You inhaled.
Slowly. Agonisingly slowly you inched forward through the stinking mud. It didn't matter how many days, months, or years you spent here. You just could not get used to the stench.
Each move was precision as you slithered on your belly through the dark sludge. The sun was beating down; its unrelenting heat trying to boil you alive. Sweat dripped down your face, stinging your eyes, saturating your forehead. The heat made the smell worse. You heart beat thudded wildly in your chest.
You exhaled.
As you crept onwards your tin helmet slipped further down your brow. The chin strap cut into the soft flesh beneath your chin. It felt like strangulation. But you daren't try to adjust it. The rifle held out in-front of you strained your arms. Each muscle was tense and they burned with effort and exhaustion.
You risked a glance to your left. A row of bodies, barely distinguishable in the mud, were wriggling their way across the field. Your bloodshot gaze darted to the right. Your best friend, Private Loki, was two feet away. His once khaki uniform was streaked with mud, blood, and fuck knows what else. Everyone was the same. But unlike everyone else his face had not hollowed. It had not sunk with the gravity of war. He looked exactly as he had when you met him two years ago.
It had been a beautiful day in July 1943. Conscription had been introduced throughout Britain.
You had stood in the long line of giddy young men – delighted that they had finally turned 18. You stepped forwards, scrawled your name and date of birth, and joined the next queue awaiting the trucks.
"Hello, how are you?" You looked up at the warm voice, squinting in the bright sunshine, into the strangers face. He was taller and broader than you – but then again, everyone was.
"Fine, I suppose." You spoke blandly. The stranger smiled broadly.
"Well, I say old chap, you don't look old enough to be signing up for war!" Your answering grin was resigned as you held up your conscription papers.
"Government says so." The stranger threw his head back and laughed. A booming sound that made a few people turn and look. The sun shone on his hair making strands look golden. He looked down at you and held his hand out.
"The name's Gabe, Gabe Loki." You found his mirth infectious and couldn't help but smile back.
"Harris McCailin."
Together you had been plunged into a whirlwind of training and a harsh introduction of military life. A few brief weeks later and you were hunkering down in a trench. Miraculously, you and Gabe had been placed in the same platoon. You had made friends fast. Squinty, Tam, Half-pint, Rodger… But two years later it was only you and Gabe left from the original platoon. You were more wary about making friends now.
You and Gabe had survived so far however. And you knew that if he didn't – you didn't want to either.
Not even Gabe knew your secret. Your name wasn't Harris McCailin. It was Y/N. You had been Harris for so long you weren't even sure you'd answer to Y/N anymore.
Because in July 1943 Harris McCailin had been conscripted to serve in the army. But you couldn't stand to let your sickly younger brother go. So you had went instead. You had shaved your hair and bound your breasts. At first you had worried that the men might notice when you were menstruating – but what was one bloodied cloth among a thousand more?
Over the months, and now years, your best friend had become so much more. He was the only reason you had survived the war this long. The things you had seen, heard, done. It would have driven you crazy if not for him. And over time you had slowly fallen in love with his amber gaze and cheeky smile. He was the first to start a sing song in the Trench. To tell a joke in the Winter evenings. He once started a snowball fight between your platoon and the next.
Suddenly there was a crackle, a cry, and gunfire was raining over your head. You were torn from your nostalgic thoughts as you heard someone scream.
Your first instinct was to freeze and flatten yourself against the mud. Your mind was like white space. You held your hands over your head as protection. But against a German Machine gun it would do nothing. You knew that.
You could hear your Sergeant roaring to retreat. There was no way you were taking the Gerry trench. You looked to your left again and saw some of the newbies try to run. They were mown down like daisies in the wind. A young boy – no older than 17, fell in front of you. The shock and fear on his face mirrored a million others who had died. Two years ago you may have screamed. But not now.
Your sense came back and you started forwards to take cover. You dragged his limp, warm, body towards you. As bullets ripped through the air you ducked, hiding yourself behind him. His guts were spilling out and hot blood was mingling with the earth. You bit the inside of your mouth and prayed to a God you weren't sure was listening.
Snapping your concentration to the right you saw Gabe stuck in the open. He had been caught in the open with bullets flying either side of him.
Without thinking you began dragging yourself and the boys body towards him. Two feet felt more like twenty.
"Harris!" He shouted, barely audible over the roar of the machine gun. "Stay there!" But you ignored him and continued moving. You flinched every time a bullet struck the body you were using as a shield. Hot metal sinking into soft dead flesh with ease. Slicing through skin like a hot knife in butter. You crawled next to Gabe, your body flush with his and manoeuvred the body to cover you both.
He looked down at you, his golden eyes sad.
"Now it looks like we're both fucked." You snorted. The action causing a white hot pain to explode in your belly. You gasped and looked down. Blood was pooling out of your uniform. Blood you had assumed was not yours. Gabe looked down in horror at the blood soaking your hands.
"You've been hit." He cried. His larger hand covered yours and pressed against the wound. You screamed through clenched teeth.
"I'm going to get you out of here, I'm going to get you a medic." He lifted an arm to motion for the stretchers. With effort you reached up to pull his arm back down.
"I can't go to the medic Gabe." You said softly, breathing sharply. The man with the golden hair frowned down at you.
"I'm a woman Gabe, I'll be shot for impersonation." You stared up at his face, gaging his reaction, expecting shock or anger. But his expression betrayed nothing.
"Then we'd better patch you up." Was all he murmured. The faint smell of caramel was on his breath. You briefly wondered how, in this muddy hell, he could smell of sweetness. You reasoned you were going mad. And bleeding to death. With Gabe's hand pressed on your abdomen the pain reduced slightly. He moved to shield you with his body and picked you up bridal style. There was a sharp burst of pain as he lifted you.
"What are you doing?" You gasped as he rose to his full height. The machine guns were unceasing. Death was whirling past you on every side. He would be shot trying to take you back. Desperately you pleaded to left. But he ignored your pleas. Cradling you in his arms he began running back to the Tommy trench.
As Gabe ducked and dived he tried his hardest not to jostle you. He leapt the barbed wire, something the other soldiers would privately agree was impossible, and slid into the rat infested hell you both called home.
The other soldiers crowded round you both.
"Bloody hell Gabe – I've never seen anything like it!"
"How'd you make it back alive?"
"Is Harris still breathing?" The questions were as persistent as gunfire.
"Luck of the Devil." Gabe said dryly. He glanced down at you and saw that you had passed out. He turned to the muddied faces staring at him in amazement.
"I'm taking Harris into the bunker to patch him up." They nodded and dispersed a little, talking about the small miracle they had just witnessed. Gabe took you into the shoddy barracks and lay you gently of the lice-ridden bed.
"Hold on." He murmured. Of course he had known you were a woman. If the others cared to look they would have seen it too. Your delicate features, big E/C eyes, smooth skin. But then there's lots of young boys in this war. You passed it off well. He was your Guardian Angel, he didn't realise in the beginning how hard it would be to keep you alive. He didn't realise in the beginning how hard he would fall for a human.
You came to with a gasp. It was dark. An old lamp was in the corner illuminating the dingy room. Men were in their beds snoring. You peered through the darkness, ensuring they were all asleep. Frantically, you peeled back your uniform. Blood had dried and crusted. Cold fingers felt along your abdomen but you could find no injury or mark. There was no pain. Perhaps you had died. You looked around you again. Perhaps not. Glancing to the left you expected to see Gabe's sleeping form. On the rare occasions you got to rest, listening to his soft breathing usually lulled you into an easy sleep. But he wasn't there.
Quiet footfalls crept out past the sleeping soldiers. You stepped out into the night air and breathed deeply. The men on duty greeted you with murmurs as you made your way down the trench. You found him huddled in a corner alone. The orange tip of his cigarette burned brightly in the gloom. You sat down next to him. Wordlessly he hand you a lit cigarette. You didn't particularly enjoy smoking, but what else was there to do in this bloody war?
You inhaled deeply, the exhale carrying the smoke far off into the night sky. Above the trenches, above no mans land, far away. You both stared after it longingly.
"How?" You murmured, your eyes fixed on the sky. His amber gaze fell to your face. Thinned and aged prematurely. But still as beautiful.
"Magic." He said with a wry grin. Your eyes snapped to his. There was no amusement in them.
"I should be dead!" You hissed. His eyes darkened considerably.
"Well you're not so I suggest you keep your mouth closed." You glared at him in the dark as he inhaled on his cigarette. You would have moved away from him if his body heat hadn't been so inviting. His eyes softened.
"You have your secrets, I have mine." His voice was soft, he sounded tired. So you left it at that.
You struggled through the next few months just as you had struggled through the past two years. On September 2nd 1945 peace was announced. The war had ended. It was over. The men around you cheered and rejoiced. They threw their helmets in the air and their rifles to the ground. All around the trench there were men embracing each other. Some strayed into no mans land and just stood, staring at the sky. You were frozen in shock. You had done it. You had survived the war with your secret intact. You could return home, see your mother, be Y/N sank to your knees and wept. You cried for the lives that had been lost. The things you had seen and done. For the World that had burned. For your youth that had been ripped from you. You had spent so long dreaming of home. The green fields of your country. To hold your little brother.
As you cried two strong arms wrapped themselves around you.
"It's over cupcake." He whispered.
Trembling you raised your fist and knocked. A few moments later the door opened. She gasped. There were lines on her face that hadn't been there before. Her hair had a few more greys. You stumbled into your mothers arms and fell to the ground sobbing. You inhaled her scent. She smelled like home.
Time passed. Your hair grew long. Horrors from the war kept you awake at night. You wore dresses again. Remembered how to be Y/N. You watched the world start to heal. Now and again you suffered a phantom pain in your stomach where a bullet should have killed you. Every day your mind strayed to the man with golden hair. You hoped he was happy.
One Monday in early Summer you returned from the village. It was a beautiful sunny morning and your spirits were high. Eggs were filling your basket, your skirts swished, and your hair swayed as you danced up the garden path. You got to the front door when you heard a cough. You turned. The basket fell. Several smashed at your feet. One rolled hectically down the path, wobbling from side to side, until it stopped against a brown leather boot. Whiskey coloured eyes found yours and they smiled.
"Hello cupcake." Your eyes widened.
"Gabe." You breathed softly. His eyes practically twinkles and a small grin formed on his lips.
"I think I prefer this look." Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked to the ground shyly.
"How have you been?" You stammered, daring to peek at him through your lashes. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on yours.
"I've been… away. But I've been unable to stop thinking about you." Your mouth formed a little "o". Gabe continued closer.
"In all my life I've never met anyone so reckless, stupid, brave or beautiful." Your breathing was shallow as your heart hammered in your chest. He was so close now you could see the dark brown circles around his iris's.
"I should have told you every day of the bloody war, I love you." Happiness exploded in your chest as his soft lips crashed down onto yours. Your hand snaked up into the silky trestles of his hair and his arms wound round your waist. As you buried your nose into his neck, inhaling his sweet smell, Gabriel smiled to himself. Being your Guardian Angel wasn't too bad.