the GI who had asked her to dance. She wished Frances would hurry up so they could go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere a little quieter.

"What?" The sailor shifted his thick body, swaying purposefully against her shoulder. "You don't wanna drink with me, sweetheart? Drink to victory?"

Daisy rose. "Please leave me alone."

"C'mon, honey. I just wanna make friends-" The drunk grasped her forearm and Daisy tore it away.

The sailor closed the distance between them. Daisy stumbled backwards. When she had agreed to a night out, she hadn't anticipated being bullied into a drink. Tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, she dared a glance into the man's scruffy leer.

"I said no."

"Aw c'mon, just one-"

"She said no."

Daisy whipped back towards the bar, as did her assailant. The dark individual, with whom she had avoided eye contact since arriving, swiveled towards them. Several empty beer glasses sat in front of him, but he looked better for it than her burly harasser.

"What was that?" Sailor rolled his shoulders and stood up to his full height.

The soldier tipped back a last swallow of beer, setting the glass on the counter. His intense, coal black stare zeroed in on the drunk like a submarine scope.

"The girl said she doesn't want to drink with you." His rough accent rang of grit and Blue Collar living.

"Mind your own business, bub," the sailor snorted, trying to focus his blood shot eyes.

"Leave her alone."

Before Daisy could say anything to diffuse the situation, the sailor stepped in front of her. The commotion had drawn attention. Daisy felt Frances's hand on her elbow drawing her back.

"What are you going to do about it anyway?" the sailor said, perching his fists on his hips. "Eh, crip?"

For the first time, Daisy's gaze was drawn to the soldier's legs. She hadn't noticed that he was missing one of them from the knee down, his pant leg pinned up. Her face grew warm with concern at the revelation. He was already a head shorter than the sailor. She didn't want a wounded, combat veteran getting into a losing scuffle on her account.

The soldier smirked. His eyes maintained their deadly attention as he glared down the sailor. He stood from the stool, balancing perfectly on his one good leg. The sailor barked out a laugh.

"Tough guy, huh? Even being half a man-"

The soldier swung. Hitting the sailor directly between the eyes, the Goliath collapsed hard onto the floorboards. One look at the man at her feet, Daisy knew he was out cold. A cacophony of applause hummed from the crowd. The winner didn't pay them mind as he slipped a pair of brass knuckles into the pocket of his uniform

"That was impressive," Frances chuckled. "You should be flattered. Your honor has been defended."

Daisy gave a weak laugh, but her eyes were on the soldier. Deftly whipping around his one crutch, he tossed a couple bills on the counter. He didn't have the air of a man who won a fight hands down. There was a heaviness about him. Daisy sensed it as keenly as the same sentiment weighing down her own heart. There were too many young people in their new world that carried similar burdens.

Putting his cap on his head, the man left the bar without another word.

"Give me a second." Daisy patted Frances on her shoulder and scooted through the crowd.

The streets outside were rowdy with celebration. The party was still going on, even four days after the first announcement of Japan's surrender.

"Wait," she called out, catching up with the soldier. "Please."

"You don't need to thank me, doll."

He swiftly cut his way past the cavorting hordes of servicemen and women. Daisy struggled to keep up.

"My name is Daisy-"

"That's great. Happy VJ Day."

"Please will you-"

"What do you want?" As he stopped hard, Daisy nearly ran into him. "I can't dance with you if that's what you were hoping."

Regaining her footing, she adjusted her hat and met his eyes. His angular face was drawn down in a mix of exhaustion and simmering anger. She paused, wondering why she had followed him in the first place.

"I guess I did want to thank you."

"Well, now you have," he replied in his distinct low growl.

The patch on his hat caught her attention. In the chaos of the last few moments, she hadn't realized what type of soldier he was. "You were- are a paratrooper?"

His brow furrowed. "Yes?"

"It's just my brother-" she felt the sudden sting of tears behind her eyes and drew a deep breath, regaining control. "My little brother was a paratrooper."

His expression loosened and he studied her as though he guessed easily what had happened. "Was, huh?"

She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to tell him she appreciated all he had done. That she felt physical pain at the sight of his ravaged body and even more at the thought of the damage done to his soul. That she was grateful to see he had returned alive, even if she didn't even know him.

She wanted to tell him about Johnny, That her little brother's grave was on the other side of the ocean, so far from those who desperately loved and missed him. Daisy didn't know why she wanted to talk to him so badly. Perhaps because she saw her own emptiness in his dark, vacant gaze.

It didn't matter what she had wanted to say. He clearly wasn't willing to take her on, even for the evening. She couldn't blame him. If anything, the war had taught her that they were all very much alone.

"Yes. Was." She turned to walk away.

"Daisy."

Pausing by the door to the bar, she glanced over her shoulder. The man was still standing there, leaning on his one crutch. The walking traffic parted like the Red Sea as they passed around him.

"Was that your name?"

"Yes."

"Joe."

"It's nice to meet you, Joe."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you want to get some coffee? There's a place around the corner here-"

"Yes." She let out her breath. "That sounds nice. Just... let me go tell my friends."