Title: Seat of his Trousers
Fandom: Swallows and Amazons
Rating: G
Length: 500 words
Content notes: set during WWII. Mentioned original character death.
Author notes: Also for the "speed" prompt of my 50x500 challenge, and for a first line tumblr prompt from ravenpuffheadcanons.
Summary: During a wartime holiday, Roger's stories bring a little joy to his family and friends.

“And that’s how I ended up standing naked on London Bridge on Christmas Eve,” Roger wound up his story of an - in hindsight - ill-judged drunken bet he’d made two days ago with a friend from his squadron. It certainly hadn’t helped that he’d confused English and American pants! American-raised Hank, whose speech had not been anglicized in the slightest by his English father nor by three years with the RAF, had set the terms of the bet; as he’d explained later, he’d only meant the loser to strip to their underwear, not completely naked (though he hadn’t stopped Roger at the time, too busy doubling up with laughter).

His audience, too, had fallen about laughing by this point - even Mother and Mrs. Blackett, Roger saw with relief. He’d worried the story might strike them as too risqué, but it seemed not… though it was probably good that Bridgie had been sent to bed already (despite her protests).

Mind at ease on that point, Roger grinned broadly at Peggy, who he had swapped stories with during their shared train ride to the Lake earlier in the day. “Told you I was saving the best for tonight!”

Peggy grinned back, also looking around at the rest. Even Susan was laughing, the weight of her grief briefly lifted by the absurd story; and for a moment, the anxious look had faded from their mothers’ faces, and from John’s. It couldn’t last, of course - not with Titty out on the seas, with Nancy sending only the occasional vague postcard, with Susan's husband buried in foreign soil.

But maybe it could last a little longer? “Well, that’s one good story, I suppose. Do you have any more?” she challenged Roger.

Roger thought fast, flicking through potential stories. Would Peggy complain if he repeated one he’d already told her? The best ones he had left, ones he’d entertained fellow pilots with, were definitely more barracks material than appropriate for Beckfoot’s drawing room… He wished Titty were here to take over, or Dorothea. But Titty was on her hospital ship, and the Ds hadn’t managed to get leave over New Year.

Seeing his hesitation, Peggy thought she’d better offer him a way out. He’d told her several funny stories on the way here, which she guessed he didn’t want to repeat as she’d already heard them. But that was fine, Peggy didn’t want them for herself, but for the others.

“Come on, Roger, you told me lots before. What was that one about the Marshal visiting your base?”

Huh! So Peggy thought Roger had nothing left, did she? That wouldn’t do, he’d have to think of something, and quickly! He was good at improvising, after all, at flying by the seat of his no-longer-darned trousers - or the seat of his pants, Hank would say. That was it!

“Oh, that one’s not so good. But I don’t think I’ve told any of you about the time Hank and I were out flying one night and our speedometer broke?”