A/N Okay, I know it's not anywhere near Christmas-time, but this oneshot was begging to be written. This is for a friend of mine - you know who you are - who has decided that she ships Miles/Flora. Enjoy! xx

A Beginning

For everyone else, Christmas was a happy time, even two years into a war that brought more and more men to the hospital's doorstep every week. But for Flora Marshall, trudging through the mud between the wards, it was tinged with a grey air of sadness. How could it have been three months since Charlie left, never to return? How could it have been three weeks since the letter that ripped out her heart arrived, looking so neat and innocent in its envelope until she opened it to discover it stained with tears?

Charlie's mother had been quite adamant that he hadn't suffered, that none of them – the lucky thirteen – had. And even though Flora knew better, she still couldn't help but hope that it had been quick. No languishing in a field hospital, dying of gas gangrene. No slow deterioration from an infection that just wouldn't go away.

She knew the others were worrying about her, and she knew that she wasn't helping to appease their fears by going around the hospital like a faded ghost, obeying orders with a nod and none of the usual chatter they had come to associate her with.

Peter had tried to coax her out of it by being even more disparaging of her skills than usual, but she had just given him a freezing, dead-eyed look and he had backed away abruptly as though he had been burned. Now, though, he just left her alone.

People always said that your first love was the hardest to get over.

All the other staff and some of the more mobile patients had gathered in one of the spare tents to celebrate Christmas Eve, to get drunk and laugh and talk until the sun rose, but she kept on determinedly plodding from ward to ward, making sure the patients had everything they needed. She just couldn't bring herself to be happy, when her Charlie was lying in a shallow grave somewhere in the depths of no-man's land.

As she passed the operating theatre, the flap opened and Captain Hesketh-Thorne appeared, raking a hand through his hair. "Miss Marshall!" he called as she walked towards him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm on night-shift," she lied. He narrowed his eyes at her and she stared at him defensively. She'd never been a very good liar.

"No, you're not. I've just seen Nurse Jesmond – she's drawn the short straw tonight, not you."

Flora couldn't think of anything to say to this.

"Come on. It'll be fun."

"Alright then. But only for half an hour," she conceded grudgingly.

He smiled and offered her his arm. She took it hesitantly and they began to walk towards the sound of laughter and Christmas carols. Thankfully, he seemed to sense her mood and be quiet until they ducked under the tent flap.

"Flora," Rosalie called from across the room. "There you are – I was about to go looking for you."

Flora nodded and turned towards the drinks table, pouring herself a glass of the wine that only seemed to come out on special occasions and retreating to a corner with it. Usually, she'd be the life and soul of a party like this, but any thought of having a good time was crushed by an image of Charlie lying dead and bleeding and…

Part of her wondered how she could have been so stupid to fall in love with a soldier. More often than not, they didn't come back – just think of all the men she saw wounded and dying every single day…

No, she can't think like that. Not now.

To distract herself from the perpetual raincloud that replaced her old, exuberant, naïve sunshine, she looked around the room. Matron was making polite conversation with Colonel Brett and Sister Quayle, several of the nurses laughed and chatted in the corner, and Kitty and Captain Gillan were sitting very close to each other with their heads inclined, completely ignoring the rest of the world. She couldn't even be jealous of them.

Captain Hesketh-Thorne appeared again with a glass in his own hand, his expression merry. "Care for a dance, Miss Marshall?"

"No, thank you," she said, feeling regret tug at her insides with clawed hands. She would love to dance, but it would be an insult to Charlie's memory to have fun when he's beyond all of that now.

"Alright, then," he said, stepping back and to the side so he was standing next to her instead of in front of her. After a moment of awkward silence, he spoke up again. "You shouldn't feel guilty."

Flora started and looked up from where she was swirling the ruby-coloured wine in her glass. "Pardon?"

"You shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to have fun when he's not here with you."

She stared at him. "How do you know?"

"Believe it or not, I do actually know the feeling. My older brother was killed three weeks into the war. He was with the BEF, and I just remember feeling so completely crushed when my family received that letter. But after a time, you have to let it go, or you'll just become a shell of a person that's no use to anyone, least of all yourself."

"How do I let it go?" she asked, desperately. "I just can't stop thinking about him…dying, dead, suffering…"

Captain Hesketh-Thorne smiled. "You just have to celebrate life. My brother wouldn't have wanted the world to stop revolving because he died, and neither would your beau. Yes, it will take time, and yes it will hurt, but I promise it will be better in the long run."

Flora took a deep, shaky breath. "Alright."

The gramophone began to play a soft, slow piece, a strings group of some form or another and he offered his hand. "How about that dance?"

She took a slow, deep breath and put her hand in his. And then, for the first time in three weeks, Flora Marshall smiled.