Tags: Getting together, WWII AU, Easy Company Lieutenants Steve and Eddie
Pairings: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson
Rating: M
Summary: A close call with death prompts a life-changing move.
Series: @corrodedcoffinfest 2nd Annual CCF: Media Mania
Steve’s lips are cold.
Soft, yes. Just as Eddie knew they would be. But still so cold.
And that’s not what he should be thinking about. No. Fuck that – no. He should be reveling in this moment, in the culmination, the fucking climax of over a year’s worth of hoping and pining and hoping some more. Of talking himself out and through and in between a thousand different conversations. Of stroking his dick with a quick fist and a bitten bottom lip, fast and dirty in the shower house or under the thin, wool blanket in the barracks.
Or rather, Eddie should be thinking about the danger that ignites the frigid December sky in blinding, crackling blooms of white and yellow.
Of the pine trees that become secondary shrapnel, pillars of the Bois Jaques forest reduced to projectiles as they’re hit again and again with enemy fire.
Of the shouts of his company, barking orders and desperate cries marry in the cacophony of chaos until they’re no more than white noise.
Of the symphony of screams for Doc Owens, and how E Company’s beloved medic screams right back for spare morphine to placate the dead and the dying.
Of Sergeants Emerson and Goodman in the next foxhole over, cussing a rabid blue streak for more ammo that they all know they don’t have.
Of the replacements the company was handed yesterday, Privates Henderson and Sinclair, that he hasn’t even bothered to learn their first names yet, because fuck this place and fuck the fact that they probably won’t live to see tomorrow.
No.
All he can think about is how in one second, a Kraut mortar plummeted from the sky and landed six inches from Eddie’s foot. How in a millisecond, he had his life flash before his eyes, and in that tiny fragment of time, he regretted it all. Every last moment not spent with First Lieutenant Steve Harringotn. All of the pining and longing and stolen glances that Eddie would swear up and down were returned until he talked himself out of it; t’s all not fucking worth it because he never had the chance to tell Steve how he feels.
Until the mortar didn’t detonate.
Until it just sat there, smoking, wheezing out a dying breath while Eddie and Steve held theirs.
Until Eddie’s trembling fingers fumbled for the button on the breast pocket of his jacket, fishing for a smoke he never got to light, because Steve fucking Harrington grabbed him by the nape of his neck and kissed him.
Shit.
Maybe he is dead. Maybe he’s halfway to heaven already and God is giving him one last hurrah, as a way of saying Thank you for your service, soldier! or some shit before he’s catapulted straight to hell.
Because it can’t be real. Steve’s lips are cold, mashing all that plushness hard against his mouth in a way that makes his teeth bear the brunt of the kiss. It’s brutal. It’s rough. Literally rough; Steve’s untrimmed stubble scratches against Eddie’s dry skin, chafed raw from lack of care and the bitter cold.
It’s too callous and unfeeling –
OhJesusFuck.
It was too callous and unfeeling, until the tip of Steve’s tongue prodded at the seam of Eddie’s lips, begging him for entrance and wouldn’t you know it?
Warmth.
Blissful, sultry, sinful warmth roars like fire through Eddie’s veins, groaning as he welcomes Steve with a tilt of his head and a fistful of fatigues. Eddie wrenches Steve closer, tasting and licking every last inch of Steve, painfully aware of their vulnerability in their poor excuse for a foxhole, but too lost in Steve’s flavor to care.
A blast, far too close to where they recline entangled in the frozen dirt, rips Eddie from the embrace of Steve’s lips. Shock and fear and lust paint Eddie’s normally pallid cheeks pink, further deepening when Steve puffs out a husky laugh.
“Been wanting to do that since Currahee.”
The laugh that bubbles forth sounds hysterical. And maybe it is, given Eddie’s current surroundings. “Basic training?” he blurts, eyes flaring wide when Steve nods. “When Lt. Creel had us eat all that spaghetti and then run –”
Steve’s hazel eyes are dancing with mirth. “Three miles up, three miles back. Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure I puked my guts out in front of you.”
“Yet somehow, I still fell.”
There’s so much more to be said. So much that Eddie wants to lay at Steve’s feet, to meet him halfway after devastating him with the world’s most monumental kiss, but he won’t.
Not right now, not when there’s an ominous lull in the action, where Officer Hopper and Newby’s bellows of Incoming! fade as lonely echoes.
Steve’s still got his hand cinched tight around the back of Eddie’s neck. “We should –”
Eddie draws him closer, memorizing each freckle that dusts over his nose, every mole that somehow makes him all that more beautiful. “Pick up right where we left off.” He forces down a swallow. “Once this is over.”
Tender fingers sweep over the baby hairs at the brim of his helmet. “You want that?”
Eddie could kiss him again. Slow and sweet this time, pretend the world doesn’t exist outside of this 3x4 crater in the ground. Show this man that he’s walked through fire and ice with just how much he wants.
A swell of voices rips Eddie from his reverie, and a sinking feeling weighs in his bones. This night’s not over, not by a long shot.
“I want a lot of things, Steve,” puffy plumes of heated breath swirl in the minute space between them, and Eddie squeezes his hold on Steve’s jacket before releasing him and snatching his M1 off the ground. “And I want them with you.”
Summary-> After being found out by the Patrol, you try to act the part, to lower the suspension on Gus's presence.
Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader
Word Count-> 3.3k
Chapters-> I II III IV
Warnings-> PG-13: AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Use of the word Nazi.
Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.
Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.
Divider by-> @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!
-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’
Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER
With the officers gone, Gus helped you to your feet, gently cradling your arm in his hands to look at the steadily bruising print on your bicep. His brows creased, as anger at the officer's roughness with you filled him again and guilt for getting you into this mess consumed him. Laying a hand on his chest, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile, nodding your head slightly.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, tracing the edge of the bruise with his thumb.
"It's not your fault, Gus." You cooed, brows pinching slightly. "It's not like you walked up here and asked us to take you in, We-" You looked at Edmund, who nodded at him. "took you in because we knew it was the right thing to do."
"So, he's not a worker from another village?" Your father's skeptical tone asked, as he regarded the three of you from his chair.
Edmund sighed heavily, rubbing the side of his face. "No, Pops. He's not." He answered, having not liked lying to your father to start with, despite it being needed at the time. Now he was going to have to ask something just as difficult. "She found Gus injured on the beach the other day, and we brought him in, so Dr. Tremblay could treat his wound. I know we told you he was working for me." He explained, moving across to sit beside him. "Now, however, the Patrol, and Trottier, think that Gus is her fiancé. We need to keep that story going. At least, until he's well again and, either they leave the area, or Gus can get back to where he needs to be."
"Can you do that, Papa?" You asked, frowning down at him, concerned for his well-being in the matter, knowing it was a lot asking your father to make merry with a random man who was pretending to be your future husband.
"Well, I have no choice in the matter, do I?" Mael answered, rubbing his shaky hands over his knees. "The mission has already been set up for me by the three of you. I'm just here as support."
"I'll make it as short a mission as possible." Gus replied, giving him a serious, but respectful, expression. "One Major, to another." He added, with a knowing glint in his blue eyes.
"I'll hold you to it." Mael stated, giving him a hard look.
"I guess there's no reason to finish the project downstairs." Edmund commented, sitting at the kitchen table with you and Gus, hands cupped around a fresh mug of coffee.
"Oh, I don't know." You chimed in, setting your tea down. "I really could use some shelves down there." You smirked, giving him a teasing expression.
Edmund gave you a squinty eyed look. "Use some shelves." He parroted, tapping the rim of his cup with his index finger. "Down-stairs."
"Mmhm." You nodded, brows going up, and giggling as Edmund's eyes flickered to Gus. "What are you looking at him for?"
"Wondering if he can get his fiancé under control." Edmund quipped, finally raising the coffee to his mouth.
"Well, I always heard, 'happy wife, happy life'." Gus answered, shifting in his seat, and glancing over at you. "So, if more shelves make her happy." He shrugged his shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.
"Just because you give her everything she wants, doesn't mean she'll be happy." Edmund replied, an almost sour edge in his voice.
"Are you trying to compare me to Willamena?" You asked, cocking an offended brow at him.
Edmund finished off his coffee and pushed his chair back. "No." He said curtly, standing and striding over to the door, jerking his coat off the hook on the wall beside it. "I'll be back later." He huffed, going out.
"Is he all right?" Gus asked, look to you.
"Edmund will be fine." You sighed, shaking your head. "He and Willa, his wife, haven't been happy together in a very long time. So, it's a sore subject for him." You explained, getting up to take your and Edmund's cups to the sink, but glanced up at the clock. "I have to go down to the shop. We don't have anything for dinner in the refrigerator and I have to see when Remi wants me to work another shift."
"Is it far?" He inquired, coming up behind you and setting his own mug in the sink.
"No." You shook your head, biting your lip as you felt his intense warmth against your back. "Maybe a two minute walk."
"Why don't I go with you?" Gus suggested, cocking his head and smiling at you.
"Do you think you can manage with your wound?" You asked, a bit apprehensive. "I don't want you to over-extend yourself."
Gus's smile brightened and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "I'll be fine, I promise." He assured you, his thumb rubbing your wrist. "I could use the fresh air and sunshine. Plus, it'll help deter any of the Patrol, instead of making them more paranoid, if I stay inside a hundred percent of the time."
"You're right." You nodded, biting your lip, having not thought of what the Patrol would think of Gus staying hidden. "I'll get my shoes and something to wrap up in." You told him, before giving his hand a gentle pressure back.
"I'll wait for you here."
He let go of your hand and moved out of the way. Your cheeks felt warm as you hurried upstairs to grab your cardigan off the back of a chair in your room, pausing to fix your hair in the mirrored back of your vanity and spritz a bit of Soir de Paris. But you stopped, feeling silly.
"Acting like this is a date." You sighed, flustered, plopping down on your chair. fishing your shoes out from under the vanity and securing the buckles. "All right, I'm ready to go." You declared, coming back downstairs, finding Gus patiently waiting for you by the door.
"As am I." He answered, tipping his head politely, while pulling open the door.
"You mind her, Major." Mael called out to Gus, leaning forward in his chair to catch his eye.
"I would think of nothing less." Gus assured him, meeting your father's eye confidently. "I am her fiancé, after all." He quipped, with a wink, then followed you out. "Do we hold hands?" He asked, looking at you, but felt his heart kick at your startled reaction. "I'm only teasing you." He said softly, biting his lip.
"I know." You squeaked, flustered, before catching sight of your sister-in-law coming out of her home across the way. "Oh, that's Willa." You mumbled to Gus, before lifting your arm and waving to her.
"Morning, Willa!" You greeted her, grinning pleasantly.
Willa stared over at you and Gus, pulling a Rose-Tip out of her engraved case and her sky-blue enamel guilloche, sterling silver lighter from the front pocket of her knitted jumper. She didn't return your pleasant acknowledgement, instead lit her cigarette in a smooth and indifferent motion, eyes never moving off the two of you. Gus frowned, cocking a brow at her as he studied her standoffish demeanor; puzzled. She was just anti-social or if she was being rude.
"What’s her issue?" He asked you, his own eyes never leaving Willa.
"She's fine." You answered, sighing at your sister-in-law, your heart yearning to have a connection with her.
You had been excited upon hearing about Edmund courting someone; finally having another woman in the house to talk to, to share in the chores and just confide things to. Things you couldn't do with your father and brother.
However, from the moment you met, Willamena Badeaux had been distant from you.
She wasn't cold, per se, but she hadn't opened up with you either. Willa had been the first female in your close and personal circle, outside of the couple of elderly church ladies that would come over during the day. They would cook meals, clean the house, wash the laundry and just make sure you, Edmund and your father were well taken care of. After your mother had run off with her lover, the assistant shop clerk of the grocery store she frequented on her shopping trips. Which several of you figured were excuses to go and meet up with him; so she could cheat on your poor father.
But, the church women never went out of their way to be motherly or be a true confidant for you. Their love and friendship was out of pity. You were the little girl of a harlot and a mentally broken man, who could barely manage a job, dropping that weight onto his teenage son. So, when Willa came into the picture, you thought you would have a sister, not only to do sisterly things with, but to also learn how to be a woman. That's obviously not how it turned out.
She only came over to the house, if Edmund urged her to. She only held a conversation with you, if you were the one to start it and spurred it to keep going, otherwise she only spoke to Edmund or sat quietly. It only got worse, when the two of them married and moved into the cottage across the street from you and your father. Willa rarely came over for family dinners, meals you were still solely cooking for the four of you. Only occasionally getting a home cooked meal from her, after she and Edmund quarreled over her not performing her wifely duties and dropping the chores of two houses on you. As if you were their maid.
Part of you was sure, Willa detached from you, because she had been under the assumption Edmund only married her to be a mother figure to you. Not because he had been, once upon a time, madly in love with her.
"Do you need anything from the shop, Willa?" You asked, pulling yourself from sinking deeper into that emotional hole. "Gus and I are popping down there now." You explained, raising a hand and motioning to him, casually.
She stared at you for a long minute, before holding up her case, the sunlight glinting off the engraved bronze and mother of pearl. Nodding that you got the hint, you turned and started towards the center of town, with Gus following beside you. The sun was warm, heating the both of you, as well as the modest homes and buildings that lined the street, all converging on the limestone fountain round-a-bout in the middle of Saint-Thurney, spraying an arch of water from the top; a rainbow sparkling in the mist.
"This is really quite a quaint town." Gus commented, glancing about, following you across the sleepy street.
"It is." You replied, smiling up at him, proud of your little adoptive home. "It's almost like we're somewhere else entirely, instead of such a bustling and chaotic world." You told him, always feeling a sense of peace while in Saint-Thurney, even with a World War being waged around you and the town being occupied.
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." You added softly, stopping beside Remi's General Store. "This is the place!" You declared, waving your hand at the store's front windows, plastered with advertisements for goods he sold inside, several crate displays lined the bottom of one window. "You'll like Remi, he's super sweet." You smiled, reaching out for the door handle, only to have Gus beat you to it.
"Allow me." He purred, pulling it open and standing aside, for you to go in first. "Only proper for your fiancé to open it for you."
You gulped, biting the inside of your lip. "Right." You nodded, clearing your throat. "You're right."
Composing yourself, you went inside, finding Remi at the only register with one of the residents, Mrs. Moulin, the Mayor's wife. They looked up at you and smiled, before their expressions twisted into apprehensive confusion, spotting Gus coming in behind you.
"Morning, Remi. Mrs. Moulin." You greeted them cheerily, while trying to keep casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary for Gus to be there with you.
"Good morning." Mrs. Moulin addressed you, her eyes still on Gus, as if she expected him to lash out at everyone.
"Who is this?" Remi asked, ignoring his manners, unlike her.
"This is Gus." You grinned brightly, looking back at him and your breath catching in your throat at the feeling of him taking your hand. "He's my fiancé." You declared, heart racing in your chest.
Both Remi and Mrs. Moulin looked floored at the announcement, particularly Remi, who you had worked for for several years and knew you'd never mentioned having a male suitor. Let alone a fiancé! So, selling Remi on Gus being your betrothed was going to be one of the other hurdles you faced, on top of the Patrol and Director General.
"When did this happen?" Remi snapped, dumbfounded and looking almost outraged. "You never mentioned anything!"
Gus rested his free hand on the small of your back, his eyes taking the other man in, sizing him up. "Keeping me your own little secret, Peanut?" He asked, a sparkle coming into his eyes as he looked at you, bashfully.
A zing shot through you, hearing him call by your nickname, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I have been." You smirked, bashfully turning your face into his bicep.
"How did the two of you meet?" Remi asked, continuing his interrogation.
"We knew each other from before she moved here." Gus answered, surprising you on how casually he came up with the fabricated detail. "I reached out to her just after I enlisted, and well, I proposed to her a year ago." He stated, smiling at you and caressing your back with his thumb. "Thankfully, she said, yes."
"Would you have gotten yourself shot sooner, if I said no?" You teased him back, getting lost in the moment.
Gus grinned at you, amused, but he felt something deeper. "Definitely." He nodded slowly, his blue eyes soft.
Mrs. Moulin gasped, crossing herself. "You were shot?"
"Yes, madam. I was." Gus replied, tipping his head politely to her. "That's the reason I'm here, and not back in Belgium; fighting." He stated, lightly touching his wound. "This lovely gem is taking care of me." He cooed, touching his thumb to your chin with a wink, making your knees a little weak.
"I thank you, sir." Mrs. Moulin said, straighten her petite body, then glanced around the group. "Fighting those damn Nazis."
Your mouth fell open, surprised to hear the ordinarily prim and proper lady, curse. "Mrs. Moulin." You mumbled, in a state of shock.
"Well, it's true!" She huffed at you, gathering up her grocery bags. "I'm sick of them being in my town, marching about, like they own it."
"I'd be careful with what you say, Mrs. Moulin." Remi warned, as she moved for the door. "You never know who you can trust." He said, eyeing Gus.
"Luckily, everyone here is trustworthy." You chimed, with confused surprise. "Have a good day, Mrs. Moulin. Say hello to the Mayor for me."
"Oh, I will, my dear." She answered, reaching out to rest her hand on your arm, looking between you and Gus. "You make a beautiful couple. You must let my brother, Zane, marry you when the time comes." She said, with a sweet smile.
Your cheeks blazed at her words. "We'll put him at the top of consideration." You promised her, offering her your own soft smile.
"Good." She nodded, patting your arm and gave Gus a cheeky wink, before scuttling out the door.
"Do I have a shift this week, Rem?" You asked, turning your attention back to your boss, who hadn't taken his judging eyes off of you.
"I haven't gone over the schedule yet this week." He answered, gruffly. "So, I'll have to let you know."
"All right." You nodded, feeling the cold coming off of him in waves. "Well, I have a bit of shopping to do for the house." You said, trying to shrug it off as Remi's reluctance to trust with the uncertainty of war, having lost both his brothers.
Gus stepped away from you, to grab a small hand basket from the stack by the door, holding it for you as you puttered around the modest aisles and freezers, grabbing a few items and placing them in the basket.
"Everything is so bare." He commented, watching you grab a box of oatmeal, only one of four on the scarce shelf.
"We're being rationed." You replied, sighing as you tucked a box of dry pasta in with the rest of your groceries. "Remi only gets a shipment of things once a week to stock the shelves. If you want something and don't get here early enough for it..." You trailed off, shrugging your shoulders dismissively.
“Suppose, being enlisted for so long, I’ve been a bit blind to the tribulations of civilians.” Gus frowned, his brow creasing heavily. “Not that I didn’t know about rationing. I just didn’t…” He shook his head, a hardness coming into his blue eyes. “Damned Nazis.” He growled, rolling his jaw.
You rested your hand on his elbow, looking up at him with a soft expression. “It is what it is, Gus.” You told him, quietly. “But it will change. We’ll beat them and everything will go back to how it should.”
“As it should.” He echoed, meeting your eye for a long moment.
What will happen after the War ends? No matter who wins. I’ll have to go back to the Army. I’ll have to leave her. Could I come back after my service? Would you want me to come back? Could I…
He shook his head hard, trying to shove the thoughts away. It was delusional to think such things, he was getting too involved and attached. He needed to keep a barrier between the two of you, to protect you against the danger he presented as an officer of the British Army.
“Well, what’s for dinner?” He asked, forcing that wall back up and peeking into the basket he carried for you.
“Um..” You cocked a brow at the basket’s contents taking stock of it and what you knew was at home. “I could make a simple stew. Wouldn’t be too much, but it would be something in our bellies.”
“I have faith in your cooking abilities.” Gus smiled, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.
“Kind of you.” You giggled shyly. “I think that's about all we need.” You said, biting your lip and glancing about the modest shop. “We can get rung up.” You smiled, heading towards Remi at the register. “How’s your Mum, Rem?” You asked, as he slowly added up everything in your basket.
Remi’s mother had suffered great shock at the loss of her two older sons, Duncan and Andre, who had enlisted and been shipped off to the thick of the war. Duncan had died in the Battle of Crete, taking shrapnel that nicked a serious artery and bled to death before anyone could do anything for him. The most tragic though, was Andre. His squad was ambushed by a German one and overtaken. It had been a hard time for many in the town, when they received the telegraph informing them of Andre officially being MIA. Every time Remi’s mother was seen, she was balling her eyes out and lamenting, prophesying that he too would die as her oldest did.
Two months later though, another telegraph arrived informing them that Andre had been found alive, but being held in a German Prisoner of War camp. His mother was relieved to hear he was alive, however she was still devastated to hear of his situation. Andre survived for a while in the camp. Two whole years, to be exact. But the fated telegraph ultimately arrived, one blustery day, and practically the entire town heard her screaming.
So, in that sense, you and Remi had developed a friendship based on an understanding of parents with mental health issues, inflicted by wars in some way.
“She’s doing all right.” Remi answered, not looking up from his task.
You blinked at him, ordinarily he would elaborate on how his mother was doing when you asked, even if nothing had changed about her. But you realized quickly where his reluctance came from, feeling Gus shift beside you.
Men. You rolled your eyes.
“Can I have Willa’s usual as well?” You asked, ignoring the thick air between Gus and Remi.
“Sure.” Remi nodded, half turning on his heels to grab the red and white, Rose Tip box and tucked it into the bag. “I’ll put this on your tab.” He said, setting it in your reach.
“Thanks.” You smiled uneasily at him, as Gus scooped the bag up and tucked it carefully against his good side. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” You told him, before leaving the shop and tracing your steps back home.
“What’s wrong?” Gus inquired, glancing down at you.
“Nothing.” You informed him, licking your lips and shaking your head. “Guess he’s just having a rough day.” You brushed it off.
Gus moved out of the cellar and into the cramped guest room upstairs, nothing separating the two of you now, but the wall of your closet. The two of you agreed it was much more agreeable to have him there than the cellar in the event the Patrol and the Inspector returned. They know doubt would, their suspension of Gus was all too obvious. It would also be more comfortable for him in the guestroom, giving him a softer bed, the luxury of sunlight and fresh air from the window that overlooked the back garden. As well as the beach, beyond the garden wall.
But as Gus healed and regained his strength again, he knew he had to find a way back to his men, and the war. He had to find out what happened to his men, if they were still alive. How he was to do that, was another matter altogether.
The last thing he recalled of the group was infiltrating a Nazi Intelligence Camp to rescue one of their own, Geoffrey Appleyard. They had gotten into the camp and things had gone well. He and his second hand man, Anders Lassen, moved smoothly together before nodding at each other and Gus looked back to Henry Hayes, jerking his head for the younger man to follow him. They moved swiftly through the camp, taking Nazis out left and right and making the camp practically useless for any that tried to use it again; with Freddy Alvarez setting up a plethora of explosives as a finishing touch.
Gus was proud of his men. No one had been seriously injured, beyond a handful of scratches. It had been one of their best in and out missions in the two years the unofficial, rag-tag group had been put together. That alone should have given Gus a measure of paranoia.
Missions should never go so easily.
The shot rang out and everyone in the group tensed, the jolly celebration that filled them instantly vanished as they dropped their looted goods and scrambled for their weapons, pulling out guns and bows. Gus hated being caught by surprise, especially by damned Nazis. He gritted his teeth, returning fire, while trying to assess the situation. They were a mile and a half from shore, where their boat was waiting to take them back to the safety of Allied Lines. There was a sparse covering of forest between them and their extraction point, that could give them some shelter. As much as Gus March-Phillippss hated being surprised, he hated running. But hearing Anders call out that there were too many and ammo was running low, Gus gave the signal to retreat to the boat, taking up the rear to ensure none of his men lagged behind.
It was him that lagged behind.
He felt the hot burn of lead piercing his side, faltering only momentarily, his eyes focused on the back of Lassen’s head, breath from his lungs starting to wheeze in his throat and his vision spot. Gus’s memory skipped in and out from there, like a scratched record. Spotting the boat ahead of the group and urging them forward, the heat of blood soaking into his clothing and his knees feeling like jelly. He couldn’t recall if he made it to or onto the boat with the others, then somehow fell overboard, or something more happened.
There were dark bits lurking in his mind of freezing cold enveloping him, no doubt of him in the Channel.
“Your father’s very into following the movements of the War.” Gus said one morning, sipping a cup of coffee as the two of you finished breakfast.
“He is.” You nodded.
“Does he only follow the major events or…” He trailed off, meeting your eye.
“No, he follows whatever is reported on or gossiped about in newspapers and the radio.” You replied, sensing his intent and sudden interest in your father’s hobby. “Why?” You asked, cautiously.
“I need to know what happened to my men.” Gus told you, bluntly and honestly. “I have to know if they’re still alive, dead or in prisoner of war camps. Perhaps your father has some information that could be useful to me, on that front.”
“How?” You shook your head, confused.
“I was injured during a mission.” He divulged to you, in a low voice. “It wasn’t an official or authorized mission, but there might be a possibility of it being reported on.” He cast an eye over his shoulder to the sitting room, where your father lounged in his usual spot. “Do you think he’d discuss it with me?”
You snorted at him and lifted your tea cup to your lips. “Do I think so? It’s more a matter of getting him to quit, once you get him going.” You said, taking a deep gulp of the rich, brown liquid. “But, yes.” You nodded, assuring him. “I’m sure my father would likely share any information he has on the War with you. Just wait until later in the morning. He likes to nap after breakfast, and he’ll be more receptive and energetic about the subject.”
“Excellent.” Gus smiled, patting your arm. “Would you like to go on a walk with me, to pass the time?”
“I think that would be quite agreeable.” You cooed, finishing off your tea.
“The first will be the last, and the last will be the first - perhaps this is the immutable law that makes the heart of the world beat; perhaps as long as this law is in effect, as long as spears are broken, destinies clash and blood is shed in an attempt to condone or oppose it, life continues in the world”
just some aesthetics for characters from the fic “Sic erunt novissimi primi” (WWII!AU of figure skating)
In 1939, this war was promised to be short, and those who were schooled on the horrors of World War I were sent marching into World War II. Enlistment papers received with a reluctant hand, the good doctor can still recall the way the draft officer paraded the idea to soldiers and doctors alike that this was to be a tactical sweep into German territory. A rigid agenda to eliminate the Nazi regime - dehumanize, destabilize, and antagonize. Never did Dr. Thredson imagine that he would be forced to offer his medical expertise to the German front, attending to wounded German soldiers. Three years from that fateful day that would alter the course of history, the good doctor survives among the enemy, prey masked as friend in a den of wolves. However, his sanity is on the verge of extinction. Three years from enlistment day, he continues to walk up and down the barracks of Dachau, surrounded by the stench of festering flesh and decaying bodies that were left to bake in the sun. Despite conditions, the drafted doctor has become accustomed to the foul odor of death.
To get a breather, he steps outside for fresh air, wiping hands stained in sticky vermilion with a white cloth. But it isn't just a breather he's after. Peering to his left along the cobblestone road, he spots her through a group of heavily armed soldiers. She appears to him like mother goose--from the baby blue smock with its girlishly rounded slip of a collar to the white cotton apron and nurses hat--leading a line of small children. Motherly. More than once she has caught his sharp eye, hers never meeting his. What is she up to, he wonders. Stealing a glance to see if he is being watched, he tosses the stained white cloth into a puddle of muddied water and follows in hot pursuit.
Summary-> Receiving help from Pastor Zane draws out more than contact with Gus's men.
Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader
Word Count-> 3.5k
Chapters-> I II III IV V VI
Warnings-> PG-13: WWII!AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Fluff, Use of the word Nazi, Angst, Confessions
Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.
Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination. Had this chapter sitting in my Google Docs forever, just waiting for me to finish editing it.
Divider by-> @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!
-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER
Gus felt speechless as you came downstairs, his mouth going dry, looking you over. Even elbows deep in a steaming bucket of soapy liquid or in a simple skirt and blouse, you looked gorgeous. But the navy-blue sailor dress you wore, accented by three white buttons running down from its faux wrap v-neck, with a matching belt and flats, had only enhanced your beauty in every way possible. It paired well with the dark blue suit and white dress shirt Gus had tailored the afternoon before. Its fabric, still smooth and warm from your iron an hour ago, paired with tan braces, shoes polished until he could use them as a mirror, and a gray tie that Edmund had kindly lent him.
“You look beautiful.” He rasped, gulping thickly.
You bit your lip and shyly glanced away. “Thank you. You look very dapper yourself.” You complimented him back, rubbing your bare arm. “Do you have what you need?” You asked, composing yourself as you took a step closer to him, reaching up to adjust his tie slightly.
“I do.” Gus nodded, lightly patting his chest, where two envelopes of an identical letter were tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Good.” You whispered back, clearing your throat and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then, we should go. We don’t want to be late, it’s impolite to keep a man of God waiting.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” Gus chuckled, turning to grab your coat from the hook by the door and helped you put it on, before slipping on the overcoat the tailor had given him. “What is Pastor Zane like?” He asked, as the two of you started the walk to the modest parish church; a ten-minute walk away.
“He’s very kind and has a wit about him.” You replied, slipping your hands into your coat pockets. “He’s not much different from his sister, Mrs. Moulin. He’s a little younger than her, from what I’ve gathered over the years of knowing the two of them. He felt the calling of God, when he was a young man, after he and his father survived the sinking of a fishing boat. Proclaims that he and his father were clinging to the overturned hull, expecting to die, and did what any man in mortal fear would do; prayed to God. He begged the Lord, that if he managed to save them, so his sister and mother could have a provider, that he would commit his soul to him for all eternity.”
“I see his prayer was answered.” Gus stated, offering you his arm, as the two of you cross the road, passing by the fountain in the village square.
“It seems to have been.” You nodded, looping your arm through his. “Another boat happened to be sailing by and saw the sinking vessel, and it stopped to rescue them. Pastor Zane joined a seminary two years later, then returned here when he graduated to run the Village’s parish church.”
“And Edmund trusts him.” He asked, an edge to his voice.
You looked up at him, brow creased slightly, understanding his hint. “We all trust him, Gus.” You replied, protectively. “He’s a good man and he won’t betray you to anyone. You’ll see when you meet him.”
“I trust you.” He said softly, giving you a gentle smile.
The walk was refreshing. You pointed out little things about Saint-Thuney to Gus and greeted the few residents that were out and about as well, popping in and out of the bakery or salon. With a gentle bend, the Village’s paved roads and sidewalks transitioned into a well-worn dirt church lane, where the weathered stone building sat upon the crest of a small hill. There was a wire fence on the left, the backside of a small sheep enclosure. To the right were waist-high hedges, and just over the top of the emerald leaves, headstones could be seen from inside the Village cemetery.
“It’s a real Eden here in Saint-Thuney.” Gus commented, watching the wooly sheep graze.
“It really is.” You agreed, nodding with a small upturn at the corner of your mouth. “It’s almost easy to forget there’s a war going on.” You commented, as the hum of a plane moved overhead.
“Almost.” He agreed, feeling the weight of the letters in his pocket as you reached the top of the hill.
Gus pulled open the heavy, wooden door of the church and stepped aside, ushering you inside the quiet, cavernous sanctuary. The pews were mostly empty, minus a woman in the front pews, but she was motionless and lost in prayer. The flames of the lit votive candles on either side of the altar flickered with the Village's hopes and prayers. It felt both peaceful and eerie to Gus. He observed you pause before a Caen-stone stoup pedestal, dipping your finger into the still Holy Water and quickly crossing yourself; mumbling a silent prayer. Licking his lips, Gus repeated your action, not wishing to be disrespectful. You made your way down the aisle, towards the back of the altar, where, along the wall, was a huge, ornate confessional, and gestured to the only open door.
“You confess here.” You told him, with a light of intent in your eyes.
“Thank you.” Gus replied, nodding his head and casting his eyes piously to the polished floors. “It’s been some time since I’ve confessed.” He admitted, moving past you to the confessional.
“Pastor Zane will take excellent care of you, then.” You said, patting his arm, then left him to light a votive candle, carefully side-eyeing the praying woman.
Gus closed the door on the confessional, plunging himself in darkness as he sat down on the teeny, uncomfortable seat. The partition between the confessional stalls slid open and the dark silhouette of a man filled the grated gap.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” A deep voice rumbled. “Peace be with you.”
“Amen.” Gus replied, clearing his throat. “It has been some time since I’ve confessed, and I will tell you, Father, I likely have many things to confess to. But my most urgent confession is one that a mutual acquaintance of ours has enlightened you on already.”
“Yes, I believe so already, my son. I am Pastor Zane, and take you to be Gus, the one staying with Edmund’s sister.” Zane inquired, cutting to the chase.
“I am, Pastor.” Gus confirmed, removing the letters from his pocket. “I was told you would be able to send these letters to their destinations for me.” He said, tapping them against the screen.
Pastor Zane hummed, opening the screen and reached out for the letters, but Gus didn’t let them go readily. “I assure you, God as my witness, these letters will see the people they’re meant for.” He assured Gus, his voice steady.
“For a holy man, that’s more than I can ask.” He answered, letting them go. “How long will it take?”
“That will depend on how badly the Germans are hindering my contacts.” Zane told him, tucking the letters inside his vestments. “If all is well, then no more than a week and a half. If the Germans are being difficult, two or three.”
Gus sighed, slumping against the back wall of the confessional. “Not ideal. But I suppose it’ll have to do. Is there no way for you to get them there sooner? Telegraph, perhaps?” He inquired, cocking a brow at him in the dark space.
“If my men can not get your letters to them in a month, then they will wire them. But, this is our way.” Zane informed him, his tone immovable.
“Fine then.” Gus hummed, resigned. “Well, I came here under the guise of marrying that incredible woman just out there.” He said, nodding at the door. “What do we need to do for that?”
“Nothing, you aren’t truly marrying her.” Zane answered, shaking his head.
“People think I am.”
“And you will likely be gone in a month.” the Pastor countered, cocking a brow at Gus, curious as to why he was so intent on the subject. “I will simply say I gave you both my blessing to marry, should anyone ask. All the two of you must do is keep whatever charade you’ve been doing up.”
“Hm.”
“Unless, it is not one.” Zane dared to say, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“I-”
“This is confessional, my son, what is said here, stays here.”
Gus was quiet for a moment, before drawing in a deep breath. “I do find myself in love with her. But I know, for her safety, I can’t be.” He confessed, smoothing his palms over his thighs.
“The heart wants what the heart wants.” Zane said, his voice echoing an odd tone of familiar yearning. “But it is the soul that pays. As long as she doesn’t know your intentions, don’t act upon them. It will be easier that way. She’ll be able to move on, when you are gone.”
“I know that.” Gus huffed, standing up and exiting the confessional, agitated.
“Are you all right?” You asked, as Gus stopped beside you, seeing the deep valley between his brows.
“I’m fine.” He answered, picking up a wick and using one of the burning candles to light it. “It’s just been sometime since I’ve confessed; it touched a sore spot.”
“I’m sorry.” You said softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “I’ll be right back.” You told him, stepping away to slip into the confessional yourself. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.” You uttered, crossing yourself.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” Pastor Zane replied in a calm voice. “Tell me of your sins, child.”
You drew a shallow breath. “I’m unsure if it is a sin, Pastor Zane. Perhaps, it is, because it’s selfish.” You paused, brows drawing together as your heart thumped against your ribs, like a Blitz, your mouth working for a second, before the words finally found their way out. “I don’t want him to go. I don’t want Gus to leave.”
“I love him.” You confessed aloud, your voice breaking.
“Oh, my dear sweet girl.” Zane sighed, shaking his head. “No, and while our almighty Lord may consider that lustful, I do not believe that’s your intention. You are both young, living in a frightening time in our history. You did a brave and Christian thing, by saving him that day, and perhaps feel a bond with him for it. However, Gus must leave, when his people arrive to retrieve him. He does not belong here with us. He belongs back wherever he came from, and you must let him go.”
You scrunched up the skirt of your dress and let out a shaky breath. “I know. I doubt he even feels the same.” You mumbled, biting your lip. “Well, those are all my sins, Father.”
“Very well, my child.” Zane nodded, bowing his head slightly. “For your sin, I assign you the penance, ten Glory Be’s.”
Accepting your penance, You finish your confession and Pastor Zane sealed it with the sign of the cross and a soft amen, before you exit the confessional, only feeling slightly better about what you had told him. The door to Pastor Zane’s side of the confessional opened and the tall, robed clergyman stepped out, salt-and-pepper head ducked to clear the low door. He offered you a smile that almost instantly warmed your heart, his kindness evident in his expression and bright, coffee-brown eyes.
“How is your family?” He asked, the formality of confession left in the Confessional.
“They’re all very well, thank you.” You replied, nodding your head respectfully. “My father sends his respects as usual, and Edmund promised to come to the next services.” You informed him, watching his eyes move away from yours to something behind you. “As for Willa, she is her usual self.” You said, feeling the commanding aura Gus radiated and turned to smile up at him.
“Gus, this is Pastor Zane.” You introduced them properly to one another.
“A pleasure.” Gus greeted him, reaching his hand out.
“Quite.” Pastor Zane replied, taking Gus’s hand between his and giving it a hearty shake. “I am so excited at the prospect of the two of you wedding.” He told Gus, his eyes making a quick sweep of the church, spotting the still praying woman. “My sister will be so thrilled at having such joyous festivities in the village.”
You chuckled, knowing how much Mrs. Moulin loved throwing parties, when given the chance.
“I’m grateful you’ve agreed to marry us.” Gus replied, his shoulders somewhat tense. “Especially without knowing a jot about me.” He smirked, snickering.
“Ah, if this fine, young lady has such feelings for you, then you are truly worthy.” Zane assured him, waving it off and noticed the woman stand from her pew. “Well, I must return to confessions. We shall see each other again, for that special day.” He smiled, motioning the woman into the box. “Have a blessed day.”
“You as well, Pastor.” You bid him, grinning back. “See, that went well, didn’t it?” You said, looking up at Gus.
“You can say that.” He replied, his fingertips tracing the length of your spine. “Is there anything else you need to do here?” He asked, looking about the modest room.
“No, I lit the candles Papa asked me too.” You said, shaking your head.
“Very well, back home we go.” Gus declared, offering you his arm and turning you both towards the church doors.
The doors creaked open, the sound echoing, to reveal Remi entering as he removed his tan, newsboy hat and tucked it into his back pocket. He started, seeing you and Gus coming towards him from down the aisle of pews, but he quickly composed himself.
“What are the two of you doing here?” He asked, upon meeting the two of you at the stoup, dripping his fingers in.
A bashful smirk crossed your lips and you turned your face into Gus’s arm for a moment, feeling like a caught child for some reason. A chuckle rumbled in Gus’s chest, witnessing your shy gesture, and his hand came up to brush against your cheek, affectionately. Remi studied the two of you, setting his stubbly jaw at the close intimacy the two of you were displaying so openly.
“We came to ask Pastor Zane to marry us.” Gus confessed to the shopkeeper, his eye moving back to Remi’s.
“M-marry?” Remi choked, his resolve breaking with shock.
“Yes.” You nodded, biting your lip. “Gus and I intend on marrying. I think I’ve allowed him to wait long enough.” You said, looking up at Gus with a soft look.
“Years.” Gus cooed, holding your chin between his fingers and ducked his head to brush his lips against yours in a sweet kiss; stealing your breath away. “But now, I have you in my grasp.” He smirked, pulling back slightly.
“From the day we met.” You sighed, licking your lips and tasting Gus on them.
“Well,” Remi cleared his throat and dipped his fingers back into the stoup, crossing himself. “I congratulate the both of you on your engagement.”
“Thank you.” Gus nodded his head, politely. “It’s kind of you.”
“Quite.” You agreed, offering him an appreciative smile. “We’ll let you get to whatever you were doing, and I’ll see you later on.” You said, brushing past him and out the door, moaning softly as the cool ocean breeze rushed around you, cooling your heated skin.
You were in disbelief that Gus had been so bold as to kiss you, your mind a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, that you hadn’t realized he was speaking to you.
“I’m sorry?” You cleared your throat, shaking your head to focus on him.
Gus chuckled, looking down at you. “I was saying, it’s a really lovely day out.”
You frowned for a moment, before concentrating on the world around you. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan with streaks of clouds racing across it, yet not a drop of rain threatened to fall from them. The shining sun steadily crested from behind the church, its rays warming your back and shoulders, and glittered off the restless waves of the Channel below, like gold. The breeze that had cooled you continued to flow about you and Gus; rustling the Sycamores, Sweet Chestnuts and Hawthorns that populated the Church lane and Village. It filled your noses and lungs with the pleasant and fortifying scent of the ocean.
“It really is.” You agreed, a content smile upon your face.
Gus studied your face, before you looked back at him, he felt his heart swell. His love for you only grew with each second the two of you spent together. But the knot in his stomach tightened, knowing how much he had to go, especially now the more he fell for you. Gus would not put you in harm’s way. He’d rather throw himself back into the Channel than for that to happen.
She’ll be better off. Perhaps, once I’m gone, she’ll find someone that’s right for her. He thought, plastering a smile on his face as you looked at him. Maybe, she and Remi will fall in love. But, maybe, until then…
“Would be a shame to hurry home.” Gus pointed out, finding his voice again.
You blinked at him. “We could walk along the beach for a bit?” You suggested, cocking your head at him.
“Sounds nice.” He nodded, offering you his arm again and the two of you strolled back towards the Village.
Ignoring the turn onto your street, you guided Gus leisurely towards the beach, pausing on the sandy sidewalk to take your flats and stockings off, not wanting them to get sandy and wet. Gus followed your action, taking off his shoes and socks. Both of you left them there on the sidewalk, for when you returned on the way home. The breeze was stronger down on the beach, whipping your hair free of its pins and into your face. Gus slipped off his overcoat and draped it over your shoulders, giving you a wink as you glanced up at him.
“Thanks.” You mumbled, tucking your arms inside the toasty wool.
“I can see why you like to take walks out here in the mornings.” He commented, listening to the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the white sand, not another soul insight.
“The people of Saint-Thurney don’t really like coming here.” You confessed to him, casting your gaze out to the Channel.
“Why’s that?”
You chuckled softly. “Things have a habit of washing ashore here.” You explained, pausing to face the water. “Typically they’re dead.”
“But not always.” Gus purred, cocking a brow at you.
“No, not always.” You giggled, nudging his side with your shoulder. “But it disturbs them, so they don’t come here. The official office sends some men out once a week or so to comb the length and take care of anything they might discover.”
“You’re not worried about…well, I guess you’re not concerned with finding something, given what you did find.”
“I’m not. It’s a cycle of life.” You shook your head, brow pinching. “However, other than the occasional dead sea animal, you’re the first thing I’ve ever discovered on the beach. So, I guess either whoever's job it is to clear the beach of such things is quite good or the villagers are superstitious.” You hummed, pressing your lips together in thought, but shrugged. “Which wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Well,” Gus sighed, hugging his arm around your shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad that you found me.”
“Oh, are you?” You teased, smirking.
“Yeah!” He grinned back. “It was either dying, the Germans or you. I’d really rather not die and the Germans have such sour faces. But you, my love, are just right.”
“Your Goldilocks, am I!” You laughed, shaking your head.
“Indeed.” He cooed, daring to kiss you again.
“You are frisky today, March-Phillipss!” You gasped, breaking away from him, biting back a blush.
“What can I say? I love my fiancée.” He teased, winking at you.
You tisked at him, shaking your head. “Naughty boy.”
“Guilty.” Gus confessed with an impish grin, as his eyes moved over your head, observing something back towards home. “Suppose Edmund wants to know how everything went.” He commented, a gentle furrow between his brows.
“What?” You frowned, turning to find your brother coming up the beach towards you. “He seems a bit ants in his pants.” You noted the expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Eddie?” You asked, meeting him halfway. “Is Papa all right?” You inquired, feeling a cold twinge in your stomach.
“Pops is fine.” He assured you, waving it off. “But we have another issue all together.”
“What?” Gus asked, coming up behind you, his hand resting on your hip.
“Trottier is at the house.” Edmund informed you, biting his lip, and rubbing the link of his pocket watch in his agitated state.
“Oh, hells.” You whimpered under your breath.
“Who the hell is that?”
“He’s the Director General of the Village.” You answered, a lump in your throat.
“Rat fuck is in the pocket of the Germans.”
“Now, Edmund, we don’t know that for certain.” You scolded your brother, scurrying by him, anxious to get home before Trottier could traumatize your father without you there.
Notes: Here are Chapters One (Click me!) and Two (Click me!). Enjoy!
Dan woke up late that night, having slept through most of the afternoon. Starving, he slipped out of bed in search of a snack. The night air hit his chest as he snuck past the two night-watch nurses, both of whom were lightly dozing by the door to the ward.
He crept through the halls, as quiet as he could be, rifling through cabinets until he found something edible. Eventually, he found a biscuit tin and filched a few before returning the tin to its cabinet.
The halls were dark at night, as the moon was just the slightest bit of a sliver in the sky. He got himself hopelessly confused and wandered through the hospital. Slowly snacking on the biscuits, he roamed until he found a touch of light at the end of a corridor.
As he approached, he panicked. What if they got onto him for being out of bed? What did he say if they found him? He always felt awful when he was scolded. Disregarding his fears, he peered into the room.
Inside, he found a man slumped over a desk. Books lined one wall, while another held a framed piece of paper. Two chairs were unoccupied, both looking fairly uncomfortable, but Dan didn't think he would try them out. A few files were stacked on one side of the man, and on the other, a lamp gave the room a yellow hue. The window framed a spattering of stars.
Dan tiptoed through the door, careful not to make a sound. On further inspection, the man’s dark hair was quite familiar. He silently walked around the desk, catching a glimpse of a hooked nose and askew glasses. “Phil,” he breathed, remembering to stay quiet. He had fallen asleep working late, Dan presumed.
He glanced at the bookshelf, curious as to what Phil read in his spare time. Most were work related, dry medical texts on varying diseases and treatments. The others caught his eye. Phil owned a copy of On the Origin of Species, a book Dan had been interested in, but had never read himself. The bookshelf also contained a variety of works by most of the classic authors.
One book stood out to him, lost in the tomes surrounding it. It was a copy of Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, just casually sitting on Phil’s bookshelf. Dan pulled it from its brethren, gazing over the cover. It seemed the entirety of Britain had something to say when it reappeared on store shelves.
Phil mumbled something in his sleep, and Dan nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly returned the volume to its home and quietly strode to the sleeping man. He leaned down, listening for whatever Phil said next, but all he got was a light snore.
Dan chuckled to himself. Of course Phil would have a controversial book on homosexuality hidden between Walt Whitman and Mary Shelley, just like he would fall asleep at his desk after finishing his work. He was exactly the kind of person who would lend someone medical texts instead of novels and make them fall hopelessly in love in the process. It seemed the man’s only purpose on Earth was to bewilder Dan beyond belief.
Slowly, Dan pulled Phil’s glasses off his face, setting them aside. He noticed a few drops of sweat beginning to develop on Phil’s forehead. Dan opened the window, feeling the slight breeze on his chest.
He stared out into the night for a while, thinking. Why did God make him this way? Why did he have to struggle to be happy? He was cursed, he must be. Someone in his family tree must have pissed off a witch, and they just so happened to put off the curse until now. He lost himself to his thoughts, watching the stars twinkle in the dark expanse.
A warm hand touched his spine, sending a shiver throughout his body. Turning, he found Phil, confusion and concern written across his face. Small bits of his hair stood at odd angles, and his shirt was wrinkled. “Dan?” the man asked softly.
Dan resisted the urge to plant his lips on Phil’s. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he replied.
“What are you doing here? It's late.”
“I… uh…” He struggled with himself internally. Oh God, now he sounded stupid. “I got lost.”
“Lost?”
Dan wanted to shove his head through the wall. “Yeah. I needed to stretch my legs,” he explained, praying that his excuse went over well and that he didn't seem creepy.
“Ah,” Phil replied. Maybe he bought it. Dan couldn't tell, as he was too busy debating whether or not to jump out of the window. He’d probably break his ankle, but if he could get away from Phil and calm his heart down, it would be worth it.
“I can show you back to bed,” Phil offered.
“That would be great,” Dan sighed, relieved. He would be free from the hell that was his emotions soon.
Phil searched through his desk and found a small torch. Hesitating, he pulled his coat off the chair and held it out to Dan. “You look cold.”
“I’m not!” Dan exclaimed, defensive, although he could feel the goosebumps on his arms.
Phil laughed. “Keep your voice down and take the coat,” he insisted.
Dan relented, sliding it over his shoulders. Oh no. It smelled of soap and iodine and Phil. It was all he could do to stop himself from stealing it.
Dan followed Phil out into the hall. The torch illuminated only a small portion of the hospital, but Phil seemed to be able to navigate the passages without it. Silently he trailed the man, heart racing, his thoughts kept back by the warmth of the coat. He slowed down thoughtlessly, lost in the confines of his mind, and eventually halted. He drifted through the fog, thinking nothing and everything at once, until a warm hand was laid upon his cheek.
His eyes unclouded, focusing on the shadowed face in front of his. His thoughts stopped in their tracks, only letting one float through his conscious. Maybe he likes me the way I like him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Phil asked, hushed voice laced with genuine concern.
“I guess there’s just too much stuff in my head.” He wasn’t lying entirely.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Phil had pocketed the torch, so Dan couldn’t see the expression he received, but he guessed it was caring and cute. “Just a couple of things,” he mumbled. He brain stopped his mouth from pouring his heart out, and he stuttered for a moment.
Phil’s warm hand slid up to his forehead while the other placed two fingers on his jugular vein. “You don’t seem to be physically sick, although your pulse is high,” he whispered. “You can tell me anything. Not much surprises me.”
“This might,” Dan whispered back. If this went wrong, he would be ruined. His mother would be ruined. He would be barred from a normal life for the rest of his days.
“Just spit it out, Dan. I won’t run away. I’ve heard more terrible things from the sweetest people than I hope you’ll ever experience. You really can talk to me.”
Dan took a breath and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts into a single question. Maybe it wouldn’t give away too much about himself. “You wouldn’t happen to… er… prefer men, would you?”
Phil jumped, although his hands remained steady. He stammered for a bit, eventually reaching a question. “You promise you won’t tell?” he asked, small and scared.
“Oh God! No, never!” Dan exclaimed, the mere thought of betrayal weighing heavy on his heart. “If I ratted you out I’d have to tell them about me and I don’t think I could ever do that to my mum and I can’t imagine how that would affect you and your career and you’re doing too much good to have it stopped and-“
“Dan,” Phil said, having regained his composure, “Did you mean to tell me you’re queer?”
His words stuck to his lips as he realized what he’d just done. It was all over. He might as well go ahead and write the undertaker for a coffin. Two hands were the only thing that kept him from running away forever.
Phil laughed lightly. “I’m not going to tell anybody. Like you said, if I told anybody about you, I’d have to tell them about me.”
Dan settled, although he could feel himself trembling. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s fine. Just, uh, where did that come from?” The doctor shifted his hands, resting one on Dan’s shoulder and the other on the side of his neck. Phil had to be flirting with him. There was no other explanation for any of it.
“I just, I, uh, um, oh no.” He was very, very glad it was dark. He imagined his face was as red as a cherry.
“Dan,” Phil said, “We’ve already told each other way too much to go back.”
He sighed. This was everything he’d dreamed of, and here he was, screwing it all up. “You’re right. I just…” Jesus, why did this have to be so embarrassing? He was a grown man.
He looked at the moonlight shining on Phil’s cheek from the window and how it put a silver tint in his hair. He felt like he wasn’t in control of his own body as his heart pounded louder and louder. Before he could think about it, he planted his chapped lips on Phil’s and kissed him softly.
A few moments later, Phil kissed him back.
Dan wrapped one arm around the older man’s waist and let the other hand find his hair. He couldn’t think of anything except Phil’s lips, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to. It was all he could do to hold him and not fall apart. He reveled in the careful embrace, feeling Phil’s thumb on his cheek and Phil’s chest close to his own.
After a minute, they drew apart, although they still held each other. Dan’s voice cracked as he struggled to find a way to explain himself. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Phil chuckled. Voice low, he replied, “It’s okay, Dan, really. I, uh, thought about it too.” He pressed his lips to Dan’s quickly, then retreated. “See? We didn’t die.”
A thump made them spring apart. Phil quickly straightened his hair and made sure his clothes were in order. He quickly flick the torch back on and shined it down the hall, then behind them. They didn’t see anyone.
Dan took a minute to calm his heart down. “How long have you been thinking about it?” he asked as he followed Phil down the corridor.
“A while,” the man replied. Dan was amazed that he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about his feelings or what they’d done.
They walked in silence back to the ward, Dan’s mind racing. When they arrived, he poked his head through the door. The nurses were still asleep. He hoped nobody had issues while he was gone. Before he could tiptoe to his bed, a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.
Phil pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered.
“It’s alright,” Dan replied, just as quiet. He held onto Phil for another moment before releasing him. With one last look, he turned and crept back to bed. He crawled under the covers, pulled Phil’s coat tighter around his body, and surrendered himself to sleep.
----------
A few weeks passed with little of significance. Dan continued to pine as his chest healed. The little glances and small touches slowly filled a portion of Dan’s heart that he didn’t know was empty. He tried his hardest to conceal how he felt, but Phil was not going easy on him.
Dan was starting to grow restless. He had been in the hospital for almost a month. As much as he enjoyed being with Phil, he felt like he’d explode if he didn’t have a change in scenery. He felt better, at least, better than he had the last few years. He had taken his time to relax.
He was walking around the floor one morning, idly chatting with the nurses he passed and joking with his fellow soldiers. It seemed as if the entire hospital was in good spirits. Eventually, he exited the racket of the ward. He presumed most of the rooms around him were offices. Most were unoccupied, as the doctors were doing surgeries or making their rounds.
The halls were slightly familiar. Maybe he’d stumble upon Phil’s office. If he was lucky, he’d find Phil inside, perhaps charting or enjoying a coffee. As he turned a corner, he heard arguing. He started to make out more of it as he approached.
He recognized Louise’s voice. “He’s been fine for a while. You read the surgeon-general’s letter yourself.”
“I’m still observing him,” Phil replied forcefully. Well, it seemed like Dan found Phil’s office.
“You’ve been observing him for weeks. He has to go back sometime. He can’t live the rest of his life in the hospital. It’s driving him crazy being cooped up like he has been, you know that.”
“He’s still sensitive! He doesn’t need to shoot just yet.” Dan crept forward. He probably wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, but he was too curious. His mum always said his curiosity would come back to bite him.
“They’re all sensitive, Phil. The only thing that’ll change that is time and use. I don’t thing a rifle will even sit on his scar.”
“Louise,” Phil whined, “please let me keep Dan here for a little while longer.”
Her response was almost too quiet for Dan to hear. “Look, I don’t care what you do in your free time, or who you do it with, and honestly, I’m very happy for you. But I really need you to consider your career for a moment. If any of the higher ups find out you held a soldier from duty for this reason, you’d be done as a doctor.”
Phil’s voice cracked, and Dan could feel his heart slowly tearing itself apart. “You’re right,” he replied. “I’m being a fool.”
Dan heard rustling. “You know I love you, right?” Louise asked. “And that I’m not being mean for the sake of it?”
“I know.” Phil’s reply was muffled.
“Good. He’ll write, I’m sure he will, and you’ll be able to see him when we all get home.”
“What if he doesn’t make it back? You know the numbers.”
“He will. Once you get sorted out, come do rounds. You can talk to him about it then.”
Dan didn’t catch Phil’s reply, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wanted a little change in scenery, not this. He wasn’t ready to leave. He had so much more to talk to Phil about, so many more kisses and hugs and coffees to share.
He heard a door close. Louise strode toward him, followed by muffled sobs. She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him along. “Wipe your eyes,” she instructed, and he swiped at tears he didn’t know were there.
She deposited him behind a filing cabinet. “Louise,” he started, but she cut him off.
“He’s a wonderful doctor, and he’s one of the sweetest people I know. He just has his peculiarities. We all do,” she explained. “Phil really cares about you, more than he’ll ever admit. And you,” she stabbed a finger into his chest, “will not make this any harder on him than it already is. Please write him when you can, at least to tell him you’re not dead.”
Dan choked on his words. He nodded, the only response he could muster. Louise retracted the finger. “I really am sorry about all of this,” she said, before turning on her heel and leaving Dan to compose himself.
Notes: Chapter One is located here: Click me! Enjoy!
Dan began walking around the hospital a week later, so immensely bored by sitting in bed with nothing to do. The highlights of his bed rest included reading some medical texts Captain Lester lent him and the doctor’s insistence that, since they were sharing books, Dan should call him Phil, because that was what his friends called him.
His first few days of standing were spent pacing the ward. Eventually, Louise became fed up with Dan being in the way and set him to organizing food supplies. He enjoyed the task, even if it was just meant to keep him out of everyone’s hair.
He could bend his arm at the elbow, and for the most part that was good enough, as they didn't keep much on the taller shelves. He tried to lift everything he could, leaving only the heaviest packages for the nurses to put away. He admired them for not running away from all the wounds and infections, and he wanted to help where he could.
He was putting away the tea when he heard a throat clear behind him. Turning, he found Phil. He was a little pleased to notice he was an inch taller than the doctor, but he kept it to himself.
“Are you supposed to be doing that?” the man asked, smiling.
“Oh, um, I’m not sure,” Dan replied, flustered. “Louise gave me something to do.”
Phil chuckled. “To keep you out of the way? She usually makes me finish my charts when I'm being useless.”
“Aren't you supposed to do those anyway?”
“Yeah, but I always put them off until late. Then I stay up late to finish them and wake up tired. I think coffee is the only reason I'm alive.”
Dan laughed. He felt the same way most mornings.
“I was just coming in here to get some sugar for another cup. Would you get it down for me?” Phil asked.
The sugar was at Dan’s eye level. He reached up to grab it, only feeling dull pain from his stitches, and pulled it down. A bit pleased with himself, he handed it to Phil.
“Did that hurt at all?” Phil wondered, curious.
Dan thought for a moment, trying to measure it against how he usually felt. Most pain was lackluster in comparison to being shot. “Not as much as it used to,” he replied, completely aware of how unhelpful his answer was. “It's more uncomfortable than painful.”
“That's good! You're healing! Let me see your incision.”
“No!” Dan exclaimed. He’d have to unbutton his shirt, and it would look weird if anyone walked in. He tried to come up with a good excuse. “I'm busy!”
Phil huffed. “I just wanted to look.” He had a trace of a northern accent that Dan enjoyed. “Do you want a cup of coffee, or are you too busy?” he asked mockingly.
“You can never be too busy for coffee,” Dan said. “A little bit of cream and sugar. Not a lot, or it gets gross.” Phil laughed and left to make the drinks.
Dan continued to sort supplies, thinking about Phil the whole time. He couldn't help but be attracted to his bright, bubbly personality. “Anyone would be,” he mumbled to himself.
“What was that?” Phil asked, scaring Dan.
“Oh, nothing, just figuring out how to sort these.”
“Alright,” Phil replied, and handed Dan a mug. He sat on a crate and sipped his coffee, knees pulled to his chest. The position didn't look comfortable, but Dan didn't comment.
Instead, he found another empty crate and tipped it on its side. Sitting, he stretched his legs out in front of him, filling most of the closet’s unoccupied space. Dan sipped his coffee and hummed contently. Phil had made it just right.
“Is it gross?” Phil asked, looking a little worried.
“No, it's perfect,” Dan replied. “Thank you.” He thought for a moment. “You can look at my records and find out anything you want about me, but I don't have any way to learn about you.”
“Do you want me to just run the basics by you?” Phil asked. When Dan nodded, he began. “I already told you where I’m from, didn't I?” Dan nodded again. “I'll be 29 at the end of January. I have an older brother, Martyn . I like plants, even though I'm not good at growing them. I’ve killed a handful of my mom’s flower patches,” the man chuckled. “I'm not great at keeping things alive, so I guess I decided my job would be keeping people alive.”
Dan laughed. “That makes perfect sense.”
“Why’d you move to Aldershot?” Phil asked out of the blue. “If you don't mind me asking,” he added.
Dan blushed. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth was rather embarrassing. He decided to be honest, hoping Phil wouldn't laugh.
“I moved to find a job. I went to law school for a year and decided it wasn't for me,” Dan paused, meeting Phil’s eyes. They looked at him with invested interest, urging him to finish the story, but Dan was captivated. They seemed blue at first, but on closer inspection, they contained shades of green and yellow.
“Dan?” Phil’s voice brought him back into reality.
He looked down, smiling wryly into his cup. “I went home for a few months, then my mum kicked me out. Well,” he explained, “not officially. She made me try to figure out what I was going to do with my life. So I moved into an flat in Aldershot and worked for a grocer for a while.”
“Then you got dragged into this God-forsaken war,” Phil commented, voice laced with previously unknown contempt.
“Exactly,” Dan quietly replied. The two sipped their coffee for a moment, the silence settling in Dan’s chest. It weighed on his lungs as he recalled various skirmishes and the lives he had taken.
Desperate to pull himself out of the the well of sadness he had fallen into, Dan commented, “I’d hate to have your job. Mine is so impersonal. You're right there with everyone.”
Phil stared at nothing. “I originally did English language at university. I wanted to be a teacher.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I broke my arm. I guess seeing the doctors healing everybody changed something in me.”
Dan pondered Phil’s response for a moment. “Why military?”
“What else is a man our age good for in the middle of a war?” Phil quipped. “If I didn't sign up, they’d force me.” He sighed, shoulders dropping. The noise struck a chord within Dan, pushing his heart into his spine. He wanted to change the conversation, but before he could, Phil continued. “The hardest wounds are the disfiguring ones. Hits like yours are a breeze. A month or two and the only thing you walk out of here with is a scar and occasional pain. Some people don't leave with all their limbs, or at all. It's hell.” The beauty knocked back the last bit of his coffee.
Dan didn't know whether to feel guilty or sympathetic. He went for the third option. “Well, Captain Lester, do you have a middle name? Most people do, but you're eccentric enough that it's questionable.”
A broad grin spread across Phil’s face, and Dan found one plastered on himself. “Michael, if you must know,” Phil replied loftily. The two burst out laughing.
When they settled, they finally heard her. “What’s going on here?” Louise asked, hands on hips.
“Nothing,” Dan said sheepishly.
“Then why are you on the floor?”
Phil replied, “We’re just two men sharing a coffee and chatting in a storage closet.”
“Of course,” she said. “I shouldn't have expected either of you to actually do your jobs.” Dan snorted.
Phil turned back to him. “Sorry, Dan, gotta go. My old lady’s calling for me,” he said, teasing Louise. He stood, stretched, and brushed past the woman in the doorway.
“You’d divorce me in a week,” she shot back. “You wouldn't be able to handle it.”
“I put my money on you leaving first,” Phil replied. He flashed a grin and a wave at Dan and walked away.
Dan looked at Louise, a blush powdering his cheeks. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't know he was busy.”
“You’re fine,” she replied, smiling at him. “I imagine he just came in and started talking. I always try to catch him off guard, but I think I don't faze him anymore.”
Dan chuckled. “I don't think anything does.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Finish putting all this away and go back to bed when you're done.” She turned and left.
Dan finished his coffee. “You’d be surprised?” He thought. What’s that supposed to mean?
----------
Two days later, Dan was laying in bed when Phil approached with a pair of scissors and forceps. Louise followed him with a small dish. “It's time to take your stitches out,” Phil declared.
Dan sighed. He wasn't prepared. He thought it would hurt, so he didn't want to do it, and he didn't want Phil to do it, either. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, dreading the procedure.
They had abandoned the bandages a day earlier, as the wound quit oozing. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, pushing Dan’s shirt off his shoulder. “These are sharp, so try to stay still,” he warned he younger man, then slipped one edge of the scissors under a suture. With the slightest bit of a tug, he cut the silk just beside the knot. With his forceps, he pulled the string out of the skin and deposited the suture into the dish.
This continued. Dan was amazed that he felt nothing more than a pinch. Phil’s hands were as gentle and warm as an early summer breeze, just brushing over Dan’s wound. When he finished, he leaned down to inspect his work.
His beak of a nose was just inches from Dan’s skin. He traced over the scar with a finger, making Dan shiver. Dan felt the heat rise to his face once he realized what he’d done.
“Still a bit sensitive,” Phil muttered, low enough that Dan could hardly hear him. The man gazed at the scar for another moment, then flicked his eyes upward and caught Dan’s. He smirked slightly, and Dan’s blush deepened.
Dan wanted to scream. Phil was too much. He really wouldn't be able to handle much more of this without taking some time to sort his feelings out.
Luckily, Louise saved him from his heart. “Dr. Lester,” she said, either warning him or waking him, Dan couldn’t tell.
“Oh!” Phil exclaimed, startled. “I'm sorry, I just got to thinking. Raise your arm for me?” he asked, and Dan obeyed. It didn't hurt all that much. Phil set his hands on Dan’s forearm and pushed it all the way up. He then guided the arm out to the side, and worriedly looked at Dan for a reaction.
“It's alright,” he reassured Phil. “It only hurt a little.”
“You sure? You’re not just putting a brave face on for me?”
“I'm fine, I promise,” Dan said. He really was. He didn't know why Phil was worrying.
Phil placed his hand directly over the scar. It was warm in a comfortable way. “I'm going to push on you. Resist me, and tell me when it hurts,” he instructed. He steadily applied pressure.
After about ten seconds, Dan gave in. “Ow!” he exclaimed.
“You won't be able to shoot any time soon,” Phil said. Dan didn't know if he was overly cheery or if that was just Phil’s normal demeanor. “We’ll just have to keep working the muscles and see again in a few weeks.”
Dan was both happy and sad. He wanted to be out of the hospital, but he wanted to spend more time with Phil and Louise. He genuinely enjoyed their company, and he hoped that they would find each other once the war ended. He flashed a smile at Phil, putting his thoughts away for later, when he’d be alone.
Phil and Louise said their goodbyes and left him to himself. Dan slipped out of his shirt and crawled under the covers to think, and maybe take a nap while he was there.
He had known that he was queer for a few years. He didn't tell anyone, although he thought his mom suspected. He had struggled to come to terms with it, especially when he had feelings towards boys. He left his feelings alone until they went away, as much as it agonized him to do so, terrified of how he and his mum would be treated.
That was the private reason he left home. If he was found out, maybe it wouldn't reach his mother, and maybe he would be in a place that would be a little more accepting. He wanted desperately to move to London and to disappear in the population of the city, but he would have to work for a few years and save up enough to rent a flat. That was the plan, once this goddamn war ended.
Phil put more of a wrench in his heart than anyone else. Dan’s heart wanted so bad for him to tell the older man how he felt, that he was in love with him, even if it was disgusting and sinful. The countless conversations, the terrible jokes, the oblivious smiles, his gentle hands and voice. Dan loved Phil with all the blood in his veins and all the air in his lungs.
For just a little while, Dan let himself feel it unapologetically. He would be gone in a month or two, and maybe it would go away once he was back on the front. Maybe, once it was gone, he’d fall in love with a woman and give his mum grandchildren to watch over.
Dan closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep. His head left him with an image of Phil right before he slipped off into the darkness.
Notes: This is my first bit of fanfiction written in four or so years, so I hope you enjoy it. It’s a WWII!AU, and *slight spoiler* there’s no major character death. Anyhow, let me know what you think!
*psst* Chapter Two is located here: Click me!
He raised his Lee-Enfield to his shoulder, firmly pressing the butt into his body. Shots rang out around him as he leaned into the wood. His brown eyes quickly flicked back and forth before settling on a target. He exhaled and squeezed the trigger, picked his head up slightly off the wood, and slid the bolt back.
“Dan, hurry!” A boy called out to him. The rest of the men were further up the beach. He heard mortar fire in the distance and wondered for a moment. How many men wouldn’t get to go home? How many would die on a foreign beach, away from those who truly loved them?
“Dan!”
He stood, sand sticking to his soaked uniform. Half-ducked, he ran, headed for the thirty or so men he landed with. He was only a few yards away when gunfire erupted from the bunker on the ridge ahead of him. He dropped to the ground. The boys on the beach returned fire, and after a few minutes, the shooting stopped.
“Let's go,” the lieutenant commanded. Dan pushed himself off the sand, sprinting for the men ahead of him. He wished desperately to catch up and blend in.
Moments into the platoon’s quick push forward, bullets sprayed from the bunker. Boys hit the ground, pushing their heads toward the sand.
Dan didn't get down fast enough.
He fell to the ground, fiery pain bursting from his right shoulder. He screamed. It was worse than anything he’d felt in his life.
He pressed a hand to the wound and lifted it, looking at the blood. He’d never seen so much of his own blood before.
A soldier knelt beside him. “Jesus, Dan, you have to learn to keep up.”
Dan glanced up. John, a medic, peered over him. They had never found a helmet that fit him quite right. It slid to the side as he took a look at the wound. He opened the bag at his side and pulled out some bandages.
Dan tried to sit up, as much as it hurt him to do so. Sweat rolled down his face. John quickly layered the cloth and pushed it firmly into Dan’s chest, then tightly wrapped more cloth around his shoulder and torso to secure the dressing.
He retrieved a small tube from his bag and punctured the tube with the attached needle. He pushed the needle into Dan’s good arm, injecting the medicine into a vein.
John drug him to a dip in the sand, showing his white and red medic band to the bunker on the ridge. “Don't move,” he instructed, kindness in his eyes. “Somebody will pick you up in a bit.”
Dan managed a nod and leaned back, breathing hard. He watched John scurry off to another wounded man. The pain in his shoulder made it hard for him to think straight.
It was 8:00 am. His brigade was struggling to take the beach, and he was being incredibly useless. He took off his helmet. He didn't mind the sand in his hair.
He didn't know how long he was there for. He kept thinking, letting every thought spill over him like the waves hitting the sand. He thought of home, and his parents, and his schoolmates, and the boy he thought was pretty in secondary school, and his old jobs, and his previous battles, and the men he got shot for, and this stupid bloody war, and how he hated the army but not enough to say anything about it.
He watched clouds scuttle away and the sun rise higher in the sky. He slowly grew tired, his pain gradually easing.
Finally, a face appeared above his. “What’s your name?” it asked.
“Dan,” he managed to reply, struggling to overcome his grogginess.
“Who are you with?”
“Hampshire…” he trailed off, unable to beat the desire to sleep.
“Move him,” he heard, but he couldn't distinguish the rest. By the time hands shifted him, he was already out.
----------
On his twenty-fourth birthday, Dan was admitted to a general hospital in Knutsford for rehabilitation. A blonde nurse led him to his bed. “Here you are,” she announced. She was incredibly pretty, and he was certain she received plenty of looks from his fellow soldiers. She nodded toward the bed, and he sat.
As she knelt to remove his boots, she introduced herself. “My name’s Louise. I’m the head nurse for the ward,” she said. “Do you prefer Dan or Daniel?”
“Dan,” he replied. “You really don’t have to do that. I think I can remove them myself.”
“You were shot less than a week ago,” she told him matter-of-fact. “You’d only start bleeding again.”
Dan didn't say anything. She was probably right.
Louise straightened, precisely setting his shoes at the foot of the bed. “Are you hungry at all?”
“A fair bit,” Dan confessed.
“I’ll have one of the girls bring you something. Captain Lester will see you in a bit,” she said cheerily, and left.
Dan scooted himself backward, resting his back on the rails on the headboard. A nurse soon brought him a bowl of soup and a newspaper. He thanked her and scanned the text as he ate.
Dan’s regiment, the Hampshires, had taken heavy casualties on Gold Beach, but they had captured Le Hammel late on the 6th. They had then taken Caen, Bayeux, and Saint-Pierre.
Dan hated war. He hated taking over towns and farms, stealing people’s jobs and lives. He hated witnessing the destruction, more so causing it.
However, he understood why he was sent overseas. He understood the idea of fighting for something, whether it be for freedom or for king and country. He felt obligated to serve and most likely would have joined the Territorials if he hadn't been conscripted.
He laid the paper across his legs and gazed around the room. Men, in various states of consciousness, occupied the beds around him. Nearly every bed was filled, a testament to the damage done by German weapons. Nurses darted between them, carefully redressing wounds and passing around soup and coffee.
He polished off his soup and looked into his bowl. He didn't want to hold it forever, but he didn't know where to take it.
“Private Howell?” a man asked.
Dan looked up and was floored by the beauty in front of him. Piercing blue eyes gazed at him with humor and kindness. They sat over a beak of a nose and behind square black glasses. Black bangs had been pushed to the side, framing his face. His smile was a little lopsided and sat amongst a late-day shadow. He was paler than most soldiers Dan had met, and a spot of red sat on one porcelain cheek. It was most likely blood, but Dan didn't want to ask.
“Y-yeah,” he replied, voice cracking. God, why did he have to be so weird? He cleared his throat. “That’s me.”
“Captain Philip Lester,” the man said, and extended a hand.
“I’d shake your hand, honest,” Dan said.
Captain Lester chuckled. “Sorry, slipped my mind for a moment.” The man bent down and inspected Dan’s bandages.
The captain’s fingers were warm on his skin. Dan wished he had a shirt on. He was always self-conscious about his body. He had always been skinny, but he had just enough weight on his stomach and hips to notice.
Captain Lester carefully pulled the bandaging off Dan’s chest, revealing a line of sutures and an iodine stain. “Where all have you been deployed?” he asked, still focused on the wound.
“We spent a fair amount of time in Egypt and Italy,” Dan replied. “Malta was rough.” He remembered the siege and the hunger as their food situation worsened. “Gold was the first time I'd been in Northern Europe.”
“Who were you with?”
“1st Battalion, Hampshire Regiment.”
The man slowly ran his fingers down the line of stitches and the skin around them. “Hampshire? Are you from there?”
Dan tried not to squirm from the pain. “I'm from Wokingham. I had just moved to Aldershot when I was conscripted.”
“Huh,” Lester replied, brows furrowing. “I'm from Rawtenstall myself, just a hop and a skip north of here. Mum was happy when the hospital moved.”
Dan found himself staring at the man. It was easy to converse with him, something Dan usually had a deal of trouble with. Blue eyes caught his own. “What?” the captain asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
Dan stammered, flustered. “Uh, yeah, actually. On your, uh, cheek.” He tapped his own cheek with his free hand.
Lester swiped his cheek and inspected his hand. “I wonder how that got there,” he remarked, and wiped the matter on the edge of his coat. The man straightened. “Anyway, your incision looks alright, but we’re going to give you penicillin just to make sure. I’ll take your stitches out in a week or two, I think.”
“You think?” Dan could not believe it. He was so handsome but so goofy. He wondered how the man had become a doctor, and if whoever certified him was on drugs.
“Depends on how it heals, whether you get gangrene, all that stuff. Any questions?” Lester asked nonchalantly.
“Uh, I don't think so.”
“I'll be back to check on you tomorrow, then. It’s nice to meet you!” Lester started to leave, but soon turned around. “Happy birthday, by the way,” he said, smiling, and strode off before Dan could say anything. He heard the captain call “Louise!” in the distance.
Dan thought for a moment. He didn't know how to feel. On one hand, he was kind and funny and by far the most beautiful person Dan had ever seen. On the other hand, he wasn't the kind of person one felt comfortable trusting their health and wellbeing with.
Dan sat for a minute or two until he heard wheels clacking up to his bed. Louise pushed a small cart against the wall, then looked at him. He looked back at her, wearing the same baffled expression Lester had left him with.
She cackled. “Don't worry,” Louise said, “everybody feels like that when they first meet him.” She prepped a needle a little too large for Dan’s liking. “Roll over, I have to put this in your hip.”
