Love and War, a rat patrol fanfic

Love and War

The war was barely three months over and he hardly felt like celebrating. Looking around, Jack knew that he was not alone in feeling that way.

A forced false brightness filled the room, so painful that he could barely stand to look into it. It was as if the guests were determined to make a statement with their revelry. Jack heard their statement loud and clear. They were telling the world that the war had not changed their lives, that life was going on and that it would be better than ever.

That the statement was not quite believable to anyone with any perception at all did not seem to matter. In the true fashion of the British upper class, everyone would carry on pretending until they had finally achieved some sense of normalcy.

"Stiff upper lip and all that," Jack muttered to himself, while holding his drink and smiling politely at no one in particular.

Scanning the assembled crowd, he found several familiar faces that blurred together before he could fully recognize them. The sea of intense activity swarmed before his eyes and the music from the band and the din of conversation swirled around his ears. Sometimes he thought he heard his name, here and there.

Senses overloaded, the kaleidoscope was too much for him. Jack suddenly felt dizzy and ill. He knew that he had not been ready for this. Like the rest of the assembled crowd, he was still far from well.

As he eased himself through the crowd and into an out of the way chair, Jack wondered if it would ever be all right. With a gulp of his drink, he wondered if he would ever be all right. He hoped so. Looking around the room, as he wasn't sure how much longer they all could continue pretending.

Jack had been alone for several minutes, concentrating on catching his breath and calming his hammering heart when there was a creak from the ancient chair beside of him. As someone who had studied anthropology, Jack was disappointed by his apparent inability to be able to convey with his body language that he had not wanted to be bothered.

Taking a deep breath, Jack looked over. A polite, if somewhat pained, smile already forming itself on his face. Everyone that he had encountered that night had wanted to talk about the bloody War. It was the last thing that he wanted to talk about and he dreaded having to answer all the questions again.

When Jack's hesitant glance met the bright eyes of the girl sitting beside of him, he was pleasantly surprised.

"Well, hello, there. Have we met? Miss . . ." he asked, raising his eyebrows and trying to keep his face serious while pretending that he had no idea who the girl was.

She giggled and slapped him gently on the arm. "It's Mary, Jack."

"Mary? Mary, Mary, Mary?" he murmured, pretending to be trying to place her. "Let's see, knew a Mary once, I did. But, she was just a little girl . . . You couldn't possibly be that Mary." He titled his head and studied her intently. "Could you?"

Mary grinned and folded a leg underneath of her. "Oh, Jack! You're still terribly funny, aren't you? Of course it's me. Stop trying to pull one over."

Of course it was her, thought Jack.

It was her mother's party and it was the summer break from school. She was almost an adult now, there was no denying that, but Jack easily recognized the girl as Tommy's smallest sister. He was astonished at how much she had grown up. But then, Jack realized it had been six years since he'd seen her. Hadn't they all grown up in those six years?

He wondered how much older he looked to her and his hand went self-consciously to the hair that had begun graying at his temples.

"Of course, it's you, Mistress Mary Quite Contrary," he said softly, smiling fondly at her. Just saying it brought back a rush of memories, taking him back to when he was much younger himself and spending school holidays with Tommy's family, in this very house. Life had been quite different then.

Cocking her head, Mary looked thoughtful. "You know, no one's called me that since you and Tommy went away. It was . . ."

Jack watched her struggle as she tried to calculate the number of years it had been since she had last seen him.

"It was a long time ago, Mistress Mary," he said softly, thinking of her as she had been the last time that he had seen her. She had only been a wee thing then, round with baby fat and her hair in plaits. She'd been a damned nuisance, though he'd been very fond of her as she had been of him.

"A long time," Mary said solemnly, looking to Jack as if she was trying hard to remember things as they had been.

A more than a third of this girl's life had passed during the war, Jack thought. Six long years that had changed them and their world forever. Jack envied this young woman, this engaging young lady, sitting beside him. In ten years, he hoped that she would barely remember the war.

Except, Jack was sure, Mary would certainly remember it when she thought of Tommy. It would be hard for her to forget the reason why her brother wasn't at her wedding or why he wasn't teaching her children to play cricket as well as he had when he was at school.

Poor, poor Tommy, though Jack.

"Jack? Do you want another drink? You've almost finished that one. You rather look as though you could do with another."

"What?" He was thankful that Mary had interrupted his dismal thoughts. Jack shook his head slightly to clear it and realized what she had said. "Oh, a drink?"

"I'll get you one, if you like." She motioned to the cane that he had propped at the side of his chair. "I don't mind, really."

Mary moved to get up and Jack put a hand on her arm, desperate to keep her there. He needed Mary to distract him from the darkness filling his head more than he needed a drink.

"No, it's quite all right. Stay here, talk to me. Tell me about things." He thought quickly for something that might be of some interest to them both. "Erm, what about your school?"

Mary wrinkled her nose. "Oh, Jack. Why would you want to know about my school? It's old, it's damp, and it's bloody disgusting." She gave a heavy sigh that Jack knew only a young girl could manage. "It's full of girls."

"Sounds like my school when I was your age. Except that it was full of boys. Life would have been a damn sight more interesting if it had been full of girls." Jack laughed and took a sip of his drink.

"You and Tommy always sounded like you had a decent time at school. You talked about it when you both came home. I remember."

"Ah, well, now. Perhaps we embellished a bit? You probably remember us talking about University. That was something completely different. It was much more fun. And then after, well, that was the best fun of all." Jack thought fondly of all of the mischief he and Tommy had gotten up to at Cambridge and then afterwards in all parts of the world, driving Jack's father to distraction.

That had all been before the war, of course. Jack frowned. The war had been the end of it all and it would never be like that again.

Mary was still chattering, oblivious to Jack's rather bleak thoughts. With effort, he brought his focus back to their conversation.

"You two used to tell the best stories. Really, you did. You'd tell Lucy. I remember her laughing until she looked like she was going to cry and I'd sit there and listen. I had no idea what was so funny. None of you ever bothered to explain it to me." Mary pouted at the memory. "Though, some of the stories make a bit more sense to me now, when I think of them," she said thoughtfully, giving Jack a wicked grin.

Jack felt a bit embarrassed at the vague memory of what he and Tommy had talked about in front of an impressionable young child. It had never crossed his mind then, being young and irresponsible himself. He had been so enamored with Tommy's other sister Lucy, that he'd thought of little else when she was around other than trying to impress and entertain her.

Thinking again about all of the school breaks that he had spent with Tommy and his family in this very house, in the very room that he was seated in now, brought back a flood of nostalgia for Jack. There would never be times like that again, he thought with regret.

Tommy was dead. Mary was almost grown up.

And then, there was Lucy. Jack wasn't quite sure about Lucy, but something told him that was going to be different, as well.

Finishing his drink, he looked at what remained of the ice in the bottom of the glass. It had been a mistake, he thought, to come here tonight. Too many old memories, too many unhealed wounds. Jack thought about leaving and decided that he would. Grabbing his cane, he moved to rise, but then hesitated.

Unable to resist, he couldn't help but to inquire after what had brought him here despite all of his misgivings.

"How is Lucy, Mary? Is she coming here tonight to your mother's party? She's around, isn't she?" Jack asked, hoping that his voice sounded suitably casual.

"Oh, she's around all right. I saw her yesterday. But I doubt that she'll be here tonight." Mary looked around before leaning towards Jack. "You haven't heard?"

There was something in her tone apart from adolescent melodrama that made Jack feel decidedly nervous. He leaned towards Mary and mirrored the girl's hushed tone. "No, I haven't. Do tell," he whispered, hoping that the girl's information was inconsequential.

"Well," said Mary, taking a dramatic pause. "Mother has threatened to disown her."

Jack straightened up, interested. He wondered what kind of ill advised situation Lucy had gotten herself into this time. "Go on, then, Mary. What's this all about?"

Taking the glass out of Jack's hand, Mary turned it up and until she had managed to secure an ice cube. She sucked the whiskey off of it before she began chewing on it.

"That's not nice, hardly very lady like. Plus, you're going to ruin your teeth," Jack scolded, mildly. "Now finish your story, like a good girl."

Mary looked at him. "If I tell you, will you let me get you a drink? Mother won't let them serve me, says I'm too young. But if I told them that it was for you . . ."

"No, I most certainly will not." He was hardly going to be a contributor to the debauchery of the little sister of his best mate. Jack hesitated. Well, at least not this sister, he resolved.

Mary gave him a bright smile. "Oh, well, then." She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, getting up. "It's been good to see you, Jack. I'll tell Lucy that you asked about her. When I see her, whenever that might be."

Slowly, giving him every opportunity to stop her, Mary stood up, never taking her eyes off of his.

Jack realized that even at age fifteen, Mary was savvy enough to know that she had him where she wanted him. He wondered when he had become so transparent. Beaten, he sighed. "Oh, fine, you juvenile delinquent, you'll have your drink. Where's Lucy?"

Mary, pleased with herself, sat back down and leaned into Jack's shoulder. "Thought you'd see it my way." She gave him a cheeky grin.

"Quit teasing me, you little minx."

"Impatient, aren't we?" Mary murmured, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

Jack, for the first time, suspected that he might not have been the only gullible older man that had been plying this young girl with alcohol. Amused, he wondered what secrets she had been trading for those drinks. He frowned and hoped that was all she had been trading.

"Well, you know, I always thought that you and Lucy would get married. I know that Mother and Tommy had always thought so too. Maybe that's why Mother is so upset."

Jack would have been lying if he had said that the thought had not crossed his mind a few times before, as well. The cold weight of dread settled in his stomach.

Mary looked at him intently, taking a deep breath. "You see, Jack, Lucy is to be married."

Jack did his best to keep his expression steady even though he felt like the world was crumbling around his ears. "Go on, Mary. Tell me the rest."

"Mother has told her that if she goes through with it, she'll disown her. Lucy told her that she didn't care, but I know that she does. She doesn't have any money and neither does her fiancé. She's hoping that Mother will change her mind. But, I don't know." Mary shook her head. "Jack, I had to sneak her part of my savings just so she could get a flat in town."

Jack could think of a thousand reasons why he did not like Lucy's fiancé, not the least of which was that the man had her begging money from her fifteen year old sister just to have shelter. "Why doesn't your mother like Lucy's husband to be?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Mary tilted her head and blinked, looking thoughtful. "Well, I suppose it's because . . ."

"Telling tales again, little one?"

His stomach leapt with excitement at the sound of the voice. Jack looked up, all interest in Mary's tales about her sister gone, as Lucy herself stood before them. She looked down, eyes flashing at her little sister. Her expression softened when she smiled at Jack.

Jack felt like the sun had just come out after several long years of rain. He smiled at Lucy as he had not smiled at anyone in a very long time. At that moment, the swell of the party ceased to exist around him. As far as he was concerned, there was no one else in the room but him and the beautiful girl standing before him.

"Well," said Mary, getting up quickly. "I think that I'll go fetch you that drink that you wanted, Jack. Vodka and tonic be all right?" She looked at him for a moment, her eyes holding some sort of warning, before sliding past Lucy into the crowd.

Lucy turned and watched her go before settling herself into the vacated chair beside of Jack. She smoothed the shiny fabric of her dress across her lap and then looked at him. "When did you start drinking vodka and tonic, old thing?"

Grinning, Jack settled back into his chair. "Oh, just recently, I believe. Since Mary took it upon herself to start 'helping' me with my drinks."

"Ah," said Lucy, nodding. "Vodka. Well, at least Mother won't smell it on her, then. Smart girl is my little sister." She frowned, her eyes following Mary to the bar. "Too smart by half, I'm sure. She's going to be a handful. I tell Mother that she's going to be worse than me. Don't think she believes me, though." Lucy looked thoughtful. "Tommy really was the angel of the family, you know."

Jack smirked, thinking of all the trouble into which that he had willingly followed Tommy. "Not sure what that's saying for the rest of you, but poor, poor Mother."

"Yes, poor, poor, Mother. Now that Tommy's gone . . ." Lucy looked down for a moment and then at Jack, her eyes suddenly shiny. She reached over and took his hand, not speaking.

He looked down at her slim fingers intertwined with his before laying his other hand over top of hers. A small shiver ran down his back at the contact and he wanted to take her into his arms as he had when he had first heard about Tommy's death.

Jack resisted, remembering that she was an engaged woman. It was her fiancé's job to comfort her now, wasn't it?

"I was so, so, sorry to hear about Tommy," he said quietly, clasping her hand a bit tighter.

Nodding, Lucy looked at Jack and blinked. "I know you were. You loved him as much as I did, didn't you? As if he was your brother, as well. I'm sorry about Ian, too. I never had a chance to tell you that, the last time I saw you."

"So many bloody terrible things, so many terrible, terrible things. Wrongs that will never be righted, so many things that can never be forgiven. Or forgotten," Jack said bitterly.

He shook his head, thinking about all the senseless destruction that he had witnessed first hand. He thought of all the senseless destruction that he had caused. Everything that had been laid to waste, all in the name of war. It was a damned shame, thought Jack.

All the men that he had seen dead, all the men that he himself had killed. They had all been someone's son, someone's brother, someone's friend, like Tommy or like Ian. He thought of the families and friends mourning their losses. He thought of all the losses he had had to bear, that he still mourned. Before his eyes, he saw all of their lifeless faces and their hollow empty eyes.

How many good men had died, all in the name of King and country?

"We're a happy pair, aren't we?" Lucy suddenly said, sniffing and smiling. "Jack, let's talk about something else."

Focusing on her lovely face instead of the visions of death that were haunting him, Jack nodded. "Let's. What are you up to these days? Where have you been?" He leaned forward and gave Lucy his complete attention.

"Not much to tell, really. I've been home for around a year now. Came to see you, while you were laid up in Hospital. Did you know?"

Jack shook his head. He wished that he had. It might have made the time that he had spent recovering rather more bearable. He had spent more than a little time in that hard narrow bed wishing for Lucy.

"Well, I spent the better part of an afternoon, trying to get you to wake up. You weren't having any of it. They kicked me out at the end of the day and told me to come back."

"You didn't come back. Why?" Jack asked, knowing that the fiancé was most likely the answer, but curious as to what excuse Lucy would give him.

Lucy looked down. "Well, I had meant to, really I had. But then, I wasn't able. And when I was able, I found out that you had been moved to your parent's home in Cambridge."

"You should have come there to see me. My parents would have been delighted to see you. Not to mention how very pleased it would have made me." Jack had the vague impression that he sounded like a jilted lover. It was not surprising to him, since it was the way that he felt.

Lucy cleared her throat and looked apprehensive. She pulled her hand from Jack's and her eyes didn't meet his. "Well, I wanted to come, Jack darling, but it just wasn't possible."

"Why? I would have given anything to see you. I haven't seen you since I've been home. I thought that . . ."

He had thought that she would have been happy that he was home. He had strong memories of the hurt and confusion that he had felt at Lucy not being there when he had regained consciousness back on British soil. He wondered if she had any idea how much it would have meant to him. Jack wondered if she cared.

"I couldn't, Jack. I couldn't." Lucy looked away from him. "Try not to hate me."

He snorted. As silly as it made him feel, he could admit that she would have to do a lot worse than that before he could bring himself to hate her. She was absolutely exquisite and he knew that he had been a lucky fool to hold her attention for so many years. Of course, he had deluded himself into thinking that he would always be that lucky.

He could not regret being stupid enough to think that, even now. Just that delusion had been enough to keep him going through many hard nights and days. He wasn't sure he would have survived the war if he had not always thought that Lucy would be waiting for him after.

"I could never hate you, Lucy. Not now, not ever. No matter what," Jack said, truthfully.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, Lucy leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. Jack closed his eyes and enjoyed every moment of it, even though he knew that he should have stopped her.

"I'm glad that you can't hate me Jack. I'm really so very glad. I couldn't imagine you hating me." Lucy placed her hands on his knees.

He couldn't stop himself from staring at her hands, so very pale against the dark of his trousers. He looked at her delicate fingers and remembered. Suddenly, he noticed that there was indeed a small engagement ring on her finger. Unable to take his eyes off of it, he was morbidly fascinated by not just the ring but what it symbolized. Before he could stop himself, he rubbed his thumb over it.

"So, who's the lucky chap?" Jack tried smiling as he said it, but failed miserably. He was desperately afraid that she would tell him.

Turning a bright crimson, Lucy bit her bottom lip. "Oh, I met him right before the end of the war." She tried to meet Jack's eyes. "You'd like him, I think."

Jack nodded and wondered what Lucy's fiancé was like. Lucky bastard, he thought, wishing the man dead. Jack swallowed. "I'm sure that I would," he managed to reply.

"Mother dislikes him, you know." Lucy sounded quite resigned to the fact.

So do I, thought Jack.

"Yes, Mary was kind enough to tell me that," Jack said with a tight smile, still unable to take his eyes off the ring on her finger.

"Little chatterbox. I'm not surprised she told you, though. She always has had quite the attachment to you. Mary's probably quite glad that I'm out of the picture. She'll want you for herself." Lucy grinned, shaking her head. "Of course, one could hardly blame her. You really always were very sweet to her. Tommy and I used to tease you about it, but really I always found it quite endearing. One of the reasons why I liked you so much, you know."

"Ah, what a pity. Too old for the sister that happens to adore me. And well, as for the other sister . . ." He shook his head sadly and felt like a poor loser.

"The other sister adores you, too, Jack. Don't forget that." Lucy squeezed his hands more tightly and looked imploringly into his eyes.

Jack had to look away. "I'll try," he said finally.

"How's your hip, Jack?" Lucy picked up his cane and examined the head of it with interest. "Very nice," she appraised, studying the jeweled eyes of the head. "So very you. Looks like the head of some ancient god."

"Yes, I thought so, too. Nice that something so functional is attractive, as well."

"True. You always were a lover of beautiful old things." She replaced the cane back within his easy reach. "Now are you going to tell me how you are? You're not fooling anyone into thinking that you're well, you know."

"My hip's worse than I thought it would be. Hurts like bloody hell, though they tell me that it's getting better." He laughed. "If only I'd made it another week, the war would have been over. But no, I get myself shot off the top of a tank and I spend the surrender in a hospital bed, out of my head."

"Damned bad luck, old man. You could have been out there getting killed during that week, last opportunity." Lucy looked at him, her eyes flashing. "God, Jack, you have been lucky. Can I tell you how happy I am that you aren't dead? But, then, better luck next war, what? Maybe you'll get yourself killed then. Just like Tommy."

Jack knew that she thought him insane and he knew that she wasn't the only one that thought so. The doctor that had been charged with him while he was finishing his hospital stay, as well as his parents, had thought the same thing. After all, shouldn't he be happy, that he had made it through alive after everything? He was resigned that he'd never be able to explain to all of them why it had so bitterly disappointed him not to be with his regiment at the end of the war.

He had been through almost all of it from the beginning and then he had gone and missed the very end of it all. For some reason Jack couldn't express, he felt horribly that he had let everyone down. He had missed his opportunity to see it through for those that he had known that had not made it. Jack thought about them all. So many that he had forgotten their names with the exception of a notable few.

"You don't understand," Jack said finally, with a heavy sigh. "I don't expect you to, it's quite all right. No one else does."

Serious, Lucy looked at him. "But, I do understand. But, it doesn't mean that I don't think that you're an idiot for thinking that way. Idiot," she pronounced, rapping his cane on the floor for emphasis.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but instead of a self righteous tirade, laughter escaped. He wasn't quite sure why he was laughing, but he couldn't stop himself. He laughed until he felt tears wet his cheek.

Collapsing on his shoulder, Lucy laughed loudly, almost hysterically, with him. Jack, regaining his senses and wiping his eyes, looked around the room. Several of the guests were trying to manage staring at them without wanting to appear as though they were having the actual bad grace to do so.

For a split second, Jack saw Lucy's mother looking at them. Was it his imagination or did she look pleased? Perhaps she was encouraged, just as Jack was that Lucy would forget her fiancé and love Jack instead if he tried hard enough.

"Lucy," he said gently, into her hair. The smell of roses and lavender coming from her dark curls almost undid him. "Lucy," he managed again, sounding strangled. "People are staring. You're an engaged woman. It's hardly proper."

She pulled up and looked at him. "Proper be damned. Jack, do you think you can dance with me? Are you well enough?"

"You can't be serious?" Looking at the stubborn set of her mouth, he knew that she was. "I'm hardly going to be light on my feet. Or yours."

"Don't care," she said. "We'll manage. Wait here."

Jack watched the red silk of her retreating back, gob smacked. She sailed through the crowd, leaving a wake of whispers and gaping stares. He smiled in spite of himself. Lucy had always been one with a talent to cause a fantastic scene.

Soon enough, she was back at Jack's side. He heard the orchestra start into a familiar tune. She offered a hand to help him from his chair, the other holding a glass full of whiskey.

"Come on, Jack, up with you now." Lucy wiggled the fingers of her extended hand.

Still very aware of the eyes of everyone around them, Jack shook his head. "Lucy!" he hissed. "Really, now. What are you thinking? Have you gone mad?"

"Definitely mad. Now, come on, you."

"What about your fiancé?" Jack protested lamely, all the while, his hand going for hers.

"He's not here, is he?" Lucy said.

Jack felt himself being hauled out of the chair. Lucy was stronger than she looked, he realized. He tried to remember if she had always been so. The agonizing pain in his hip brought him back to the present. He sucked in his breath sharply.

"I shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't be doing this," Jack managed to gasp, stretching out his other arm as if he were subconsciously trying to fend her off.

"Here, lean into me. I've got you." Looping her arm around his waist and steadying him, Lucy picked up the whiskey from the table beside the chair where she had set it. "Here, this may help to dull your pain a bit."

Jack took the whiskey without hesitation and downed it in a several gulps, hoping that it would not only make him forget the severe pain of his still healing injury, but that it might make him stop caring that Lucy was not his any longer.

"Better?" Lucy watched him down the drink with satisfaction. She took the glass from his hand and put it on the tray of a passing server.

Unable to speak because his throat was on fire from the liquor, Jack merely gasped and nodded. He had to admit, the ache in his hip had dulled and his utter despair that the woman before him was betrothed to another had faded to an almost bearable regret.

"Excellent. Shall we dance? While they're still playing our song? It's not going to last forever you know."

Nothing ever does, thought Jack as he let Lucy maneuver him through the crowd to the dance floor. The song had barely lasted while they had done an extremely slow and tortuous turn around the dance floor.

"Another dance, darling?" she asked him, tilting her face up to him.

Jack, caught up in the feel of her bare smooth shoulders, was beyond reason. He nodded obediently and kissed her forehead. He thought that he might be happiest if he expired on the spot. It might be the kindest thing that could happen when he considered the situation in which he was letting himself get entangled.

There was a voice in his head nagging him in time with the throbbing in his hip. Both were telling him that he was going to regret this tomorrow. Ignoring them both, Jack continued to drag himself around the dance floor with Lucy in his arms. "Anything that you like, Lucy. Absolutely anything."

Lucy grinned up at him, eyes crinkling. "That's what I like to hear." She buried her head into his shoulder.

In his haze of whiskey, pain, and pleasure, Jack noticed Mary dancing past them. He frowned at her over Lucy's head. He with effort he recognized the boy as the younger brother of one his and Tommy's schoolmates. In Jack's opinion, the boy was far too old for young Mary.

Jack led Lucy a bit closer and stared menacingly as he could at the young man. His look must have been sufficiently threatening. The young man immediately dropped his hand from Mary's and bowed his head.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled to Jack. "I think I'll be off," he said to Mary. "Thanks ever so much for the dance, Miss."

Mary looked so stunned that Jack couldn't help but laugh. Lucy looked up at him, questioningly.

"What's so funny, darling?" she asked.

Jack nodded towards Mary who had recovered enough from being jilted by her dance partner to look angry.

"Jack!" Mary wailed, watching her former partner beat a hasty retreat. "Must you?"

Lucy, grinning, shook her head at her sister. "I think you'd better call it a night before Mother finds out that you're a bit pickled, Mary dear."

"Or before you get yourself in trouble with a boy that's far too old for you," Jack added, still hardly able to contain his own amusement at Mary's ire. Lucy nodded her agreement, not bothering to hide her grin.

"Oh, fine for you two to talk, isn't it? You're hardly setting a good example, are you?" Mary said, sounding disgusted. "Everyone in here is talking about you two. Where's your fiancée, Lucy? Jack knows, I told him."

"I know you did, Mary," Lucy said, a thin vein of malice running under her otherwise pleasant voice. "We'll sort that out. Grown up stuff, you know. Why don't you toddle off now before you make a fool out of yourself, little girl?"

Evan as drunk as Jack was, he flinched at Lucy's tone. But he knew it best not to interfere in the disagreement between the two sisters.

"Ugh! Well, I'm not going to stand here and watch you make a fool out of Jack and your fiancé and then be so bloody hypocritical and self righteous about what I'm doing." Mary snorted and stamped her foot. She came over to Lucy and Jack and then stopped with murder in her eyes. "You've ruined everything, Lucy. And poor, poor, stupid Jack. He's letting you ruin him, too."

Lucy shrugged and took Jack's hand again, pulling him back into their dance. Despite her nonchalance, her cheeks burned red and Jack knew that Mary had upset her. He watched the younger girl push through the crowd and up the sweeping staircase of the house, her posture making it obvious that she was just as upset as her sister.

"Awful temper when she drinks," said Lucy lightly, frowning and shaking her head.

"She's only fifteen, she shouldn't be drinking. Or dancing with boys who are three years older than she is," Jack said.

"Oh, come off it, Jack. You're years older than I am. Never bothered you or me, did it? And I started drinking at her age as well. At school, at that. So, let's not be as self righteous as she's thinking that we are."

"I am well aware that I'm older than you are. May just be why I'm so bothered." Jack could very well remember his thoughts about a young Lucy. They had hardly been of the purest of intentions. He smiled. Not that he'd had the foggiest idea of what to do about them until a few years after he'd started having them.

She looked up at him, suddenly serious. "Do you think I'm making a fool out of you, Jack? Do you think I'm going to ruin you?"

She already had ruined him, Jack thought. He sighed and looked up at the intricately carved molding framing the high ceiling. "I'm afraid that I'm making a fool out of me and I'm afraid, you. And perhaps your fiancé," he said with real regret.

Mary's blunt accusations had sobered him up. The pain from his hip was beginning to become unbearable as was the pain of knowing that the woman in his arms was not his to be holding.

"Oh, I'm a big girl, Jack. I can make a fool out myself without anyone's help. The question is do I care?"

"Do you care?" he asked her softly, stumbling a bit, as his stiffening hip suddenly refused to cooperate with him.

"No, not a bit. There's not much left of my reputation, I'm afraid. Do you care?"

Jack hesitated a moment. He'd been a fool for a lot of things during his life. Even if this was a losing battle, he had hardly ever walked away from one in the past five years, no matter how poor the odds. Why start now?

Looking at Lucy, Jack hoped that he'd always remember her as she looked this night, even when she was the mother of some other man's children. "No, Lucy," he said with conviction. "Not a bit."

Smiling, she nodded. As they danced closer into the light coming from one of the wall sconces, she looked up at him and frowned. "Jack, you're as white as a sheet. Are you in terrible pain?"

"Some," he admitted, feeling the sweat collecting and cooling on his brow. "I'm going to either need to stop this or have another slug of whiskey. However, I might be too drunk at that point to carry on."

"Well, then, let's stop. Care to see me home?" Her eyes sparkled at him. "I've got some whiskey there, you know. And maybe even a clean mug, if you're especially lucky."

Time stopped for a moment for Jack. It was a phenomenon that he'd experienced before when he'd been faced with the need to make an important decision in the heat of a battle. While this was a hardly a decision of life or death, Jack knew that it was important and that it very well might change either his or Lucy's life forever.

Taking a deep breath, time started again, and Jack nodded. "I would be honored."

Her face splitting into a grin, Lucy squeezed his arm. "Let me go get my wrap. Won't be a moment, Jack. Don't wander off now."

Exhausted and limping heavily, Jack made his way over to the bar and ordered a double whiskey, neat. More liquor was hardly a good idea, but then, neither was what he was about to do.

Downing the drink with a grimace, he considered another one. It might give him the courage and strength to get through what remained of the evening.

Or, thought Jack, it might successfully render him unconscious.

Signaling the man behind the bar, Jack motioned for another drink.

The family car and driver summoned, it had taken the footman and Lucy to put Jack into the sedan. The trip to Lucy's flat was a blur that Jack spent willing himself not to be sick. He had a vague recollection of Lucy petting his hair and speaking soothing nonsense in French to him.

Upon arrival, it required the driver's help to remove Jack from the car. Lucy had stood by, looking amused. Charles, the driver, looked chagrined as he propped Jack up against the side of the car.

"Miss Lucy, do you think that you'll be able to get him upstairs? Perhaps I should just take Mister Jack home, as well," Charles asked, obviously doubtful that Jack was in any shape to carry on any farther.

"Smashing idea, Charles," said Jack, not quite caring for the amount of concentration that it was taking him to speak without slurring his words. "Lunch tomorrow, Lucy? Doesn't that sound nice?"

Lucy, demonstrating the single mindedness that Jack had previously loved, shook her head. "Absolutely not as nice as breakfast."

Even as drunk as he was, Jack could see that Charles was growing more embarrassed at the exchange. Poor man, Jack thought. It was hardly appropriate to be carrying on this way in front of poor old Charles. If he'd been sober, Jack thought that he may have been embarrassed, as well. He was fairly certain that he would be tomorrow, if he could remember the exchange.

Lucy, however, looked nonplussed. "Come along, Jack." She took his arm and put it around her velvet shrouded shoulders, wrapping a bare arm about his waist. "Now there's a good boy," she encouraged.

The smell of Lucy's perfume and the feeling of her so close to him broke what little resolve Jack had left. He didn't try to resist as she gladly bore most of the weight that had been resting on his injured hip. He gave an apologetic look to Charles.

Charles rubbed one of his ears nervously. "Well, if you insist, Miss Lucy. Would you at least like for me to help Mister Jack up the stairs?"

Jack felt himself blanch at the word "stairs." He had been too drunk to be able to locate his cane when he'd left. Not that it would have been much help on the stairs.

Lucy noticed his pained expression and laughed. "Don't worry, darling. It's only two flights."

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" Jack muttered thinking about how much pain would be waiting for him at the top of two flights of stairs. It also bothered him that the certain promise of agony was not a deterrent to going up to Lucy's flat.

"Charles, we'll be fine," Lucy told the driver. "I promise," she told Jack.

Giving up, Charles nodded his head and tipped his cap. "As you wish, Miss." He looked at Jack. "Best of luck to you, Mister Jack. Shame about your cane. I'll bring it by tomorrow when we locate it."

"Thanks, Charles," Jack said, knowing as Charles did, that he was going to need both the luck and the cane after Lucy was finished with him.

The car had waited until they were safely inside the building before pulling away. Jack watched Charles drive away with some regret. He should have asked Charles to take him to his hotel. It would have been so much easier that way. For the life of him, he wasn't sure why he hadn't.

Then, Lucy squeezed his waist encouragingly. "Come on darling, up we go. Bed awaits."

Yes, thought Jack, that was the reason, wasn't it?

The two flights of stairs to Lucy's small flat had been just as murderous as Jack had imagined. By the time that they had reached the door, he was panting and sweating. Lucy, on the other hand, despite the fact that she had practically carried him up the stairs seemed none the worse for wear.

"Here we are," she said, as she steadied Jack and helped him into an armchair. Dropping her wrap on the opposite chair, she produced a stool and helped him to elevate his leg. "Better?" she asked hopefully.

Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, Jack swallowed and willed the pain away. Finally, when the throbbing had become bearable, he opened his eyes and nodded. "Some. Thanks."

Lucy was standing above him, looking at him with concern. "Liar," she said with a smile. She threaded a hand through the waves of his damp hair. "Jack, you look . . ."

"Dashing? Debonair? Handsome?" Jack managed a smile as he began to fumble with his tie. He was suddenly having a hard time breathing.

Lucy brushed his hand away and untied it, letting the ends dangle against the once starched front of his shirt. With deft fingers, she popped open the stud at the collar and the next few buttons. Jack swallowed gratefully and took a deep, shaky breath.

"I was going to say bloody terrible," Lucy said, standing back with arms crossed, appraising him. "You're thinner than ever, you're pale, and you have smudges under your eyes like you haven't slept in years."

Jack took a thoughtful pause. "Been about five, since I've had a good night's sleep. Well, a little over two actually, if you count that last time that I ran into you in Cairo."

He couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he remembered that particular night. Troy had been ready to list him as captured or killed, until he'd reappeared the next afternoon smelling like Lucy's French perfume and looking like a fool with a giddy grin on his face. Troy had been so amused at Jack's utter undoing that he had spared him the lecture and withering look that Jack knew that he deserved.

"You cad," Lucy said, smacking him lightly on the top of the head. "Some gentleman you are." She sighed and put a finger under his chin, tilting his face up. "I've missed you, Jack. I'd told myself that I didn't. But I was wrong."

Jack blinked at her with the sudden clarity of someone that had actually managed to drink himself sober. "And that's why you're engaged to be married to another man?" He caught her hand and held it to the light, turning it so that the stone glittered. "Because you were wrong and you missed me?" It all almost made sense in some odd way and Jack knew that he must be very drunk.

Lucy shook her head and gently disengaged her hand from his.

"Have you changed your mind Lucy, now that I'm back? Is that why you brought me here?" Jack heard his voice tremble under the weight of all of his hope.

"It's not that simple. Even after seeing you tonight, I'd do it again. If the circumstances were the same."

Feeling something that could have been anger, or perhaps tears, gathering as a lump in his throat Jack couldn't speak for a moment. He looked at her desperately, wanting to believe that she still cared for him even though all the signs said that she did not.

Finally, Jack found his voice. "But, Lucy, why? Why bring me here? Why not just let me go away alone and be miserable?"

"Selfish of me, I know. I don't want to think just yet that I'm never going to see you like this again. For just this one last night, it can be like nothing ever happened. Not the War, not any of it. It can be exactly as how it was before all of that. Don't you want that too, Jack?"

He did want the same thing, very much, but Jack also wanted more. It was evident now that he was not going to get it.

"For how long, Lucy? Just tonight? Lucy . . ." Jack began, a warning in his voice, all the dangers of him spending the night with her flashing vividly in his mind. "I need to leave. I need to not see you right now. It's not appropriate for me to be here. It's not right. It's not . . ."

"Jack, please," she begged, placing a finger to his lips, tears in her eyes. "Don't make this hard."

"Why not? Don't you know how damned hard that you are making this for me?" After being silent for several moments, Jack sighed heavily. "Fine. Honestly, I'd rather not be alone." He felt an odd detachment from his voice, hearing it say those words.

"Me either." In a moment, she brightened. "Whiskey?" she offered.

"No." Jack knew that he'd had rather enough to drink.

Lucy, not listening, disappeared in the kitchen.

"Lucy!" He banged his head off the back of the chair in his frustration with her.

"Yes, darling?" she asked brightly, reappearing with a whiskey bottle and two mis matched mugs. In a moment she had filled one of the mugs and handed it to Jack.

Jack looked at and felt his stomach heave slightly. But, unable to be a poor guest, he took the mug. Lucy smiled at him and poured another measure for herself, placing the bottle on the floor beside of her. Pulling over another threadbare stool, she sat at Jack's feet.

"Cheers, Jack," Lucy said, holding her mug up to him and drinking.

"Cheers," said Jack, managing to take a small pull of the liquor. He looked suspiciously into the contents of the mug. "This isn't whiskey."

"Brandy, whiskey, whatever. Cheap brandy tastes better than cheap whiskey, Jack. Believe me, I know." She took another drink as if to prove her point, eyes wide at him over the rim of her mug. "And it all does the trick, just the same."

Jack put his mug down, the taste of the liquor thick and unpleasant in his mouth. "I think I've had enough." He watched as Lucy reached for the bottle again. "But, don't let me stop you."

"Never fear," she said, taking another drink. "Jack?"

He leaned his aching head on his hand. "Yes, Lucy?"

"Would you stop me, if you could? From getting married?"

"If I could, I would. Though, I think I might have had better luck stopping the German army single handed once you've made your mind up."

Laughing, Lucy snorted through a mouthful of brandy. "Well, from what I've heard, you almost did that didn't you? In Africa?"

Despite himself, Jack smiled. "Well, no. Actually, there were four of us." He touched her hair, lifting a shiny dark spiral from her head. "Any way, where did you hear that?"

Looking into her mug, Lucy shrugged. "Around. Women talk, Jack. There weren't a lot of us in Africa, you know."

"Ah." He looked at her intently. "What else have you heard? I'd like a chance to explain myself," he said, not really joking. Jack thought of all the nurses and the Red Cross workers that he had carelessly flirted with during his time in the desert with minor regret.

"Enough from them. And then from Mary that you were on the guest list for the party tonight. I only came to see you, you know."

Jack liked the way it sounded, even though he knew it didn't mean what he wanted it to mean. "I'm glad of that. I suppose. Though, it might have been less painful if you hadn't."

"Does it hurt you much, Jack? That I'm marrying someone else?"

"Of course it does. What kind of bloody fool question is that?" Eyeing his mug on the table, Jack contemplated throwing it against the wall. "Is there some reason why you want to hurt me? Is that what this is about? What have I done? Tell me! I'll make it right."

"No. That's not what it's about. Not at all." Lucy's slender fingers toyed with one of the silk rosettes at the cleavage of her dress.

"Do you love him?" Jack asked, putting one of his hands over his eyes, unable to look at her any more.

"Well," she said slowly. "It's the right thing to do. It's the honorable thing to do."

Dropping the hand from his eyes, Jack's mouth went wide open with shock. "Lucy, you're not . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say the word, even though he attempted several times.

Watching him, the realization of what he was trying to say struck Lucy. She erupted in a fit of giggles. When she could speak again, she looked at Jack, eyes wide. "Pregnant?" she managed before she started laughing again.

Jack, embarrassed, nodded stiffly. It hardly seemed an appropriate conversation to be having. Watching Lucy laugh at him, he felt the color rising in his cheeks. He told himself that he was being a self righteous prig. After all, hadn't he been planning on spending the night with her just a few moments before?

Feeling a bit silly, he smiled sheepishly at her and ducked his head. "No, then, I take it? Not pregnant?"

"Well, look at you. I was beginning to wonder if you could get the word out. No, not at the moment."

"Well, thank God." Ignoring Lucy's teasing, Jack felt a bit more hopeful.

"No, he's every bit as honorable as you always were, I'm afraid." Lucy smiled sadly. "So damned honorable. Until I broke you down and robbed you of your honor. Have you been that honorable with every woman, who wasn't me, Jack?" She looked at him keenly.

The embarrassment intensified and he felt his face grow warmer still. This was definitely not a conversation that they should be having, Jack was sure. The obvious answer to the question was "no" and he was well aware that Lucy knew that. He picked up the mug of brandy and drained it dry. Feeling bolder, he looked at Lucy, and cocked an eyebrow. "Not like I'm asking you about your conquests, am I?"

"Do you want to hear about them?" Lucy asked, looking especially evil and terribly attractive.

It was all Jack could do not to clap his hands over his ears. "No!" The loudness of his own voice surprised him. "For God's sake, Lucy. Why must you be like this? It's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Jack. Neither is war."

"And neither is love, is that?"

"Maybe." Lucy reached for the brandy again and motioned towards Jack's mug.

Against his better judgment, he gave it to her. She returned it, not quite full. Jack took a drink and had the realization again that he was going to be very, very sick in the morning.

They were silent for a moment. Lucy moved to her knees and came over to him, eyes level with his. She looked down and then looked up at him from beneath long darkened lashes.

"Maybe, just maybe, Jack, I'm trying to tell you," she said, quietly, "that I'm not necessarily like one of those pure golden statues that you searched so long and so hard for; just to put on a pedestal in some museum."

Relatively certain that there was a metaphor in her words somewhere, Jack struggled to find it. With the fog of alcohol and misery clouding his mind, he could not. "I'm sorry, Lucy? I'm afraid I don't understand?"

Moving closer, she put a hand to his cheek. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I don't deserve that. I'm not that valuable. I'm merely just a poor copy of the treasure that you thought that you'd found. What I'm trying to tell you Jack, is that it's all right. I'm not worth it."

Jack shook his head and put his hands to her face. "Not true. I'll always think so. Answer my question, Lucy. Do you love him?"

"I love him enough."

"Well, that tears it then, right?" Jack said bitterly, wondering what "enough" meant but not bothering to ask. He doubted that the answer would make any sense to him. He released Lucy and looked down. Obviously, she had not loved him enough.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to leave her and to forget her. He couldn't will himself to leave and he cursed himself for being weak.

"Yes," said Lucy, with regret. "It does." She stood up, hands smoothing her gown. Reaching over, she took the mug from Jack's grip.

He let it go easily, eyes on her face, unable to look anywhere else.

"Come to bed with me, Jack." She held out her hand to him, offering him a slow descent into hell.

And because he was convinced that he had already been there for quite some time, Jack took it.

The way that he felt the next morning left Jack with little doubt that he was in hell.

He woke up ill, in a very rumpled bed and with a head that felt even more disordered. Opening one blurry eye at a time, he focused on the ceiling above his head. His eyes seemed to be particularly drawn to the network of yellowing cracks snaking through the plaster of the ceiling. When he was feeling a bit better, his gaze followed them down the walls, his mind on other things.

The memories of the party from the night before were clear enough in Jack's mind. His recollection of his conversation with Mary about Lucy's impending marriage was vivid. Thinking about dancing with Lucy under the watchful eyes of her family and friends made him smile, though the resulting soreness in his hip did not. The pounding headache and the queasiness made it obvious that he had had far too much to drink.

It was what had happened after that upon which he was unclear, though he was sure that it had something to do with the vague feeling of regret that had settled upon him. Having found himself in what he knew to be Lucy's bed, Jack could only conclude one thing had happened. It was the logical conclusion to reach, if not the most honorable one.

Peering under the covers, he found himself still clothed, barely, which gave him some hope that he had not defiled another man's fiancé, even if the intention and desire to do so was still very palatable. He let his head fall back with relief against the pillow. In the end, Jack could only assume that was his state of supreme drunkenness and his injury that had prevented him from acting on his baser desires, if not his strength of character.

Well, thought Jack ruefully, if not noble by design, noble by accident would have to do.

While he was in Lucy's bed, Lucy was no where to be seen. Jack wasn't sure that wasn't fortunate. The only thing that remained of her presence was the smell of her perfume lingering on the pillow beside of him. That in itself was enough to make him wish for her.

Lying very still, he tried to hear Lucy moving about in another part of the flat, but it seemed very silent. Looking at the level of light streaming in, Jack began to wonder exactly how long he had lain in.

Oddly enough, though missing almost every stitch of his clothing, he found he was still wearing his watch. Squinting, he looked at the face. He groaned. It was late in the morning or early in the afternoon, depending upon one's point of view.

With some difficulty, Jack managed to pull himself to a sitting position. He ignored the searing pain in his hip, the agony a direct result of his dancing around like a fool the night before with Lucy. Moving made his stomach tighten and his head pound harder, reminding him again that he'd had far, far, too much to drink. He accepted his suffering as a suitable punishment for all of his imprudence the night before.

Waiting for discomfort to subside, Jack rubbed a hand over his eyes and then through his hair. Feeling the stubble on his jaw, he was sure that he hardly looked a pleasant sight and accepted that he likely looked as badly as he felt. After sitting upright for a moment, he allowed for the pounding in his head to ease and for his stomach to settle. Jack decided to attempt getting out of bed. He thought that it might better for all concerned if he was dressed the next time he saw Lucy.

Pulling his good leg and his bad leg over the side of the bed, he seriously evaluated his chances of being able to successfully stand up and move across the room. Even on the best of mornings, he relied heavily on his cane. This was hardly the best of mornings.

Jack sat there for a moment more, considering his options. The room was large and sparsely furnished. Not much to hold onto to support him.

"Lucy?" he called, finally giving in. "Lucy? Can you help a poor old invalid out of bed? I'm . . ." he looked down and frowned. "Mostly decent?"

There was no answer.

Eyes scanning the room, Jack noticed a heavy dark line at the foot of the bed. With some effort he leaned over to reach for it. It was his cane. Mentally, he thanked Charles, who he was certain had brought it around from Lucy's mother's house. With the help of the cane, getting out of bed presented little problem, even if the going was a bit slow.

Upright, Jack began looking for his clothes. His black trousers were easily spotted, draped across a white satin slipper chair that sat before Lucy's dressing table. Hobbling over and grabbing them, he stood trousers in hand in the middle of the room, trying to spot his shirt. When it did not immediately present itself, he sat down on the ridiculous pouf of a chair, pulling the pants on slowly.

Jack, feeling rather pleased with himself for managing to be half dressed, stood once again to look for his shirt. He finally found it crumpled into a heap at the foot of the bed. He shrugged it on, not bothering to button it. His jacket was his next find, discarded over a chevalier mirror standing by the door. Picking it up, he decided not to put it on but instead reached into the inner pocket and removed a bottle of pills.

Opening the bottle, he tapped two tablets out onto his palm. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he stopped and swallowed tentatively before taking the pills. His throat was as dry as if he'd been in the desert for days, the dehydration a sure result of his over-indulgence the night before. Doubtful that he would be able to successfully swallow the medication without the aid of a glass of water, he decided a trip to the faucet might be in order.

Idly, he wondered if Lucy had any clean glasses. If the state of her carelessly disordered room was any reflection of her house keeping abilities, he highly doubted it. Deciding to try his luck, he made his way to the doorway of the room and out into the hallway just beyond.

The hallway led to the sitting room that he and Lucy had been in the night before. Assuming that the kitchen may just be beyond, Jack carried on slowly, singly focused on finding it. Passing the bath, he said a mental thank you that Lucy had at least managed to let a flat with a private bath. He grinned, thinking that Mary must have been relatively thrifty with her allowance.

"Lucy?" Jack called loudly. His voice echoed off the bare floors and high ceilings of the flat but Lucy did not answer. Jack could only assume that she must have gone out for a moment, leaving him alone.

Eventually, through a small dining room, he made his way to the kitchen. Looking around the room, he spotted the cupboard and hobbled towards it. He was rewarded with the find of an entire set of thin bone china tea cups and saucers. Thinking that they looked rather antique and far too delicate for use by a man with a bad leg and a terrible hang over, Jack looked around the kitchen for other options.

The mugs that he and Lucy had drunk cheap brandy from the night before were sitting by the sink, the rim of one smeared with Lucy's lipstick. He considered using one of them, but the thought of the smell of the brandy that would be lingering in the bottom of the mug made his stomach curdle.

Shrugging, he took one of the tea cups down and peered into it. It looked clean, if a bit dusty, which was a positive. It would do, he decided, making his way over to the sink.

Turning on the tap, Jack waited for a moment to ensure that the water was cold before he filled the cup, rinsing it once. Popping the pain medication into his mouth, Jack swallowed the water, forcing the pills down his throat.

Greedily he drank the remainder of the water and refilled the cup, draining it again. Filling it again, he wondered where Lucy could be and when she was going to be back.

Hearing the door to the flat open and shut, Jack smiled. She must have just stepped out for a bit, perhaps to pick up a paper and some food. The idea of sharing breakfast and the London Sunday Times in Lucy's sitting room appealed to him in a way that he knew it should not.

"Lucy?" Jack called. "I'm in the kitchen! I don't suppose you have a kettle, do you?" Tea sounded brilliant to him, as did some toast, though Jack found it highly unlikely that Lucy would have any bread fit to eat.

Spotting the kettle on the stove, Jack retrieved it and filled it, putting it on to boil. "Never mind," he called. He frowned. "You do have tea, don't you?"

No answer coming from the other room, Jack turned back to the sink. Still parched, he picked up the tea cup again and refilled it again.

Balancing the cup in one hand and using his cane with the other, he made his way back to the sitting room as quickly as he could. To his surprise, Lucy was not in the sitting room. Jack leaned heavily on his cane and looked around. The door was still slight ajar and he moved to shut it, almost tripping over the bag that was standing by the door. Immediately he recognized it as his own case, his initials stamped in gold into the dark leather.

"You brilliant creature, you actually brought my suitcase from the hotel. Did I even tell you where I was staying? I must have, I suppose." Either that or she had gone through his pockets and found the key, he realized. Deciding to let it go, Jack grinned. "You are really brilliant, Lucy. With a shave, a bath, and a change of clothing, I might actually feel human again. Thank you, that was very thoughtful."

"You're welcome."

Jack stopped dead when he heard the voice behind him. Slowly, he turned. A cold trickle of fear ran through him.

Standing before him in the arched doorway that led into the hall was Hauptmann Hans Dietrich. Jack blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. Resisting the urge to pinch himself, he stared at the man. Though thinner, older, and dressed in civilian clothing, it was very definitely Dietrich.

The fine china cup crashed from Jack's slack grip to the floor.

"What?" he managed through the torrent of memories that the very sight of Dietrich stirred.

Squinting against the fire of the sun, hands in the air, Dietrich with a gun in his hand and a self satisfied smile on his face.

Looking over at Tully who had the ubiquitous match stick hanging from his lip.

Hitch saying, "Ah, geez, again with this guy?"

Troy lying on the ground, unconscious or dead.

The same rush of adrenaline and fear that he always managed to feel no matter how many times he had a gun trained on him . . .

Dietrich leaned against the archway, his arms folded across his chest, looking at him with something like amusement. Jack wondered if he was hallucinating. Irrationally, he wondered if Dietrich had made it all the way to England to do the job that he had never been able to quite manage in Africa.

Jack took a cautious step towards Dietrich.

"Ah, ah, ah," Dietrich admonished, softly. He was holding his hands out as if to prove that he was unarmed. "Please be careful. You'll cut yourself." He pointed to Jack's bare feet and the fragments of the china cup.

"Oh," said Jack, absently. "Thanks, I wasn't thinking about that."

Dietrich's thin smile grew larger. "I don't imagine that you were." Moving from the doorway, he came over to where Jack was standing. "Pity about the tea cup. I believe that they were family heirlooms of some sort." He stared down at the destruction.

"Where's Lucy?" Jack found himself gripping his cane tightly and thinking about how to best use it as a weapon. "Do you know Lucy?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Of course I know her. I am in her flat, am I not?" Dietrich raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Lucy is out, at the market, purchasing food. She seemed to be concerned that you'd be hungry." He shook his head. "She never seems to actually have any food here. I've often asked her why she bothered to let a flat with a kitchen."

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked Dietrich. There wasn't a single reason that he could think of that would explain Dietrich's presence in Lucy's flat. Or, that would explain how Dietrich had known about the "heirloom" tea set. Or, how he would know Lucy never had any food on hand.

These were all things that pointed to Lucy knowing him in some fashion which Jack found hard to believe despite the evidence to the contrary.

"She asked me to pick up your suitcase from your hotel and bring it to you." Dietrich shrugged. "Oh, and by the way, she asked me to tell you that she borrowed five pounds from your wallet," he added as an afterthought.

Jack rolled his eyes. That certainly sounded like Lucy.

Dietrich nodded toward the cane. "You are injured?" he asked as he bent down and began to pick up the fragments of the broken china, collecting them in his palm. He looked up at Jack, expression seeming genuinely concerned.

Willing himself to relax the grip on his cane, Jack nodded. While it was a shock to see him, Dietrich didn't seem to be posing any immediate threat. "Getting better."

"Very good." Dietrich straightened up, hand full of broken china. Moving to a waste basket, he disposed of what remained of Lucy's heirloom teacup. "You always did seem to have a knack for getting yourself captured, beaten, or shot. Or a combination of all three, Sergeant."

"Major," Jack corrected absently, his mind on several other things, not the least of which was the memories of the time that he had spent with Troy, Hitch and Tully fighting with Dietrich in the desert. Jack hadn't been a sergeant since he had left Africa.

Tilting his head, Dietrich looked at him with interest. "Really? I always thought that you were against becoming an officer."

He didn't recall ever having had that conversation with Dietrich. Jack tried to remember how he would have known that. Details from some Nazi dossier on him, he was sure.

"I was. Refused several commissions and broke my family's hearts. But, as the war wore on, I decided that I'd watched too many men that I knew suffer under the command of absolute bloody idiots. I felt that if I accepted a commission, I might be able to do better than the fools that always seemed to be in charge."

"Ah," said Dietrich, waving Jack around the remaining shards of china and towards one of the chairs. "And were you? Better?"

"Probably not. But I didn't do any worse." He gave Dietrich a wry grin.

Dietrich threw back his head and laughed. Jack found himself wanting to join him. He did and they laughed for quite a bit. The oddness of the situation struck Jack and he stopped laughing. He put a hand to his head. It pounded and his stomach, full of nothing but the previous night's alcohol and the morning's pain medication, felt sour. It was all a bit much for him to take.

"I'm sorry to keep asking," said Jack, "but Dietrich, why are you here? In England? In Lucy's flat? How?"

"Are you all right?" Dietrich leaned forward, studying Jack with interested amusement. "You're as pale as though you have seen a ghost."

Jack raised his eyebrows at Dietrich. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose I have. Why are you here?" he asked again, wearily, hoping this time to get an answer that would make it all make sense.

"I am here because this is where I spent the rest of the War. In your country, while you were in mine. Ironic, isn't it?" Dietrich leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers, looking over them. "I know Lucy because I met her months ago while I was doing labor at the hospital where she was working. I am here in her flat, with you, because she asked me to collect your things and bring them here." He gave Jack a level gaze. "Is that all the information that you are seeking?"

"If I'd known that I was in for such a shock today, I wouldn't have drunk so much last night," Jack muttered, feeling his stomach turn again. "Who would have thought? You. Here. Certainly not me."

"It's not really all that far fetched. Actually, they're quite a few German soldiers about. We were brought here as prisoners and now . . ." Dietrich shrugged. "Now our former prison seems preferable to Germany."

Thinking about the destruction that he had seen in Germany, Jack couldn't disagree. London may have been ripped apart by bombings, but many of the German cities had been hit harder. He had a vivid memory of being in Dresden where those alive all appeared to be homeless and starving.

"You were a prisoner? Captured? Not in Africa?" Jack had seen the thousands of captured German soldiers march past after the end of the desert campaign. He had never imagined that Dietrich could have been one of them. Somehow, he would have thought that Dietrich would have died trying to escape before he raised his hands and just gave up.

"Yes, in Africa. Then I was brought here. You know, I have been here for over two years," Dietrich said thoughtfully.

Jack nodded. It certainly explained why Dietrich's German accent was almost non-existent. He had spent more time in England than Jack had in the past two years.

"After the end of the war, several of us in the camps had no desire to return home. So, we are DPs."

"Displaced Persons." Jack nodded. "So, you don't want to go back to Germany?"

"I'd rather not. My family is mostly dead, to my understanding. Our home, in my family for centuries, has been destroyed. I would have no career as the Wehrmacht is no more. There is nothing left for me."

Dietrich reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a cigarette case, offering one to Jack who refused, before lighting his own. Jack noticed the Balkenkreuz symbol of the Wehrmacht engraved into the side of the lighter.

"I'm sorry," said Jack, sincerely meaning it. War was a rotten business and what came after seemed to be worse. "So, the British government isn't forcing you to go back to Germany?"

Dietrich waved his hand through a cloud of smoke. "Oh, eventually, they speak of sending us all back. But, I will not go. Life for me here has been good. And will get better."

"How so?"

The door opened and Lucy entered, looking at Jack and Dietrich. She smiled at them both.

"Hi boys," she said. "Good to see you up and about Jack. I was beginning to think that you were going to sleep all day. Hullo, Hans, darling."

Dietrich smiled at Lucy and then looked at Jack.

"Well," Dietrich said, inclining his head towards Lucy, never removing his eyes from Jack's face, "I'm to be married."

Jack looked at Lucy and then at Dietrich. He knew that his mouth was hanging open but he couldn't care.

Lucy had dropped her shopping bag and had perched herself on the arm of Dietrich's chair. Jack watched as she took the cigarette from Dietrich's fingers and put it to her lips, taking a drag.

In the kitchen, Jack heard the kettle. In his ears, he heard his own heartbeat and the rushing of his blood. He smelled the smoke from the cigarette that Dietrich and Lucy were sharing. His skin felt hot and cold at the same time.

A vision of Dietrich with Lucy flashed through his head. Dietrich's mouth on hers, his hands . . .

Suddenly, Jack felt violently ill. Swallowing and shaking his head, he got from his chair. "Excuse me," he managed.

Not feeling the pain in his hip, he pitched out of his chair and to the bathroom. Locking the door, he retched for several minutes until his stomach was empty. Then he retched again. Finally, Jack managed to raise himself from the floor and to the sink.

Running the water in the basin, he let some flow into his hand and rinsed his mouth with it. After that, he held both hands under the cold stream of water, splashing them towards his face. Finally, he shut off the faucet and steadied himself on the sink.

A knock came. "Jack?" asked Lucy, her voice muffled through the closed door. "Are you all right?"

He snorted at the idiocy of her question. Jack looked at himself in the mirror, his face wet and his eyes hollow in his skull. He looked like hell, he thought, objectively. Absolute bloody hell.

Lucy knocked again, more insistently. "Jack! Let me in. I'll pick the lock with a hair pin if I have to!"

Jack heard the door knob rattle threateningly. He wondered if Lucy could actually pick the lock and imagined that she could. It was probably one of the more useful skills that she had learned at the expensive school to which her parents had sent her.

With one final look at the pathetic bastard in the mirror, he shoved his hair wet hair out of his eyes. Turning, Jack grabbed his cane and opened the door.

Lucy practically fell in on him and Jack did his best to steady her and steady himself. She looked up at him with large eyes.

"Jack . . ."

"Well, Lucy. I seem to have met your fiancé, finally," Jack said conversationally, his voice calm and flat. "Well, not met, exactly. We've met before. We did a bit of catching up on old times while you were out at the market."

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'd just asked him to stop by with your case. I thought that you'd still be in bed." She shook her head. "This wasn't what I wanted to have happen. It's not how I wanted you to meet him."

Jack couldn't help but to give a bitter laugh. "Are you serious? You didn't want me to meet your fiancé the morning after you and I had spent the night together? That's thoughtful of you. Very considerate." Something suddenly occurred to Jack. "He didn't seem to mind much . . . That I'm half dressed, in your flat. Your flat with only one bed room and no sofa to speak of!"

Looking miserable, Lucy shook her head. "I told him that you were a friend, who was in a bad way. Hans didn't mind, he understood."

"A friend? Who was in a bad way?" Jack repeated, incredulous. "Is that what I am? I imagine that you left out that I spent the night with you? In your bed?"

"He didn't ask." Lucy's brow was furrowed.

Jack started laughing at Lucy's logic, or the lack there of. He found that he couldn't stop. It sounded a bit hysterical, he thought objectively.

"Jack? What's so funny?" She was looking at him as if he was mad.

"This. You. Me. Dietrich." With effort, he managed to control himself. "If someone would have told me that this could happen two years ago, I would have told them to sod off."

"Two years ago? What does that mean?"

Jack shook his head. "Don't you remember me writing you about the German Afrika Korps captain who had made it his life's mission to hunt us all down? Week after week?"

"I remember you talking about it when I saw you there. And of course, I read each one of your letters to tatters. Not that there were enough of them," she said, a mild accusation in her voice.

Jack rolled his eyes at the old argument. "Do you happen to remember the Captain's name?"

Realization dawned slowly for Lucy. "Dietrich? Really? It really is a small world. I never made the connection." She smiled as if it was oddly amusing.

"Why would you?" Jack sighed. "Oh, Lucy. You're engaged to be married to Hauptmann Hans Dietrich. It's almost unbelievable."

"Why? He's a good man," she said defensively. "He is."

"Oh, I know. For a Jerry, he was quite a bit of all right. Saved my life at least once. Very fair minded, really. Honorable to a fault. A good man." Jack tilted his head, considering. "Even when he was trying to kill us."

"You know, when I met him at Hospital, they had him working construction on one of the wings that had been destroyed in a bombing. I needed someone to help me in sorting out boxes and boxes of files. They sent him"

Jack frowned. "Odd that he was doing labor, as an officer, I wouldn't think that he'd have to done so. Geneva Convention and all that nonsense. Unless he wanted to, of course." Which, Jack thought, Dietrich probably had. Life in the actual POW camp was probably very, very boring for him. Manual labor had most likely been a welcome relief from the stagnation of the officer's camp.

"The staff was short, because of the war, so we used to let him read to the children and play games with them in the afternoon. He was so good with them, Jack. So kind, so gentle." She crossed her arms and looked at him. "Though I imagine that you find that hard to believe."

Jack shook his head. "Actually, no, I don't. I do find it hard to believe that an enemy prisoner was allowed to sit with ill English children."

Lucy shrugged. "He was tagged "white." You know, not very threatening. For a German, I mean. Not particularly German either, certainly not a fanatical Nazi. A lot of them were given moderately free reign around the town. We didn't think much of it after a while."

"Unbelievable." The experience for an officer in a British POW camp was obviously much different than Jack's own experiences in a German camp.

Jack leaned heavily on his cane. "Shall we join him again in the sitting room? I need to sit down." Pushing past Lucy with his cane, he started for the doorway. "I say, I don't suppose that I could have a spot of tea?"

The idea of sitting down to tea with Dietrich in Lucy's flat, drinking tea out of the ridiculous egg shell china cups, made Jack want to giggle hysterically again. He managed to resist the urge, choking slightly instead.

"Tea? How very British, Jack," said Lucy witheringly. "I'm sure though, while I was pounding on the door for you, the kettle has boiled dry. Anyway, Hans left."

"Pity," said Jack, going stiffly into the sitting room.

Dietrich was indeed no where to be seen in the flat, though Jack could still smell the lingering smoke of his cigarette.

Jack wondered if the entire situation had been as awkward for Dietrich as it had been for him. He could imagine the German making sincere apologies to Lucy and beating a hasty retreat. Dietrich was no fool, Jack knew, and he had been smart enough to avoid what was likely to be an ugly scene.

In addition, he was sure that Dietrich was probably very aware that his very presence was upsetting an ill and injured man. He had most likely decided that leaving would be the kindest thing that could be done. As much as Jack hated to admit it, Dietrich had always been a decent chap.

Lucy came into the room and walked past Jack. In a few moments, she returned with two cups of tea in the fragile china cups, balancing them on their matching saucers.

He took the tea. "Thank you. Oh, I broke one of your tea cups, I'm afraid."

Lucy sat down across from him. "That's lovely," she said, sounding angry. "Those were Grandmother's."

Jack shrugged. "Hardly my fault you barely have a mug, not to mention a glass, in the house. Cheer up, darling. I'll buy you some new ones as a wedding present." He smirked at her over the rim of his cup.

He wasn't really surprised when Lucy's saucer went whizzing by his ear before shattering against the wall behind his head. Jack looked at Lucy, before looking at the floor where the saucer lay, smashed. He supposed that he should be thankful that her aim was horrible.

"So much for Grandmother's china," he said, dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm missing the cup anyway," she said, shrugging, justifying the destruction. "You're being mean, Jack. You're never mean. You knew I was engaged. Are you upset that it's to Hans?"

Feeling thoroughly resigned, Jack shook his head and lied. "No, I suppose that you could do worse. It was just a bit of a shock, that's all. Certainly makes sense now why your mother isn't pleased. Her darling girl engaged to be married to someone that not even six months ago was the enemy," he said thoughtfully, nursing his tea.

"I'm glad that it makes sense to you. Doesn't a bit to me. She seems to have an unreasonable hatred of Germans."

"Lucy," said Jack, amazed at how she could sometimes be so very thick. "Your brother was killed by the Germans. As have been several others that we all knew. They practically flattened England with their bombs! I'd hardly call it 'unreasonable.'"

"Well, the War's over, isn't it?" she said stubbornly. "He's human, isn't he? Being German doesn't make him less so."

"Some might disagree, Lucy." Jack thought of all he had seen of the Jewish camps. While he knew that Dietrich would have never been a part of anything so atrocious, not many people could or would make that separation.

"What do you think? I mean, you were in the War. For years. Almost killed, several times." She motioned to Jack's exposed chest, revealed by his open shirt. "You're covered in scars. And not that I want to hear about how you've managed to come by them all, but it couldn't have been a pleasant experience for you. How do you feel about the Germans? About Hans?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter that he's German. And it doesn't matter that it's him, particularly. I'd hate him for being engaged to you if he was the boy from down the street," Jack admitted. "I suppose that makes me a bad person. A poor loser, perhaps."

Lucy shook her head. "No, it doesn't. I have the distinct feeling that this all makes me a bad person."

"Why Dietrich, Lucy? Are you in love with him?" he asked, genuinely mystified. It was Dietrich, for God's sakes, thought Jack.

"They're reasons, Jack. There are. I'll tell you one day."

"I'll hold you to that since you're obviously not going to tell me now. But, Lucy, what was last night all about? Why come to the party? Why bring me back here, if you're still going to marry him?"

"I'd missed you so. I used to try to so very hard to be sent where I knew you would be. That's how I ended up stationed in that field hospital in Africa, so I'd be close to you. But I couldn't always be close to you." Lucy paused and took a deep shuddering breath. "I've thought about you every day since you went away, wondering if you were alive or dead. After you went missing at Dunkirk and then turned up again, I always thought about the time when you wouldn't come home. I checked the listings ever day for your name, and then, one day, your name was on the list," she said quietly.

"But I wasn't among the dead, not even the missing. Just captured. There's a difference, you know," he told her, understanding that there had not been much of a difference to Lucy when she'd finally seen his name on the listing. It hadn't mattered to her which column it had been in.

It hurt him quite a bit to realize how painful that it must have been for her to have to go through that every day for the duration of the war. Jack could admit that at the time, he selfishly had only been thinking about how miserable and frightened he had been. He hadn't spared many thoughts as to what toll his service had been taking on those that he had left at home.

It had been over a year ago that he had been captured. It was then that he had spent his own time as a prisoner of war camp. It had taken him a month to escape. Unlike Dietrich, he had not been given the opportunity to do manual labor or entertain the local children. His interment had consisted of being in solitary confinement and daily sessions with the Gestapo before being released to a camp where all the men were walking skeletons that fought over crumbs of sawdust.

He could still remember the stench of the ovens from the neighboring Jewish camp.

It had been one of the single most horrid experiences of his life.

During the entire imprisonment, thinking of Lucy and his family had given Jack the strength and will to escape. The first thing that he had done when he'd made it back behind the Allied lines and into a field hospital was to pay an incredible amount of money to someone to get a message to them quickly that he was indeed alive and free, if not necessarily well. Obviously, thought Jack, it had arrived too late for Lucy.

"I started to realize that day, the day I saw your name that I couldn't wait for you. It was killing me to think that you might be on the list of the dead the very next day. So, I tried to move on." Lucy looked down, twisting Dietrich's ring on her finger nervously. "I know that it was selfish, but I loved you too much to go on if you were dead."

Jack had told Tommy once that he thought that Lucy had put on this Earth for the sole purpose of driving him insane. He had been joking at the time, but now he was starting to become sure that he had been right all along.

"So, you fell in love with another man? With Dietrich? Because you loved me too much? That makes absolutely no sense, Lucy." Jack considered again what she had said again. It still made no sense to him.

"But it does! Don't you understand? It was easier to try to stop loving you than it was to love you and live every day knowing that you could be dead the next. It makes me selfish and a horrible person, but it does make sense." She sighed, looking up. "I went to Mother's party last night because I wanted to see you. To make sure that I'd be all right if I married Hans. Because I still care so very much about you."

"I'll be fine," Jack said, lying but hoping that it would one day be true. "No need to worry about me. You?"

She shrugged. "Not sure, really. But it's still something that I have to do."

"Why is it something that you have to do, Lucy? What is it? What does he have on you? What do you owe him?" Jack still wanted to understand what happened in those long years that he was away.

She looked away. "Nothing. That's not what I meant."

He knew that she was lying. There was something more to this, Jack was sure. But it was obvious that Lucy wasn't going to tell him what it was. He wondered if Dietrich would have shared the secret with him, if he had thought to ask him. He doubted it.

"I love you, Lucy," Jack said, calmly, knowing that this was likely his last chance to say it. "I always have."

"Will you always?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, probably, though you are making it rather difficult."

"I'm sorry, I know I am. I wouldn't blame you a bit if you hated me."

"Stop it. Lucy, I love you," Jack said for what he promised himself was the last time. "I truly do. Since I first laid eyes upon you."

"That's why I came to see you last night, Jack. Because I wanted to know that you still loved me. I wanted to feel it. Because . . ."

"Yes?"

"I still love you. I wanted you to know that," Lucy said in a rush. "I still love you, too."

Jack nodded, finally accepting the situation. This girl before him loved him. She loved him enough to come to a party where she hadn't been welcome to see him. She loved him enough to make a fool out of herself dancing with him. She loved him enough to risk scandal to bring him back to her flat.

But, she didn't love him enough to not marry another man.

"Jack? I love you," she repeated, desperation in her voice.

"Thank you." Getting up, he went over to her and kissed her. "I'm going to find my shoes."

"Oh." She nodded, though he knew that he had confused her.

In a few moments, Jack returned, fully dressed in his suit from the night before. He hadn't been able to find his tie, but he was hardly concerned. Lucy could hold onto it, as a souvenir of the night that she had broken him.

Picking up his case, Jack opened the door and started to leave. He stopped as he crossed the threshold and turned to her.

"Goodbye, Lucy. Have a wonderful life," he said softly.

He watched the tears well in her eyes. He felt his own unshed tears, prickling behind his eye lids.

With the heavy sigh of a man who had lost his last hope and without looking back, Jack left.

Jack had received an invitation to Lucy and Dietrich's wedding. A University acquaintance had urged him to attend, telling him to take the most beautiful girl that he could find with him. The suggestion struck Jack as rather pathetic and pointless. He had not the strength to go either alone or with someone else. He had declined the invitation, marking the reply card with a strong and definitive X before putting it into the post.

Mary had been the only one who had seemed disappointed at his absence, telephoning the day after to berate him for making her to face such a terrible spectacle alone. Jack had told the girl that regrettably, he'd had other plans that could not be changed. He had the feeling that Mary had not believed him.

As well she shouldn't have, knew Jack. He had spent the afternoon of Lucy's wedding alone, in an alcohol induced stupor. In his moments of lucidity, Jack had tried to wish the newly wed couple well.

As a wedding gift, Jack had sent Lucy a cheque for a stupidly large sum of money. At first, he had been surprised that it was never cashed. Then, he had realized that Dietrich most likely had not permitted it. Jack suspected that the decision had resulted more from honor than from jealousy.

Lucy's mother had passed away six months after the wedding. Jack had always been fond of her mother and he had attended the funeral ceremonies and the wake. The prospect of seeing Lucy and Dietrich had not been enough to stop him from attending both to pay his respects and to lend the support of his familiar shoulder to Mary and to Lucy, if it was needed.

But, neither Lucy nor her new husband had been present, to Jack's disappointed relief.

Mary had told Jack at the wake that her mother, still angry at Lucy's choice of a husband, had made it one of her last requests that her elder daughter not attend her funeral. Lucy had obviously honored the request.

Jack had sent Lucy a rather formal letter of condolence the next day. In return, he had received a rather polite, if short, note. Jack had thrown in it into the fire, wanting to destroy the evidence that their former relationship had been reduced to something that was governed by the laws of etiquette.

Jack had found Lucy's absence at her mother's funeral depressing. He wondered if she still thought marrying Dietrich had been worth the estrangement from her family and her friends. Even Mary had barely seen her sister since her wedding, where Mary had been the only member of the family to attend.

Sensitive to the fact that Mary was almost alone and had little or no contact with Lucy, Jack often invited her to spend school holidays with him in Cambridge. They both enjoyed the visits immensely. Jack enjoyed Mary's irreverent zest for life, while he suspected that Mary enjoyed the visits because of the plentiful attentions of the young Cambridge men that were extended to her.

During her last stay with him, Mary had told Jack during that Lucy had moved to London with Dietrich. They had both found work and were managing to survive, if not prosper, there. True to her word, Mary's mother had disowned Lucy. Once the rather careless recipient of a sizable yearly allowance, Lucy now relied on the nursing skills that she had learned as a lark.

The irony was not lost on Jack that her motivation for completing the nursing course had been to join the Royal Red Cross, enabling her to follow him around the theaters of war in which he had found himself. It was interesting, Jack had thought, that when finally back in England with the rotten war over, Lucy had decided that she no longer wanted him.

Finally, he had taken that as a sign that the relationship was never meant to be. Jack tried his best not to think about Lucy in terms of what might have been, but instead, as what once was.

It was moderately less painful that way.

As time passed, Jack found the pain in his life more bearable. His hip was finally healing, even if the process seemed to be damnably slow. Life had gone on, even if losing Lucy to Dietrich had left a hole in his life and his thoughts that he had never anticipated.

The pain of that had taken had far longer to diminish than his physical pain.

The discomfort that he felt from both faded to intermittent, if agonizing, twinges that Jack felt with less and less frequency as the days went on. Feeling hesitantly stronger, he had made efforts to build his life as if the war and Lucy had never happened to him.

His first order of business had been to find his own home under the bitter protests of his mother, whom he suspected had wanted to keep her only living child at home. Jack, certainly no longer a child, had sympathized with her but refused to reconsider. His father had understood and had supported his decision, helping him to secure the house of recently retired Professor. Jack had moved in and made the place his own with comfortable, if traditional furnishings, and the odd antiquity thrown in to remind him of his true and faithful love, archeology.

The injury to his hip had made any traveling difficult, and had made slogging through the sand of the desert with his father a temporary impossibility. In the interim, Jack had been appointed to a lecturing post at Cambridge. He had managed to ease himself back into University life, involving himself at first in lecturing, then in research, and then writing.

With his father's encouragement, he had submitted several papers to the University Press. To his surprise, they had been accepted and Jack had become a published author. The papers had been well received and finally, without a doubt, he knew that his father was proud of him. It had given him the confidence to begin writing a book which he thought was coming along rather nicely.

Life was going well for Jack, and he appreciated this, even if some days were better than others. Inexplicably, after seeing Dietrich, he often experienced violent nightmares that centered around his time in the war in Africa. He had become afraid to sleep, resisting until utter exhaustion caused him to fall into slumber without choice.

Jack would often wake up to his own strangled screams.

The venue of the nightmares never varied, though sometimes the content did. Often, he was in the desert, conscious that he was bleeding to death under the relentless sun or standing before a firing squad without the possibility of a rescue. Other times, he found himself wandering alone until he stumbled upon an entire village dead, massacred in the most horrific ways. Still other times, he stumbled onto the wreckage of two jeeps and the bodies of Troy, Hitch, and Tully. Sometimes Lucy herself made an appearance in his dreams, the memory of their rescue of her from the Germans twisting itself into a failure. The theme of the nightmares was always the same, death and destruction that was in someway his fault.

It was after the nightmares when Jack felt most alone. Lying wherever he had happened to fall asleep, in a pool of his own sweat and with a heart thumping out of his chest, he wished bitterly for someone to comfort him.

However, being a reasonable man, Jack accepted that it simply was not meant to be.

In the end, he thought it kinder to spare a woman from dealing with all the damage that had been dealt to him. As a result, he knew that he had a bit of a reputation as one of those poor young men that were not quite right because of what they had seen in the war. Jack accepted that, finding it preferable to everyone knowing the other reason why he was a bit off.

Losing one's sanity to the war was a much better story than having lost it to a woman.

Jack's reputation from the war and his particular skill set had eventually garnered him some interesting attention. Not all of it being from the eligible single women of Cambridge.

Nine months after the last time he had seen Lucy, Jack had been approached by a museum interested in locating several ancient pieces that had been lost to the Nazis. Soon enough, Jack had found himself again in Germany on a treasure hunt of sorts.

The Germans had helped him immensely, if unintentionally. He quickly found that the Nazis had meticulously cataloged a great deal of what they had stolen. Jack found himself more in need to verify that the items were authentic than to actually hunt for them. Without much effort, he had managed to locate the invaluable items in question, authenticate them, and arrange for their safe transport back to the museum where they belonged.

With that success, Jack had similar requests from governments, museums, and collectors all over Europe to do the same. It amazed him that everyone seemed to have lost something to the Nazis' insatiable desire to own almost anything with any value that they could lay their hands upon. In the beginning, it had been easy going. Of late, it had become harder to locate items and arrange for their safe transport.

With the climate of some of the German zones rapidly changing as the Russian Red Army's hold strengthened, the trips had grown steadily more difficult. Also, the requests for location of precious items had started to extend to those that had been taken from Holocaust victims. With few of the original owners alive, Jack also had some responsibility for re-patrioting the items back to the country from where they had come. Establishing both authenticity of the items and ownership of them was sometimes depressingly tedious.

Jack found these particular stolen treasures infinitely more challenging to track down and his searches often led him to the shadier side of post-War Germany. He often found himself dealing with dangerous men who specialized in the illegal traffic of the items to the highest bidder. Sometimes, Jack was authorized to be the highest bidder. Other times, he was forced to steal the items back and smuggle them out of Germany.

Sam Troy had always accused him of enjoying the "cloak and dagger stuff." Jack had to agree that he had been right. There was something thrilling about it all, even if each trip seemed to be more and more dangerous. Bartering for a lost treasure in a bombed out factory appealed to him almost as much as excavating one in the desert did.

It was work for which he was perfectly suited, no matter how dangerous. It allowed him to be daring again, which was something that Jack could admit that he had missed. Life at Cambridge, while satisfying in its own way, was ultimately a bit sedate for his tastes.

After all, Jack often thought when getting himself out of a particularly sticky situation, it wasn't as if he had a wife and children at home waiting for him.

There was no reason for him to live as though he did.

He looked at his watch and frowned.

The bloody trains never ran on time these days, Jack thought.

This trip had been especially difficult and he was anxious to leave Germany behind. That he suspected that he had been followed to the railway station by a particularly menacing looking thug was not helping his state of mind.

He stood, waiting for the train, painfully aware that he was unarmed. The priceless ancient Greek stone tablets tucked into his case between a sweater and a pair of trousers weighed heavily on his mind. Even more worrying for him was the file folder that he also carried, sandwiched in between the relics.

At the polite request of the British government, he had picked up the file as a side errand, delaying his departure by almost a day. Having been instructed not to read it, Jack of course had. Then he had immediately wished that he had not.

Wishing for the train to arrive any time, Jack shifted his case and looked at his ticket, trying to seem like any other harried business traveler. Noticing the date on the ticket, something occurred to him.

A year and a half exactly had passed since he'd last seen Lucy. It was an odd way to recognize anniversary, Jack thought, even one as miserable as that. He thought about himself as a younger, more romantic man, who would have most likely mourned and marked every day on the calendar. After all, he had done so during the span his infatuation with Gabrielle.

And look where that got you, thought Jack ruefully, after allowing a few brief thoughts for the passing of his kinder, gentler, younger self.

The end result in both instances had been much the same. A woman that he thought that he might love married to another man. Jack could appreciate that at least Lucy was still alive. Gabrielle had not been that lucky in the end.

The call to board the train was made, jolting him back to matters of the present. Jack made his way to the front of the line, and boarded the train with a backwards glance. The man that he had suspected was following him had disappeared. Very aware that the absence of the man from his sight didn't mean that he was not there, Jack went to his compartment and sat so that he could watch the window and the door.

He found himself in the compartment alone even after the train had left the station. On any other day, Jack would have welcomed the freedom from having to make polite small talk with a stranger. As the journey wore on, he longed for some sort of company. The book that he had brought with him to read had been left behind to make room for tablets. Jack found himself on edge and bored.

Sleep would have also normally been an option but the idea that the man that had been following him might be on train kept him alert. Crossing his arms, Jack settled himself across the seat and watched the door. A vague headache lodged itself behind his eyes and a feeling of exhaustion settled into his bones. There was nothing for him to do to pass the time but think as the miles of countryside had flew by outside of his window.

His thoughts, rather disturbingly, kept coming back to Lucy. Jack cursed the relapse. It had been months since he had noticed himself missing her. The same thoughts haunted him on the ferry and then again on the train that he took back to Cambridge.

The trip had seemed to have taken forever and the weather that greeted him on his arrival back to England hardly did much to cheer his mood. It was miserably wet and cold. After standing outside on platform in the rain watching every passenger disembark, there had been a wait for a taxi. It had taken Jack quite a while to leave from the station.

Arriving home thoroughly chilled and drained, Jack was pleased to see that a fire had been built in his study. Opening his case on his desk, he removed the stone tablets and the file. He placed them both into the safe in the wall. Satisfied that they were secure, he had laid himself out in front of it on the leather couch, shivering as much from nervous exhaustion as the cold that seeped into his bones.

The warmth of the fire eventually began to warm him and the shivering stopped. His housekeeper brought him tea and he enjoyed it there, watching the flames crackle reassuringly before him. Eventually warm and relaxed, Jack slipped into sleep.

He dreamed of Lucy, as he had not done for months, but the dreams had been pleasant.

Jack woke up, with a stretch and yawn, feeling well rested. He got up stiffly and went to his desk with the intention of sorting through the mail that had accumulated in his absence.

"Mr. Jack?"

Jack turned to see the figure outlined and backlit in the doorway of his study.

"Yes, Mrs. Brown? Still here?" Rubbing his eyes, he gauged the darkness that had fallen outside. "It's late, isn't it?"

"I was waiting for you to wake up before I left. To see if you needed anything. You didn't look well when you came in and you've been gone for days. I expected you back yesterday, I did and then here, you come today, dragging yourself in." She clucked her tongue. "I imagine it's been days since you slept. You're wearing yourself out. Bright young man like you ought to have the sense to take better care of his self."

Jack smiled at her fussing. The woman, secured through the University's employment agency, really was a godsend. She was used to eccentric scholars, having previously been employed by one of the Professors for some twenty odd years before the man had passed away.

After six months, it seemed as though Mrs. Brown had taken to Jack. After six months, Jack wondered if he would be able to live without her.

"No, I'm fine. Not much sleep as you've observed. Just a little worn out," Jack told her. "Why don't you go on home? Is it still beastly outside? I can give you a lift if you like."

"Oh no, sir. My husband will come for me when I ring. I don't want you going out again in this weather. You'll catch your death. I've left you a cold supper in the refrigerator, should you get hungry."

"I'm not really hungry." He saw her look of disappointed disapproval and hastily amended his statement before the lecture began. "But I might be later. Thank you for thinking of me."

Mrs. Brown snorted. "You're too thin. Waste away, you will. I'll tell you what I used to tell the Professor. You can't exist on air, tea, books, and paper. Though, you're not to be convinced any more than he was. When was the last time you ate something?"

Jack thought about it and couldn't actually remember.

"If you can't remember your last meal, it's been too long since you ate," Mrs. Brown said wisely.

"Much easier to think on an empty stomach." Jack shrugged, attempting to look innocent though he was trying to bait her. "Sherlock Holmes said so, you know," he said seriously.

"Mr. Jack, he's not even real!" Mrs. Brown harrumphed and rolled her eyes. "If that's not the most fool thing, I've ever heard. Sherlock Holmes! Really now."

Jack laughed, making no secret that he was teasing her now.

"You're as mad as a hatter, you are. What am I going to do with you?" Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. "I suppose I'll have to continue to take care of you, as you don't seem to have the sense to take care of yourself."

"Yes," said Jack, still grinning. "I suppose you will. I'm a very lucky man. As is your husband."

"And you're a charmer. Hard to believe that no woman has snapped you up, it is. Though," said Mrs. Brown with a smile and a soft crinkle around her eyes, "I know that there are several that would like to."

Jack shook his head. "Nice of you to say, really. But it's not for me."

Shrugging, Mrs. Brown turned to go. "Might change your mind one day. If the right one comes along. Good night, Mr. Jack, don't stay up too late. And eat something!" she ordered sternly, turning to punctuate her order with a stab of her finger.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack sat on the edge of his desk and turned on the lamp. He nodded dutifully and crisply saluted before crossing his arms against his chest.

"Don't be cheeky, young man," the older woman scolded him before moving her ample figure out of the doorway and off to presumably call her husband to come and collect her. "And if you're going to do any more napping on the couch, change out of your good suit," she yelled at him from the hallway.

Jack shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. Looking at his trousers he frowned. They were quite wrinkled. Ruefully, he brushed at them with his hand. While Mrs. Brown and he did not see eye to eye on Jack's need for a woman in his life, he could concede that she had a point about his suit. He resolved to go change as soon as she was safely off into the night.

With Mrs. Brown gone to ring her husband, Jack turned his attention back to the items that had collected from the previous days' post. There were two packages among the other assorted items. One he recognized for what it was. The other he did not. Curious, he picked it up. The box looked rather battered as if it had come a long way. It was surprisingly heavy and it sloshed vaguely like it contained liquid.

Turning it over, he looked at the mailing label and the postage. When he noticed that the package was from the States, Jack began to suspect who had sent it to him though he had no earthly idea what it contained. Taking an ancient flint knife from his desk, he sheared through the twine that wrapped the package and opened it. Still mystified, Jack took out something that was wrapped in several layers of cloth and that had been surrounded by crumpled pages of what appeared to have been a catalogue. He began to unwrap it.

Having seen mummies that were less well protected, it took Jack a few moments to expose the item. He was surprised to find that it was a blue tinted glass quart jar and that it was filled with some sort of liquid. Turning it in his hands, he saw that the jar bore the words "Ball" on it in slanted script.

"Oh my," Jack muttered to himself, realizing now what the jar contained. He sat it on his desk as gently as possible and looked into the box for an explanation. Jack found an envelope and opened it. Inside were a piece of tablet paper that had been folded several times and three pieces of what appeared to be flat stones. Setting the stones aside, he unfolded the paper and read the letter.

Dear Sarge,

I was thinking about you the other day and thought maybe you could use some Christmas cheer. It's probably going to get to you a little late for Christmas, but don't worry, it will keep pretty nice. I reckon it would probably keep till next Christmas, if you wanted. It was a real good batch.

Thanks for sending me the books. I liked them. I'm looking forward to reading your book. Should be done soon now, I'd think.

Along with the shine, I sent you some of a few examples of the old things that we dig out of the ground here. I found them when I was plowing the lower 40 on the farm. You'll probably recognize them for what they are, Indian arrowheads. I've got a whole jar of them from when I was a kid. I never thought much about them then, but when I found these, they made me think of you. Artifacts, right?

Speaking of kids, we just had our first one. I thought that you'd want to know that we named him Jack. I'm hoping to have at least three more boys so I can have a Sam and a Mark, too. I thought that sounded nice.

If you're ever in Kentucky, come and see us. I told my wife all about you and she'd like to meet you. Says you sound real interesting. I told her that you were.

Be careful with the shine. You can hurt yourself if you don't watch.

Sincerely, your friend,

Tully

Jack refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope with a smile. He picked up the arrowheads and looked at them. Each one was different and each one meticulously crafted. The fact that they were only likely to be around two hundred years old didn't make them any less precious to him. They were still amazing examples of what primitive cultures were capable.

Fingering one absently, he thought of Tully.

While Jack still cursed the war every day, he could appreciate that it had given him opportunities that he never would have otherwise, such as having met Tully. He thought about Tully, Troy, and Hitch and their time in the Africa.

War made strange friends, thought Jack. Any other time or place, it was unlikely that he and Tully would have ever gotten to know each other. It moved him that there was now a Jack Pettigrew living in Kentucky and that Tully had thought enough of him to name his first child after him. He hoped that he was able to make it to Kentucky one day to see Tully and to meet his namesake.

When Mrs. Brown came back into the study, Jack was looking out the window smiling fondly at the memory of Tully, Hitch, and Troy attempting to save a dog. "Idiots," he said softly.

"Mr. Jack?"

Jack, nerves still on edge from his trip, was startled and jumped. "Yes?"

Mrs. Brown was buttoning her coat and preparing to leave. Jack wondered what other orders General Brown had for him before she left for the evening. He pushed the moonshine behind his back not wanting to explain the contents of the blue jar to her.

"I forgot to tell you. There was a man that called for you. While you were asleep. I told him that you were not to be disturbed and to come back at another time."

"Really?" Suddenly, Jack remembered his unreasonable fear of having been followed from Germany. He then had an even more unreasonable fear that he had been followed to Cambridge before telling himself that he was being silly.

"Yes."

A horn sounded outside the house and Jack jumped again. Looking out the window, Jack saw the familiar shape of Mrs. Brown's husband's taxi and willed himself to relax.

"Mrs. Brown, what did this man look like?" Jack frowned, thinking of the man from the railway station.

"Oh, let's see. About your height. Thin, like you. Brown hair, handsome, if a bit severe. Very polite. Never seen him before, I hadn't."

Jack's mind went back to the thug in Germany. The description, while not terribly detailed, didn't seem to fit him. But, then, what if it had been someone that he hadn't seen, wondered Jack.

He told himself again that he was being silly. No one would have dared to follow him back to England, especially not for the tablets. Jack paused and thought of the file that he had carried back. That he could believe someone would follow, just not across Europe, but around the world.

But, most likely, the caller had been one of his students or a colleague from Cambridge.

It could have just as easily been an encyclopedia salesman, thought Jack.

"Thank you, Mrs. Brown. I'm sure he'll call back." Jack rather hoped that he would not, whoever he was.

"That's what I'd thought, too." Mrs. Brown nodded and turned to go as the horn sounded again. "Ach, Wally! I'm coming!" she said to the car and driver outside. Suddenly she stopped. "Mr. Jack?"

"Yes?"

"There was one other thing that I found odd about him."

"What was that?"

"He had an accent. Not much of one, but it was obvious he wasn't English."

"What type of accent, Mrs. Brown?" Jack felt the chill start at his neck and sweep downwards into his shoulders as he thought about the documents that he had brought back into England.

The woman considered, her brow furrowing as if she was confused by why it was so important to Jack. "I don't know Mr. Jack, but if I had to guess, I'd say that it was German."

With that, the horn sounded again and Mrs. Brown was gone after a cheery good night.

Watching Mrs. Brown from the window as she got into her husband's off duty taxi, Jack unlocked one of the top drawers of his desk. With an eye still on the window, he removed the case the held his revolver and took the gun from it. From the drawer he also removed a box of cartridges. He completed the familiar action of loading the gun. Checking it and finding it satisfactory, Jack looked out of the window for a while longer before going to change clothes.

He felt a bit odd and more than a bit silly carrying the gun with him around the house. He hadn't used it since the war and he had honestly had never expected to use it again seriously. As silly as he felt, Jack had to admit that the solid weight of the weapon made him feel better.

After changing, he went into the kitchen to make more tea. He spent the time waiting for the kettle wondering what he had managed to get himself into with his latest side work. He had been rather happy to leave his expectations of being shot behind with the war. Now again, it seemed a very real possibility.

Jack resolved that he had made his last trip to Germany as a treasure hunter and certainly his last as an errand boy for the British government. He told himself that he far preferred the safety of his academic work where the worst hazard of one's work might be a headache from eyestrain or a paper cut.

Despite the resolve that he felt, Jack knew that it would not hold past the next request for his services. While he did not like the idea of feeling the need for a gun in his own home, he had to admit to himself that the feeling of danger and the resulting adrenaline rush that it caused was not unpleasant. He was rather afraid that he was actually enjoying it.

For the first time in quite awhile, Jack worried for his sanity.

After locking the doors of the house, he returned with his tea to the fire and his manuscript. Pencil behind his ear for notations and a plate of Mrs. Brown's shortbread biscuits and his revolver within easy reach, Jack began to work. Easily, he lost himself in the critique of his own words.

When the clock chimed ten, he got up to stretch and to refocus his eyes. Going to the window, he looked out into the street, still shiny with rain. It made him glad that in a few months he'd be in the dry heat of the desert. He and his father had a trip planned and Jack was looking forward to it immensely. It would be the first time that they had been together in Africa since during the war.

A knock sounded at the door.

It surprised Jack and interrupted his thoughts of the desert. He looked at the clock again. It was very late, much too late for a social call. He picked up the revolver and went to the door.

Easing the door open cautiously, Jack looked out into the rain and at the figure that stood on his doorstep with surprised recognition. He remembered Mrs. Brown's earlier description of his mystery caller. Obviously, this had been his visitor from earlier in the day. In comparison to what he had been expecting, reality was decidedly non-threatening.

"Dietrich?" Jack asked, feeling relief flood him. He opened the door wider.

Dietrich nodded as the rain beaded on his hat and the shoulders of his coat. "May I come in?"

"What? Oh, of course." Regaining his senses and his manners, Jack ushered him in.

Dietrich entered the house. His eyes went to the service revolver in Jack's hand and then back to Jack's face. "Do you greet all your guests with a loaded gun?"

Jack looked down at the gun and once again felt silly at letting his paranoia run away with him. "No. But I wasn't expecting just any guest. And I certainly wasn't expecting you."

Dietrich's eyes crinkled. "I rather thought our days of pulling guns on each other were over. I am glad that the welcome was not for me. "

"No, not for you, I assure you." Jack held out the hand that wasn't holding the revolver. "May I take your coat and hat?" he asked, without thought, his mind now on why Dietrich was at his door at ten at night.

"Please. If you would." Dietrich shrugged off his sodden overcoat and handed Jack his hat.

Jack hung the hat on the rack in the entry way and held the coat. "It's rather late, isn't it?" he asked, stating the obvious.

"It is late. I am sorry. I had come by earlier today but the woman that answered the door very firmly told me that you had just returned home and were resting. Not to be disturbed."

"That was Mrs. Brown. She gets a bit over protective sometimes." Jack thought of his housekeeper growling at Dietrich and the thought made him smile.

"I told her not to bother you and that it was not important."

Jack narrowed his eyes at Dietrich. "But it must be important, right? It's a quarter after ten." A terrible thought occurred to him. "Lucy? Is Lucy all right?"

"Lucy is well."

"Oh," said Jack, relieved. "Why don't you come into my study and sit down? We can talk there. I've got quite the fire going."

Dietrich rubbed his hands together. Jack realized, holding the man's damp coat, that he was probably chilled as he had been earlier.

"If I'm not imposing?" Dietrich asked carefully.

Jack shrugged. "No, not at all. I was just working. Nothing that can't wait. Follow me." Carrying Dietrich's wet coat, he led the way to his study and spread the coat carefully over one of the chairs by the fire. He motioned to the other chair and the sofa. "Please, sit down. Can I get you a drink?"

"If you will join me," Dietrich said, settling into one of the chairs and stretching his long legs out towards the fire.

"Sure, why not. Whiskey all right?" Jack moved toward the table where the decanter and the glasses were. "Nothing like a night cap to chase away the chill."

Dietrich watched as Jack set out two glasses. "Neat, please."

Jack nodded and poured two fingers of scotch whiskey into each, one of which he gave Dietrich who murmured his thanks.

Sitting down on the sofa, Jack held the glass up to his guest. "Cheers," he said before taking a drink.

"Cheers," said Dietrich, doing the same. He considered the whiskey with a look of satisfaction. "That's excellent, thank you." He looked into the glass and then at Jack. "I am not surprised that you have good taste. I always suspected, even in the desert, that you were a man that had been exposed to the finer things in life."

Jack shrugged and accepted the compliment. "I do have a penchant for nice things. Life's too short for less than the best, right?" The war had taught him that. Nothing like thinking every day that you're going to die to make you want to live well while you can.

"I agree completely," Dietrich said with conviction, making it obvious that he had learned the same lesson.

Jack leaned forward. "Why are you here Dietrich? It has to be something to do with Lucy?" There was little that they had in common other than being former enemies and Jack sincerely doubted that Dietrich had braved the weather to discuss that.

"I've already told you that she is well." Dietrich paused and took another sip of his drink. "You were traveling? The desert?"

Jack shook his head, trying not to show his annoyance at the change in subject. "No, interestingly enough for you I'm sure, I was in Germany."

Dietrich did look interested. "Really? How did you find it?" He leaned forward. "Is it as terrible as I've heard?"

Nodding, Jack sighed. "Pretty horrible," he told Dietrich honestly.

"So, what business did you have in Germany?"

Jack thought about lying and then decided to give Dietrich mostly the truth. "I went to secure and validate that some antiquities that had been found there. Apparently, they'd turned up in the cellar of a former high ranking SS official. Someone was trying to sell them."

"Were they? The actual article?"

Jack nodded. "They were, stolen from a Jewish collector during the war. I managed to liberate them."

"How very interesting." Dietrich chuckled. His eyes went to the revolver ton the table in front of Jack, still within easy reach. "And dangerous, apparently. Interesting that reclaiming artifacts, no matter how valuable, would generate interest that would result in the need for a gun. Still playing cloak and dagger, then? Tell me, are you still pretending to be German?"

Jack shrugged and nodded. "When the need arises," he admitted.

Dietrich looked at Jack with interest. "Tell me, has your German improved?"

"My German has always been very good, thank you very much." Jack felt insulted. How many times had he fooled Dietrich's own men with his ability to speak the language, he thought? After all, as Tully had once accused, Jack had found himself in a German uniform almost as much as he had his own.

Dietrich shook his head and smiled gently. "I don't mean to criticize, but your German was never as good as my English. I thought that someone should honestly tell you. As you travel deeper into Germany, someone will notice without the distraction of a war going on around them."

"Thanks, I think." Jack snorted, hiding his hurt feelings. "I always wondered where you learned to speak English. It is quite good," he said, grudgingly.

Dietrich looked thoughtful. "I spent time at one of the British universities. I also had an English nurse as a child."

"Which university?" Jack asked interested far more in Dietrich's schooling than his nanny.

Ducking his head but not quite hiding a sly smile, Dietrich replied. "Oxford."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Figures," he muttered, acknowledging the rivalry between the two schools. "I'll have to brush up on my German, obviously."

"Yes, I think it would be wise. So, you were on a secret mission . . . to recover lost treasures. Somehow that seems right for you."

From the look in Dietrich's eyes, Jack realized that he had said too much and merely shrugged. "Not nearly as glamorous and thrilling as all that, I assure you."

Dietrich nodded, eyes going to the gun again. "Oh, of course," he said skeptically, but not pressing the issue.

Jack nodded happy to end the discussion of both his treasure hunting and his ability to speak German. He got up to refill his glass, taking Dietrich's as well.

"You are fully recovered from your injury? The one that you were suffering from when I saw you last?" Dietrich asked, obviously noticing that Jack no longer walked with a pronounced limp as he had a year and a half prior.

"Yes, for the most part. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't still hurt every so often. But then, there are enough other bits of me that hurt on days like this, that I barely notice it."

"Believe me, I understand. The climate here is not kind to old injuries." Dietrich's eyes crinkled.

Jack tilted his empty glass in agreement, thinking about the time that they'd pulled Dietrich out of from under his own staff car. He had been rather banged up then himself and Jack was sure that it had probably been the least of it.

"It's not. Makes me miss the desert," Jack said.

"Why do you stay here? In England? You speak several languages, are familiar with several cultures, you'd be welcome in many parts of the world. All with a much more hospitable climate."

Shrugging, Jack sighed. "It's my home. I'm not like you. I was never a professional soldier. I'm a scholar and I belong here, at Cambridge. It's where I always knew that I'd be. Like my father before me."

"Your father is a highly respected expert and scholar. I have read one of his books. Quite intriguing."

"Really?" Jack couldn't hide his surprise. "I'll have to tell him that you enjoyed it. I'm sure that he'll be pleased."

"Please do. I read it several times, actually. I picked it from the selection of books that were brought often to the camp before I unfortunately 'lost' it."

It wasn't difficult for Jack to translate the meaning behind Dietrich's use of the word "lost."

"You stole it? I will have to tell him that. He would most likely find that the highest compliment of all." He tried to hide his smile but could not. The thought of Dietrich stealing a book from the Red Cross book stall amused him.

Dietrich looked pained at the accusation of theft. "I borrowed it. For slightly longer than was encouraged. Actually, it's how I began speaking with Lucy."

"Really?" Jack tried to remember if Lucy had told him that when she had told him the story of how she had meant Dietrich. He was not surprised that he could not.

"Yes, she saw me with the book, while I was on a break from laboring at the Hospital where she worked. She found it amusing and told me that she knew the author quite well. She told me that his son had been her brother's friend."

"Ah. Small world."

"Small country. I knew that the man was your father, and I assumed that it might be you who was her brother's friend, though she never mentioned your name." Dietrich looked at Jack. "She also neglected to mention that you had been her lover, I assure you, or things would have been much different."

Jack cleared his throat and accepted it as the apology that he suspected it might be. "Well, that's all water under the bridge, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so." Dietrich looked into the fire.

"Lucy told me how you met. At the hospital. She said that you were a 'white' German. You weren't a member of the Nazi party?" Jack, now thinking about it, couldn't ever recall seeing Dietrich give the party salute, only the customary regular military one.

"I was a member of the party, of course. Every member of the Wehrmacht was made to swear allegiance to der Fuhrer." Inclining his head, Dietrich looked at Jack. "But, I was hardly an ardent supporter. I was a soldier. Like my father and my grandfather before me. That was what I was to do, much like how you were destined to be a scholar. I fought for Germany, because it was my duty and not for some lunatic hell bent on destroying the country as it suited his personal philosophies.

The vehemence in Dietrich's voice surprised Jack. In his single mindedness, he had always assumed that all Germans were rabid supporters of Hitler. But, if he thought about it, it always had seemed as though Dietrich had had more sense than the rest of them.

Jack watched as Dietrich got up, glass of whiskey still in his hand. Pulling his cigarette case from his pocket, he looked at Jack.

Jack nodded. "There's an ash tray on my desk. Many of my students smoke. They often drop by."

Dietrich nodded his thanks as he got up and lit a cigarette. Leaning on Jack's desk, he blew the smoke slowly from his lungs and looked at his cigarette. "Terrible habit, to make you so dependent on something so inconsequential. I do not disagree with Hitler on that."

Jack got up and leaned against the back of the sofa so that he could face Dietrich. "But, you did disagree with the war?" he said, bringing the conversation back to the subject that they had been discussing.

"Not at first. I was a soldier, war is a job. But, I had lost most of my faith in what I was doing prior even to the end of the Afrika campaign. I was not really sorry to be removed from it." Dietrich chuckled. "And going back to Europe to fight would have been rather anti-climatic without Sergeant Troy and the rest of your team to keep me entertained."

"Ah, yes." Jack chuckled at that as well. He'd often suspected that Dietrich had enjoyed their interactions as an exercise of the strategy of war even if they had always managed to best him. He had always assumed that Troy, Hitch, Tully, and he had been rather career limiting for poor old Dietrich.

Jack noticed that Dietrich had picked up a photo of the members of the "Rat Patrol" that had sat on his desk for years and probably would always remain there. It was a rather posed picture of the four of them in one jeep that someone from Stars and Stripes had taken for a story.

"What happened to them? To Troy? Hitchcock and Pettigrew?" Dietrich asked, after looking at the photo for a few moments. With a fond smile he replaced it.

Jack rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Tully, Private Pettigrew that is, is back in Kentucky, married to his childhood sweetheart. They just had their first child, actually. He's once again running moonshine." He noticed Dietrich's questioning look. "A type of liquor made from corn, I believe. Very strong. Illegal in the United States, but highly profitable."

Dietrich looked intrigued. "An example of the lauded American home spun ingenuity?"

"Perhaps. Or, just an example of their propensity to shirk authority. Actually, Tully was kind enough to send me some. Don't suppose you'd like to try it? It's there on the desk. The blue jar." Jack pointed at the jar on the desk beside where Dietrich was leaning.

Now Dietrich looked suspicious. He picked up the jar and then looked at Jack. "What is it like? You've had some? Before?"

"Well, no," Jack admitted.

"Interesting. Why?"

Jack fidgeted. "Would you think less of me if I said that I was afraid?" A slow grin crossed his face. He remembered Tully's written warning.

Dietrich snorted. "Afraid? It's just distilled alcohol, correct?"

"Well," said Jack, getting up. "I tend to be wary of anything that is promoted as, and let me make sure that I have this right, 'having a kick like a mule?' That's the way that Tully described it to me once." He stopped and picked up two glasses. Holding them up, he looked at Dietrich. "But I'm willing to give it a try if you are. What do you say?"

"Like a mule?" Dietrich repeated. Jack thought that he looked a bit scared now as well.

"Hardly sounds promising, does it?"

Dietrich frowned and shook his head. "No." He held the blue jar up to the light, studying the contents. "It looks innocent enough."

Jack took the jar of moonshine from Dietrich. "Well, I will if you will." He attempted to take the top off the jar. It was harder than it should have been and looking at Jack noticed that the metal ring of the lid was corroded.

Smirking, Dietrich looked at him. "Did you need some assistance?"

Jack glared at him and then managed to wrench the top from the jar. "There we are now," he muttered. Looking at Dietrich, calmly smoking and watching through narrowed eyes, Jack put the jar to his nose and smelled it.

Immediately, he gasped and his eyes began to water. "Oh my God."

"What is it?" Curiosity obviously piqued by Jack's reaction, Dietrich made a move to take the jar.

Jack shook his head and held the jar out of Dietrich's reach. "Well, let's just put it this way, I'd extinguish the cigarette or I'd move a safe distance away."

Looking at Jack as though he was mad, Dietrich none the less stubbed the cigarette out. "Let me see that," he demanded.

Giving him the jar, Jack watched as Dietrich smelled the contents. He made a face. "It smells like pure alcohol."

Jack picked up a glass and then hesitated. "Join me in a toast to Tully? And his new child?" he asked finally.

Grimacing, Dietrich nodded. "Why not? If you are having some, then I will as well."

Against his better judgment, Jack poured a measure for each of them from the blue jar. When he spilled some on his fingers, he half expected it to burn. Handing Dietrich a glass, he looked at him. "Well, a toast I suppose. To Tully. Best kid moonshine runner in Kentucky, West Virginia, and Tennessee. I believe that's saying something."

Dietrich nodded. "To Pettigrew and his child. If there must be trouble, let it be in our day, so that his child may have peace." He held his glass to Jack's.

"Amen," said Jack, nodding his sincere agreement. Closing his eyes and making every effort to get past the smell, he drank the liquor. It immediately took his breath away. He gasped and wondered if Dietrich had actually drunk any of the moonshine.

"Mein Got im himmel!"

Well, thought Jack hearing Dietrich, there was his answer. Opening up one eye, he looked at Dietrich, whose expression would have made Jack laugh if he could have breathed. He leaned on his desk.

"Smooth," Jack finally managed his voice rough.

Dietrich looked at him before bursting into laughter.

Jack's scotch had been abandoned by them both in favor of the moonshine.

It was dreadful, thought Jack, managing to take another drink. He knew that Dietrich was hardly enjoying it, either. Jack had to admit that there was some satisfaction in watching Dietrich drink it just because he was.

He wondered what Tully would think if he knew that Dietrich was drinking his home brew. Jack could hardly wait to write him and tell him.

"So, Pettigrew is still alive and well and sending you liquor brewed by the very devil himself," Dietrich said, sounding a bit drunk. "And the rest of the legendary Rat Patrol? What of them?"

"Private Hitchcock, Hitch, was killed. In Germany, I believe." The thought went a long way to sobering Jack up.

"I am sorry to hear that. He was so very young." Dietrich shook his head. "A waste."

"Yes," Jack agreed. "A waste. And Troy . . . He was killed as well, not long after leaving Africa. He was doing something unbelievably brave and incredibly stupid. Just as he always had. I suppose his luck finally ran out. Another waste."

He looked away and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Troy had been dead for several years, but it still found it upsetting to think about it. They had been close, as had they all. But the bond that he and Troy had shared had been the strongest of all. He had never met anyone else that had impressed him quite as much as Troy or that had deserved his respect quite as much, either on the battlefield or off.

"I am very sorry to hear that. Sergeant Troy was an honorable man and a fine soldier." Dietrich shook his head and looked suitably moved. He raised his glass to Jack. "To those that are gone that we will always remember well."

Jack nodded and they drank.

He watched as Dietrich got up and lit another cigarette. Restlessly, Dietrich began to move around the room. He examined several of the older items in Jack's study, commenting on them and drawing Jack into conversation before them before moving on to something else. A plume of smoke followed him as he made an obvious effort to hold the cigarette as far away from his glass as possible.

Watching Dietrich examine of a picture of Lucy, Tommy, Mary, and Jack that had been taken on holiday years prior, it reminded Jack that he still did not know the reason for Dietrich's visit. If not Lucy, what then?

Jack cleared his throat and Dietrich replaced the picture. He came back to join Jack by the fire.

"I know that you didn't come just to reminisce." Jack squinted at the clock, doing his best at making the two faces that he was seeing become one. "And it's getting very late and we're getting very drunk. Perhaps we should discuss whatever business brought you here? I imagine that Lucy will be worried about you. Do you not want to get home to her?"

"Interesting that you should say that, quite like that. You see, that is why I came to see you." Dietrich leaned forward, his eyes intently on Jack's.

"I'm sorry?" Jack didn't understand. So this was about Lucy, he thought.

"The time has come. I'm leaving."

"Oh. Where are you and Lucy going?"

"Lucy is not going with me. I am leaving. She will be staying in England."

Jack frowned. "For how long? Are you asking me to check in on her while you're away?"

"Something like that, actually, but not quite. You see, I am not returning."

Dietrich's meaning finally dawned on Jack. "You're leaving her?" He felt himself beginning to grow angry for Lucy. "Does she know? That you're planning on leaving her?"

Dietrich shook his head. "No, she does not. I thought that it would be easier this way. I am fine with being the villain in this story. It's a role that I play well. I have had more than some practice." There was an irony in his tone that was not lost on Jack.

"What?" Jack looked at Dietrich, surprised. "If that's not the most cowardly thing I've ever heard. It's hardly something that I would expect of you."

"I would agree it hardly seems the best thing to do. But, really, in the end, I think that it might be." Dietrich shrugged calmly, seeming indifferent to Jack's growing anger.

"How is that for the best?" Jack realized that his hands were clenched into fists at his side in his anger at Dietrich's cavalier mistreatment of Lucy.

"I do not love Lucy. Lucy does not love me. She never has."

"And you married her, knowing that." Jack shook his head. "Why?"

"It was an arrangement from the beginning, I'm afraid. I'm not saying that I was not taken with her. As you will admit, she's a lovely girl, intelligent, strong willed, if a bit high strung sometimes. But I never thought that it might have even an eventual chance of success of being what a marriage should be." Dietrich looked at Jack straight on.

"Do you know what marrying you cost her? She wasn't even welcome at her mother's funeral. I can't even imagine how much that hurt her." Jack was up, pacing the room now. He stopped in front of Dietrich, a realization dawning on him. "You married her so that you wouldn't have to go back to Germany."

"Unfortunately, that's true. I will not lie to you. I respect you too much to make the attempt."

Jack could barely resist taking a swing at Dietrich who sat there calmly, ready to accept the blow if it came. It was as if he felt that he deserved it. Growling in frustration, Jack instead turned his back to the other man.

"I remember clearly asking her if she loved you, before I knew that it was you to whom she was to be married," Jack said, picturing that evening from a year and a half ago when Lucy had broken his heart.

"And what did she say?"

"She said that she loved you enough. And that she had no choice. I asked her then what you had on her." Jack turned back to Dietrich, anger once again seething through his veins. "What was it? Why did she marry you? You didn't love her, she didn't love you. It doesn't make sense. Did she know why you wanted to marry her?"

Dietrich nodded. "She did. She is the one that suggested it, actually."

"Unbelievable!" Jack exploded. "You make it sound as though the whole thing was her idea."

"It was."

"But why?" Jack knew that Dietrich was telling him the truth.

Dietrich began to speak and stopped, pursing his lips. "It's not for me to tell you. I will leave that for her to tell you if she chooses."

"Tell me," demanded Jack, not caring that he suspected that Dietrich was refusing because he didn't want to be unfaithful to Lucy's confidence.

"No. I will not. Ask her for yourself. I came to see you, to tell you that I'm leaving. Not to tell you things that it is not my place to you tell you. I wanted you to know so that you would have the opportunity to take advantage of the situation if you so choose."

"What?" Jack was incredulous. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't want her any longer, so she's mine if I so choose?" The urge to hit Dietrich returned again.

"No, that's not what I am trying to say. I am telling you that she's always been yours. And I am telling you that she has always loved you." Dietrich got up and went to the window, looking out into the rain. He lit another cigarette and looked questioningly at Jack. "You knew that. Did you not?"

Jack said nothing. He had known it but it had hardly seemed to matter.

"It is complicated, without being able to tell you the entire story." He turned back to face Jack. "I assure you, the relationship was always an arrangement. I offered to not hold her to it, several times after she had made it. Every day until we were actually married, in fact. She would not, she had given her word, she said. I respect her greatly for that. I honored Lucy, not as my wife, but as a sister." Dietrich's eyes narrowed. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"Are you trying to tell me not to worry because you didn't consummate your marriage?" Jack wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He would not have loved Lucy any less if she had slept with Dietrich, but he would be lying if he couldn't admit that he found immeasurable comfort in the confession. "She is your wife and it is well within your rights. You are an honorable man, aren't you?"

Dietrich inclined his head, smiling. "Honor is important to me. While all's fair in love and war, as they say, there are ground rules."

Jack nodded. Dietrich had always been honorable in battle, if a bit ruthless. "It's a bit like cheating at cards, isn't it?" asked Jack. "You may win, but it's not very satisfying when you do. Not very sporting."

"Hardly cricket, as you might say. Winning fairly is the only way to win. The spoils are not worth the sacrifice, otherwise."

Jack nodded, agreeing.

"So, it seems as though you have bested me yet again. I am afraid that I've become rather used to it." Dietrich looked at the clock and stubbed out his cigarette before going to check the dryness of his coat. He began to shrug it on.

"Where will you go?" Jack asked, watching him, with some regret. It was odd. It felt to him almost if he was losing yet another friend. Apparently, both love and war combined made even stranger friends.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I will go to America. Canada. Back to the desert? Somewhere far away from Europe, never to return again."

"Oh," said Jack, feeling another unexpected pang at the thought that he might never see Dietrich again. He offered his hand to him. "Well, best of luck, I suppose. Is there anything that I can do for you?"

Shaking Jack's offered hand, Dietrich nodded. "Yes. Go to see Lucy tomorrow. You have the address of the flat in London?"

"I do." Mary had given it to Jack. He had never been sure why.

"Very good. Best of luck. I will always think about you, you know. I will always remember the absolute hell that you, Troy, Hitchcock and Pettigrew put me through." Dietrich grinned. "The Rat Patrol. The stuff of legend." He put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "I am proud to have known all of you."

"Well, I can say the same. I am proud to have known you, Herr Dietrich." Jack said, meaning it sincerely.

Dietrich nodded.

Collecting his hat, he was gone into the night and forever.

When Jack arrived at the flat the next day, Lucy was sitting in the window staring down into the street.

"Lucy?" he said softly, not wanting to startle her. The door had been unlocked and he had let himself in after knocking.

Slowly she turned and he could see that she had been crying. His heart broke for her and he wondered if she had loved Dietrich, even just a little.

"Jack?" She blinked as if she wasn't sure it was him. "What are you doing here?" Lucy didn't move from the window.

"Someone told me that you might need a friend. Was he right?"

Lucy nodded and then hurled herself across the room into Jack's arms.

After several moments, Lucy looked up at Jack. "You saw Hans? Did he tell you that he was leaving me? Because he did, you know."

"Last night, I saw him. And yes, he told me."

"Did he tell you why?"

Jack nodded, pulling Lucy close to him again. "Because it was the right thing to do. You didn't love him, and he didn't love you."

Nodding, Lucy sighed. "I suppose it was, rather, the right thing to do. He's a good man, Jack. I'll miss him."

"As will I. He is a good man. He always was."

"Yes. I could've loved him, I think. Had things been different."

"What things?"

Lucy pulled back away from Jack. She smiled at him. "If I hadn't loved you."

Jack felt a bit giddy and couldn't help but to return the smile. "That's nice to hear," he said carefully, attempting to regain a bit of his composure. He told himself that it would hardly do to let himself get carried away again by Lucy.

"I love you, Jack. I'm so happy to see you. Have you forgiven me? After all this time?"

"Mostly," he said honestly.

"So I'm mostly forgiven? Will you ever be able to totally forgive me?"

"If you'll tell me why married Dietrich in the first place when you didn't love him."

Lucy's eyes looked guarded. "What did he tell you?"

Jack shrugged. "Not much. No more than what you had told me, that night in your flat, though I was too stupid to realize what you were saying. That it was an arrangement. To keep him in England, so that he wouldn't have to go back to Germany." He looked at her, questioning, hoping that Lucy would volunteer the rest of the story. "That's all that he told me. Is there more to it?"

"Oh, is that right?" Lucy said, turning back and moving away from Jack and back to the window. She hugged her arms around herself.

Jack came up behind her and put his arms around her. "You don't have to tell me right now. But you did promise me that you'd tell me. One day," he reminded her gently, his chin resting on her head.

Lucy sighed. "I did. And I imagined that it would be on a day rather like today." She turned and looked at Jack. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Absolutely. I've been trying to make sense of this for over a year, Lucy. I think that you owe me the truth." Jack had made up his mind on the drive to London that he was not accepting anything less.

"Will you still love me if I tell you? You have to promise that you will."

Jack looked at her in disbelief. "For God's sake, Lucy. I'm here, with you even though you married another man. What the hell do you think?"

Lucy gave him an odd look and moved away from him to sit on the sofa. She drew her knees up and put her arms around them. She looked very small, very young, and very alone.

Jack came to sit beside of her. "Lucy," he prodded. "Tell me. It will be all right, no matter what it is. You have my word."

She took a deep shuddering breath. "Then I'll tell you. Do you remember that I told you that I was trying to forget you? That I desperately wanted to fall in love someone else?"

Jack nodded. The memory of that nonsense still hurt him. He still didn't understand a bit of it and he had spent hours thinking about it.

"Well," Lucy said, looking down. "I met someone else that I felt hopeful about. I had an affair with him."

"Oh," said Jack, wishing that it didn't bother him as much as it did to hear her say that. "With Dietrich?"

Looking up at him, Lucy shook her head. "No, Jack darling, not with Hans. Do try to keep up, will you?"

Jack smiled in spite of himself. "Go on, then."

"It was someone else. An American officer. Very dashing, very handsome. I was careless." Lucy looked at Jack and swallowed. "I got pregnant, Jack."

"Oh." He couldn't say anything else and felt his cheeks burning. He wasn't sure if it was in anger or embarrassment, or a combination of both. He'd asked for this, hadn't he?

"I know that even having this conversation offends your sensibilities. Try not to be such a Victorian, darling. It could have very well happened to us, you know, any number of times. Anyway, I told the man. Honestly, I expected him to ask me to marry him. One would, wouldn't they? Expect that?"

Jack nodded. It would have been the right thing to do.

"But, he didn't. Turns out it seems, that he was already married. With a wife and a nice family at home." Lucy laughed bitterly. "His English mistress didn't figure into his plans very nicely."

Leaning back, Jack shut his eyes. "Go on," he said, even though he had heard enough.

"Well, I was pregnant. The father of the child had made it very clear that he didn't want anything to do with it or me. I was going insane, thinking about what my family would think. About what you would think."

Jack opened his eyes and nodded. He would like to have thought that he'd taken the news well, but he could not say that he would have with certainty.

Admittedly, he doubted if he would have married her if she was carrying another man's child.

"So, I'd met Hans at the hospital. I was chatting with him one day. He'd been reading one of your father's books oddly enough." Lucy frowned as if she could not imagine why. "I was so upset one day, trying to figure out what I was going to do, that I was sobbing behind one of the filing cabinets."

"So, I'm guessing that he found you."

"Yes, and asked me what was wrong. He was a complete stranger, but I told him. He couldn't offer much of a solution, but he was sympathetic. Hans was so lovely and so kind. And after seeing him with the children, it made me so sad that my child wasn't to have a father." Lucy wiped at the tears that memory had brought to the surface.

Jack nodded and offered her his handkerchief.

Lucy accepted it and continued. "A few more weeks passed and the war came to a close. They were starting to send the prisoners back to Germany. I knew that he didn't want to go," she continued.

"So," said Jack, taking a deep breath. "You offered to marry him, so that he could stay here. In exchange, he would pretend to be the father of your child. Saving you from complete dishonor."

"Yes," said Lucy. She looked at Jack. "You always were so clever. You've gotten this worked out now, haven't you?"

"Well, almost. What happened to the child?"

Lucy looked away again and put a hand protectively over her flat stomach. "I lost it. When I came to visit you in Hospital there had been an outbreak of influenza there. I think that's why they moved you home?"

Jack nodded. He had hardly been fit to discharge, but they had sent him home to finish his convalesce with his parents because it had been safer. The lack of correct care had been one of the factors of his prolonged recovery, though contracting influenza would have likely have killed him. "You became ill?"

"They were short nursing staff. I volunteered to help them with some of the worst of the influenza patients, hoping to have reason to stick around long enough that you'd wake up so that I could see you. I got sick within a few days." Lucy nodded. "And I was so ill that I lost the baby."

"So." Jack took a deep breath. "You lost the child. But you married Dietrich any way?" No matter how clever Lucy thought him, he hadn't quite gotten that bit of it worked out.

"Yes, I had to. I loved him enough to care about whether or not he was sent back home to Germany. You know, he was from the part of Germany that the Russians continue to hold. It wouldn't have been good for him to go back." Lucy shook her head. "I couldn't do that to him. Not when he'd been willing to do so much for me."

Jack got up from the couch and walked to the window, hands in his trouser pockets.

What a mess they'd all made of everything. Dietrich, Lucy, and himself, all three of them, suffering because of their own ideas of what honor meant.

"Jack?" Lucy said plaintively from the couch. "You do hate me, don't you? I didn't want to tell you. But, I know that I had to. It's the worst of everything, isn't it?"

"You made a mistake. It was rotten luck. And I understand why it happened." Jack leaned his forehead on the cool of the window, his mind churning. "And I understand now why you married Dietrich."

"Are you upset, though, Jack?"

Jack turned slowly. "I'm not sure. I want to be, but I'm not sure that I have a right to be. We didn't have any kind of agreement, Lucy, when I left. It was more of an assumption on my part that you'd be waiting for me when and if I came back. I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't been with anyone else besides you in the years I was gone. I suppose it would be terribly unfair and a bit chauvinistic if I said that I had expected you to do the same."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel better. Were there many others?"

"What?" He had heard her, Jack just didn't want to discuss it. How did he explain that yes, there'd been more than a few but, with the exception of Gabrielle, that it wasn't because he had loved them. All the others had been more about confirming that he was still alive with someone else who just happened to be alive as well.

"Did you love many other women?"

Jack was relieved when she rephrased the question. "No, not really, throughout the entire time," he said honestly. He held his arms open to Lucy. "Come here, please?"

She went to him and he wrapped her in his arms. Jack kissed the top of her head and felt the incredible rightness of it all wash through him. They stood there for several moments before Jack released her.

"So, I know that you have a life here, but would you be willing to move to Cambridge? I don't like the idea of you being in the city alone." Jack was not sure that he liked the idea of being in Cambridge alone any longer, either.

Lucy shrugged. "I don't really have that many friends any more. I stopped going to all the parties quite a while back. Hans always felt a bit uncomfortable with my friends. And then, well, I hardly had the money any more to really keep up with them. I think that they forgot about me." She looked at Jack. "I'm dreadfully poor, you know."

Jack looked around the flat. It wasn't large, but it was hardly a hovel. Even with the war over, decent housing in London he knew was still difficult to come by. "Well, you have somewhere to live. I never assumed that Dietrich would let you starve or without shelter. It could be worse. Besides, I haven't had a lot to spend my money on. I've got a bit of a nest egg. Come to Cambridge. Let me help you."

Smiling, Lucy nodded. "That would be capital of you, Jack. Really. Thank you."

"Mary's at Cambridge as well now, you know at the one of the women's colleges. I'm sure that we could find you a flat there. I don't think that finding you work would be difficult," Jack said, looking at Lucy to gauge her reaction.

He watched her small fine nose wrinkle at the word "work" and smiled in spite of himself.

"You could stay with my parents until we got you settled, I'm sure," Jack continued. "My mother would be happy to have someone in the house. My father still travels quite a bit."

Lucy looked at Jack, confused. "Mary has told me that you have a house of your own. Couldn't I just stay with you? Just think how much fun it would be, Jack."

He had no problem envisioning how much fun it would be but remained firm. Jack shook his head.

"You're married to another man, Lucy. I'm not sure anyone would understand if you were living with me." The war had gone a long way to destroying the primness that had long been a hallmark of British society, but Jack knew that there were still some things that simply were not done. He had been the subject of enough chatter.

"I'll get a divorce, then. For desertion. One can do that, right?"

Jack nodded. "Yes. I'm sure that our family solicitor or yours would be able to handle that for you. You could always get an annulment of the marriage. Might be quicker."

Lucy shook her head. "No, no annulment. Wouldn't that jeopardize Han's citizenship, if we were saying that our marriage was never official?"

Jack looked at her determination and sighed. "I don't know. I'm not a barrister. Though, I think that it might."

Even with Dietrich gone, it was obvious that Lucy was still going to feel obligated to their agreement. Jack was not sure if he admired her loyalty or wanted to strangle her for it.

"I'll get a divorce. And then . . ." Lucy trailed off and looked down at her left hand. She began to twist her wedding band from her finger.

"And then what?" Jack asked as he watched her wrench the gold band from her hand.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe we could get married, Jack? If you still want me after everything that has happened. After everything I've just told you."

Jack sat down on the arm of the sofa and considered her proposal. He had resolved several times during the fifty mile drive to London that he was going to follow his head and not his heart, no matter how painful.

"I can't say that for certainty right now," he said with real regret, knowing the impact that his words would have on Lucy.

"What?" Lucy looked as stunned as if Jack had slapped her. "But, Jack. This is what we've always wanted. It's what I've always wanted since I was Mary's age. Before the war, during the war, and after the war. I don't understand."

Watching the tears well in her eyes, Jack felt horrible. "I'm sorry Lucy, really I am. But, so much has happened. It's not the same. I'm not the same."

"But, Jack, why?" Lucy wailed. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

Jack resisted the urge to go gather her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right because of course he loved her. Instead, he sat passively and watched her small hands clench and unclench at her sides. "It's not your fault. It's just the way things turned out. Life marches on. What's meant to be is what is meant to be."

"And you're saying that we're not meant to be?" Lucy was crying in earnest again now, as if her heart had broken.

Jack found it ironic that when he had entered her flat this afternoon, she had been crying for the loss of Dietrich in her life. Now, she was crying for him. The profusion of tears was making him tired.

Looking at the table beside the sofa, he picked up a photo that he had never seen before. It was Lucy and Dietrich on their wedding day. He shuddered, thinking of all the misery that he had felt on that day and afterwards. Jack knew that he would not survive anything like it again. He put the photo back into its place beside the lamp and crossed his arms against his chest as if protecting his heart.

"I'm not sure. I'm not really saying that it's not meant to be. I don't know. I have to think about this," Jack said slowly. "I've gotten myself involved in some dangerous things, Lucy. Even after the war, the world is not getting any safer. I'm not sure I like the idea of you sitting at home and worrying about whether or not I'm coming back. We've done that once, you know."

Jack did not add that it had hardly worked out well that time.

"It won't be like that again." Lucy came over to Jack and took his hands. "I've realized something very important."

"What's that Lucy? What have you realized?"

"That you can't not love something because you're afraid to lose it. How does that go? It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?"

Jack frowned. "Yes, that's the quote, even if the intention behind it was originally a bit different." Struggling with his desire to tell Lucy that he loved her, he crossed his arms more tightly against his chest.

"I know that you don't believe me, that you don't believe that I really want to be your wife. I'll come to Cambridge. I'll prove it. I will Jack."

Her eyes once again held that single minded determination that Jack recognized so well. He felt his resolve breaking. Finally, he laughed and shrugged. "Come to Cambridge. Get your divorce from Dietrich. We'll see how it goes from there."

Lucy nudged herself between Jack's knees and looped her arms around his neck. Jack put his hands at her waist and looked up at her. She looked delighted.

"I will convince you that I love you and that I always have and always will, no matter what Jack. I promise. There won't be a doubt in your mind after I'm finished." She put a hand to the back of his neck and the other under his chin, tilting his head to her. "All's fair in love and war, don't forget. I don't plan on losing this battle. Or the War, Major Moffitt."

Jack closed his eyes. He wondered how much energy he had left in himself for a fight. He could feel himself already losing ground to her as he smelled the familiar perfume once again. All was fair in love and war, as the saying went. Lucy would use every advantage that she had against him and Jack knew that she had several.

He thought of all the battles that had been lost during the war. He thought of everyone that had fought them with him and allowed himself a moment for them.

He thought of the enemies that he had fought against. An image of Dietrich walking away the night before came back to him. It reminded him that losing to a worthy opponent was not always losing.

Jack wasn't sure that he minded losing this battle, or eventually this particular war, to Lucy.