For once it was silent, but the sound of gunshots still rang in the minds of those who were unfortunate enough to be anywhere near the front lines. When it began Maggie was further back but as the war progressed, nurses were gradually moved further in and closer to the chaos that happened up front. Tending to so many people in only a day Maggie assumed she'd have felt more accomplished by now. But now, seeing so many people and being able to help so little, it was hard to remain hopeful an optimistic.

Magdalene McCrown was her name. She was twenty when the war began, and had joined as soon as she could in the only way possibly. When it began she was nowhere near the battle, the realism of war only in the soldiers that were returned to them with wounds and bloodied faces. Infected, broken and downtrodden from the trenches. Her and some other nurses noted that things must have been getting grim if the pig-headed men were finally allowing the feeble women anywhere near the front lines. It was always bad when a man allowed a woman any sort of ground, but a lot of them hadn't realized how bad it really was.

Only a few months into this war now. They were working around explosions and gunshots, both sides suffering in their trenches and crawling out on their bellies to leave more explosives and as many holes in their enemies that they could manage. It was a good thing Maggie had never been the squeamish type as far as gore went.

She peered in the small wooden box that contained some of the supplies the nurses didn't have room for in their packs and pockets; extra dressing for wounds, salt water, morphine, gas masks. The works really, although their morphine was in small supply. They never whispered a word of that to the soldiers though. She lifted one of the gas masks and stared placidly at it while inspecting her appearance that reflected dimly in one of the eyes of the grimy looking thing. Her eyes looked tired when she wasn't smiling, and luckily she was such a good actor or soldiers would only be more crestfallen at another grim faced nurse tending to them. Perhaps that was why she had gained so much popularity in these regiments. They spoke fondly to her, some flattering and others less so. She was sure a lot of the attention had to do with her bright red hair, noticeable even pulled up and tucked under her cap.

"Excuse me."

She looked over her shoulder quickly, too caught up in the silence that they rarely received to see a young man, sharp face and the buzzed haircut many men received before joining the forces. His eyes were large and blue, enough for Maggie to stare for a moment before noting the shadow of a smile on his lips. It was just small enough that it was almost not even there, but she saw it all the same. Most of the men she met were naturally dirty, but he was positively covered in it. She imagined if he made it out of this war that he'd be digging it out of his ears for weeks after. Behind him were a few other faces, some of them grinning and nudging one another with elbows. It was unsettling.

"Yes?" she replied carefully, closing the lid of the case and clearing her throat to face him. She was sure she'd seen him before, but there were so many men she saw in a day.

"Don't mean to trouble you, you women seem busy most days." He began. She noted the way he was clutching the black hat in his hands.

"Well most days I am." She confirmed. "Was there something you needed?" she asked, trying to hurry it up. It was getting darker than she realized, the sun casting a light over the manure strewn fields they'd dug their trenches in. He opened his mouth again to speak, but this time someone cut him off.

"Got 'imself a little cut. Don' want him to lose 'is arm is all." One of the men behind him piped up, and the other two chuckled with him. At that the first man turned around, cursing at them and waving his hat at them to leave. They obeyed, dispersing after making a few more laughs and jokes.

"A little cut." She repeated when he'd turned around to face her. "Well we'd best take a look. You men have a tendency of lying to impress. Take a seat."

"You think I'm trying to impress you?" he asked as he sat on a worn out crate. She almost mistook it for a statement, glancing at his nearly stoic face as she retrieved her pack with basic medicinal supplies. She didn't grace his question with an answer, instead asked where his wound was. He directed her to his arm and allowed her to roll up his sleeve.

"So how did someone tunneling manage to get all banged up like this?"

"You know I work in the tunnels, how?" he raised a brow.

"You're filthy." That silenced him for a moment so she added "I haven't seen you often."

"Ah, smart little thing. What do they call you?" He rumbled.

"I'm quite certain you already know what they call me, and you haven't answered my question." Maggie murmured, wetting a cloth with some liquid from a glass bottle.

"And now you haven't answered mine. I'm not accustom to being denied information where I'm from."

She pressed her lips together in a terse smile, not taking her eyes from the gash on his arm as she refrained from rolling her eyes at his tone. Playful, but there was still a threatening air.

"Yes, I imagine you're from a very posh place then. Nice family, home, money?" Maggie guessed. She dabbed at the wound with the cloth and glanced up. He barely winced.

"If I came from a home of money would I be crawling my way through the dirt?" he queried.

"I suppose not." She admitted, averting her eyes and looking back to his arm for something to focus on.

"From Birmingham, actually. Now, your name." he said, but this time he wasn't asking. This time he demanded, and with the demand came her full attention once again.

"No."

He grinned.

"Tell me how you got this first. It doesn't look like any mining injury I've seen before, you're daft if you think I wouldn't have notice that."

With a grin still present he didn't waver from her gaze before succumbing to her insistence.

"We were having a couple rounds, me and the boys. Guess you could say things got a little out of hand before we could shut it down. Touchy bloke. Poor sport, when it was all don he went an' pulled a knife. Under control though." His accent came out thickly as he spoke with a smile but it broke no such enjoyment on Maggie's face and she straightened up curtly.

She raised a brow sharply instead. "Boxing." she stated. "You were brawling with one another?"

"Bit of sport. We like some betting you see." He explained. She imagined they were betting rations with one another since money was unlikely.

Heaving a sigh and rolling her shoulder she went back to tending his arm.

"They call me Maggie. It's a surprise this isn't more of a mess, you'll be lucky if this doesn't get infected and fall off."

"They call you Maggie," he disregarded everything else she said, "they call you lots of things. Mags, Nurse, Red. But you have a full name. A real name."

She gave him a terse stare which he didn't shy away from.

"So you have already heard of me." She remarked, discarding the cloth now that his wound was sufficiently cleaned to her eye and withdrew a new and longer cloth from her bag. "Magdalene. Magdalene McCrown is my name."

"Magdalene McCrown." He repeated, nodding almost approvingly as he considered it. He didn't continue though and instead withheld his own name. He wanted her to ask for it, she knew. So she wouldn't, and instead she'd wrap his arm as gently as her fingers could allow without shaking.

"So the filthy soldier from Birmingham who can't keep his own boxing matches from getting out of control. I suppose I'll be sending you back to the hole now?" Maggie proposed, finishing the knot and tucking the ends of the cloth under the folds.

Without warning he stood and forced her to straighten up and stand as well. Awfully close, at this proximity it was much more obvious how tall and lean he really was, but weak he also was not. And that hadn't been something she was thinking about while doing her job but now that she didn't have that to focus on her mind was wandering.

"Thomas Shelby."

It took a moment for her to withdraw from her so suddenly scrambled thoughts to register that he had actually shared his name. About to repeat it, she instead inhaled after realizing she'd held her breath. Looking up at his eyes as he peered down at her had been more mesmerizing than she'd initially given him credit for and had caught her quite off guard.

"I hope to see much more of you," he sidestepped her with a small sly smile, "Magdalene McCrown." And with that he turned and began his descent into the now darkened land. With his back now to her she finally found her voice.

"I certainly hope not, Thomas Shelby."

And to that she earned a chuckle as he left.

Notes: Couple flaws here, morphine wasn't usually available for anyone other than the really qualified doctors ( . ), and I believe the first time an attack was launched where gas masks would be used was 1915. So Maggie really shouldn't be seeing morphine or a gas mask in that ol' crate but for the sake of story telling we're going to carry on like it's all good.