hi i know i havent been on this blog in.......A WHILE but quarantine be out here driving me insane so i’ve returned to writing fic and i was wondering whether anyone would be interested in a disasterology rewrite probably a college au version? please lmk if that would be of any interest to u
Title: they’re teaching me to kill, who’s teaching me to love?
Artist: doodlesinwonderland
Beta: blossomphan
Word count: 23,726
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: homophobia, war, death mentions
Summary: In the midst of the Second World War, Dan is heading an operation that records and transcribes conversations between high-ranking German POWs residing in a country house bugged with listening devices. Phil comes in as an army general that the other generals shun and Dan’s curious as to why. Forming a substantial relationship, however, is difficult when you’re lying about your identity, you’re the enemy and your sexuality is illegal.
Author’s Notes: this is the longest oneshot i’ve ever written (aside from a very bad fic i wrote aged twelve yikes) and it’s slightly terrifying but mostly very exhilarating to be able to share it with you all now. i could not have done any of this without my immeasurably wonderful beta and the creator of the beautiful banner aqua who put up with so much and was honestly the best beta i could ever have asked for and has ended up becoming one of my closest friends so really pbb has been good for many reasons thanks aqua i love u loads
-
Daniel James Howell, Head of MI19.
That's who's bent over the table, poring over worksheets and barking orders at anyone and everyone who walks past. This is a huge mission they've been tasked with, and it's his job to make sure it all runs smoothly.
1942, and the war is in full swing. Britain's not been doing well, but now America’s joined them, they’re starting to turn things around.
It's not just physical combat that's needed in order to win the war, though. Behind the scenes, a huge military intelligence operation is underway - bigger than any other the country has ever carried out. It's terrifying and thrilling and a little intimidating that Dan's a part of it, let alone leading an operation of his own.
Britain hasn't been having a lot of luck with prisoners of war. It's all low-level foot soldiers, tank commanders at best. But recently they acquired a few generals, a few high-rankers who have brushed shoulders with the man himself, and they're considered potential assets to the British intelligence service.
Which is why, along with the Prime Minister and a few other military intelligence officers, Dan concocted this plan.
The generals will all be placed in stately homes, treated with the respect they deserve (and that part's genuine - higher-ranking officers will be treated as they should be) and left to their own devices, to mingle with one another and have as good a time in captivity that they can.
The catch? The stately homes are being filled to the brim with listening equipment, so all conversations between the generals can be listened to, transcribed, translated and sent off to various offices if it contains valuable war information (or incriminating evidence).
It's state-of-the-art and Dan doesn't really understand most of it himself, but he's confident it's going to work. Nobody's ever had a plan like this before, and listening devices are a fairly new innovation, so he doesn't think the generals will suspect a thing.
Right now, he's got men running all around the building and grounds of this particular stately home – Trent Park, Middlesex – laying down cables and hiding microphones behind mirrors and in lampshades and- well, anywhere, really. The first of the generals will be arriving in two days, and Dan and his team need to be certain no cable is visible, nobody can see the underground vaults or find the attics where the listeners-in will be situated, that nothing looks suspect at all.
The telephone next to him rings and he jumps so violently he nearly spills his tea, hurrying to steady the cup and pick up the receiver.
"Daniel?" It's the husky voice of Mr Churchill making him feel like a disobedient three-year-old.
"Prime Minister."
"How are things looking?"
"Very well, Prime Minister. Cables and microphones are nearly all up." Dan doesn't mention the problem Timothy is having setting a recorder up, and the three other men trying to help him do it.
"Glad to hear it. Have you been in contact with Percy?" Dan scowls. Percy's the pompous head of MI6 who thinks he knows everything just because he's head of a larger section of military intelligence and looks down on Dan for being young and what he calls 'inexperienced'. Though, as Mr Churchill pointed out, how is he to gain any experience if he doesn't work out in the field or work his way up the ranks?
"No," Dan says, trying not to let any sullenness seep into his voice.
"Good. We don't want him knowing anything more than he does," Mr Churchill says cheerfully. "Back to work."
"Yes, sir," Dan says, smiling a little.
"Oh, and Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"Remember that I put you in charge for a reason."
"Thank you."
The line goes crackly and dead after that, and Dan puts down the receiver whilst biting his lip to hold back a smile. If Mr Churchill believes in him, he can do it.
There's a triumphant crow from a few feet away and Dan looks over sharply to reprimand whoever is being so unprofessional, before seeing it was a sweaty and exhausted Timothy sporting a grin, and he doesn't have the heart.
-
The house seems abnormally quiet the next day. The maids are going around cleaning up and preparing, and everybody involved in either transcribing or translating the conversations is having a brief in the vaults - how to use the machinery, emergency protocol, et cetera, et cetera. Dan had helped write the brief and has already flicked through it all more than once so hasn't bothered attending the meeting, instead taking the opportunity to walk around the house and grounds and assure himself that everything is in order.
Dan's not really sure how he ended up here. 'City boy who got lucky', Percy had said, and Dan had been very tempted to say something rather rude in response but he'd held his tongue.
It's kind of true, though. Dan's not the son of anybody well-known or rich, and he grew up in the near-slums of the East End. That's what gave him his drive, though, that insatiable thirst, that desperate desire to get out of that pit and make something of himself, get somewhere. He worked hard at school, passed his Eleven Plus and got into the nearest grammar school, worked even harder there to get all Grade One O-Levels and then the equivalent at A-Level, before being accepted by Oxford and spending four long years studying French and German and Wadham College. From there it had been a steady ascent - being asked to join MI6 (as most German graduates from Oxford or Cambridge were), being shifted to MI6, working on an operation that had been so wildly successful he'd been approached by Mr Churchill himself and asked to head a new military intelligence sector, MI19. So Dan is a city boy, but it sure as hell wasn't luck - hard work, sweat, toil, and a lot of keeping his hopes high and his head low.
It's dusk before he's finished checking all the cables and microphones are fully hidden, and he wanders back to the vaults to find them empty, save Paul in the corner.
"Brief alright?" Dan asks, running his finger across one of the black disks on the recording machine.
"What? Oh, yes," Paul says, not bothering with formalities because there's no one else around. He's a much lower rank than Dan - technically, he should barely speak to Dan - but, coming from the background from which he does, Dan's far from a snob and open to any form of honest friendship, and Paul's offered him that. "Learnt lots about Jones and his, er...wandering eyes." Dan snorts. Andrew Jones' homosexuality is as transparent as the glass of water Dan’s drinking from, but everybody turns a politely blind eye to it. Homosexuality is still illegal, although not really frowned upon by most - everyone knows who does what, and choose not to comment. People have better things to worry about during a war.
Dan, however, prefers to keep his preferences a secret. If the wrong people found out, he could technically still be prosecuted (well, if he practices his homosexuality he could be). That wouldn't bode well for him or the British secret services.
"Get a bit of it, did you?" Dan asks with a smirk, as Jones’ wistful gazes at Paul are just as blatant as his preferences, and Paul looks up from the knobs he's fiddling with to glare at Dan.
"He bloody wishes," he mutters. Dan grins.
"Heart-breaker, you are," he says, leaning against a desk.
"Sodomite, you are," Paul fires back, cutting Dan off when he tries to protest. "Come off it, Dan. When've you ever been with a woman?"
"When've I ever been with a man?" Dan counters, although he’s not that worried about Paul knowing; he’s comfortable around Paul and trusts him not to tell anybody.
"Nah, Dan. I don't mind. So long as you don't go doing stuff to me." Dan sighs.
"You won't tell anyone, though?" he says, just to be sure.
"Who d'you think I am?" Paul asks, pulling a wry expression at Dan. "Nah. Sodom all you want."
"I don’t think that's the verb, Paul."
"Ah, to hell with it. Do I look like the bloody dictionary?"
"You don’t look like you’ve ever seen one in your life," Dan shrugs with a grin. "You...promise though, yeah?"
"Yes," Paul says, sounding exasperated. "I’m going to go grassing my best mate up, am I? Plus, you're only going get prosecuted if you practice it, and I'm not seeing any of that." He smirks, and Dan scowls.
"What do you know?" he says defensively. "Maybe I am."
"Come off it," Paul says. "You'd be walking a lot more funny, that's for sure." He smirks as Dan blushes.
"I'm off to bed," Dan mumbles.
"Alone."
"Watch your mouth."
"Nah." Dan scowls.
"Bed," he says pointedly, and he flounces out of the door, feeling Paul's good-natured, twinkling eyes on him until he slams the door behind him.
The vaults lead off to a secret barracks at the back of the house, obscured by bushes and trees - essentially, what some would deem a forest. That's where everyone's sleeping, living. It's not the nicest place but then again, this is war. It's nicer than the front line.
Dan's twisted a couple of arms so he can be in a room with Paul. It had caused a few murmurs at first, but then Paul had got another lady friend, and everyone had shut up. Dan should have been rooming with someone of a similar rank to his - or alone - but he likes the familiarity of Paul. They were at MI6 together, had worked on an operation together, and have been best friends ever since. It makes Dan smile just thinking that - he's never had friends before, let alone best friends.
Paul, obviously, is not there when Dan ambles into their bedroom, so he takes the chance to take off his uniform and splash a bit of cold water on his face, staring at himself in the chipped mirror on the mouldy wall.
He’s nervous about this operation. It’s all on him if it goes wrong, and Churchill’s entrusted it to him. It’s no small feat, either, keeping a good hundred or so men and women hidden from sight. There’s so much that could go wrong and ruin the entire operation, and it’s Dan’s responsibility to make sure none of those things happen.
Well. If Churchill has faith in Dan, Dan supposes he should have faith in himself too.
-
Everyone has to be up bright and early the next day, rising with the sun, and Paul's already putting his boots on when Dan groans and rolls over, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning, sunshine," Paul says.
"Not a good one, then," Dan mumbles, resting his forearm over his eyes to try and shield them from the glaring sunlight.
"Does it seem like one to you?" Paul asks sarcastically, standing up. "Get up, Dan. You’ve got work to do. Doesn't look good if the head of operation is later than his staff." Dan groans again but removes his arm from his face and swings his legs out of bed, standing up and stretching with a yawn.
"Should have gone to sleep earlier," Paul comments. "C'mon, I'll wait for you. Get dressed." Dan nods, casting his eyes around for the clothes that he has to wear as the faux lord-of-the-manor.
“Hurry up,” Paul says, exasperated. “I don’t want to give Jones something to be jealous about.” Dan grins, sending Paul a sideways glance as he picks up the shirt that’s been laid out for him and starts dressing.
-
Dan's standing outside the front door with two soldiers, Privates John and Thomas Adams, waiting to welcome the first of the German generals. They’re brothers that had been assigned the job simply because they were inseparable; they’ve lost two other brothers to the war effort and are terrified of losing each other.
The first to arrive is the hard-faced General Von Thoma, who steps out of the car and looks around shrewdly before heading to the door and snapping Dan a salute. Dan returns it automatically, as do the Adams brothers, and the two men head inside.
"I hope your journey here wasn't too uncomfortable," Dan says, slipping into German and hoping his accent isn't too noticeable. General Von Thoma looks a little surprised.
"It was fine, thank you," he says. "I was unaware you spoke German."
"It’s only me, regrettably," Dan says. "The others are too obtuse for a complex language like yours." The ghost of a smile comes to the general's weathered face.
"You speak very well," he says, and Dan bows his head.
"Thank you," he says, and the timing is just right because they've reached the dining room and Dan has to start informing General Von Thoma about dinner times.
-
Three generals arrive that day, each commenting on how good Dan's German is. Dan's relieved that it seems to make them like him a little more than distrust him - it was a fifty-fifty on that - as it makes for a smoother operation.
Nothing particularly interesting comes out on the transcripts - at least, nothing that wasn't known already. The three generals simply ask where they were all stationed, how they'd been captured, what they know of the Führer, et cetera. The night shift workers come in and everybody swaps over, exhausted but pleased that there haven't been any hiccoughs so far.
The next day is a little more interesting. Two generals, General Von Thoma and a much more pleasant one, General Crüwell, begin discussing (and arguing about) politics. And to everybody's surprise, General Von Thoma is violently anti-Nazi (and quite possibly violently anti-Hitler). It’s not something the British are used to, Germans who aren’t Nazis – especially German army generals who aren’t Nazis – as the two words are often synonymous. German? Must be a supporter of Herr Hitler. That’s how it works, right?
Apparently not, and it’s valuable information they’re extracting now – that amongst top army officers there’s disloyalty towards the Führer. That could definitely come in handy later on in the war, especially as General Von Thoma seems relatively keen on a revolution.
A few more generals trickle in over the weeks – Dan makes sure to surprise every one of them with his ‘excellent’ German, try to gain their trust. He finds he gets on quite well with General Von Thoma, and they often go on walks together, Dan asking leading questions whenever they’re near a microphone. Of course, they don’t know him as Daniel James Howell, Head of MI19. They know him as Lord Aberfeldy, a highly respected Lord and army enthusiast.
Months pass without much of interest happening. The generals are few and far between, because Britain is only just starting to do well in the war. With each new general that comes in there’s an excited hubbub both above and below, above wanting news of Herr Hitler and the progress of the war, below wanting to know whether there are any further chinks in the seemingly impenetrable German armour. Nobody seems to have much news of either, which is relatively disappointing for everybody.
Dan starts a tally chart on how many of the maids Paul ends up getting together with. It gets to the point where one of them knocks on their bedroom door when Dan’s in his underwear, asking for Paul. Dan asks who it is, whether he can take a message, and the maid giggles and says to tell Paul his lady friend called.
Dan asks which one.
Seemingly narked, the maid says Judith.
Dan asks which Judith.
(Paul’s not best pleased, but he’s got a new woman by the morning.)
The Allies win their first unambiguous victory in North Africa, early 1943.
The generals are devastated, disappointed, humiliated, ashamed – at losing, but mainly at a fellow general of theirs, General Paulus, who had surrendered rather than commit suicide and die of his own accord, and ordered his soldiers to do the same. The disgust amongst officers brings even Von Thoma and Crüwell together.
“I would have rather blown my brains out,” Crüwell says, sounding thoroughly abhorred. “I am bitterly disappointed. Bitterly disappointed in Paulus.”
“Yes,” Von Thoma replies, pondering. “Yes. It’s terrible.”
“And that so many generals surrendered. Frightful. Twenty-six of them.”
Paul asks Dan what he thinks about it later that evening.
“The idea of military defeat isn’t something Crüwell can take to easily,” Dan replies with a shrug, unbuttoning his shirt. He’s being careful how he speaks to Paul, because it’s not too late and he knows the Adams brothers are still awake next door, and the walls are paper thin. “Von Thoma? He seems to be taking it much better.”
“Von Thoma’s anti-Nazi, though, isn’t he?” Paul muses, lying back on his bed with his hands behind his head. “Of course he’d find it easier.”
“I don’t think it’s Von Thoma’s anti-Nazism,” Dan says. “It’s more Crüwell’s unwavering support for Hitler and the Third Reich. He’s blinded himself to all its flaws so it comes as more of a shock, whereas Von Thoma’s taken the strengths and weaknesses of both Hitler and the Third Reich into consideration.”
“That’s a fair point,” Paul admits. “Maybe it’ll spark some more conversations.”
“Maybe.”
-
In mid-1943, a new general comes along.
They’ve been getting trickles of new generals over time, so it really shouldn’t be anything special, but this general is different. Dan can tell from the moment the black-haired General Lester gets out of the car and walks over to the door, saluting the Adams brothers and Dan, that he’s something different.
“I trust you had a good journey?” Dan asks politely.
“I did indeed,” the man says, and there’s an odd lilt to his German that makes Dan frown. He makes a note to ask Timothy to speed up the re-printing of General Lester’s file later on tonight.
(Dan usually has the opportunity to read the files of each general before they arrive, in order that he is fully briefed on their history, behaviours, anything of the sort, but there was some problem with this new general’s file which means it has had to be re-printed and will only be available in a few days’ time.)
For now, though, he has to take the tall, pensive-looking man on a tour of the house.
-
General Lester does not interact with the other officers. From what the listeners-in can tell, he stays in his room all day, not even coming down for supper. It makes Dan frown and his stomach twist uncomfortably. All the German generals are eager to talk when they arrive, to tell the latest news of their Führer and the war from the German perspective to waiting ears. There’s much talk about General Lester, however.
“I heard General Lester was arriving today,” Von Thoma says to General Schlieben. “Is he here yet?”
“Wouldn’t know if he was,” Schlieben says contemptuously. “Keeps himself to himself, that fellow does. Good thing, too.”
“It’s his background, isn’t it?”
“He keeps it quiet.”
“Everybody knows anyway.”
“Oh, just humour him. Who knows what might happen if you don’t?”
-
It’s already dark when Dan finally gets out for his late-evening stroll, pondering this interesting new General who’s arrived today. He’s fascinating; not only because of the way he acts, secluding himself from the other generals, but what the other generals say about him, how they say it.
“Can’t sleep?” a voice from behind him asks, and Dan jumps, remembering his training, and swivels around to see who’s interrupted his musing.
It’s the new General, General Lester.
“I’m afraid not,” Dan says, punctuating it with a little laugh. General Lester smiles politely. “You either?”
“I like to take walks in the evening. Routine.”
“Dangerous, for an army man like you.” General Lester bows his head, conceding.
“You have a fair point. Shall we?” he says, gesturing at the path ahead of them. Dan nods, and they walk together in silence for a while.
“I didn’t think I’d be returning like this,” General Lester comments after a while. Dan frowns.
“Returning?” General Lester looks mildly surprised.
“I’m from Lancashire,” he says. “Didn’t you know?” That’s where the lilt in his German comes from.
“So you speak English?” Dan asks, switching. General Lester grins, looking animated for the first time, and nods.
“Country boy, born and bred,” he says.
“Why did you speak German to me, then?” Dan asks. General Lester shrugs.
“You spoke it first,” he says. “It seemed polite.” Dan has no reply to that.
“What led you to the German army, then?”
“I moved when I was about eight. I was conscripted and worked my way up. They all hate me because I’m English and young.” Dan can sympathise with the latter.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dan says.
“I don’t mind,” General Lester says. “I’m used to solitude.” They lapse into silence, wandering slowly around the grounds of the house until they find themselves positioned back at the entrance, at the huge oak doors that seem even more threatening and intimidating in the weak moonlight than they do in the bright light of day.
“After you,” General Lester says, and Dan frowns before taking a step inside. It’s usually him saying that to the generals.
“Thank you,” Dan says politely, stepping inside the house and making his way across the marble floor of the entrance, his steps echoing in the vast room. “I think the walk has fatigued me enough for me to retire.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” General Lester says, making for the staircase. Dan hesitates at the bottom; he has to go out through the vaults, which means going through the back door and going downstairs. It’s why he goes to bed after the generals and rises before them; they don’t know where he sleeps, and none of them have thought to question it. General Lester notices his hesitance and turns around. “Aren’t you coming?”
“My rooms are elsewhere,” Dan says. “It was agreed that I would move my residence a little further out so the generals could have more room and not feel like there was an Englishman watching over their shoulder at every moment.”
“I see,” General Lester says. “In that case, I bid you farewell.”
“Goodnight,” Dan says, bowing his head at General Lester as he makes his way up the winding oak staircase that will take him to his room. Dan makes his way across the entrance hall, walking towards the drawing room that leads off to the left of it, and he’s almost reached the doorway when General Lester calls out to him again.
“Lord Aberfeldy?”
“General Lester?” Dan replies.
“Sleep well.”
Dan finds himself smiling for no particular reason, and doesn’t stop smiling until he’s in his and Paul’s room.
-
“Rise and shine, Dan.” Paul’s voice cuts through Dan’s beautiful dream, and he rolls over and groans, pressing his face to the pillow and half-contemplating smothering himself. “Hey. Get up, you lazy lump.”
“I hate mornings,” Dan says, turning his head so he’s facing Paul, blinking and wincing as the early morning sunlight streams into his eyes.
“Yes,” Paul mutters, raising his eyebrows, “I know.” Dan doesn’t have the strength to mutter something scathing in return, so he settles for making a vague noise of discontent and closing his eyes again.
“Heard you were talking to the new general last night,” Paul says nonchalantly, and Dan sits up, because it’s the kind of nonchalance that’s only feignable. “You want to be careful.”
“With what?” Dan says.
“Him. He’s-“ Paul’s cut off by a knock on the door.
“Sir?” It’s one of the Adams brothers.
“Yes?” Paul says, returning to snappy, intimidating Paul.
“One of the machines has stopped functioning, sir, and Timmy told me to fetch you. He said you’d know what to do.” Paul curses under his breath but pulls his braces up hastily, not bothering with a jacket before steeling himself and heading out of the door, rolling his sleeves up as he goes.
Dan rolls out of bed (he’s wasted enough time as it is), wondering exactly how Paul was going to finish that sentence, but pushes the thought out of his head in favour of more important ones – he needs to learn a little more about Schlieben’s outlook from Von Thoma, and maybe he can figure something about General Lester out from him along the way.
-
“Did you have a pleasant lunch?” Dan asks Von Thoma. They’re sitting on a bench gazing at the geese roaming the vast expanse of land that comes hand-in-hand with this stately home.
“I did, thank you,” Von Thoma says, green eyes not straying once from the geese. Dan recognises the look in the man’s eyes, and it chills him slightly – it’s the militant, almost psychotically calculating look of a trained general.
“I noticed General Lester did not join you,” Dan says. “Is our food not satisfactory? Does he prefer something a little more German?” Von Thoma snorts, raising his eyebrows, eyes still following the geese.
“I very much doubt it,” he says. “I know little about General Lester. I know only what I have heard, and that is rarely reliable information. If you wish to know more about him, I’m sure you can speak to an army commander and get some files. After all, you are hosting us; you do deserve to know a little about us.” The files. Dan had forgotten to ask Timothy to prioritise General Lester’s.
“It seems a little intrusive,” Dan says. “I would hardly wish to become a military prison-keeper, checking the records and files of all my prisoners before they enter so I know more about them than they know about themselves. I prefer to take the neutral route, get to know them as a person. That way I cannot form prejudices.”
“Wise words,” Von Thoma says. “But you are our prison-guard, and guard us you must. This is a war, my Lord. We cannot afford to forge friendships.”
“I suppose so,” Dan says, adding a sigh because it’s what his Lord Aberfeldy would do. “Fraternising with the enemy probably holds a hefty sentence.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Von Thoma says, eyes snapping from the geese to Dan for the first time. “Be careful who you put your trust into. Be careful who you confide in. Be careful who you speak to, what you speak of, how long you speak for. Be careful of everything, my Lord, because this is a war, and we are the enemy.”
-
Dan goes out for his late-evening stroll at the same time as the night before, a little later than usual, hoping to bump into General Lester again.
He’s in luck.
“Good evening,” a soft voice says from behind him, and Dan whips around, because it’s what Lord Aberfeldy would do, although the Lancashire accent (and the fact the person’s speaking English) is enough of a giveaway.
“Good evening to you too,” Dan says. “Did you have a good day?”
“As pleasant as a day in captivity could be,” General Lester says, but it’s not rueful, it sounds earnest and genuine. “Did you?”
“Yes,” Dan says. “I had a rather pleasant conversation with General Von Thoma.” General Lester raises an eyebrow.
“He doesn’t like me,” he says. “None of them do.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Dan tries, but General Lester cuts him off.
“You don’t need to spare my feelings, my Lord,” he says, smiling. His eyes twinkle in the moonlight, and Dan tries really hard not to stare. Professional, he reminds himself sternly. This is a dangerous job he’s doing, and he can’t let anything distract him. “I’m fully aware, and I really don’t mind. I don’t particularly care for any of them either.” Dan frowns. How peculiar.
“I’m sorry,” he says, at a loss for words. What on earth do you say to someone who’s just admitted that everyone hates them and they hate everyone too?
“You haven’t read my file, have you?” General Lester says, frowning. Dan shakes his head.
“I don’t like to,” he says. “I don’t want to form prejudices.” General Lester’s lips quirk up in a half-smirk, and his eyes shine with something new.
“How quaint,” he says. “Most people would jump at the chance to know everything there is to know about a person.”
“I am not most people,” Dan says, allowing himself a smile. General Lester bows his head, smiling, but Dan can sense a shrewdness in his movements, and Dan’s military training screams for him to pay attention.
“So I see,” he says. “I admire you for that.”
“Thank you,” Dan says. “Are you enjoying your stay? I’m sorry it’s under the circumstances it is.”
“Indeed,” General Lester muses. “I must say, I had hoped to be returning on a higher note.”
“Invasion?” Dan can’t help but ask. General Lester throws him an odd look.
“With all due respect, this is my homeland.” Dan frowns.
“You are fighting with the Germans.”
“I had no choice. I was conscripted.”
“You worked your way up to become a general,” Dan points out.
“Do you think I enjoyed it?” General Lester says, and now that Dan stops and looks at him properly, looks at the weariness tinting the brightness of his shining young eyes, he realises – no, he didn’t. He isn’t like the other generals, and not only because he’s English and young – he still has his conscience, whereas the others’ were taken by military training.
“I’m sorry,” Dan says, “that was impertinent.”
“I don’t blame you,” General Lester says softly. “I’ve seen the rest of them.”
Dan knows what he means. The others are older, weathered by war, hardened by militancy, steeled by loss. They’re immune to the things General Lester’s eyes have only begun to see.
-
The file is delivered to Dan and Paul’s room a week later.
Dan isn’t quite sure what to do with it. He knows he should read it; he needs to know every detail about each of the officers with whom he’s interacting in order for this operation to work, but something stops him when his fingers make contact with the manila folder.
There is something different about General Lester, and Dan has the feeling it’s something that will be contained in his file. Dan may be military trained, may be the youngest member of MI5 to head a military intelligence sector, but there are still some cases where instincts win over his drummed-in teaching. Something tells him it’s better to hold off for now, to wait until he understands General Lester a little better.
“You read it?” Paul asks, wandering past on his way back from the bathroom, nodding at the folder clutched in Dan’s hands. Dan hesitates.
“Yes,” he says. Paul looks at him for a moment, and Dan schools his expression into a suitably calculating face. Paul’s face clears, but the note of suspicion in his tone lingers.
“And?”
“Interesting,” Dan says. “Not what I expected.” Paul snorts.
“That’s why you don’t fraternise with the enemy before understanding who the enemy are,” he says, and before Dan can respond, “Timothy wants you.” He turns his back on Dan and begins rummaging in his bag, clearly signalling the end of the conversation, but Dan can’t help feeling there was something more there than Paul was letting on. That’s the problem with working with spies; they lie for a living.
-
Dan doesn’t see General Lester all day. He enquires after him to Von Thoma, acting concerned, and is met with contempt. Dan and Von Thoma tend to see eye to eye on topics, which makes Dan second-guess his earlier decision to ignore General Lester’s file. Perhaps there’s something in there that will turn Dan off of General Lester, and he can’t stand that idea, somehow.
At three p.m., a maid comes hurrying up the path to the bench at which Von Thoma and Dan are sat, telling Dan breathlessly that the ‘housekeeper’ (quotation marks invisible to Von Thoma) needs to speak to him as a matter of urgency. Dan sends her on her way with the message he will be there shortly, and says his apologetic goodbyes to Von Thoma before heading back to the house and into the corridors that lead to the MI19 living and working quarters. Why does the Prime Minister need to talk to Dan?
“Sir,” Private Adams (John) says, joining Dan’s side as soon as he’s descended the staircase and walking alongside him. “Churchill is on the telephone. Timothy took it into his office in order to give you some privacy.” Dan raises his eyebrows – privacy, in the office of a man who had just installed listening devices into an entire manor house? – but nods, peeling to the right at the end of the main corridor into the one that leads to the various offices. Timothy’s standing outside his office anxiously, tapping his feet and gazing down the corridor. He jumps into action when Dan turns into the corridor and scrambles to open the door to his office.
“There you are,” Timothy says, sounding relieved. “I thought you mightn’t have received the message.”
“Is he still on the telephone?” Dan asks. Timothy nods, ushering Dan inside. The receiver is lying on the table, and Dan picks it up, motioning for Timothy to leave and shut the door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Prime Minister,” Dan says. Churchill huffs.
“These things happen, Daniel,” he says. “I trust the operation is running smoothly?”
“Yes, sir,” Dan says. “May I ask the reason for this unexpected call?”
“Ah, yes,” Churchill says, as if he’d forgotten. “I am aware that General Lester has arrived of late. Is he settling in?”
“That rather depends, sir,” Dan says, after a moment’s deliberation.
“On what?”
“On one’s definition of ‘settling in’,” Dan says. “The other generals have not taken a shine to him, but he does not seem uncomfortable at Trent Park.”
“You must understand why, though,” Churchill says.
“Of course,” Dan says. The unopened manila folder burns in the forefront of his mind.
“I want you to pay special attention to General Lester,” Churchill says. “I want him mapped neuron for neuron. I want to know how his mind works, and I want to know how he works.”
“Certainly, sir,” Dan says.
“This is your task,” Churchill says. “Will you be able to spare the time to pay closer attention to General Lester?”
“Of course,” Dan says, and it’s probably the first fully honest thing he’s said in the entire conversation. “It will be no trouble at all.”
“Good,” Churchill says. “See that it isn’t.” The line crackles tellingly before going dead, and Dan puts the receiver down gingerly.
What has General Lester got to hide?
-
“The big man called you today,” is how Paul greets Dan when he walks into their room that evening, tired and ready for bed. “Why?”
“If it had been your business, he would have called you,” Dan says.
“Keeping secrets now, are we?”
“Isn’t that my job?”
“Suit yourself,” Paul says, and Dan feels a little guilty for sniping at him. He ignores the feeling, however, getting into bed and rolling to face the dirty wall with his back to Paul.
“Dan?”
“Yes?”
“You should really read that file.”
Dan ignores him, ignores the file and drifts into an uneasy, suspiciously beige-coloured sleep.
-
Dan chances across General Lester the next day as he’s walking around the estate, preoccupied with his thoughts. Von Thoma and Crüwell had had an argument that morning about the continuation of the war; Von Thoma had argued that the Germans could never win with Hitler at the helm, and Crüwell had seen that as treasonable behaviour and told Von Thoma as much. Schlieben had only watched the whole thing, neither defending nor attacking Hitler himself, which had been an interesting development. Dan simply wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. On top of that, the war was beginning to swing heavily in the favour of the Allies, particularly following Stalingrad earlier in the year. The generals weren’t unaware of this, as there was an uneasy tension in the air with more and more generals arriving as the months went by with worsening news, but they weren’t aware of the entire circumstances. Dan himself wasn’t either; Churchill wasn’t a fan of laying all his cards on the table.
“You seem lost in thought,” a gentle voice remarks, and Dan starts in genuine surprise. Lord Aberfeldy would be proud.
“I was,” Dan admits.
“May I ask what about?” General Lester asks. His face looks serene and open, honest, and Dan can’t help but wonder what this man could have been or done that could make everybody so wary of him.
“I would have thought that were self-evident,” Dan says. “There is, after all, a war going on.” General Lester inclines his head.
“A silly question on my part,” he says.
“Of course not,” Dan says. “Have you been well? I didn’t see you yesterday.”
“I was reading,” General Lester says, a small smile forming on his lips. “Forgive me; a library is something I haven’t had access to for years.”
“Did they allow you English books?” Dan can’t help but wonder. General Lester shakes his head.
“The others, yes. Me, no. I think they were afraid I would have a change of heart.”
“Would you?” General Lester shrugs.
“I was paid by the German army. I was fed and clothed by the German army. What had the English ever done for me but kill my comrades?”
“I can understand that,” Dan says. “Do you resent being back?”
“Not at all,” General Lester says. “I do miss England, and I always have done. It has the atmosphere of home that Germany never held for me. I hope, when the war is over, to return indefinitely.”
“After all you’ve done for Germany, and after all she’s done for you?” Dan asks. General Lester sends him a sharp look.
“I have become a murderer for Germany,” he says. “Germany made me a murderer. England is not only home, but the lesser of two evils.”
“We have all become murderers for our homelands,” Dan points out.
“And we should all feel ill at ease for that,” General Lester says. “But this is a war, my Lord, so we soldier on, because that is what we all must do.”
“I suppose,” Dan says. “Let’s not muse too long on the ins and outs of war, General. What were you reading?”
“Jane Eyre,” General Lester replies, smiling. “It’s been a while since I could read English novels, so I thought returning to the classics would be a good start.”
“And was it?” General Lester bows his head.
“With Jane Eyre, not so much. I dislike her,” he says. “I prefer novels with imperfect protagonists, rather than ones who pretend to be humble and pious.”
“You should read Dorian Gray, then,” Dan says. “Impiety at its finest.”
“Oscar Wilde?” General Lester raises his eyebrows. “I read the Ballad of Reading Gaol, and thought rather little of it.”
“Take my word,” Dan says. “You can blame me all you like if you end up disliking it.” General Lester grins, a slight sparkle in his eyes. Dan feels his stomach do something odd, which he’s not experienced in a very, very long time, and quells the immediate panic that rises within him. He’ll deal with that later, not now.
“I’ll hold you to that,” General Lester says.
“Oh, please do,” Dan says, grinning back. “I do love knowing that I’m right.”
-
Dan spends the late afternoon and evening reading transcripts that Timothy had found interesting together with him, sat in the empty vaults underlining and annotating page after page of thick paper. There’s little to be taken from it other than Von Thoma’s unwavering dislike of Hitler and his henchmen, and Crüwell’s complete opposite mindset, and a few interesting conversations about General Lester which stop abruptly when he enters the room. They don’t finish until well past midnight, and Dan’s weary and exhausted when he drags himself into his and Paul’s room. Paul, unsurprisingly, is still awake, cigarette in his mouth, sleeves rolled up, making notes in a little notebook of his. He puts the cigarette out when Dan walks in, knowing how much he hates the suffocating stench of it.
“You’re up late,” he says.
“And you aren’t?” Dan asks. “Timothy and I were going through the transcripts.”
“Long work,” Paul says. “You do anything interesting today?” He’s asking whether Dan found out anything new today, and Dan hesitates, then shakes his head.
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” he says carefully. Paul looks at him for a moment, then nods, turning back to his notebook. Dan busies himself with getting ready for bed, stripping with his back to Paul and brushing his teeth in the dingy sink in the corner of their room. He splashes some water onto his face, shivering at the temperature (or lack thereof), and catches Paul’s eye in the chipped mirror when he looks up.
“Stop watching me,” Dan says. Paul cocks an eyebrow, but turns back to his notebook. Dan dries himself off, keeping an eye on Paul in the mirror, and gets into bed with his back to Paul.
It’s the first time in the day he’s given himself time to think and not preoccupied himself with other things, and the unexpected, unfamiliar feeling in his stomach jumps to the forefront of his mind almost as soon as he lies down. Dan doesn’t want to confront it, but he knows he has to. He can remember very clearly the last time he felt that way; the last time he had had a relationship.
He’d been nineteen, young and afraid of what he was feeling. He’d known that it wasn’t something he’d be able to control, but he’d tried all the same. Then, at Oxford, Jonathan had come along, young and bright and charming and funny and Dan had fallen for him, hard. Somehow, Jonathan had fallen for him too, and the two of them had started an illicit relationship. They’d parted on good terms when Dan had joined MI5, and Dan had supressed his feelings from then onwards. The war had provided an easy distraction, and Dan hadn’t given it much thought. It had felt wrong to think of sexual desire when there were men dying on the front line, and men dying on Dan’s orders.
“You’ve got a lot on your mind,” Paul says into the silence, pulling Dan out of his increasingly panicked thoughts.
“Wouldn’t you?” Dan says sharply.
“Care to share?” Paul asks after a moment, and Dan feels all the tension drain out of him, replaced by guilt for snapping at Paul.
“The Prime Minister’s tasked me with paying close attention to General Lester,” Dan says after a moment, then holds his breath, praying Paul gets it and he doesn’t have to spell it out for him. He feels the atmosphere change the very moment Paul realises.
“You don’t think you can do it?” Paul asks. Dan pulls the duvet up to cover his shoulders and curls up underneath it. He thinks he might throw up.
“I think it’s already too late,” he says quietly. Paul’s silent for a moment.
“My brother’s a homosexual,” Paul says eventually. “He fell in love with a German POW in ‘40 and deserted. Sent me one last letter explaining, saying they’d got to somewhere safe. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s still alive. If he came back, he’d be shot for desertion. If he weren’t shot for desertion, he’d be jailed for sodomy. This isn’t your war, Dan. You can’t help who you fall for.”
“I can’t ruin the operation,” Dan says. “Churchill entrusted it to me.”
“You think Churchill doesn’t know what you are?” Paul says. “You think he didn’t know there was a risk?”
“He trusted me not to act on it,” Dan says.
“He knew it could happen,” Paul says. “It isn’t your fault. It won’t ruin the operation if you don’t let it.” Dan wants to argue again, wants to tell Paul how wrong he is and that he doesn’t understand, but he’s suddenly filled with exhaustion and tiredness and just wants to sleep.
“Thank you,” Dan says quietly.
“Sleep easy,” Paul says gently, and Dan manages a tiny smile that only the wall can see before he does indeed drift off into sleep.
-
A few days later, Dan is busying himself with conversation with Von Thoma, strolling around the grounds for a good two hours and pausing under listening devices to ask questions that could hold valuable answers. Von Thoma seems to have exhausted himself of valuable information, however, so the two of them go down to the swimming pool and sit on chairs by the edge of the water, watching it glitter in the sunlight.
“Do you have any family, Lord Aberfeldy?” Von Thoma asks, breaking the peaceful silence upon them. Dan shakes his head, because Lord Aberfeldy is supposedly an orphaned bachelor. Dan himself has a brother, a mother and a father supposedly still on the front line.
“The war took them,” he says. “Do you?” Von Thoma smiles.
“I have a wife and three children,” he says. “Would you like to see a photo?” Dan nods, surprised at this gentler side to Von Thoma, who pulls his wallet out and fishes around inside it for a photo before passing it to Dan. It’s a rather battered black and white photo of a very pretty woman smiling happily at the camera with two identical-looking young girls dressed in the same clothes in front of her and a slightly older, mischievous looking boy standing by their side.
“That’s my wife, Marie,” Von Thoma says, pointing at the pretty woman. “And those are Doris and Eva, and that is Peter.”
“Your wife is very pretty,” Dan remarks. Von Thoma smiles.
“She is,” he says proudly. “I do miss her.”
“I would be surprised if you didn’t miss your family,” Dan says, passing the photograph back to Von Thoma. “Do you write often?”
“Every day,” Von Thoma says. “I hope you will also have a family one day.” Dan swallows, but smiles.
“Thank you,” he says, because it’s a very warm comment when coming from Von Thoma. Von Thoma merely smiles back at Dan, then down at the photo as the two of them lapse into silence again.
-
Two weeks later, there are huge developments.
Dan disappears for all of fifteen minutes after his lunch to write a staunch letter to Percy, who keeps enquiring as to the goings-on at Trent Park (God knows how he found out about the operation), and re-emerges to find a good half-dozen maids looking frantically for him across the grounds. He bumps into one of the Judiths first, who tells him to go downstairs immediately because Paul and Timothy need to speak to him right now, and hurries off to the barracks to speak to them.
“You took your bloody time!” Paul says, the moment Dan emerges in the vaults. “Von Thoma and Crüwell have just been having a conversation, and Von Thoma said something that could be extremely important.”
“What?” Dan asks, ducking under the doorframe and following Paul over to the workbench of a certain Andrew Jones. It hasn’t even been fully translated yet, merely typed out in German with hasty English scribbles around certain words.
I saw it once with Feldmarschall Brauchitsch, there is a special ground near Kunersdorf…they’ve got these huge things which they’ve brought up here…They’ve always said they would go 15 km into the stratosphere and then….You only aim at an area…If one was to…every few days…frightful…The major there was full of hope – he said “Wait until next year and the fun will start!”
Dan’s horrified.
“Rockets?” he says.
“It looks like it, sir,” Jones says grimly. “Unpiloted ones. We haven’t a clue where Kunersdorf is, but Paul thinks he means Kummersdorf.”
“Timothy,” Dan says, not looking up from the transcript. “Get the Prime Minister on the phone.”
“Sir,” Timothy says, jogging off to his office.
“This must have been a year ago,” Dan says, more to himself than anybody else. “They must be ready now. Or will be soon.”
“What do you say we do?” Dan turns to face Paul with a grim expression on his face.
“Bomb them.”
“Sir,” Timothy says, “Mr Churchill’s on the phone for you.”
“Thank you, Timothy,” Dan says. “Translate the entire conversation as fast as you can, Jones.”
“Sir,” Jones says, and Dan walks off in the direction of Timothy’s office.
“Hello, Daniel,” Churchill says when Dan picks up the receiver. He sounds almost jovial. Dan feels sick.
“Prime Minister,” Dan says gravely. Churchill’s tone changes immediately.
“What’s happened?” he asks.
“There was a conversation between two Generals,” Dan says. “One of them said he saw a base in a place we think is called Kummersdorf which contains rockets. Unmanned rockets. They’re supposed to be ready soon, for us.”
“Kummersdorf,” Churchill says. “I’ll have a squadron fly over.”
“Sir,” Dan says, “I urge you to act swiftly. The general that mentioned that he had seen this base has been at Trent Park from the very beginning of this operation. He said that when he saw them, the major there said they would be ready in a year.”
“Thank you,” Churchill says. “You’ve done well, Daniel. I knew you were the right person for this task. Now, excuse me; I must make preparations for this.”
“Sir,” Dan says, and then the line goes dead. Dan exhales heavily, leaning back in Timothy’s chair and rubbing his eyes.
It’s going to be a long day.
-
Dan goes back upstairs to dine, as he can’t be seen as having disappeared for the entire day without it seeming suspicious. As usual, however, he does not eat with the other generals, but passes by enough of them that his later absence will not be noted as out of place. He needs to read the transcript in its entirety in both English and German in order to form a good idea of what Von Thoma has actually seen, and then how to coerce more information out of him.
As he’s hurrying back to the barracks following his hasty meal, however, he bumps into General Lester.
“Good evening,” General Lester says. “Are you in a rush?”
“Yes,” Dan says apologetically. “Is it urgent?”
“Oh, no,” General Lester says. “I’ve just finished reading Dorian Gray.”
“Oh?” Dan says. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Immensely,” General Lester says. “I particularly identified with Basil.”
“Basil?” Dan’s surprised. “Why?” General Lester smiles, bowing his head.
“We are of a similar disposition, I think,” he says. “I mustn’t keep you any longer. Good evening, Lord Aberfeldy.”
“Good evening, General Lester,” Dan says, slightly bewildered, as General Lester walks away.
He’ll give that some thought later. Right now, missiles and rockets take precedence.
-
The conversation between Crüwell and Von Thoma doesn’t hold much else of value, thankfully. Dan tells Jones to keep an eye on Von Thoma, Timothy to keep an eye on Jones, and Paul to keep an eye on all of them. It’s gone nine by the time they’ve all read through the transcripts and discussed whether or not certain things were of relevance, getting increasingly frantic as the night wore on, and Dan’s completely exhausted when he finally stumbles out of the vaults and into his and Paul’s room, Paul in tow.
“Bloody hell,” Paul sighs, immediately unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Von Thoma couldn’t have dropped that with some notice, could he?”
“Churchill’s aware, though,” Dan says wearily, beginning to undress himself as well. “We can’t have done more than we did.”
“Still,” Paul says, rubbing his eyes. “I feel responsible for all those lives.”
“The ones we’re going to end, or the ones we’re going to save?”
“I know,” Paul says quietly. “I try not to think about either.”
“Me too.”
They finish getting ready for bed in silence, with Paul murmuring a goodnight to Dan before clicking off the lights and rolling over to get to sleep.
Dan, try as he might, can’t drift into sleep as easily as Paul. His mind is filled with the increasingly panicked imagined scenarios of what could happen if Churchill doesn’t get rid of the rocket bases, or if Churchill does, and what damage these rockets could do if given the potential for development. On top of that, he can’t stop thinking about General Lester’s peculiar comment earlier; he feels he’s of a similar disposition to Basil? What on earth does that mean?
Deep down, Dan thinks he knows what it means, but he pushes that aside. He’s probably just projecting onto General Lester, with General Lester meaning something completely different. Maybe he feels he’s gentle, just like Basil.
When he finally does fall asleep, it’s filled with images of huge rockets towering over him, a knife in his hand, and stab wounds in General Lester’s body.
-
The next day is a little more pleasant than the last.
There’s an air of tension in the barracks and the vaults, as news has spread of what Von Thoma had said to Crüwell, and Dan tries to shake the tension from himself before he goes above, in order to avoid suspicion. He smiles at the generals he passes, makes small talk with Schlieben, and heads to his ‘official’ study to write some letters. At two, a telegram comes from London, saying that Churchill wants to see him this evening. Dan decides to get the five o’clock train, and sends one of the maids to tell Paul to gather up the important files that Churchill will need to see and put them with whatever the maids are packing for Dan’s overnight stay.
Dan leaves his study at around four to take a walk around the grounds until his car comes at four-thirty, and chances across General Lester around the woodlands.
“Good afternoon,” he calls as he approaches. General Lester looks up, and smiles when he sees Dan.
“Good afternoon,” he says. “Pleasant day, is it not?”
“Very much so,” Dan agrees, reaching General Lester and smiling. “Surprisingly so, for this time of year.”
“I agree,” General Lester says. “Were you seeking me, or was this a chance happening?”
“The latter, I’m afraid,” Dan says. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company; the complete opposite, in fact.”
“I see,” General Lester says, a slight smirk unfolding on his lips. “You didn’t come to talk about Dorian Gray, perhaps?” Dan’s smile falters.
“I…have been thinking about it, yes,” he admits. “I merely found your comment peculiar.”
“We are all very peculiar,” General Lester says, as if he’s agreeing with a comment Dan hasn’t even made. “Some of us more so than others.”
“I just couldn’t quite make sense of it,” Dan says, growing in boldness. He doesn’t have to beat about the bush with General Lester; something’s telling him to simply spell it out. “In what sense do you feel you are of a similar disposition to Basil?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” General Lester says, a slight twinkle in his eye. “There are many ways, I suppose. He’s rather a gentle soul, don’t you think? I’d like to say I were gentle, but I am a military man now. So perhaps there are other ways in which I identify with him.”
“You see, I have always related to Basil myself,” Dan finds himself saying, and then stops, horrified. This is not part of his training. He’s trained to do the exact opposite of this; keep his mouth shut about himself, and learn everything he can about others. But General Lester looks only inquisitive, cocking his head and nodding.
“You have?” he says. “Perhaps we are of a similar disposition too, Lord Aberfeldy.”
“I dare say we are,” Dan says.
“That comforts me,” General Lester says. “How quaint of us.”
“Is that why the other generals have a disliking of you?” General Lester shakes his head.
“Few people know,” he says. “I’m impartial to a secret or two, especially one of this nature. I felt I could share it with you for a multitude of reasons, but I’d rather it were not something the world were aware of. You do know how we are treated back in Germany.” Dan knows, and it sickens him to remember the grainy photographs he’s seen of military-esque camps full of men of their kind wasting away for something they cannot control.
“I am aware,” Dan says.
“I would therefore dislike the Führer to think he had allowed one of them to infiltrate his ranks,” General Lester says. “I cannot begin to imagine how he would take it out on a nearby source of catharsis.”
“I’m glad you shared this with me,” Dan says.
“And I that you shared it with me,” General Lester says. “Forgive me, but how many people know?”
“Only three, as far as I am aware,” Dan says. “Five, if we are including yourself and me.”
“I hate having to keep this a secret,” General Lester says, and there’s a sudden bitter twist to his tone. “I wish I could love openly. Has Von Thoma shown you the picture of his family? That can never be, for us. I am loath to hiding such a large part of who I am. I would make a terrible spy, I think.” The allusion makes Dan’s heart skip a beat; he hasn’t somehow noticed, has he? General Lester seems shrewder than the other generals, and Dan has opened himself more than he should have to him, but he can’t see any reason for General Lester to suspect anything of the sort.
“I despise hiding it too,” Dan says. “But as for loving openly; I haven’t loved since I was twenty-one years old, so it is of little consequence to me.” The ghost of a smile crosses General Lester’s face.
“I have never loved at all,” he says quietly.
“I hope you find love at some stage in your life,” Dan says. “One day, people will realise that we aren’t so different to them at all. Maybe, one day, our loving each other will no longer be prosecutable.”
“I hope I get to see such a day,” General Lester says.
“As do I,” Dan says quietly.
-
The train to London is cold, dark and uncomfortable. Dan is in the first class carriage with the tiniest lamp providing him with weak light in which to read over the transcripts and files Paul had placed with his luggage to prepare for his meeting with Churchill and the War Cabinet. The transcripts read easily and are translated to a satisfactory standard, with one or two minor tweaks that Dan pencils in at around Winchmore Hill. Dan shuffles them to the back of his work and picks up the first file. It’s Von Thoma’s file, and he flicks through the pages to ensure everything is satisfactory before turning to the next, frowning when he sees a little handwritten note on the front.
Read it. Seriously.
Dan pulls the note off, folding it and placing it in his pocket for later attention, and then opens the file.
It’s General Lester’s.
His face is staring at Dan blankly in black and white, next to a mass of typed information that tells Dan General Lester’s full name (Philip Michael), his age (twenty-eight), his height (six-one), his weight (just over twelve stone), sibling’s name (Nicholas, deceased), his place of birth, education, parents names and occupations, and so much other information that Dan’s head is spinning by the time he’s reached the end of the page. He flips over to the next page on autopilot, numbly, and begins to read.
20th March, 1942
Lester heading 22nd Panzer Division. Disastrous loss in Crimea – 30/40% of personnel lost. Division stayed.
14th May, 1942
Division sent to Kharkov area.
23rd July, 1942
Battle of Rostov. Lester and brother seen to blow up own division (388 deaths, witness: Prvt. Karl Von der Starnberg), Lester proceeds to shoot his brother.
Dan’s stomach lurches, and he stumbles out of his compartment and into the toilet, promptly throwing up. When he’s finished and has rinsed out his mouth, he slumps down by the toilet, resting his head against the cool metal of the train.
General Lester killed a large portion of his own battalion. General Lester murdered not only the enemy, but his own. General Lester murdered not only three hundred and eighty-eight of his countrymen, but also killed his brother. General Lester, with his soft, gentle blue eyes and his smile and his quiet mannerisms, had murdered nearly four hundred people in cold blood, including his own sibling.
No wonder the other generals have nothing but contempt for him. Dan’s stomach twists, and he wills himself not to retch again as he thinks of the fact that General Lester, soft-spoken, genial General Lester, has survived to hide the tale and is living in the same house as Dan ostensibly is, leaving the blood of nearly four hundred dead on the battlefield on his hands.
And yet, somehow, Dan can’t reconcile the cold-blooded murderer with the General Lester he knows. That is when he knows he’s failed at what he resolved those nights before to do; not to let his emotions get in the way of an operation.
The train is pulling into King’s Cross when Dan stumbles back to his compartment, light-headed and weak-kneed. The papers are strewn across the floor, but they’re as Dan left them with nothing missing. How reckless of him to throw up when there were secret documents in his possession.
He makes it off the train, however, and takes his luggage from the porter, greeting the driver who will take him to the bunkers. He feels feverish, somehow, and incredibly hungry.
The drive is long, tedious, and everything Dan would rather not be doing right now. He wants to talk to Paul, or to General Lester – but he doesn’t want to talk to General Lester ever again, really, doesn’t want to think about those big blue eyes of his or his smile or how mild he seems.
Dan feels almost trance-like as he walks into the bunkers in the wake of two soldiers who met him outside the entrance, winding down cold concrete passageways until they reach a room that is full of muffled talk. One of the soldiers opens the door with a salute, and Dan salutes back before ducking inside.
“Daniel!” the Prime Minister’s voice is immediately recognisable, and Dan tries not to choke on the sudden stench of smoke from the mingling of cigars and cigarettes in an enclosed space. He’s heard something about Hitler’s doctors discovering that smoking causes cancer, and thinks it could really be something the Nazis would do well to share. Not that it would ever stop Churchill.
“Prime Minister,” Dan says, inclining his head. The rest of his war cabinet and Percy (why does everything have to involve MI6?) all say their hellos and welcomes, and Dan echoes them politely, before Churchill demands to see the transcripts Dan has brought with him. Dan lays them out on the table, both the German and the English versions, for those who can read either. There’s a lot of murmuring as the ministers’ eyes scan the transcripts, save from Churchill, who stays silent, merely leaning back in his chair and puffing on his cigar, staring calculatingly into the distance.
“He said Kunersdorf,” Percy says, a tone of accusation in his voice. “You said Kummersdorf.”
“My colleague, who is well-versed in German geography, thinks he may mean Kummersdorf, sir,” Dan says, emphasising the last word with as much sarcasm as he dares to inject into his tone. “We don’t know of a Kunersdorf.”
“Very well,” Churchill says, interrupting. “We’ve had further intelligence from another intelligence sector that there are rockets of this kind in Peenemünde, too.”
“Have we sent flights over to be certain?” Sir John Anderson asks. Churchill takes a moment to answer, taking a drag of his cigar again.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Do we have time?” Anthony Eden enquires, but he’s asking Dan, not Churchill.
“I daren’t say either way, sir,” Dan says. “Von Thoma, our source, has been with us since the very beginning of the operation in 1942, meaning he must have seen them in early 1942 or late 1941. It’s now approaching the latter end of 1943, and he did say they would be ready after a year. However, they evidently aren’t yet ready, and I don’t know of the other intelligence about Peenemünde.”
“The intelligence about Peenemünde suggests they are far from ready,” Churchill says. “However, I suppose bombing the sites will only delay the construction of them further.”
“I suggest we fly over first and ensure the intelligence is correct,” Anderson says. “Both for Kummersdorf and for Peenemünde.”
“Daniel?” Dan looks up, surprised at being involved in this by none other than Churchill.
“I agree with the Chancellor’s suggestion,” Dan says. “But I must stress that I think it is of utmost importance that we act upon this intelligence with haste.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” Churchill says. “We will move onto other matters now, but rest assured, this is at the forefront of my mind. This may save many thousands of lives.”
“Sir.” Dan inclines his head, and steps outside.
“Are you needing to go back, sir?” one of the soldiers that had led Dan in asks.
“Yes, I think so,” Dan says. “Is the car still waiting?”
“If it hasn’t been blown up, sir,” the soldier says, and Dan has the feeling he’s only half-joking.
-
Dan barely sleeps at all that night.
He can’t sleep, for one thing, because he’s back in London and although he knows he’s better off in the huge and safe manor estate of Trent Park, he misses the atmosphere that only London could ever produce. He’s jittery with it, pacing up and down his room and glancing out of the window as often as he dares to to see the city he loves reduced to rubble. There’s still an air of defiance, however, British stiff-upper-lipness, and Dan half-wishes he could join in.
He also can’t sleep because General Lester’s face is imprinted on his mind; the way he always smiles when he sees Dan, the sparkle of life in his eyes that the other generals don’t have anymore, the soft and gentle way he moves and acts and speaks. The hands that have brushed against Dan’s own so many times – hands that have the blood of almost four hundred on them.
At around four a.m., the telephone in Dan’s hotel room rings shrilly, making him jump. Who on earth is calling at four in the morning?
“Daniel Howell speaking.”
“Ah, Daniel. I thought you might be awake.” Apparently, the Prime Minister. “Are you well?”
“I am not unwell,” Dan says.
“I trust you have had a chance to engage in a little further probing into General Lester’s life as we discussed,” Churchill says. “Have you found anything?”
“Nothing of consequence, sir,” Dan says. Churchill is silent for a moment.
“So you have found something,” he says, “something you do not wish to share. Remember, Daniel, that you and he are not on the same side. You are on our side, and he is on his. Do not protect him, Daniel; he is the enemy. You should have nothing to hide.” Dan bites his lip.
It’s true, he knows that. He knows he is paid by the British government to work for the British government to extract secrets for the British government to further the war effort of the British government. He should have no qualms in giving up whatever he can of General Lester’s life as he would any of the other generals. He shouldn’t be forming attachments.
“He is a homosexual, sir,” Dan says quietly. Churchill is silent again.
“Ah,” he says. “I see.” Dan swallows, and hopes it isn’t audible. “Have you two spoken about this?”
“Of sorts,” Dan says.
“Were there mutual comments made?”
“Of sorts,” Dan repeats.
“Remember who the enemy is, Daniel,” Churchill says heavily. “Remember what you’re fighting for.”
“It seems blurry to me sometimes, sir,” Dan blurts suddenly, in a burst of courage, exhaustion and anger. “I’m fighting for a government and a country who won’t let me be myself.”
“How unusually outspoken of you, Daniel,” Churchill replies nonchalantly. “I completely agree. However, what’s the alternative? Fight for Hitler, who would incarcerate you in a concentration camp the moment he knew of your preferences? No, I think the lesser of two evils is all you can think of, for now. We’ll see how things progress when the war is won. After all, you saw what happened for women following the Great War, and some of our top men are of your kind.”
“Do you really think there is the remotest possibility that the law could be changed?” Dan asks wearily.
“Oh, I’d say the chances are far from remote, Daniel,” Churchill says kindly. “You’re a young man yet; time passes too slowly for you. Within your lifetime, your practices will no longer be illegal – mark my word.”
“I sincerely hope so, sir,” Dan says, but he can’t help doubting every word the Prime Minister has just said to him.
“I would advise you to get some sleep,” Churchill says. “I find I enjoy my morning gin much less if I have been awake all night; it never really seems a morning gin to me then.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dan says. “I apologise for the outburst.”
“Oh, don’t,” Churchill says cheerily. “I like to see a bit of character in my men. Goodnight, Daniel.”
“Goodnight, sir.” The line goes dead, and Dan puts the receiver back on its holder, slightly dazed. Had he really just said that to the Prime Minister, and kept his job? Had he just said that and not been incarcerated?
Dan, somehow, feels calmer, though. It feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders that he hadn’t even realised had been there.
(Sleep comes a little easier after that, although his dreams are still plagued with three and a three-quarter nearly stacked piles of corpses).
-
Dan takes the nine o’clock train the next morning, and is back at Trent Park by just past ten. He passes Schlieben on his way to the barracks and nods his hello, slowing his pace in order that Schlieben has definitively left before disappearing into the secret corridor that leads to the quarters of MI19.
Paul is in their room when Dan enters, flicking through some papers with a frown on his face. He looks up and smiles at Dan when he walks in, but turns back to his papers almost immediately.
“You bastard,” Dan says evenly.
“You weren’t going to read it otherwise,” Paul shrugs. “How was London?”
“Good,” Dan says, placing his briefcase down on the bed. His other luggage is being brought down later. “There’s another rocket base in Peenemünde.”
“The coast?”
“Seems like it. Perfect place to launch from, I’d say.” Dan suddenly notices a small piece of paper sticking out from underneath his briefcase and picks it up. It’s a note.
“They must have quite a kick to them, if they can make it from Peenemünde and Kummersdorf to here.” Dan nods, turning the note over to read it. It’s handwriting he doesn’t recognise, loopy and formal:
I have worshipped you with far more romance than a man should ever give to a friend. [sic].
Dan’s stomach lurches, and he swallows, dropping the note as if it were made of razorblades. He doesn’t need to recognise the handwriting to know precisely where the note comes from – after all, there are few people in this house who would know to quote the original transcript of Dorian Gray to him.
“Are you quite alright?” Paul asks, sounding bemused. “Mary delivered that note for you, but wouldn’t tell me who it was from.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Dan says, through clenched teeth. “I’m going above.”
“Suit yourself,” Paul says, but Dan doesn’t miss the edge to his tone that says I’m going to find out what that was about. He can’t bring himself to care at the moment, though.
Gingerly, he picks the note back up again and tears it to shreds before putting it into his pocket. He can’t put it into the bin in his and Paul’s room; Paul’s far too curious and will immediately read it.
“I want to brief you, Timothy and Jones at six,” Dan says curtly as he’s walking out. “See that you’re ready.” He walks out before Paul can respond, and hears a sarcastically muttered sir from the other side of the door as it clicks shut behind him. He rests his forehead against it for a moment, breathing deeply and hoping Paul can’t hear him.
General Lester is courting him. Isn’t it just Dan’s luck to be courted by a mass murderer.
-
The day passes without event, mainly owing to Dan locking himself up in his study and writing nonsensical letter after nonsensical letter to various heads of military intelligence sectors, including Percy, who has apparently been furiously writing since the very moment Dan left the bunkers last night to inform him of how he thinks MI19 should report intelligence like this to MI6. Dan responds merely with Percy, that is a laughable idea and hopes that will aggravate him sufficiently that he sends more indignant letters. Dan enjoys reading them.
The brief at six is also uneventful, as Dan merely explains in a small amount of detail what had happened in London and what the next course of action was to be, and tells Jones and Timothy to be on the lookout for any conversations mentioning Peenemünde or Kummersdorf and their surrounding areas. He tells Paul to make sure Jones and Timothy know precisely what the surrounding areas are, and then claims he has a headache and heads off to his and Paul’s room, knowing Paul will also make his excuses and escape. He’s not wrong; Dan’s not even reached the room when Paul comes jogging down the corridor behind him.
“Evening to you too,” Paul says sarcastically, reaching around Dan to open the door. The both of them walk inside and sit down on their respective beds, Dan staring down at his lap and Paul gazing intently and worriedly at Dan.
“I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake, Paul,” Dan says, and he sounds slightly broken even to his own ears. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’ve done something rather stupid.”
“What would that be?”
“I think I’ve fallen for General Lester.” Paul inhales sharply.
“You read his file.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you still feel that way about him?” Dan shrugs helplessly.
“No. But neither do I feel altogether different about him. I feel more disgusted at myself for having fallen for him.”
“Nobody can help who they fall for,” Paul says. “As long as you know it’s wrong, and don’t act upon it. But having read his file, I dare say you won’t.”
“I don’t think I could live with myself if I could,” Dan says.
“Was that what the note on your bed was about?” Paul says. “I did read it; I just didn’t understand it.”
“A quote from Dorian Gray,” Dan says.
“It seems he has fallen for you too.”
“Quite.” Dan goes silent after that, and Paul allows him to be so. He doesn’t want to think about having to speak to General Lester again, now that he has read his file and knows who the man really is. He’s glad only for one thing; Lord Aberfeldy wouldn’t want anything to do with General Lester after this either, so Dan doesn’t have to put on a brave face and act.
Dan doesn’t sleep that night, watching the ceiling fade from black to white as the sun rises.
-
General Lester finds Dan the next day.
“Good morning,” the soft Lancashire accent Dan’s got so used to hearing says from behind him, making him jump slightly.
“Good morning,” Dan says. General Lester frowns.
“Are you well?” he asks, concerned, putting his hand on Dan’s bicep. Dan smiles tightly, and nods, the image of his own younger brother suddenly flitting into his mind. A look of realisation dawns on General Lester’s face, and he pulls his hand away as though burnt by Dan’s clothing.
“I apologise,” he says stiffly. “I thought it a step too far myself, but what is life without a little risk?” It takes a moment for it to dawn on Dan that General Lester is thinking of the note.
“It wasn’t-“ Dan cuts himself off. It should have been. It shouldn’t merely have been the file; it should have been the note. He shouldn’t be liaising in any way other than strictly professionally with General Lester, and General Lester doesn’t even know that this is Dan’s profession.
“Then what was it?” General Lester asks with a furrowed brow. He looks the perfect picture of innocence. Dan can’t stand it.
“How do you do it?” Dan asks suddenly. “How do you sleep at night, after what you did? How do you continue to smile?” General Lester’s face falls.
“You’ve read my file,” he says quietly.
“Three hundred and eighty-nine lives,” Dan says. “One of them your own brother.” General Lester smiles humourlessly.
“So I seem a barbaric mass-murderer to you,” he says calmly. “Tell me, my Lord, do you believe everything you read?”
“I do when it is printed by His Majesty’s government,” Dan replies.
“Would you give me the time to explain, or has it irreparably damaged your opinion of me?” Dan hesitates.
“The latter, but I shall give you the time to explain anyway,” Dan says eventually. General Lester sighs heavily, indicating the path ahead of them.
“Shall we?” he says. “It is quite a tale.” Dan nods, and the two of them set off. The grey sky hangs low over their heads, threatening a storm, and Dan can’t help but wonder if it’s pathetic fallacy.
“My brother and I were never close,” General Lester begins. “He was four years my senior, and he enjoyed the position of power and authority. I was easily influenced and did as he told me; things which got progressively more reckless as the years wore on. I stopped feeding off his influence by the age of around twelve, but it was too late for him by then. He had grown used to having somebody to order around, so he joined the army. He rose through the ranks quickly – I always find those at the top are the most ruthless, don’t you? – and enjoyed his cosy army life; particularly when the Führer came to power. Nicholas was very sympathetic to the Nazi views – he was blonde, and blue-eyed like me, as well as svelte and rather tall, and he did like to have his ego stroked, so having an entire group of people tell him he was the perfect specimen did not go unnoticed in his sympathies.” General Lester pauses, as if deciding how best to continue the story.
“There are a lot of uninteresting, mundane intermediary details which I won’t bore you with, but I was conscripted into the army in 1935 when I was eighteen, as soon as conscription was re-introduced. I think they hoped I would have been another Nicholas, as he had great successes with his battalion, and although I worked hard I rose through the ranks faster than I probably should have. I was not another Nicholas. I didn’t have the same detachment from the idea that those I was ordering to be killed were other, weren’t human in the same way we were. Perhaps it was partially because I spoke their language, and understood their cries for help. I simply couldn’t take it anymore. My division suffered extremely heavy losses in the Crimea, losing around a third of our men. We were ordered to stay, however, and only moved to Kharkov a few months later. We did little in the Crimea, and I got to know my men a little better. It felt even more barbaric to be sending these young men to their deaths against other young men for the good of some greater power. Nicholas, of course, didn’t agree. We didn’t keep in contact much, but I heard of his activities and he of mine; people assumed we wanted to know how the other brother was doing. I got word that he was in the Kharkov area just before my division were sent there.” General Lester sighs.
“We were to join together at the Battle of Rostov. I think it was assumed we would work well together due to our having grown up together. Nobody bothered to discover how we had grown up together. Nicholas, whom I hadn’t seen in years – I now looked almost the spitting image of him, save the hair; we had same blue eyes, and were the same height – at once wanted to take sole control, but I was not the little brother he’d left behind when he joined the army anymore. I refused, saying we would have to make decisions jointly, and Nicholas grew angry. He said if I would not submit to him he would take sole control anyway. I told him if we could not work together I would remove my battalion. Nicholas stormed out, and I assumed he would come back later with a compromise. I hoped, in vain, that the army had made him into a more sensible man.” General Lester stops, and Dan takes the opportunity to look at him. He looks defeated and pained, as if reliving the tale is painful in itself. Dan can’t help but wonder if General Lester is afraid to tell his tale because he truly is distressed to relive it, or because he is ashamed of his part in it.
“A private in my battalion, Mark Von der Starnberg, came in after around twenty minutes to ask me whether he and his elder brother should leave the guard post they had been assigned to to join the majority of the division in their barracks. I asked what would make him think that, and he told me Nicholas was outside rigging up some sort of dynamite. He thought the safety zone was within the barracks, as that was where nearly four hundred of our men were, and was worried that in remaining in his post he would be hit by the explosion. I knew immediately that that was precisely the opposite of what Nicholas had in mind. I ran out immediately, but I was too late. Nicholas had already struck the match, thrown it to the ground, and was running for cover. I ran too, knowing that the room I had been in was not safe, and shouted for Private Von der Starnberg to take cover as well. Private-” General Lester cuts himself off, biting his lip. He swallows, takes a deep breath and continues.
“Private Von der Starnberg didn’t make it. His brother, who had remained at the guard post and was a safe distance from the barracks, turned around at the explosion and saw me running for cover, and assumed it had been me that set off the dynamite. That was strike one against me. Strike two came when I reached Nicholas, who was pointing a gun at me. I had not had time to process the horror of losing almost four hundred of my men, and I was just angry. Just…angry. I stopped, and looked at my brother for a good few seconds. He had time then to do it, but didn’t. His fingers did not tremble, though, despite what he had just done. A million deaths is a statistic, after all. I spoke to him, in English, for the first time since we were children. I told him to do it, to kill me. To kill his own brother. Could he be so barbaric, stoop so low? Killing his own country-men was one thing, but to commit fratricide was another entirely. I edged closer with every word I said, knowing that as long as I spoke and held his attention and the last scrap of his conscience in my hands, he would not shoot. Eventually, I was within an arm’s length of him. I was still talking, reminding him of all the times we had shared in our childhood. And then, I took the gun from him – one quick movement and it was in my hands, cold and heavy with death. I hated it. But it was a simple choice, really; him, or me. He would kill me the next time he had the chance, or set me up alongside Private Von der Starnberg’s evidence to be executed. I had seen enough of what he was capable of. I knew I was better.”
“So you shot your brother,” Dan says, filling in what General Lester is trying to implicitly say.
“I shot my brother,” General Lester says. “My own flesh and blood, whatever you want to say. I killed my brother, and I would do it again if the same situation arose. Judge me now as you may, my Lord, but I had the best intentions. I have never stopped grieving for my three hundred and eighty-eight men, or for my brother.”
“You grieve your brother’s death?”
“He was my brother,” General Lester says softly. “He was a monster, a depraved maniac, but I had seen him cry, had him hold me in his arms when I had hurt myself, had been taught most of what I knew by him. Things like that don’t just go away. Good and bad are not monochrome, my Lord. Good and bad are very much a gradient.” They walk in silence for a while, heading back towards the house, with Dan weighing up how to respond. He’s not quite sure what to say.
“I suppose we part here,” General Lester says when they reach the entrance hall. Dan nods, and General Lester sends him a sad smile before turning away and heading up the stairs.
“General Lester,” Dan says suddenly, and General Lester turns around. There’s an expression of hope on his face that almost crushes Dan’s heart. Business and pleasure have never been so synonymous to Dan before.
“Yes?” General Lester says.
“I don’t believe everything I read,” Dan says slowly. “But I don’t believe everything I hear either.” With that, he turns away and heads left, towards the corridor that leads to the barracks.
-
“Paul,” Dan says, the moment Paul walks into their room. “I need to talk to you.” Paul looks surprised.
“I’m all ears,” he says. Dan fidgets nervously, and a look of realisation dawns on Paul’s face. “It’s Lester again, isn’t it?” Dan sighs.
“I spoke to him today, about what’s in the file,” he says. “And he explained it to me. It sounded…real. He wasn’t doing any of the things we were taught liars do.” Paul looks sceptical.
“So it was all a big misunderstanding?” he says sarcastically. “He didn’t blow up however many men it was-”
“Three hundred and eight-eight.”
“-and he didn’t murder his own brother?”
“He did kill his brother,” Dan says. “But his brother was the one to kill the men in General Lester’s battalion.” Paul sits down on his bed.
“Tell me how.” And so Dan does, tells him every tiny detail he can remember from General Lester’s story down to the colour of Nicholas’ hair and the name of the soldier who watched the scene unfold. He throws in comments about General Lester’s actions and tone of voice when he remembers something particularly striking, just so Paul has as clear a picture of what Dan has heard as he can get.
When he’s finished, Paul rocks back onto his bed thoughtfully.
“You believe him,” he states. Dan shrugs, but won’t meet Paul’s gaze.
“I want to,” he says eventually.
“He still killed his brother.”
“What would you have done?” Paul doesn’t seem to have a response for that.
“What have you got yourself into, Dan?” Paul says softly after a while. “You know we can’t let our feelings interfere with the job at hand.”
“I know,” Dan says. Paul sighs, and swings his legs up onto his bed, kicking back and staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.
“Germany’s losing,” he says after a while.
“I know,” Dan says again.
“It won’t be long,” Paul continues. “Maybe another year. Kursk showed us that they can’t defeat even the Soviets anymore.”
“Yes,” Dan says. He’s not quite sure where Paul is taking this.
“What I’m saying, Dan, is that you might not have to wait all that long,” Paul says. “But please, for the sake of both our careers and probably your freedom, don’t jump the gun.” Dan twists his mouth in displeasure.
“I understand,” he says. Waiting until the end of the war won’t be that difficult, will it, considering Dan’s been waiting five years to feel romantic attraction again? At least Paul’s given his blessing, albeit a disapproving one.
-
Dan decides to start using his contacts to get as much news as he can about Germany’s position in the war. He tells himself it’s for the good of the operation, seeing how much the generals know compared to what is going on, but when Paul gives him that stern look he knows he isn’t fooling anybody. Well, anybody who is aware, at least.
Germany continue to do badly throughout the winter of 1943 and into the chilly beginnings of 1944. Italy declare war on Germany in October 1943, and Soviet troops begin to march into Poland in the January of 1944. The generals begin to arrive in larger and larger numbers, and the staff in the barracks have to increase to cope with the demand. Dan is constantly reading files of new arrivals, briefing new arrivals, hearing feedback on the new arrivals, and briefing new arrivals some more. By the time 1943 has drawn to a close, there are over fifty generals in Trent Park under Dan’s eye.
With every new arrival, Dan has to spread himself a little more thinly in conversation, meaning less time remains to talk to the ‘older’ generals. Conversations with General Lester begin to dwindle, and although they see each other almost daily, there is usually only time for small talk and a polite smile before Dan’s attention is needed elsewhere.
On Christmas Eve, however, Dan and General Lester do have a lengthier conversation.
It’s snowing, as it has been for the past few days, covering everything in a thick layer of crisp whiteness that makes the world seem fresh and clean in a way that Dan hasn’t been able to think of it since the war began. He savours every moment of this crisp, innocent world, spending as much time walking in the grounds as his schedule allows. Most of the generals, accustomed to snow from the cold winters in Germany or harbouring a fierce hatred of it from the Eastern front, prefer to stay inside, but Dan has seen General Lester braving the icy winds in his overcoat and scarf more than once.
Dan’s spent the past few weeks agonising every spare second of the day about General Lester’s tale, turning it over and over in his head to see if he believes him. It all seems so convenient, that the only person who could have proven that General Lester was telling the truth happened to be a victim of Nicholas’ supposed explosion, but then again, it seems so convenient that there was bad weather during the Battle of Britain which allowed the RAF pilots to gain control. The incredulity of the story even adds to its authenticity, Dan thinks, as the logistics of that would have been difficult to make up. Dan also can’t help but think of the genuine openness of General Lester’s face and tone as he had spoken, though, and the fact that he had not tried to shift the blame in the same manner Percy would have done.
On Christmas Eve, Dan’s mulling it over again (although his mind is pretty much decided by now). He’s made it all the way into the depths of the grounds, nearing the woodlands, when General Lester comes across him.
“Hello, Lord Aberfeldy,” a voice says. Dan turns around to see General Lester nestled into his thick scarf, smiling slightly hesitantly at Dan.
“Good evening, General Lester,” Dan says, smiling as warmly as he can permit himself to. “You’re out rather late for an evening as cold as this.”
“I could say the same for you,” General Lester says, smile turning more comfortable. “Do you like the snow?”
“I do,” Dan admits. “It makes the world seem clearer and cleaner.”
“Unpolluted,” General Lester agrees. “It makes one remember what we’re fighting for.”
“It also reminds us that the destruction of all this lies with man,” Dan counters. “What right do we have to destroy the world?” General Lester smiles and inclines his head, conceding.
“What a day to remember all this,” he says.
“Forgive me for asking, but do you celebrate the German or the English Christmas?” Dan asks. General Lester smiles sadly.
“In recent years, the English,” he says. “I have always preferred the German, however.”
“May I ask why?”
“There seems to be more of a magic about it,” he says, indicating the surroundings. And yes, Dan can see how that would be the case; it’s dark, but he feels warm in his duffel overcoat and scarf, and the snow is falling softly and slowly onto General Lester’s hair, and there’s a certain hush to the air that Dan can’t quite place.
“Have you thought about what I told you?” General Lester asks after a while.
“Yes,” Dan says, and then hesitates before saying; “I believe you.” General Lester’s smile is so radiant with relief that Dan thinks his knees may be going weak.
“The magic of Christmas,” General Lester says quietly, still smiling. “Everything seems to be alright at Christmas, doesn’t it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Dan says. “There is still, after all, a war going on. Men will lose their lives this Christmas.” General Lester smiles sadly.
“We must cultivate our garden,” he quotes. “I had wondered when I would see you next; I have made you a Christmas present. It isn’t anything impressive, of course – I had to make do with what I am allowed here – but, as they say, I hope it is the thought that counts.” Dan’s completely taken aback; General Lester has made him a present?
“I’m sorry if it was presumptuous of me,” General Lester says, when Dan doesn’t respond. “It’s nothing, really, just a silly little something. I don’t have to give it to you if you don’t want me to.”
“No, no, I’m just…surprised, that’s all,” Dan says hurriedly, cursing himself for his ineloquence. “I mean…I rarely get Christmas presents, now.” General Lester looks relieved.
“Christmas is a time for giving to those who matter most to you,” he says, and Dan feels something warm spreading through his veins with every beat of his heart. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow, if I find you.”
“I shall make myself findable.” Dan smiles at General Lester. “I haven’t got anything for you, I’m afraid. I feel rather as though I’m taking advantage of you now. This should be a two-way street.”
“Oh, you’re not taking advantage of me,” General Lester says. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you, to be perfectly honest. You have given me the best Christmas present you possibly could have in believing me about what happened in Rostov.” He’s smiling again, a small smile but a genuine, warm one that makes his blue eyes light up in the dim light provided by the far-away house and the lampposts at sparse intervals along the path from which the two of them strayed long ago. It’s still snowing, and the snowflakes are falling languidly onto General Lester’s black hair. He looks the picture of serenity.
Dan can’t quite explain, later, why he does what he did. He can’t quite rationalise it to himself at any other point than as it happens, because it goes against every principle laid out to him by the law, by Churchill and by Paul.
He leans forward and softly presses his lips to General Lester’s. They’re surprisingly warm, given the weather, and Dan lets his eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments, staying there as long as he dares before pulling away.
“I take back my previous statement,” General Lester says quietly. “That was the best Christmas present you could possibly have given me.”
Dan, instincts already screaming at him for what he’s just done, just about manages a smile.
-
Dan barely talks to Paul that evening, ridden with guilt. The one comment Paul does make at him makes him feel even guiltier – you’re different, Dan. Not bad different, good different. You were indifferent at the start of all this. He’s been good for you. Mind you’re good for him too…when the time comes to it.
Dan claims a headache, and drifts into an uneasy sleep at around ten, dreams filled with images of his own arrest and General Lester’s innocent smile as he stands by and lets the policemen take Dan away.
-
Dan, true to his word, allows himself to be found by General Lester at around four p.m. on Christmas Day.
“Happy Christmas,” General Lester says, handing Dan a small package wrapped in brown paper and string. “Like I said, it isn’t much…” he trails off, and Dan notices his cheeks are tinged slightly pinker than usual. He wonders if General Lester’s been thinking about the incident as much as Dan has.
“Thank you,” Dan says, taking the package. He makes to open it, but General Lester interrupts him.
“Do you- do you mind waiting until we aren’t together, my Lord?” he says. “Only – I’d rather not see the look on your face if you dislike it.” Dan, surprised, thinks he is very unlikely to not like the gift, but nods his assent.
“I must be on my way,” he says, remembering yet another letter from Percy that he has not had the delight of reading yet. “I may see you after dinner. Thank you for the gift.”
“It was my pleasure,” General Lester says. “I hope to see you then.” He bows his head and walks away, and Dan takes the package upstairs to Lord Aberfeldy’s office with him.
There are four letters from Percy, each growing more and more angry and making less and less sense than the last. Dan writes down the best parts on a separate sheet of paper which he tucks into his coat to show Paul, underlines Percy’s grammatical errors in red pen and re-seals the letters in an envelope addressed to him before turning to General Lester’s gift.
It’s very small – maybe seven by four inches or so – and very light. Dan turns it over, pulling at the string where it’s tied in a neat bow, and lets it fall to the ground before pulling off the brown paper around it carefully.
It’s a painting, done on a very small canvas, of Dan. The likeness is incredible; his eyes are the exact shade they are when the evening sun hits them, and there’s that one strand of hair falling into his eyes that Dan can’t ever control. He’s smiling, too, soft and fond, as if he were looking at someone he truly cared for.
(Dan’s heart skips a beat when he wonders; is this how Dan looks at General Lester? Was it a likeness drawn from memory?)
Dan wraps it back up carefully, wondering where in his and Paul’s room he can put it without Paul noticing it, and wraps it back up carefully. He’s certainly going to go and find General Lester after dinner.
-
Dan finds General Lester outside, gazing at the snow-topped trees of the woods.
“I thought I might find you here,” he says as he approaches, snow crunching beneath his boots. General Lester turns and smiles at him. “I opened your gift.”
“Did you like it?” General Lester looks nervous.
“I did,” Dan says. “It was absolutely astounding. I had no idea you were such a talented artist.” General Lester flushes, and turns away.
“Everybody finds a way to entertain themselves on the front line,” he says. “My brother was a very talented harmonica-player himself.”
“It was astonishing,” Dan says earnestly. “I would hang it up, but I don’t want others to see it.” General Lester’s blush deepens.
“You flatter me, my Lord,” he says.
“Oh, humour me,” Dan says, lips hitching in a smile. “I shall cherish it forever.”
“I can do you more, if you’d like,” General Lester offers. “I have, after all, plenty of time, and little else to fill it with.”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Dan says, grinning, and General Lester beams back.
“That’s settled, then,” he says. “I will paint you in all the colours of the sky.”
“Don’t you mean the rainbow?” Dan asks. “I’d rather not be painted blue, if it’s all the same to you.” General Lester gestures up at the sky, where the last remnants of the sunset are bleeding orange and red into the deep violet sky.
“Humour me,” he echoes, and they both smile.
-
The rest of Christmas and New Year passes without much event.
Dan and General Lester continue their quiet, private liaisons, and Dan continues to quell the guilt welling up inside of him for lying about who he is to General Lester and also for allowing this to happen when the war hasn’t yet been won and there are still desperate attempts being made by the German army. General Lester paints Dan five paintings, various portraits of him and full-body pictures of him next to what Dan thinks is the woods, and Dan stacks them all neatly in their wrapping paper in his trunk, safe from Paul’s eyes.
Leningrad is relieved by the Allies from the incessant siege (Dan hears it was 900 days) in late January, 1944. The news is buzzing around the house from one of the generals, who had received a letter from that front in the evening post. Timothy and his team have quite a job listening to all the recordings and transcribing and translating, and by the time the night draws to a close Paul simply flops down on his bed, muttering something about ruing the day he ever joined the civil service before falling into a deep sleep, not even changing into his nightclothes.
Dan sees General Lester on his way to the vaults to ask Timothy for a certain transcript of a conversation between a Dietrich von Choltitz and Schlieben that took place yesterday afternoon.
“Hello,” General Lester says. “Am I disturbing you?”
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I can make a little time,” Dan says.
“Oh, no, I don’t want to keep you,” General Lester says. “See you after dinner, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Dan agrees, throwing General Lester one last smile before walking back off in the direction of the vaults.
The conversation between von Choltitz and Schlieben is excruciatingly long and takes Dan almost the entire afternoon and three various copies of Duden to translate. By the time dinner has come and gone he’s exhausted, and only really wants to go to bed. However, he braves the outdoors, where the snow is slowly starting to turn to mush, as he feels he can’t let General Lester down.
“You came,” General Lester says, sounding elated more than much else.
“I did,” Dan says. “How was your day?”
“Oh, very good,” General Lester says. “I heard from my parents for the first time in a long time. It wasn’t much, but I think they’re starting to understand why I had to do what I did.”
“Why did they write?” Dan asks.
“It’s my twenty-ninth birthday,” General Lester says, smiling.
“You should have told me!” Dan says. “I didn’t get you a Christmas present, and now I haven’t got you a birthday present. I truly am a terrible friend.” General Lester inclines his head, still smiling.
“You did give me a Christmas present,” he says quietly. Dan, glad for the relative darkness of the edge of the woods, flushes. He’s itching to do it again, but there are at least a thousand reasons he shouldn’t and can’t.
“Could I offer you the same again for a birthday present?” Dan asks, and General Lester turns to face him.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, but Dan suspects he’s only half-joking by the slightly desperate edge to the kiss when Dan presses his lips to General Lester’s. General Lester, slightly smaller than Dan at this proximity, winds his arms around Dan’s neck and presses himself as close as their thick overcoats will allow, deepening the kiss and tilting his head.
Dan wants to stay there like that forever, in the freezing cold with the slightly melted snow and General Lester’s body pressed against his own, but he can’t. He shouldn’t. So he breaks away far sooner than he would like, feeling sick with guilt. He’s not who General Lester thinks he is. General Lester might not even want to associate with him once he finds out who Dan really is – his prison guard.
“I can’t do this,” Dan says after a moment. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why not?” General Lester asks, taking a step back. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Dan says. “No, you didn’t. I did. I can’t- I’m sorry. Truly. I wish I could do this.”
“You don’t want me,” General Lester says lowly. “I understand.”
“No,” Dan says, frustrated, “you don’t understand. I do want you.”
“And I you,” General Lester frowns. “So why, aside from the law which I am perfectly willing to flout, can we not do this?”
“I’m not who you think I am,” Dan says lowly. “I can’t live with myself, with this guilt, if I do this. It’s selfish, I know, but I can’t. And-” he cuts himself off. He can hardly say ‘doing this could ruin a military intelligence operation’ without giving himself away. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” General Lester says, but he sounds bitter all the same. “I’m sorry too.” With that, he walks back off in the direction of the house, not sparing Dan a second glance as he goes.
Dan waits until he’s far enough away, and then sinks to the ground and cries.
-
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Dan says sarcastically, resisting the urge to self-consciously rub his eyes. “You don’t look too good yourself.”
“You tell that to little Judith,” Paul says, grinning. “She’ll tell you just how I look.”
“Well, isn’t she lucky?” Dan says bitterly. “She can go and have sex with whomever she wants. I wonder what that must be like.” Paul rolls his eyes.
“You’re being a prick,” he says.
“Maybe I’ve just had enough,” Dan says. “Of hiding this. Of hiding myself. Of lying.”
“You’re in the secret bloody service, you cretin, you can’t have had enough of lying.”
“I’m just tired of it,” Dan almost shouts, making Paul jump. “I’m sick and bloody tired of hiding all my feelings because they’re wrong and illegal and ruin everything.” Paul’s silent for a moment.
“What happened?” he says eventually, evenly. Dan collapses onto his bed, willing away the fresh tears pricking at his eyes and turning away from Paul.
“Nothing bloody happened,” he mumbles.
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Paul says. “What did he do?”
“Who?”
“Come off it.”
“If you must know, I kissed him. Twice. On Christmas, and today. And then I told him I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t be with him like that. And now I don’t have him anymore. At all.” Dan feels immediately less tense after saying it, having had to keep it a secret from Paul for over a month, but then in another way more tense, because he couldn’t tell Paul for this very reason. He’s so, so sick of secrets.
“Oh, Dan,” Paul says sadly. “What have you got yourself into?”
“I’m sick of this,” Dan says wearily. “I’m sick of losing everything I want for the sake of a war that I want no part in. I’m so sick of it.” Paul’s bed creaks and he sighs, and then there’s the sound of him padding over and his weight dipping in Dan’s bed. He puts his arms around Dan gently, almost gingerly, as if Dan’s going to explode again and throw them off, but Dan merely rolls over and lets the tears fall, sobbing quietly into Paul’s chest.
“It’s all going to be okay,” he hears Paul say. “We can find a way to make it okay.”
-
General Lester avoids Dan as if it were his career after that.
They chance across each other in corridors, occasionally outside after dinner, and although General Lester is always polite and cordial, he treats Dan as if he were a stranger rather than a friend and makes his excuses rather swiftly. Dan stops going out after dinner and spends more and more time holed up in his office writing letters to Percy and down in the vaults carrying out inspections that he doesn’t need to undertake at all. The paintings stop coming, too.
February comes and goes. More generals arrive after a German counter-attack in Anzio, and Dan’s glad for something new to busy himself with – he’s starting to write almost as many letters to Percy as Percy is to him. March is also of little event; the Allies begin their second attempt to capture Monte Cassino, but little headway is made. April sees the Soviets begin a campaign to liberate the Crimea, but again, there are few early successes. May is the month which changes it all.
On the 12th, the Germans surrender in the Crimea. On the 15th, the Germans withdraw to the so-called ‘Adolf Hitler line’. On the 25th, the Germans retreat from Anzio. On the 29th, twenty-three new generals arrive at Trent Park.
Dan is extremely busy welcoming them all, settling them in and briefing them on the routines of Trent Park – how many letters they can send, receive, their rations, etc. General Lester is suspiciously absent whenever Dan’s scheduled to be in any of the generals’ areas such as the library, but that doesn’t stop Dan from keeping an eye out for him.
Dan’s life takes on a very numb tone. He lives monotonously, sticking to the routine he has perfected over the two years of the operation, and only really engages in conversation with Paul. He distances himself from those around him and focuses entirely on the operation – after all, if he had sacrificed what could have been with General Lester, he may as well make it worth it, particularly since men are sacrificing their lives every single day and Dan has the fortune of a comfortable bed to sleep in, a roof over his head and guaranteed food daily.
Churchill is impressed with the operation’s smooth running, and congratulates Dan as such. Dan replies mechanically, thanking him for the opportunity, and Churchill probes no further into it. No doubt he knows precisely what has caused this change in Dan’s attitude.
General Lester, who has never fitted in with the generals at the best of times, now sticks out like a sore thumb, as the other generals begin to make friends and find those of similar dispositions to them and General Lester remains untouched, alone, and given a wide berth by all. Dan wonders why he bothers leaving his room at all, most days, considering he now spurns Dan’s company just as everybody else spurns his.
On the thirtieth of May, after Dan has spent an entire day briefing new generals in shifts, two more generals arrive.
“General Braunlitzer,” Private John Adams says, indicating a portly gentleman on Dan’s left, and Dan salutes him. “General Von der Starnberg.” Private Adams indicates a tall, hard-faced blond on Dan’s right, and Dan salutes him too, only realising where the familiarity of the name comes from when his hand has reached his forehead. He hopes the slight falter on the way down isn’t noticeable.
“Welcome,” he says in German. “Let me show you around.”
-
General Braunlitzer seems very interested in the library and returns there as soon as the brief is over. General Von der Starnberg, on the other hand, has a more calculating gaze about him, and drinks in his surroundings with precision and care that Dan almost admires.
“Were you in service, my Lord?” Von der Starnberg asks, after Braunlitzer has peeled off to the library at the end of Dan’s brief introduction.
“I’m afraid not,” Dan says. “They believed I was better suited to other things, with my position and status. The care of the generals here at Trent Park has become my full-time job.”
“You speak very good German,” Von der Starnberg says, but it isn’t a compliment.
“Thank you,” Dan says. “I studied it at university.”
“May I ask where?”
“Oxford.”
“My brother studied there,” Von der Starnberg said. “English and Philosophy. He was very good at it.” Dan notes the use of the past tense, and bows his head.
“I’m very sorry,” he says.
“Everybody knows somebody who has been murdered these days, my Lord,” Von der Starnberg says.
“Isn’t it sad?” Von der Starnberg shrugs.
“It will be once the war is over.”
Christ, Dan thinks, and leads Von der Starnberg into the dining hall.
-
“So,” Dan says that evening.
“Oh, we’re conversing now, are we?” Paul says in mock-surprise. “My name is Paul, in case you’d forgotten during your leave of absence.”
“Very funny,” Dan says dryly.
“Thank you.”
“General Von der Starnberg.”
“Yes, I noticed the name. Is that the brother?”
“I believe so.”
“Does he know General Lester is here?”
“Haven’t the faintest.” Paul hums thoughtfully.
“Are you going to talk to him about it?” Dan hesitates.
“If it comes up in conversation.”
“See that you aren’t too obvious about it.”
“I’ll thank you to tell me how to run my own operation, Paul.” Paul claps him on the back.
“Welcome back to the world of sarcasm and humour,” he says. “You’ve been MIA a long time.”
“Very funny,” Dan says again, injecting as much sarcasm as he can into his voice.
“I thought so too,” Paul says, grinning at him.
-
General Von der Starnberg seems to be everywhere Dan goes.
Dan’s not sure if it’s because he’s subconsciously looking out for him, or simply because he actually is everywhere Dan goes (there are only so many places to go in captivity, after all), but he seems to come across Von der Starnberg more than any of the other generals. Von der Starnberg seems not to mingle with the other generals much either, and come early June Dan still hasn’t seen the interaction between him and General Lester that he had been dreading.
On the 6th of June, what is known as ‘D-Day’ occurs; an Allied landing in Normandy of a huge scale which tips the balance of war even further in the Allies’ favour. The house is awash with chatter after an evening radio report, and Dan spends until the early hours of the morning sifting through transcripts between generals with Timothy, underlining things he wishes to return to at a later date or bring up in casual conversation to encourage further discussion of the topic. Paul is already fast asleep by the time Dan gets to the room, and Dan can do little but undress and fall asleep himself.
The 7th of June is marked by the majority of the generals huddling nervously around the two radios the house is equipped with, with some (Von Thoma) standing far away and contemptuously condemning the Hitler regime and others (Von der Starnberg and General Lester) being conspicuously absent. Dan, for his part, will find out the real news from MI6, so avoids the propaganda of the radio and goes for a stroll while the grounds are likely to be at their emptiest.
“Lord Aberfeldy.” It’s German, and a voice he doesn’t quite recognise, so he turns around and sees General Von der Starnberg hurrying up the path. Dan pauses and waits for him to catch up.
“General Von der Starnberg. Do you not wish to listen to the radio?”
“To hear the British propaganda? No thank you, my Lord. We shall know how well we have done by the influx of generals arriving within the next week, I assume.” Dan can’t help but smile wryly.
“You’re a clever man,” he says.
“Thank you,” Von der Starnberg says humourlessly. “Shall we?” Dan inclines his head, and the two of them begin to amble down the path.
“You said you had never been in service,” Von der Starnberg says. “May I ask; does Britain have the two-son rule?”
“The two-son rule?” Dan asks, acting clueless. It’s highly unlikely that Lord Aberfeldy would know anything about conscription in Germany.
“Yes, you see – in Germany, only two sons are permitted to die on the front. That way, the third son is left to look after and continue the family.”
“I see,” Dan says, slightly taken aback by the use of the word permitted. “Very shrewd.”
“Yes, I thought so too, until my brother was blown up and I was left the sole son, unable to look after my mother and father as I should have been,” Von der Starnberg says.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Dan says. “What an awful way to die.”
“Yes, rather,” Von der Starnberg says. “At least I know I am safe here.”
“You are indeed,” Dan says. “You will return to your family when the war is over.”
“I do wish it would be over soon,” Von der Starnberg says, sounding irritated.
“Maybe it will be,” another voice says from behind them, softer and with a slight lilt to the German, and Dan’s heart skips a beat. General Lester. Both Dan and Von der Starnberg whip around, although Dan already knows who he will see. “Good day, my Lord. Good day, General Von der Starnberg.” Von der Starnberg says nothing.
“I’m sorry to say I have read both of your files,” Dan says, when it becomes clear neither Von der Starnberg or General Lester are going to speak again, “so I know of the acquaintance between the two of you.”
“Yes,” Von der Starnberg says mildly.
“I’d like to make sure that there are no aggressions between the two of you,” Dan says slowly. “I understand it will be difficult, General Von der Starnberg, but-”
“I have forgiven him.” Dan stops.
“Pardon?”
“I have forgiven him,” General Von der Starnberg repeats. Even General Lester looks surprised.
“I did not kill your brother,” General Lester says. “It was my brother, Nicholas.”
“I do not know who killed him,” Von der Starnberg says. “I do not much care which of you killed him. This is a war. I cannot hold grudges against every individual who has killed somebody I love, or half of the British army would be my enemy.”
“Those are very wise words,” Dan says, surprised to hear them coming from Von der Starnberg, who seems so cold and apathetic. He seems the exact kind to hold a grudge.
“I would otherwise have held a grudge, in peace time,” Von der Starnberg says. “I would not have forgiven General Lester. But war changes one’s perspective, I feel. General Lester will have lost people he loves. General Lester has lost his own brother – albeit at his own hands. However, I have heard things about Nicholas Lester, and whilst one must dismiss most rumours, some are so ghastly I assure him I would have the utmost sympathy were they true.”
“They are,” General Lester says suddenly. “He beat his men. He killed some of them that way. He moved his battalion without command in order that those left behind would be considered deserters. He was a sadist. I have few qualms about his death.”
“Then I forgive you that too,” General Von der Starnberg says. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s debating whether to say something or not, before he says: “Tell me what happened to Mark.”
“It was Nicholas,” General Lester says. “I wanted to plan the joint divisions’ movements together, and he wanted sole control. I refused, and he took his revenge on my battalion. Private Von der Starnberg came to ask me whether you and he should join the others in the barracks – he thought that was the safe area, as he had seen Nicholas setting up the dynamite and assumed since most of the men were in the barracks, it would be the safe area. I knew what Nicholas was planning, but was too late to stop him. Private Von der Starnberg wasn’t fast enough to get out of the range of the dynamite.” General Lester bows his head. “I failed my battalion. I failed you, and I failed Private Von der Starnberg. I was not a general to you, and I grieve every day for the losses that day.” General Von der Starnberg puts his hand on General Lester’s clasped ones.
“I have forgiven you,” he says softly, more softly than Dan could ever have imagined him to speak. “I think it is time you forgive yourself.”
-
“What on earth was that?” Paul demands as soon as Dan retires below for the night.
“What was what?”
“You, Von der Starnberg and Lester.”
“I haven’t a clue. It took me completely by surprise; I was ready to play the diplomat,” Dan shrugs, taking off his tie.
“War really does change people, doesn’t it?” Paul says heavily.
“Or simply shows us what really matters,” Dan says. Paul sighs, gazing up at the ceiling.
“Point taken.”
-
After that small conversation with General Lester, it’s as if a floodgate that Dan hadn’t even consciously shut has been opened.
He can’t stop thinking about him. All through June, with the war getting gradually worse and worse for Germany, he thinks of General Lester, of the way he had smiled at Dan after they’d kissed on Christmas Eve, of the way his body felt pressed against Dan’s own on General Lester’s birthday, of the way he had known the exact shade of Dan’s eyes at a certain time of day in a certain light well enough to draw them. All the careful censoring of this thoughts of the past six months is completely negated, and Dan is forced to admit it to himself eventually; he’s pining for General Lester.
He finds himself making excuses to sit in the library or at least pass through it, picking up and depositing books he’s pretty sure nobody would ever read unless tortured (‘A Philosophic System of Punctuation’, honestly). General Lester never seems to be there, although a quick check of the library register (for security reasons) confirms that he is regularly borrowing and returning books.
The first of the rockets promised by Von Thoma hits Britain on June 13th, 1944.
There’s uproar in the house. Dan is horrified that the Cabinet hadn’t managed to do something and makes an immediate phone call to Downing Street, where he is told the Prime Minister is unavailable, and then to MI6, where Percy and he finally and unusually agree on something. It’s devastating news; if the Germans can do this now, they could swing the war back in their favour.
Below, people are just as shocked as Dan; having had the meeting with Churchill in mid-late 1943, everybody had assumed the rockets at Peenemünde and Kummersdorf had been sorted out. Above, people are a mixture of shocked and elated – some generals believe this is the ticket to turning the war around (Crüwell), and some believe that this is simply a new form of barbarism.
Dan goes down to London on the five o’clock train, holing himself up in the same hotel he had before, but this time in a room next to Percy. The two of them spend a good two hours together discussing how to address the matter with the Prime Minister and the Cabinet, ringing hourly to find out whether Churchill has returned to Downing Street or not. At eight-thirty, the hotel telephone rings shrilly, and a weary voice tells them Mr Churchill has returned to Downing Street. The two of them hurriedly pack what they need and head off, catching a nearby cab so as to make it as swift as possible.
Churchill does not seem surprised or pleased to see them.
“You managed to make it here together and both survive in one piece,” he says dryly. “What wonderful progress war can bring.”
“Prime Minister, sir, with the utmost respect, we had spoken about Peenemünde and Kummersdorf,” Percy says tightly. “We had also discussed other bases of which MI19 had no knowledge, so I do not fault Mr Howell at all.” Not that Dan could possibly have been at fault, but it’s nice of Percy to say something non-derogatory about him for once.
“We cannot know of every single rocket base, Percy,” Churchill says, sounding exasperated. “Rest assured all is being done to find out where they are being launched from, what measures we can take against them, and how to make some of our own.”
“I know this,” Percy says. “I am head of MI6.”
“Oh, are you?” Churchill says mildly. “I had almost forgotten. Daniel, what was your part in this tirade of unstoppable anger against me and my ministry?”
“I was merely disappointed, sir,” Dan says. “I felt rather betrayed.” Churchill looks at him over his glasses.
“Have faith in me, Daniel, if you cannot have faith in your government,” he says sternly. “Trust that I am doing what I believe best.” Dan, frustrated and sick of being spoken down to, very nearly mentions Gallipoli, but bites his tongue just in time.
“Very well,” he says stiffly. “I am no longer needed here.”
“I will keep you informed on any further developments,” Percy says.
“Thank you.”
“Goodnight, Daniel,” Churchill says pointedly.
“Goodnight, Prime Minister,” Dan says. “Goodnight, Percy.”
“Goodnight, Daniel.” Dan, fuming and upset and tempted to kick the wall on the way out, turns around and heads back into the night.
-
Dan stays in London until the next evening, as Percy comes back from a very long meeting with Churchill and the War Cabinet to discuss the rockets – “V1s, they’re called” – at around four in the morning. He tells Dan everything he knows, and Dan and he discuss and detail in writing ideas of anti-V1 measures and draw maps of where they believe the bases could be for Percy to take to the next meeting with the Cabinet. Churchill doesn’t seem best pleased at Dan’s involvement in the issue, as he is a great believer in never telling anyone everything, but Percy, as head of MI6, has enough influence to firmly say that Dan will be involved to at least some degree in the issue. Dan is extremely grateful for that, and almost apologises for the letters he has been sending for the past year and a half.
(Almost.)
Dan takes the seven o’clock train back to Trent Park, arriving just in time to see the winding down of operations as the generals all go to bed. Timothy exhales heavily when the last generals say goodnight to one another and head off to their bedrooms, taking off his headphones and stretching in his seat.
“Bloody uncomfortable, these things,” he mumbles.
“Tell that to Churchill,” Dan mutters. “Is Paul here?” Timothy shakes his head.
“Gone to your room, sir,” he says.
“Thank you. Goodnight, Timothy.”
“Sir?” Dan stops, already halfway out of the room, and turns around.
“Yes?” Timothy bites his lip.
“Are we going to be able to defeat the rockets, sir?” Dan looks at him for a moment – he shouldn’t tell anything about this to Timothy at all; he’s not high-ranking enough and certainly not someone Dan knows well enough to trust.
“We’re working on it,” he says eventually. Timothy smiles tightly and nods.
“Goodnight, sir,” he says, and Dan walks off to his room.
“Bloody Churchill,” he says, the moment he walks in and sees Paul lying on the bed, reading a book. Paul raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look up.
“You’d do well to remember how you got where you are,” he says.
“I got here through hard work,” Dan says.
“What did he do?”
“Doesn’t want to include me in the meetings. Percy, of all people, is the only one to take my side.”
“Why should you be included in the meetings?” Paul asks. “It’s not MI19 business anymore; MI6 and the Cabinet, yes, but not us.”
“That doesn’t concern you,” Dan says, throwing his waistcoat onto the bed with vigour. Paul whistles behind him, and Dan pays him no mind, simply throwing his tie down onto the bed with even more vigour than he had his waistcoat.
-
The D-Day offensive has worked superbly.
On June 27th 1944, American troops liberate Cherbourg. There’s tension above at the news, and elation below. Only one general has no opinion either for or against the situation; the seemingly permanent absentee General Lester.
Dan has barely spoken to him since the day with General Von der Starnberg, though not for lack of trying. He has bumped into him multiple times, but although General Lester has been cordial, he has given him a slightly sad smile and excused himself very swiftly every time, just like before. It’s as though nothing has changed between them, although everything has changed for Dan.
The day of the 28th of June is filled with chatter about Cherbourg and what it means for the Führer and for the future of Germany. Everybody has a worried twist to their faces, and an air of gloom hangs around the house. Dan would much prefer to be below, where everybody is happy and cheery, but something about the juxtaposition between the two strikes him completely. They are all (albeit unknowingly for the generals) living and working together, all humans, yet one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. It’s difficult for Dan to consider, as he spends so much time amongst those above yet sympathises with those below.
Dan feels slightly overwhelmed by the doom-and-gloom atmosphere by the evening, so he makes his excuses and leaves the small-talk conversation he had been engaged in with von Choltitz and goes outside into the fresh summer air to clear his mind.
“Good evening,” a voice says, in English, and Dan’s heart does that strange acrobatics routine that it always seems to do when General Lester is around.
“Good evening,” Dan says, turning around. “I haven’t seen you for a while.” General Lester bows his head.
“Nor I you,” he says. “How have you been?”
“I have been better and I have been worse,” Dan says. “How about you?” General Lester shrugs.
“Much the same,” he says. “Shall we walk a little further out? I don’t like being so close to the house; you never know who could be watching.” Dan almost asks why General Lester is afraid of being seen with him but bites his tongue, wanting to savour the contact he can get with General Lester after so many months of such fleeting interaction.
“I was surprised at General Von der Starnberg,” Dan says.
“Yes, so was I,” General Lester says as they stray off the path and head towards the woodland, hidden from view of the house. “I had not thought he would ever forgive me his brother’s death, nor the death of the majority of our division.”
“He listened to you, though,” Dan says. “He acknowledged that it wasn’t your fault.”
“At which I am even more surprised,” General Lester says. “He was never the type to listen to an argument when I knew him last.”
“People can surprise you in that way, I suppose,” Dan says, as they come to a standstill on the edge of the woods.
“Yes,” General Lester says quietly, casting his eyes down. “People can surprise you. And not always in a good way.”
And suddenly, as if it were the straw that broke the horse’s back, Dan realises just how sick of this he is.
He’s tired of lying to General Lester, tired of lying to himself, and tired of pretending. He’s had enough of General Lester’s avoiding him, of the lack of contact between them, and the small digs General Lester will slip into a conversation when he can. The Allies are winning the war. General Lester’s war is long over, and soon Dan’s war will be too.
“Can I trust you?” Dan asks. He knows there are no microphones here; they’re safe from below. General Lester looks surprised.
“I should hope so,” he says mildly.
“No,” Dan says. “This is serious. I could lose my life for this. I would certainly lose my career.” General Lester blinks.
“Are you sure this is something you should be telling me?”
“It is absolutely not something I should be telling you,” Dan says, “but I need to know I can trust you.” General Lester steps forwards, placing his hands on Dan’s.
“I promise you can trust me,” he says.
“You may not want to acquaint yourself with me any longer after hearing this, but I really don’t see how that will be any different to the current situation,” Dan says, laughing humourlessly to punctuate the sentence.
“I highly doubt that,” General Lester says. “I have never not wanted to acquaint myself with you.”
“Then why-”
“Because it hurt, my Lord. It hurt, and distance was the only way I could think of to ease it.” Dan’s mouth twists.
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “When I tell you this, you will understand why I couldn’t.”
“So it isn’t just the law?” Dan shakes his head. “Go on.” Dan takes a deep breath, silently apologising to Churchill and Paul and every single person below he could potentially be threatening and betraying with nothing but the honest truth, brought on by his bloody feelings.
“I am not a lord,” Dan says. “I am a- a spy. I head a military intelligence sector called MI19. We were tasked with placing listening devices all over the house and listening and transcribing conversations between high-ranking officers in order to gather any information we could about the war. There are over a hundred people living underground slightly distanced from the house, listening to, transcribing and translating every single part of every single person’s day.” He holds his breath once he’s finished, clenching his fist behind his back and digging his nails into the palms of his hand. He could potentially have ruined everything.
“You’re telling the truth,” General Lester says, searching Dan’s face. “You’re a spy.”
“I’m a spy.”
“Was this part of the act?”
“Do you think I’d be telling you if it were?” General Lester lapses back into silence.
“And our conversations, our- on Christmas Eve, and on my birthday, were those transcribed?” Dan shakes his head.
“I know where the microphones are,” he says. “I take us away from them.”
“I see.” Dan swallows. He feels light-headed. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe he hasn’t just completely betrayed over a hundred people to an enemy officer. Maybe he isn’t a traitor.
“This is it, then,” General Lester says finally. “No more secrets between us.”
“I’m tired of secrets,” Dan says truthfully. “My life has enough secrets as it is, without government secrets being brought into it.”
“Working for a government who don’t condone your life choices,” General Lester muses.
“Well, what were you doing?”
“Being conscripted.” Dan has to concede there; fair point.
“Would you just- just tell me, please?” Dan begs, after another burst of silence. It’s killing him. “I may have just potentially betrayed my entire department, including my best friend, to bare myself to you.”
“Tell you what?”
“Whether you want to be involved with me or not.” General Lester looks surprised.
“Is that what this is about?” he asks. Dan wants to cry.
“Of course,” he says. “I would have no other reason to tell you before the end of the war.”
“That won’t be too long,” General Lester says. He’s still not giving Dan a bloody answer, though.
“I know,” Dan says, trying to keep the edge of frustration and desperation out of his voice.
“If I’m not to call you Lord Aberfeldy, or my Lord, what am I to call you? In private, of course,” General Lester wants to know.
“My name is Daniel James Howell,” Dan says. “I prefer Dan.”
“Well. Since the formalities are finally over, call me Phil,” General Lester (or…Phil) says. “I do, as a matter of fact,” he adds, almost off-handedly. “I do want to be involved with you. Very much so.”
“You do?” Dan asks, taken aback. He’d been preparing himself for the flood of guilt that was threatening the dam of his sudden irrationality when General- when Phil inevitably turned him away and proceeded to betray him to the fellow generals, thereby ruining the operation. Although, Dan supposes, not many of them would have believed the crazed general who murdered his own battalion and brother.
“Yes,” Phil says, nodding.
“Oh,” Dan says.
“You sound almost disappointed,” Phil says, a small smile playing on his lips as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around Dan’s neck.
“I’m just…surprised,” Dan says. “You want to be…involved.” Phil’s smile turns into a smirk, before he leans up and kisses Dan, soft and sweet and exactly what Dan’s been craving for the past six months and possibly more. Dan makes a noise that he will later never admit to which sounds suspiciously like a whine and presses closer to Phil, bringing his hands up to pull Phil closer by his waist until the two are stood as close as they could possibly be. Dan’s hyperaware of every part of Phil – the softness of his lips, the warmth of his body against Dan’s own, the slight moan that Dan elicits when he deepens the kiss slightly, making Phil part his lips.
“I do,” Phil says breathlessly, when they finally break apart, eyes shining. “For I have worshipped you with far more romance than a man should ever give to a friend.”
-
The war comes to an end in Europe on May 8th, 1945, following Germany’s unconditional surrender of the previous day.
The announcement is made on the radio when Dan is below, and everybody throws down their headphones and pens and paper with a weary relief before it sinks in that they are now officially living in peace time again after almost six long years of war, and they start jumping around and hugging each other and screaming. Dan doesn’t bother telling them to be professional; his own stomach had flipped at the thought that now, his and Phil’s illicit relationship would be…well, still illicit, but less so.
Some members of the department start begging to go above, as they haven’t had the opportunity to go out in the sunshine for long periods of time for years, and Dan, not seeing the harm in letting them now that there is no operation to ruin, and they run along the corridor into the house with complete elation, absolutely terrifying the poor generals they meet along the way.
Dan calls a meeting outside to explain the sudden influx of ecstatic Britons, with all the generals on one side and his department on the other. He explains the vague details of the operation, and is booed and jeered by many of the generals, who are angry and in shock that this had all been a farce, but others come up to him afterwards and say how impressed they were that the British had managed to carry this off. Von Thoma is one of the latter, who gruffly congratulates Dan on his acting skills before heading off to join some of the other generals.
“So,” Paul says, coming up to Dan when the department and the generals begin to mingle (Dan trusts his department staff to know not to reveal much about the operation). “Where’s the famous General Lester?”
“Right here,” an amused voice says. “You must be Paul.”
“Pleased to finally meet you,” Paul says, shaking Phil’s hand. “Though I feel like I already have, the amount Dan’s talked about you.”
“I have not!” Dan says, outraged. Phil and Paul exchange a knowing look. “Oh, I do wish you had stayed below, Paul.”
“Have you known Dan long?” Phil wants to know. Paul nods.
“Since the very beginnings in MI6,” he says. “We were both young then, straight out of university.”
“Oh, do tell me you have some embarrassing tales to tell,” Phil says.
“Well, there was this one time…” Paul says gleefully, and the two of them begin to walk off together, leaving Dan standing mock-indignantly in the middle of the field full of his department and his generals, watching them mingle and laugh and talk and get to know and understand each other. It’s the most fulfilled, the most content, the most human Dan has felt in a long time.
So he watches, thinking of the broken world this war has left behind, of the millions of lives that the war took, and he hopes for a better world to rise from the ashes.
-
“We all share the guilt.” - General Dietrich von Choltitz, October 1944
ANYWAY this is just a quick thing for claudia who wanted this and says the nicest most wonderful things about disasterology nd appreciates ptv Thanks God and also kind of for shelley because i’ve never known a bigger disasterology stan in my entire life honestly woudlnt be surprised if one day she got DISASTEROLOGY DAN tattooed on her forehead
It’s not that Jaime doesn’t trust his friends.
Or- actually, it’s exactly that. Jaime doesn’t even want to know what Mike gets up to in his spare time, and Tony’s so angelic that he’s probably a serial killer, or something, and trying to understand Dan makes cracking the Enigma code look like child’s play. Mostly, though, he doesn’t trust Vic, and he doesn’t trust Phil, and there’s a horrible weight that settles in his stomach every time he thinks about the two of them together.
So when everybody ends up crashing at Phil’s house and Mike passes out and Tony’s quick to follow, Jaime decides (with a fair bit of guilt joining the sadness in his stomach, okay, he’s not as good at this whole lying thing as Dan is) to continue the trend and pretend to pass out, snoring loudly like Dan always tells him he does when he’s really asleep.
“Is it always at the same time?” he hears Phil ask Vic.
“Just as lightweight as each other,” Vic grumbles, using the bottle of beer he’s got in his hand to push Jaime’s snoring head off his leg. It’s fucking cold, and Jaime has to fight back a wince.
“Sucks,” Phil says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. Jaime wonders whether he should feel offended that his company isn’t being sorely missed.
“I wish Jaime wasn’t this bad,” Vic says sadly, nudging Jaime’s head with his beer bottle again. Jaime thinks he might get external brain freeze.
“Why don’t you date him?” Phil asks. Boring. Jaime already knows the answer.
“I’m scared,” Vic admits. “This way, I can still protect myself from getting hurt. At least a little bit. I- I’m not very good at dealing with hurt.”
“What do you mean?” Phil asks. Vic sighs, and it’s that horrible, hollow, empty sigh that Jaime hears from Dan and Vic and makes him want to sit up and pull Vic into his arms and kiss him until it numbs the pain.
“I mean…” Vic says, but he trails off. There’s a shuffling noise, and Jaime opens his eye a crack to see Phil’s apparently moved closer to Vic, sitting cross-legged opposite him.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me.”
“Can I…can I…” Vic doesn’t seem to be able to get the words out of his mouth. “Can I…show you, instead?” Jaime wishes he could see higher than Vic and Phil’s knees, because he might then have a semblance of a clue of what the fuck is going on, but his thought process is cut short when Vic looks nervously at the others to make sure they’re all actually sleeping and Jaime clamps his eyes back shut immediately and accompanies a loud snore of Mike’s with one of his own.
“Don’t hate me,” Vic whispers. “It’s how I cope.” Jaime’s heart sinks.
He’d known, deep down. He’d recognised the look in Dan’s eyes in Vic’s, and a little bit in Phil’s, and he’d known Vic had a penchant for self-deprecation and self-destruction. It made Jaime want to kiss him even more, or maybe cry on him, or maybe let Vic cry on him.
“I don’t hate you,” Phil says slowly.
“I’m sorry,” Vic says. “Pretend…pretend you didn’t see that.” As if.
“I can’t,” Phil says honestly. “Does…does Jaime know? Mike?”
“No one,” Vic says. “They’d hate me. They’d think I was weak. I’m meant to be there for them, y’know? I’m their rock. If they see that I’m weak, they won’t lean on me anymore. And then they’ll be weak.” Jaime swallows. Vic can’t honestly think that, can he? They’re all there for each other; that’s what friends are. Friendship is a two-way street (or as Dan would probably put it, friendship is two hydrogen atoms bonding in a star and creating helium to keep the star going, which can’t happen with only one hydrogen atom. Or something. Jaime’s not quite got the hang of his weird astrophysical metaphors yet).
“You need someone too,” Phil points out fairly.
“Not as much as they need me,” Vic says, and that makes what’s left of Jaime’s heart splinter a little. That, that Vic doesn’t value himself enough to owe himself at least a little care and love, that hurts.
“I’ll be your rock,” Phil says decidedly. Jaime suddenly realises he hates people with black hair and blue eyes. “I’ll be there for you, Vic. You’re not alone, okay?”
And then Jaime hears one of them shuffling forwards and the sounds of a kiss, half-desperate and broken and half-hopeful and reassuring.
For the second time in his life, Jaime thanks the stars that Dan broke his heart so badly that it can’t be broken again.
-
They’d slept over at Phil’s again.
Jaime had actually gone to sleep this time, wanting to get away from the two of them and not wanting to hear the same or worse tonight. It had been bad enough watching the two of them smile shyly at each other all day; Jaime doesn’t want to have to stab himself in the ears and gouge out his eyes.
He wakes up with a start, though, when he stars hearing clattering sounds on the window. It’s how Dan always gets into his room, so it’s a natural reaction when he goes to sit up and open the window for him to come in, maybe bitch at him for waking him up and steal his hoodie to sleep in (since when is his house so cold?). It’s only when he opens his eyes, however, that he remembers he’s still at Phil’s, and Phil and Vic are sat on the floor just like last night. Jaime regrets eating what little he did of dinner as his stomach turns.
“Who is it?” Vic asks.
“I can’t tell,” Phil says. “I’d better go down, anyway; I don’t want my window to shatter.” He gets up and goes, and Vic sighs. Jaime debates getting up and confronting him, but throwing up on Vic when he’s in the middle of arguing with him might undermine his point a little.
Phil comes back soon enough anyway, and asks Vic to come outside with him. Jaime takes the opportunity to slip out behind them, because whatever Dan’s told Phil must be something of value if he’s telling Vic and he can’t help the sense of morbid curiosity.
Jaime’s only just managed to find a spot to conceal himself in when a figure slips into the shadows enveloping him, making him jump a little. It’s Dan.
“I heard them,” he finds himself saying, and Dan barely even jumps (probably because he’s so used to Jaime sneaking up on him that he doesn’t even acknowledge it anymore).
“Heard them?” Dan asks, slipping an arm around Jaime’s waist, almost a reflex action. Jaime hooks his arms around Dan’s neck, warm and safe and there.
“They kissed. They thought I was asleep.” Dan looks like someone’s just told him he’s lost his entire fortune, his house and possibly his firstborn.
“Shit, Jaim,” he whispers, drawing Jaime into him and letting him press his face against Dan’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Jaime says, but his voice sounds strangled even to himself. He hopes briefly that Dan will chalk it off as being strangled by the hoodie cord that’s digging into Jaime’s neck, which actually looks like a tempting option right now, but no such luck. Dan wraps his arms around Jaime’s waist and holds him close.
“It’s not,” Dan says. Jaime buries his head in Dan’s shoulder, and then he’s crying, biting his lip so he doesn’t make a sound.
“I’m not good enough for anyone,” Jaime whispers, half-hoping Dan’s focused on Vic and Phil and not on what Jaime’s saying.
“You are,” he says, and Jaime pulls away slightly, just enough to look at Dan.
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not good enough for you. I’m not good enough for Vic. I’m not good enough for anybody. I should give up trying. I shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re always going to be fucking good enough for me, Jaime, don’t ever say that,” Dan says fiercely. “You saved my fucking life. You showed me there was something worth living for.”
“But you left me,” Jaime says, and he can’t even bring himself to sound petulant about it. “I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I couldn’t be good enough.”
“Fuck, Jaim,” Dan says. “You’re fucking perfect, can’t you see that? You kept me here. You taught me that there were always stars, even when I couldn’t see them because of the streetlights.” Jaime closes his eyes, trying not to cry again. He’s an ugly crier.
“I don’t care what you think, Jaime,” Dan says, sounding kind of choked. “I think you’re perfect. And you know what?”
“What?” Jaime asks, choked and tearful.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” Dan whispers. And then they’re kissing, kissing like they’ll never kiss again, under the streetlights and under the stars and under the moon and the sky and the space junk and all the other shit that’s up there, floating around.
(A few little bits of Jaime’s heart, broken so long ago, piece themselves back together again.)
Maybe he should think about it, really. There are probably hundreds of innocent children who have heard Dan mutter ‘fuck me’ under his breath when his phone resets, or when the bus is running late, or when he walks into a bush whilst texting and have turned to their parents and asked, “Mummy, what does ‘fuck me’ mean? That man just said it.”.
Yeah. Definitely something Dan should think about.
As it is, his bus is running late today and Dan had run all the way to the bus stop from his house (a good two minutes of exercise, at least, which means he’s breathless and almost breaking a sweat by the time he reaches the bus stop) because he’d thought he was late. When he realises, however, that he could have had an extra ten minutes and actually eaten some breakfast, he groans, lets his eyes flutter shut and mutters “fuck me”.
“Excuse me?” a surprised voice says, and Dan opens his eyes so fast he thinks he might have accidentally blinded himself. Standing to his left, an amused look on his face, is a boy with black hair in an emo fringe almost identical to Dan’s own, only his is the other way around. Dan’s not sure if he should feel threatened by that.
“Sorry,” Dan says quickly. “I, uh. Just. Bus is late.”
“And that means you want to get fucked?” Dan can feel himself blushing, wills it to stop, but he’s pretty sure the other boy’s noticed from the way his amused look turns into a mischievous smirk.
“Well,” Dan says. “I mean, I. No. Well, yes. Not, like, because of the bus. But I do want to get fucked.” He blanches (at least the blushing’s sorted out), realising what he’d just said to a complete stranger “What the fuck? No I don’t.” He pauses, before exhaling heavily. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
“Oh,” the guy says, full-on grinning now. “That’s nice to know.”
“Yeah,” Dan mumbles, wishing the black-haired guy’s eyes weren’t so pretty because really, Dan is not equipped to deal with those at seven thirty in the morning. Dan’s not equipped to deal with anything at seven thirty in the morning, as this conversation shows.
“Anyway,” the stranger says, stepping forward, and when the hell did the 108 even pull up? Dan’s been too mortified to notice. “This is my bus. Hope you get laid soon, though.”
“Thanks,” Dan mutters as the guy gets on the bus, wishing he had some kind of superpower that enabled him to fade away into a void whenever he pleased.
-
The guy’s not at the bus stop the next day, or the next, or the next, and Dan stops walking to the bus stop with an accelerated heartbeat (although that might just be from the walking - any exercise is a struggle) and relaxes again. He can’t say he’s not a little disappointed, though, because even though the guy had just made fun of Dan for like, three minutes straight, he’d been kind of (exceptionally) hot, with his bright blue eyes, black hair and his pretty little smile.
Dan’s on his way home from the bus stop, whistling as he ambles down the road texting his roommate Jack and asking him to pick up some chocolate on his way home (no reason, Dan just likes chocolate and doesn’t like paying for things) when his phone slips out of his fingers and he hears the unmistakeable cracking sound of an iPhone screen and a pavement having a disagreement.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbles to himself, bending down and picking his phone up. Sure enough, the screen’s shattered in the top left-hand corner. “Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Not again,” a voice says, and Dan looks up to see the stranger from the bus stop grinning down at him. He stands up so fast that he feels dizzy and almost has to sit down again, and upon regaining control of his vision he scowls at the stranger.
“Listen,” he says, sounding petulant even to his own ears. “My phone’s just cracked. This is no time for jokes about my sex life.”
“Oh, shit,” the boy says, looking genuinely concerned. “Does it still work?” Dan presses the home button and types in his passcode, and it all works. Thank God. He doesn’t have enough money to pay for repairing it.
“Still,” Dan says grumpily. “I don’t want a cracked phone screen.”
“We all have to make sacrifices,” the stranger says. “Anyway, I think a good fuck is what you need after such a tragic misfortune.”
“Very funny,” Dan mutters, and the stranger grins.
“I thought so too,” he says. “Anyway, I have to go. People to see, stuff to do, all that shit.”
“You go ahead,” Dan says. “Enjoy the people and the stuff. Stop making jokes about my sex life.”
“Stop asking me to fuck you,” the boy calls over his shoulder as he walks away, and Dan shoves both middle fingers up at him, forgetting that his phone’s in his hand and dropping it again.
(The boy laughs all the way until he’s turned the corner.)
-
Jack had bought Dan’s chocolate, but not any other groceries, which is the only reason Dan’s out of bed and dressed before midday on a Saturday. He’s standing in the aisles at Tesco, trying to find some weird brand of ketchup that Jack had specifically requested which he was not to return without.
He’s made the mistake of not getting a basket or trolley – which, in hindsight, was not a good plan for grocery shopping, but Dan’s barely with it as it is and he thinks it’s enough of an achievement that he managed to navigate his way to the Tesco’s down the road – so he’s balancing what feels like fifty-three items precariously in his arms. He shifts a little down the condiments aisle, doing a weird crab-like walk as he searches through the ketchups for the weird brand.
“Fuck me,” Dan mutters, because every brand seems to be Heinz and he’s pretty sure Jack won’t be able to taste the difference anyway.
“You alright there?” a voice says, and Dan shrieks and drops everything he’s holding right on the floor. A box of eggs cracks, a jar of something smashes and apples bounce in various directions around the aisle.
“…Oops,” the voice says, and Dan looks up from where he’s staring at the sole apple left in his arms to face the culprit. It’s the black-haired boy,again.
“You’re paying for this,” Dan says. The black-haired boy shrugs.
“Fair enough,” he says, and then, all conversationally; “still not got fucked, then?” Dan scowls.
“It’s none of your business,” he says, getting on his knees to gather up all the things he can salvage. He only realises too late that getting on his knees in front of a pretty guy who’s making jokes about his sex life was probably not the brightest idea he’s ever had, but Dan’s stubborn, so he’s going to see it through.
“That means no,” the guy says. “Shame. You look good on your knees.” Dan flips him off, not even looking at him as he picks up a bag of crisps and a few more apples.
“Do you exist just to make my life a misery?” Dan asks, getting to his feet and wobbling as he struggles to regain his balance holding everything he could pick up. “I feel like I died at some point and entered hell without even realising.” The guy smirks.
“Kinky,” he says, even though Dan’s pretty sure he’s not said anything remotely sexual. Dan hates pretty boys. They fuck with his brain. “Even for someone who wants to be fucked so desperately they announce it in a supermarket, hell-roleplay isn’t something I would have expected.” Dan scowls again.
“Oh, ha, ha, very funny,” he says sarcastically, grabbing the nearest ketchup bottle off the shelf. Jack can have Heinz and if he complains, Dan’s going to shove it up his arse. “I’m going to pay for this now.”
“You do that,” the pretty boy says. Dan glares at him, lingers a second longer than he maybe should have just because pretty boys don’t talk to him very often and he needs to document the rarity, and then makes his way down the aisle to the counter.
(Jack accepts the ketchup with a frightened look on his face when Dan presses it into his hands with a growl.)
-
It’s almost as if Dan’s pissed off Jesus and now God’s taking his revenge, honestly.
He’s just walking home, not even texting in case he actually breaks his phone for good this time, when he trips over the shoelace that he’d been warned by Jack earlier was going to trip him up and falls over, ripping open his favourite jeans at the knee.
“Fuck me,” he whines, pulling himself into a sitting position and picking tiny pieces of gravel out of the graze on his knee.
“We’ve been over this,” a voice says, and Dan closes his eyes.
“Do you just, like, selectively show up when I say that?” he asks. The boy grins.
“I’m the master of good timing,” he says. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Fell over,” Dan mumbles, and the stranger giggles. Then, to Dan’s surprise, he sits down opposite Dan, crossing his legs and looking at Dan with a kind of mischievous yet earnest expression on his face. Dan narrows his eyes, but then opens them again because the stranger is really pretty up close. He only realises retrospectively that it must look like he had some kind of eye spasm.
“I would,” the stranger says after a moment of silence.
“What?” Dan’s suddenly worried that he missed the beginning of this conversation, because that makes no sense. Is it possible to get short-term amnesia from tripping over your shoelaces?
“Fuck you. I would.”
“Thanks, Yoda.”
“No, seriously,” the pretty boy presses, blinking at Dan. “I’d fuck you. You want to?”
“I’m not that easy,” Dan frowns, but he’s not sure anymore. The boy really is pretty, and Dan really is easy. And desperate. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Phil,” the boy says. “You?”
“Dan,” Dan says.
“Pretty name,” Phil says. “Suits you.”
“Did you just call me pretty?” Dan asks suspiciously. Phil grins.
“Maybe.” He stands up, brushing the dirt off his arse, and holds out his hand for Dan to hoist himself up with. Dan does, because he has absolutely no dignity, and he brushes himself down too. The graze isn’t even painful, and he’s completely forgotten about his jeans.
“So. Fuck you. Is that happening?”
“Can we at least like, have dinner or something first?” Dan asks. Phil grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Dan’s tempted to get back down on the pavement, onto his grazed knees, and suck Phil’s dick right there in the middle of the street.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter than before, and somehow it sounds soft and earnest and Dan wants to hear that repeated for the rest of his life. “I’d like that.”
“Then you fuck me.”
“Then I’ll fuck you,” Phil agrees. Dan blinks. It’s so fucking hot to hear him say that.
(Jesus, Dan is easy. Who’s he kidding?)
“Okay, maybe dinner later,” Dan says hastily, lacing his fingers together with Phil’s and pulling him in the direction of his and Jack’s flat.
it has been the longest time yet here i am returned from my writing hibernation to bring you more Dan Howell and the Tale of his Two Personas
this is for my friendly ghost
Dan feels a sense of discomfort prickling beneath his skin whenever he sees Annabelle over the next few days. He hasn’t found the right moment to reject her offer, but he can’t help thinking that maybe there have been enough moments; there just hasn’t been enough courage.
Finally, however, he sees a day of filming coming up where there’s a whole block of scenes between just himself and Annabelle, and he resigns himself to the inevitable. He has to tell her.
She should probably have figured it out already, Dan thinks, as he makes his way over to her trailer, heart thudding (he’s such a coward). Obviously, he would have gone running straight to her if he had wanted to do what she had offered, right? Or maybe she thinks he would have taken a while to mull it over, that he thought his pride would be hurt by accepting it?
“Oh,” a voice says, jolting Dan out of his thoughts. It’s Annabelle, about to leave her trailer. “It’s you.”
“Yeah,” Dan says, already feeling the discomfort emanating from him. Annabelle senses it too, clearly, because she draws herself up to her full height and nods.
“You want to talk,” she says.
“Yeah,” Dan says again, feeling stupid. “Uh- can we go inside?” Annabelle nods again, withdrawing up the steps back into her trailer. Dan takes a moment to compose himself before following.
Annabelle’s trailer is unlike any trailer he’s ever had. It’s decorated from top to bottom with newspaper clippings mentioning her, press pictures of her, magazine headlines, magazine covers, and anything else that has ever mentioned ‘Annabelle Keene’. Dan feels a little nauseated.
“This is about my offer, right?” she asks, sounding completely calm. Dan’s not fooled.
“Er- yeah, yeah it is,” he says, ripping his eyes away from all the neatly cut out mentions of her name with some difficulty and trying to mask the distaste he can feel on his own features. He’s not sure if he’s fast enough, because Annabelle frowns for a split second, then smooths out her expression again.
“And?”
“And, uh,” he says. “I’d like to…decline.” Annabelle was clearly not expecting that.
“Decline?” she says. “You know what I could do for you?”
“Yeah, and I’m grateful for the offer but…no thanks,” Dan says.
“Is this about Phil?” Annabelle asks. “Or maybe…Nathan?”
“It’s about me,” Dan says, a faint trace of irritation clear in his tone. Annabelle narrows her eyes, looking at him contemplatively, but then nods.
“Fine,” she says curtly. “It was only an offer, anyway.” She turns around, busying herself with something – probably cutting out more pictures of her own face, Christ – and Dan takes it as his cue to leave, thankful as he hurries out of her weird trailer.
“Hello, Dan,” a surprised voice says, and honestly, what is it with Dan running into people accidentally at the worst moments?
“Oh,” Dan says, his former irritation fading as he looks at the person he’s just encountered. It’s Nathan. “Hey, Nathan.”
“I was just heading to the food trailer,” Nathan says. “Wanna join me?” Dan doesn’t really see any way out of it and he likes Nathan well enough, so he shrugs and nods.
“Why not?” he says. “Can’t work on an empty stomach after all.”
“Yeah, not with your schedule,” Nathan mutters. “All that time with Annabelle?”
“Well, it’s to be expected, isn’t it?” Dan says, ignoring his phone as it beeps, signalling a text. “She plays the lead female, after all.”
“Doesn’t do a very good job of it, if you ask me,” Nathan says darkly. “Spends all her time flouncing around acting like she owns the place.”
“You should see her trailer,” Dan says. “It’s absolutely plastered with photos of her.” Nathan looks partially shocked, partially impressed.
“When did you get into her trailer?” he asks. “She won’t let anyone in.”
“What?” Dan asks, bemused. “Just now.”
“Yeah,” Nathan says. “Like, nobody. That’s probably why, though, if she’s covered the place in pictures of herself. Always knew she was an odd one.”
“Well,” Dan says, but he doesn’t defend her, and Nathan laughs.
-
The day is exhausting, to say the least. The first few scenes are filmed rather swiftly, with only a few takes needed for each, but then Annabelle starts acting up, forgetting lines and corpsing and God knows what else. Dan puts on a false act of patience, smiles and tells her it’s no bother when she apologises breathlessly mid-giggle, and hopes Kevin will accidentally drop a clapperboard or two on her head. Kevin seems to be just as irked by Annabelle’s performance and announces a take five that takes about fifteen minutes. Dan’s starving, having had nothing to eat since his brunch with Nathan, and is just about to see if he can subtly leave the patch of forest they’re filming in, when his phone beeps again and a nearby cameraman shoots him a look, startled by the noise. Great; now Dan has to stay.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket for want of something better to do and notices a string of texts in FBI5 and a few from Phil. He opens FBI5 first, ignoring the messages as they’re still coming through, reading something about a concert and a spare ticket. He’s more interested in the text from Phil.
Phil
I thought film sets were meant to be glamorous affairs.
Dan smiles wryly. He’d thought the same thing at first.
Me
What makes you think they aren’t?
Phil
I just trod on a dead rat outside a trailer
Dan grimaces. He hopes it wasn’t outside their trailer.
Me
Sounds grim.
Phil
Looks even grimmer.
Dan grins.
Phil
I’m bloody bored, as well. They keep filming the same scenes over and over and over again. I had no idea how many takes it took, how many different camera angles were needed, just for one scene.
Me
Well, that’s Hollywood for you.
Phil
Yeah, a right pain in the arse.
Phil
Anyway, how are you?
Me
Pretty good. How about you?
Phil
Pretty good. Feel up to entertaining me?
“Dan!” Kevin shouts, sounding exasperated. Dan looks up, pocketing his phone.
“Mhm?” he asks.
“Get over here, c’mon. That’s three times I’ve shouted your name.”
“Alright, sorry,” Dan calls, adding “my lord” sarcastically under his breath, hurrying off to (hopefully) finish the scene.
(He doesn’t check his phone again until the scenes they’re meant to be filming are finally, finally over and he’s on his way back to the trailer anyway.
Phil
Clearly not.)
-
“Alright,” Dan says, sounding tired even to his own ears when he walks into the trailer. “I could do with a sit-down.” Phil shuffles up on the couch so that there’s room for the two of them and Dan collapses next to him, exhaling heavily.
“Busy day at the office?” Phil says, grinning, and Dan huffs out a laugh.
“You could say that,” he says. “What are we watching?”
“Some documentary or other, I think it’s about Napoleon,” Phil says. “We can change it if you want.”
“No, no, go ahead, Napoleon’s fine with me,” Dan says, grateful to just have somewhere warm to sit down after that freezing cold forest.
The two of them watch the documentary in silence for a while, with Dan being too tired for it really to sink in. He vaguely hears something about Napoleon’s clingy nature, something about the juxtaposition between public and private personas, but he’s too exhausted to make any sense of it.
“Dan,” Phil says quietly after a while, and it has the unmistakeable determination yet hesitation of something that someone’s wanted to say for a long time but only just worked up the courage to. Dan’s stomach drops.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Do you…” he trails off, biting his lip. Dan hopes he continues; he hates leaving things like this, knowing there’s something that needs to be said but not hearing it.
“Do I what?” he asks, growing impatient after a long pause between the two of them.
“Do you…I mean, um. This is…you know what, never mind,” Phil says hurriedly, sounding nervous.
“No, c’mon,” Dan says. “Tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Phil says, turning away from Dan, showing the finality of the sentence.
Dan doesn’t push it, but the sound of his racing heart thudding against his chest tells him he thinks Phil might have been about to ask him out.
-
Phil acts extremely casual towards Dan the next morning – too casual, in Dan’s opinion. However, he chooses to brush it off and act as if Phil’s acting normal-casual, engaging in conversation with him as usual on the way to breakfast and ignoring Phil’s slightly manic, forced laughter.
“Hey!” Nathan says happily, joining them on the way. “I’ve just managed to escape Ellie, and she told me to send you in.”
“Oh shit,” Dan says. “D’you think I can lie and say you only saw me after breakfast?”
“Probably not,” Nathan says, confirming Dan’s suspicions. “It’s Ellie, after all.” Dan groans, slouching off towards the make-up trailer after saying a hasty goodbye to Phil and Nathan.
“Good day to you too,” Ellie says briskly, when Dan walks in muttering about how he could be eating breakfast with his friends right now. “Sit down.” Dan obeys, and Ellie gets to work. Dan tries not to scrunch up his face as best he can, but Ellie can be quite vicious with her brushes around the eye area and by her tutting he doesn’t think he’s managing very well.
Dan’s phone bleeps with a text and he lifts his hips gingerly to get it out of his pocket, waiting for Ellie to admonish him for moving a millimetre to the left or whatever. No such admonishment comes, however, and Dan’s amazed when he finds he can also actually open his eyes and look down to read the text.
Phil
Do you know an actor called Nathan Terzis?
Dan sucks in a breath.
Me
Can’t say I do. Why?
Phil
He’s a young actor working on this set – I don’t know why I asked if you know him; I think this might be his first big thing.
Me
And?
Phil
He’s a very lovely boy. Quite young.
Me
Phil, what are you getting at?
Phil
Nothing, really.
Dan doesn’t know what to say to that. Surely Phil wouldn’t text Dan asking him if he knows an actor that he knows Dan won’t know and then reiterate his age before claiming there was no reason for doing so?
Phil
Can I trust you?
Phil
I can trust you.
Phil
Can’t I?
Dan frowns.
Me
That’s your choice to make, not mine.
Phil
I can trust you.
Me
Good. Same applies.
Phil
Good.
“Lips, Dan,” Ellie says, placing a tissue between them, and Dan presses his lips together around it.
Me
Is that all?
Phil
Nathan Terzis is very close to Dan Howell.
Me
Is Dan not allowed to have friends?
Phil
Obviously, but I’m worried this is…more.
Phil
It sounds stupid and possessive, right? But he gets more time with Dan than I do, being an actor and all, and they do have to make out at one point…I’m thinking of taking that scene out, but I think Kevin might kill me.
Me
You’re going to make Dan miss out on a nice snog?
Dan erases that.
Me
You’re going to take out a scene which could be vital to the plot of the film (it is) just because you think there may be something going on between two actors, one of whom you have a crush on and haven’t told?
Phil
Well, when you put it like that…
Phil
I almost told Dan, last night. But I came to my senses at the last moment.
Dan’s heartbeat picks up. He was right.
Me
Came to your senses? How do you know he doesn’t like you too?
Phil
C’mon, he has plenty of famous, gorgeous people that he’s known for much longer – why would he ever want me?
Dan’s in the middle of typing his response when the door to the make-up trailer bangs open, making both Ellie and Dan jump (which is not good as Ellie’s in the middle of doing his mascara) and Nathan and Phil walk in, Phil glued to his phone. Dan jumps up, almost chucking his phone down before deciding that would look highly suspicious and finishes typing out the text, deciding to pretend to do something else very loudly on his phone whilst it arrives on Phil’s so that it doesn’t look like it’s him.
“You surviving?” Nathan asks, moving to stand between Phil and Dan, both glued to their phones. Dan hurries out his reply.
Me
You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, Philip.
Phil’s phone beeps, signifying a message has arrived, and Dan hurries to open Flappy Birds and turn his volume all the way up.
“Just about,” he says, in reply to Nathan’s earlier comment. “Was she this rough on you this morning?”
When Nathan doesn’t reply, Dan looks up, frowning, and his bird dies with a sickening crunch.
Nathan’s looking at Dan with a look of mingled confusion and apprehension in his eyes.
“What?” Dan asks. Nathan looks down at Dan’s phone. “What?” Dan asks again, and Nathan’s eyes slide across to Phil’s phone, then back up to Dan’s eyes, quizzical.
me and shelley have decided to do the phandom big bang together SO any ideas u have for plot would be much appreciated thank u pLS give us ideas we are both extremely unimaginative and if u leave us to it it will probably be a high school au about the stars as if there arent enough of those already
Phil’s already gone when Dan wakes up to a horrible vibrating in his pocket, which makes matters a lot easier. Dan groans when he fishes his phone out to turn off the alarm and looks at the time – seven a.m., really – and shoves it back in his pocket before walking out of his trailer and over to makeup.
It’s fucking cold outside, and makeup seems to have moved fifteen miles further away from Dan’s trailer than he remembers, so his cheeks are red and he’s shivering by the time he makes it in.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Ellie says, exasperated, as soon as Dan steps foot in the doorway. “You earn what, like, ninety billion a year and you still can’t afford a coat? Is it your mission in life to make my job impossible?”
“Yes,” Dan says, sitting down. “I love ruining other people’s lives.” His voice is too monotonous (because it’s fucking seven in the morning) and Ellie just throws him a look, shaking her head as she pulls out some of her instruments of death (known to many as ‘makeup brushes’).
“How are things?” she says casually – too casually – squirting some liquid or other onto her hand. Dan narrows his eyes.
“Fine,” he says. “How should they be?”
“Oh, I just wondered,” Ellie breezes, beginning the lengthy process of caking his face in approximately nine hundred unnecessary products. Dan has no idea how some people inflict this upon themselves every day out of choice. “Any lucky person in your life?” Dan frowns; she definitely knows something.
“Would it be any of your business if there were?” he asks, and Ellie raises her eyebrows in an okay, fine kind of manner.
“Just wondered,” she says, and maybe it’s his imagination but she seems to be a little more vicious with her brushes than usual.
-
Dan has the dullest morning ever, filming the same scene over and over and over again because apparently Nathan can’t get his facial expressions right and when he finally does Dan can’t get his tone of voice right or something. It’s tedious and it’s tiring and it’s making Dan wish he’d stayed in school and got a job as like, a hairdresser or something, but it’s with Nathan so it’s okay.
“What are we even doing wrong?” Nathan asks on one of their many ‘take five’s. He sounds tired and exasperated, and Dan can relate.
“Not being as pretentious as they want us to be, I don’t know,” Dan says, equally frustrated. “I say we boycott the studio.” Nathan snorts, uncapping a bottle of water and taking a swig.
“He keeps telling me to feel it,” Nathan says, drawing out the vowel sound in the word just like Kevin does. “All I want to feel right now is his face under my fist.” Dan laughs, nibbling on a sandwich he’d nicked from the food trailer about an hour ago. It’s already a bit soggy from the bright studio lights, but since they’re pretty much on lockdown and at Kevin’s mercy it’ll have to do for now.
“At least we have the evening off,” Dan says. Nathan pulls a face.
“We won’t, at this rate,” he says. Dan rolls his eyes.
“I’ll boycott filming,” he says.
“Good idea,” Nathan says hopefully. “Can we start now?”
“Dan! Nathan!” Kevin shouts from across the room, and Nathan pulls his best dying warrior face before turning around and plastering a determined expression on his face. Dan just ducks his head to hide his smile as he follows Nathan back to the set.
They do two more takes, too mechanic and too wooden, before Dan notices Phil’s slipped in and is standing beside Kevin. It takes him by surprise and he almost misses his cue, sounding more out of it than he should for the first half of his sentence and shaking himself back into it for the second half. He’s waiting for Kevin’s inevitable too [insert any adjective here] but nothing comes.
“Finally!” Kevin says, and Dan looks up, surprised. “Perfect, absolutely perfect. We’ll leave it there, everyone.”
(Dan sees Phil’s private smile, and the way he ducks out of the room as if he’d never been there.)
-
“You up for another movie night?” Phil asks as soon as Dan walks into the trailer. To be honest, Dan’s actually fucking exhausted from saying the same twenty lines over and over and over again and never really wants to speak the English language ever again, but it’s Phil so he relents and nods.
“Anything in mind?” Dan asks, sitting down heavily on the sofa next to Phil. Phil makes no move to scoot up and make more room for Dan, leaving them almost on top of each other. Dan can’t say he minds all too much, and it sends a slight shiver down his spine knowing clearly, Phil can’t mind all too much either.
“I thought maybe Pulp Fiction?” Phil says. “I haven’t seen it yet, and since I’m on a film set I feel like some kind of heretic.” Dan snorts.
“I haven’t either,” he admits. “I just stick to Harry Potter reruns.”
“Glad to know I won’t be going to movie hell alone,” Phil grins. “It’s kinda long, though.”
“You worried you’ll fall asleep again?” Dan teases, and Phil pouts.
“Some of us appreciate our beauty sleep,” he says.
“Some of us need it more than others,” Dan says with a smirk, nodding pointedly in Phil’s direction.
“Hey!” Phil says, mock-outraged. “I’ll have you know that I’m beautiful with and without sleep, thank you very much.”
“Alright, princess,” Dan mocks. “Whatever, put the DVD in. You think you can manage that without falling asleep?” Phil grabs the nearest cushion and hits Dan with it before moving to sit down and set up the film.
“That’s abuse,” Dan says. “I’m filing a complaint.”
“I’m sure the jury will be suitably entertained when you stand up in court and say the defendant hit me once with the softest object in the room for suggesting he would fall asleep at an inopportune moment. Talk about being a diva,” Phil says, and Dan resists the urge to stoop to Phil’s level and throw a cushion at him. He tells him as much, and Phil snorts.
“Stoop to my level? You’d be lucky to get to my level with a space shuttle from where you are,” he says.
“Physical and verbal abuse,” Dan says, ticking them off on his fingers. “What’s next? You kidnap my family and hold them to ransom?”
“I think they suffer enough with you as a relative,” Phil says, getting back to his feet and sitting down beside Dan. He’s not as close as he had been before, but he’s still left enough room on the sofa for at least one more person to sit down, and it makes Dan’s heart skip a beat.
“I’m going to kick you out,” Dan warns.
“Traumatic,” Phil says, clutching his heart.
“What is?”
“How bad of a liar you are,” Phil grins. “Give up the day job.”
“Ha ha,” Dan says sarcastically. “Shut up and watch the damn movie.”
“Diva.”
“Prick.”
“Bit strong.”
“That’s how you like me.”
“True.”
-
Dan wakes up alone (again) to his phone buzzing (again). He pulls a face when he stands up – sleeping in jeans (…again…) is gross and he wouldn’t recommend it to anyone except maybe his worst enemies – and fishes out his phone.
“What?” he asks groggily.
“Lovely to hear your voice too, Dan!” Matt’s tinny voice says, dripping with sarcasm. “I miss you too, it’s so wonderful to hear from you.”
“If you’ve called just to make fun of my mood at-“ he pulls the phone away from his ear to check “-nine in the morning, you can fuck right off back where you came from.”
“Charming,” Matt says dryly. “I was calling to check up on you.”
“At nine in the morning.”
“You have a scene at eleven, if my sheet is correct,” Matt says. “Given how slovenly you are and how long it takes you to eat breakfast, I’d say you’d better get a move on and get to makeup within an hour.”
“You called me literally to tell me that?” Dan asks in disbelief.
“No,” Matt says, voice gentler now. “I called to make sure you weren’t having another sexuality-induced breakdown. Or Phil-induced breakdown. I called to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh,” Dan says. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?” Matt says, and it’s Best Friend Matt so it’s all okay. “How have things been?”
“Uh,” Dan says, trying not to smile like a twelve year old getting a text from their crush because he knows Matt will be able to hear it and Dan will never live it down. “It’s been okay, I guess?”
“Define okay.”
“Well…we’ve been having, like, movie nights?”
“Oh, Dan,” Matt mutters, and Dan can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “You are so- oh my God. Right. Okay. So you’re essentially dating the guy you like who likes you back but doesn’t know you’re you and also doesn’t know you like him back.”
“You make my life sound like an episode of Eastenders,” Dan says, slightly sullenly.
“Characters on Eastenders are a lot easier to deal with than you,” Matt says. “Be careful, Dan. You won’t just be hurting yourself if you carry on like this.”
“What do you mean?” Dan says, even though it’s perfectly clear what Matt means; he just needs to stall for time whilst he thinks of a brilliantly witty response.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Matt says. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll try and swing by in a few days if I can, but you know what my schedule’s like.”
“Not as busy as mine,” Dan says petulantly. “Come and see me.”
“Oh, now I get the emotions,” Matt says. “Fine, I’ll do what I can. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Dan says, and then there’s the rustle and click of Matt hanging up.
“Boyfriend issues?” Phil asks from the doorway, and Dan jumps so violently that his phone falls out of his hand and onto the floor. Phil sounds kind of tetchy.
“Definitely not,” Dan says, pulling a face. “It was Matt.” Phil’s face clears.
“Cool,” he says, smiling as he pushes past Dan. “You want to grab some breakfast?”
“As long as we can avoid Annabelle, I’m game,” Dan says.
“I’ll be your knight in shining armour if she comes within a ten metre radius of us,” Phil promises solemnly.
“Are you saying I’m a damsel in distress?” Dan asks as they walk out of the trailer.
“One of us has to be,” Phil says. “If the shoe fits…”
“Fuck you,” Dan says good-naturedly, elbowing Phil. “I’m not your Cinderella.”
“Nah,” Phil says with a grin. “I’m feeling the ugly stepsister vibe.”
"You're going to be lucky to make it to breakfast if you carry on like that," Dan warns.
"At least I won't have to endure your company any longer," Phil shoots back, and Dan groans. He can't fucking win.
i'm so sorry i couldn't post last week omg :(( i barely managed to get this one finished today ive been so busy this week i've had a history essay to do every evening this week on top of other work siGHS anyway this is uP now though i hope everyone's doing well <33
Dan thinks about it a lot over the next few days.
He studiously avoids Phil in person – which turns out to be relatively easy during the day and slightly harder overnight as Dan hadn’t really realised just how much he’d see Phil in the trailer. It means he’s pretty much confined to his bed after nine p.m. unless they’re doing night shoots, which he doesn’t really mind all that much because he’s not got much better to do anyway.
He starts texting Phil a lot more from his Normal Phone, and Phil thankfully doesn’t mention that Dan seems to be avoiding him – whether out of pride or out of something else, Dan doesn’t know; he’s just thankful that Phil’s not talking about it.
Dan also avoids Annabelle, mulling over what she said whenever he gets a moment to himself. It’s a huge load on his mind, actually, and one he’s not sure whether he should share with Matt because he’s not sure what Matt’s opinion will be – take her up on her offer or not? In the end, though, he decides to call him one night, when he’s sure Phil’s already asleep.
“You know what time it is, right?” Matt says groggily when he picks up. “You’d better be dying, or worse.”
“What’s worse than dying?” Dan says, and continues without waiting for an answer: “I need to talk to you.”
“You’re already talking to me,” Matt says, “and I’d rather you weren’t.”
“Dickhead,” Dan grumbles under his breath. “Listen. This is serious. It’s about- about, y’know. My, uh. Preferences.” There’s a rustling sound, like Matt’s sitting up in bed properly, and a click that sounds like a light being switched on.
“Talk.” Dan takes a deep breath, and tells him everything. He tells him about Nathan knowing, about how he’d admitted it to Nathan without realising Phil and Annabelle had walked in, about how he’d avoided them both for the rest of the day, about Annabelle’s offer. When he finishes, he exhales heavily and waits for Matt to take it all in.
“Wow,” Matt says.
“Yeah,” Dan sighs. “Kind of fucked up, right?”
“Do you want to have her as your beard?” Dan pulls a face.
“Don’t say that,” he says. “I hate that. I hate- I wouldn’t be paying her, anyway, so she wouldn’t be a proper beard.”
“Regardless,” Matt says, “do you want that?” Dan swallows.
He’s thought about it – a lot. He’s thought about all the positives – being able to see people he wants to see without too many questions being asked being the main one, of course – and he’s thought about the negatives, about how it goes against every part of his moral standing and about how he doesn’t think, even if he were to have a beard, he’d want it to be Annabelle. A few dates here and there with random girls he’ll never see again is one thing, but Annabelle, who actually knows what’s going on? That’s a whole other story.
“I want to be happy,” Dan says.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Matt says. Dan hears Phil shift and freezes momentarily, before Phil’s even breathing starts up again and reassures him that yes, Phil’s still asleep. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Dan says, making sure to keep his voice down. “Phil’s asleep.”
“Oh, right,” Matt said. “Yeah, I forgot. Sharing a trailer with the guy who’s lusting over you but doesn’t know you’re you and that you’re also lusting over him.”
“I am not lusting over him!” Dan says in a hissed whisper. Matt snorts.
“Back to the question,” he says. “Do you want her to do that?”
“No,” Dan admits. “I’d rather- I don’t want to officially hide, y’know? It makes it seem too…too real.”
“It is real, Dan,” Matt says seriously. “This is your world. You chose it. You’re trying to live in it. You’re making it what you want it to be. These are your decisions. I might have been your best friend for the past decade, and I might be your agent-slash-manager, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to run your life for you. You need to decide for yourself what you want to do about this, and how you want to proceed, because it was you who decided to carve this path for yourself.” It’s the longest Dan thinks Matt’s ever spoken to him in one go in the past five years or so, and it takes him completely by surprise.
“I don’t want to choose,” Dan admits in a small voice after a moment.
“And that’s exactly why you have to,” Matt says with a sigh. “I know you’re being spoonfed at the moment, Dan, but you’re always yearning for freedom – yet when freedom comes, you shy away from it? You need to learn to deal with it, to deal with the fact that you’ve grown up and it’s your life. You make this decision for yourself, and phone me when you’ve told her what you made your mind up to be. Love you.” He hangs up without another word, and Dan listens to the dial tone for two minutes straight feeling lonelier than he ever, ever has before.
-
Dan ends up having to talk to Phil in the morning when they bump into each other in the queue for breakfast in the food trailer.
“Oh,” Dan says, when it becomes clear conversation is unavoidable. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Phil mumbles.
“Sleep well?” Dan wants to kick himself, because there are nine thousand other (better) things that he could say and he goes for sleep well? Honestly, it’s no wonder he’s single.
“Uh, kind of. You?”
“Well enough,” Dan says. He swallows, and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. Why can’t whoever’s at the front of the queue decide what they’re eating, for God’s sake? This painful situation would be over a lot quicker. “Uh, so. How’s life?”
“Why are you avoiding me?” Phil blurts, taking Dan by surprise. He hadn’t been expecting such a forward question about it.
“I’m not,” Dan says, but it’s early and he’s not really bothering to try and pretend and it’s weak and Phil knows. Phil throws him a look, a why won’t you just tell me the truth, it hurts a lot less than a blatant lie look, and Dan feels his stomach sink. The previously alluring smell of bacon suddenly makes his stomach flip. “I don’t- after what you heard. I don’t want things to change between us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Phil says.
“I made it obvious,” Dan says.
“But you outright told Nathan,” Phil says, and he sounds hurt, there’s no other word for it. He’s upset, and it’s all Dan’s fault. “You told Nathan, and then you avoided me. What did I do?”
“You-“ Dan cuts himself off. “Nothing. Nothing, I’m sorry. It was me.”
“This sounds like a break up,” Phil says, but there’s no underlying humour. “‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
“It is,” Dan presses. The queue moves up a person.
“And Annabelle?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs, avoiding Phil’s gaze.
“She gave me an offer, but I’m not going to accept,” Dan says. Phil blinks.
“She offered to be your beard?” He sounds vaguely shocked mixed with slight disgust. Dan understands the feeling.
“Essentially,” Dan says.
“And you’re going to say no?” Dan bites his lip.
“I don’t feel right saying yes,” he says truthfully. “I don’t really- like, I can’t pinpoint it exactly? But something about it makes me uncomfortable. So, like, yeah. I’m going to say no.”
“When are you going to tell her?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs, moving up another person in the queue. He’s only two away from the food now, and he’s starting to lose the sick feeling so the bacon’s smelling good again (thank God).
“Later,” Dan says.
“Today?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay.” Phil doesn’t question him any further, and Dan moves up the final two places in the queue wondering whether he should have mentioned that to Phil at all.
-
Dan doesn’t see Annabelle all day, and the coward in him is grateful for it. The coward in him is not, however, grateful for the fact that Phil’s sat on the sofa watching TV when Dan walks into the trailer after his final eleven p.m. shoot, ready to sit back and watch a movie and relax and not think about all the things he’s been thinking about recently.
“Hey,” Phil says nonchalantly.
“Hi,” Dan says, hovering awkwardly near the TV. He wants to watch a film, but he also doesn’t want to kick Phil off the TV and he doesn’t want to spend time with him if he’s going to be as downright pissy as he had been earlier.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Phil says, but it sounds rehearsed. Dan’s learnt enough lines to recognise the signs. “It’s none of my business who you choose to tell about private things like that.”
“It’s okay,” Dan says, feeling horribly uncomfortable. “I- I should have told you. I trust you.” Phil smiles at that, the first time Dan’s seen him smile in days (although it is the first time Dan’s properly seen him in days, to be honest) and it loosens the knot in his stomach just a little.
“D’you wanna watch something?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs.
“Okay,” he says, sitting down on the sofa at a decent distance from Phil. “What’s on?”
“Um, I’m not actually sure?” Phil says. “You can put something else on if you want.”
“There’s a few movies in the DVD case over there,” Dan says.
“Anything good?”
“I don’t know,” Dan admits. “I haven’t watched any of them yet; they’re all films Matt recommended.”
“As long as they’re not the entire Saw collection, I think I can manage,” Phil says, grinning as he stands up to rifle through the various DVDs in the case Dan had pointed out.
-
(Phil falls asleep on Dan halfway through Love Actually, half-curled up on his chest, head resting on Dan’s shoulder and nestling dangerously close to Dan’s neck. Dan still puts an arm around him, rests his cheek against the top of Phil’s head and falls asleep right there, half-holding Phil in his arms, too tired to care about what Phil will think when he wakes up tomorrow.)
