“Ray-Ray… My body is ready♥.”

“Sleipnir. Get out of my bed. You already have one of your own.”

“W-wait! Wait! Don’t d-drag me by the leg! A-after that life and death missions, d-don’t you just want to cuddle up with a warm body?”

“No. My mother always taught me to never sleep with strangers.”

“I’M HURT!”

It was night time. As much as there was the distant roaring of the cannons in the French fields, the Airbase where a certain Canadian Pilot and Canadian Witch was far away in a safe zone. It had been a long day, where the No 10 Naval Squadron (callsign Black Flight) and some American Bomber group had to fly over the Bulgarian Border from the Italian mountains in order to destroy an oil refinery and a fabrication plant that forged metal for Imperial German tanks. The raid was successful, but because of the hour long flights and constant refueling at every so and so miles, it had been an exhausting week. It was best to compare to the life of a trucker who devotes 90% of his life on the road. Sigh.

Thus, the entire No 10 Naval Squadron and those from the mixed fighter bomber flight groups were given a three day rest for a job well done. Everyone knew that they actually have one and a half day of R&R, as they will be eventually be called on to raid another enemy position soon. So the second they landed in an allied airbase, they hit their beds the second they stumbled out of a shower. Some didn’t even bother to wipe down their bodies dry.

“You know, Ray-Ray. I’m not that kind of callous girl who flaunts her body for just anyone. If it’s you, I’ll gladly share a bed♥.”

“No. Get out. I still have debriefing reports to finish up and need to arrange the flight schedule for the next raid. We’ll be transferring to the air base to take on the Germans fighting with the Ottoman Empire. Ever since Gallipoli, we're not taking any chances for a mishap. Besides, you wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork needed to order ammunition, ordinances, and fuel just for single 10 minute sortie.”

“…………………….”

“Sleipnir, you’re drooling.”

“Ah. I-I fell asleep.”

The Flight Lieutenant of the No 10 Naval Squadron was a man named Raymond Collishaw. He was a humble man born and raised in a small town on an island off the coast of British Columbia. A Canadian who had joined the British Royal Naval Air Service (now called Royal Air Force). An Ace among Aces, close rank to British Billy Bishop and Imperial German legend Red Baron (you know the rest).

As much as he was a legend in the field of aviations, he too had his limits as a human being. Still, falling asleep was put on hold as he had to finish the piles of report and requisitions to refitted his crew for another battle some time soon (possibly early in the next morning). If only his partner, a member of the Canadian Witch Corp, would stop falling asleep in his own bed.

“Sleipnir, if you want to sleep you should lie down in your own bed. We don’t thrive in luxury, so every bed in this airbase is enough to hold one person. Two people combined would just break it.”

“Oh. So lewd.”

“Then the top brass will foot the bill to your paycheck.”

“Guh! A-as much as Canada has volunteered to fight in the war, I-I can’t survive as a non-comissioned officer! I-I still need gold and gems to purchase materials necessary to support my magic! Not to mention, too put food on the table!”

“Can’t the regular Canadian or American Dollar work for you? Why gold?”

“The economy in the magic world has been set since god knows when. The old fogeys in the High Council are either too stubborn to change the currency, or it will just be too much work, so they didn’t bother with a proper currency conversion system between our money and your money. To them, they'll believe this is for the good of all witch and wizard kind. Personally, they're just lazy.”

“……….*Scribble* *Scribble*”

“…Ray-Ray! You’re ignoring me!!”

“Hmm? Did you say something, Sleipnir?”

It was the Canadian Witch’s turn to go silent with a ‘….’ Pause. Raymond Collishaw was anything but rude, and the reason why he couldn’t answer her properly was the paperwork he was focused on. Just watching the man go through one official document after another, printing it all up on a beat up typewriter loaned from the air bases secretarial office, made the Witch cringe.

“I just don’t understand it, Ray-Ray. How can you not fall head over heal in this ‘Man’s t-shirt only’ attack I'm offering you! A-are you saying I’m losing my sex appeal!? Th-this isn’t good, then my Charm Magic and Diguise Spell will lose their efficiency if men aren’t attracted to my form! My espionage career is ruined!”

“…So that’s why my shirts are missing. Wash them properly from your perfume and give them back.”

“Was that the only thing you’ve been listening to, Mr. Selective Hearing?”

"I'm allergic to scented oils. I don't want a rash to break out while I'm 10,000 feet in the air flying over enemy anti-air machine guns."

"........... D-do you mean...i have to wash all of them?"

"How many of my clothing did you frollick in!?"

"... A lady will not say. Cough."

Raymond Collishaw didn’t like to argue, maybe not historically. So he tried to keep his silence in a just manner by typing on his type writer rather loudly. The Canadian Witch, who only wore a shirt too large for her finely curved body and draped with her long black silky hair, was not amused. Maybe it was for the sake of unneeded fan service, but a lamp was shining behind her, so her silouhette could be seen through the thin fabric (like a modern art). However, this fact didn't help set the mood she hoped for. In fact, she could be see scowling.

“Sometimes I wonder, if you’ll ever marry a girl at all.”

“…”

“Honestly, even though I am your partner who protects you from enemy magicians, there’s really no written law where we can’t, you know, hook up or something. H*ll, even some girls from my unit are telling me they have this crush on a Commander of a British Tank division, or even the Captain of the HMS Dreadnought! As much as I tell them, they’re only playing their feelings to get between their legs, I still wouldn't stop them from pursuing love on the battelfied! So long as they use the right protection or they'll be yanked from the battlefields due to their baby bumps!”

“…”

“Ray-Ray. You are always found on the front lines. The only time you aren’t there is when you’re forced to refuel, or I have to drag your sorry @ss out even when you crash land. You never stop fighting. That’s no good. You haven’t even enjoyed the earthly pleasures this world has to offer to you! You don’t even drink, you teetotaler! There has to be something in your life that you should find important than trying to throw your life away... I-if you want to r-remedy that problem, I-I'm available tonight so...”

“…*Scribble* *Scribble*”

“…..RAYMOND COLLISHAW, ARE YOU LISTENING TO………………………….Zzz”

“Hmm? Sleipnir? Why did you stop talk--Ah.”

Raymond Collishaw was a hard working man. One could historically debate this all day long, but he was seen as the kind of person who would focus on one thing and nothing else. His concentration in typing his many debriefing reports was on par to his concentration when flying in beloved all-black Triplane Sopwith Camel. So any noises he heard around him, were much like ambient noises. Or, he treated as listening to classical music as he worked.So the second he heard absolute silence, he forced himself to turn.

The Canadian Witch was fast asleep, sitting up on his bed like a resting doll. Contrary to some belief, Witches use their own energy and mental powers to purify and focus their magic. And her duty was to protect the non-magic battle groups from enemy maicians. Since they had a run in with more than one German Spellcasters in the air and ground, her efforts were doubled. Like working back to back overtime shifts through one week, along with a graveyard shift or two. The type of person who could fall asleep while standing. Hence why she was out cold like a child on New Years Eve... or Day.

“…Honestly, Sleipnir. If you keep sitting in that inviting pose with only a T-Shirt. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Umu, umu, umu…Zzzzzz.”

What better way to end the long and tiring night, by tucking in that Canadian Witch in the Pilot’s own bed… If only she doesn’t kick or punch in her sleep like a child on New Years Day.

“Hmm… Ray-Ray. Make love to me…zzz.”

“No. Good night.”

A mother father gentlemen indeed.