HiHi!
So a miracle happened and I actually have chapter two ready today‼ I mean I haven't packed or anything… but that's not important. (Okay… maybe a bit)
Anyhoo… here's a slightly happier chapter than the last one.

Oh, and I don't think I mentioned last time, but the dates are fairly important (because this is all written in weird orders- but I promise it all makes sense in the end.)

Onwards you go‼

..

1st August 1918. 1700 hrs.

Jo was sat outside her tent in the warm sun, a long line of boots laid out in front of her as she worked her way through them, bringing the shine back into the tired leather for the men who would be on the next convoy back to Blighty.

The hospital was quiet; most of the staff had already been reposted to hospitals nearer the front and only a small scattering of nurses – including the VADs – remained. Thankfully, being Captains, Tom and Miles had been given leniency and were allowed to stay where they were so, at least for now, the four of them were still together.

A truck pulling into the gates made Jo glance up from the boots, and she found herself staring in amazement at the men who jumped out and began unloading crates from the back. She'd become accustomed to men who were more dead than alive arriving, but these men that were climbing from the truck weren't returning from the front – there wasn't so much as a bandage in sight.

Their CO barked orders which they obeyed with an energetic eagerness that Jo hadn't seen from anyone but Miles in a long time.

"Poor bastards."

She looked to where Tom had appeared next to her, his eyes trailing over the men. "They don't know what's out there waiting for them," he sighed, a pained look crossing his face. "And for God's sake I hope they end up in a rest camp before they find out."

Jo didn't say anything, she just turned back to the boots. She didn't want to wish death on these men, but it was the nicest thing that could happen to them once they reached the trenches.

"How long are they staying here?" she asked, watching their cheery faces as they continued to unload kit from the back of the truck. Their optimism was strangely depressing.

"Only a few hours I think," he answered, sitting himself cross legged on the ground beside her. "They were just dropping off some things that HQ seemed to think we'd need."

"You do know there is a chair less than two metres away from you," Jo rolled her eyes in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I think your rank gives you the privilege to use it."

Tom just stretched his arms out above his head, a laugh on his lips. "What sort of man would I be if I made a lady sit in the mud while I relaxed in the comfort of a chair?" he grinned with a mockingly shocked tone.

Jo threw the brush at him. "Someone will hear you, and then we'll both be shot! You know the British army's policy – Guilty until proven dead."

Tom just laughed and threw the brush back, flicking specks of polish from his uniform. "Jo, my dear Jo, you have been here for two years. If anyone hasn't realised by now, frankly they're too stupid to find out in such an obvious way." He grinned. "You and Miles have hardly been subtle."

She smiled, it was true. She'd tried to be careful at first – then she'd got bored.

"I still don't know how you managed to hide for so long in the trenches."

Jo squinted slightly, "well-" she dragged the 'e' out with a grin. "I think it's safe to say that my first Captain found out."

Tom's eyebrows rose slightly, "do I want to hear this story, or will Miles get jealous?"

Jo laughed. "No, it wasn't like that, well, not really." She paused for a moment as she figured out the words to say. "After a rather boisterous night of leave, we were all sent for a short arm inspection."

Tom's face convulsed as he guffawed in only the way a Scotsman can. "That's…" he found that he couldn't think and laugh at the same time. "That's not funny," he tried to draw his face into a composed mask but the smile belied his words.

"Shut up," Jo was grinning as she complained. "I can honestly say I've never seen a man jump out of a dugout so fast."

Tom held up his hands. "You're going to need to tell the whole story here - you can't tease me like this, it's unfair."

An embarrassed smile crept onto her reddening face, "It wasn't funny!"

"I don't believe you." Tom levelled his stare and she broke into a laugh.

"Fine! But if he hadn't been such a decent Captain I'd have been standing before a barrel with the larks singing." Jo prodded him in the leg. "We'd been out in one of the towns, I don't remember which one, but all the lads had gone to... Madame Belroche's, I think it was called. I'd gone with them of course, but…" she left the sentence hanging as she raised her eyebrows at Tom's efforts to keep from laughing. "I told you this isn't funny!"

"Then why are you smiling!" Tom protested, unable to fight the laughter anymore.

Jo threw a boot at him, "I'm not!" she lied.

"Just finish the story!"

Chewing on her lip, Jo began to ramble. "We were all called for the inspection, I refused to let the doctor check, he sent me to the Captain, he asked me why I wouldn't listen to the doctor, I lied and said… I can't remember what I said but whatever it was he didn't believe me. Then he sat me down, all seriously and explained the importance of hygiene in a rather too detailed way…" she ignored Tom's quiet sniggering. "He said he'd call the doctor into the dugout so we could have privacy, and I didn't know what else to do, so I told him."

Tom's head was in his hands as he laughed. "You just told him?" He looked at her in amusement. "And he believed you?"

"No." Jo was laughing at the memory of the man's face. "But then I took my tunic off."

Tom snorted, his laugh wracking through his whole body as he tried to breathe. He gulped just enough air to let out another load bark of laughter. "You-" He tried again. "You… You just… you just took it off?"

Jo covered her face with her hands. "I wasn't thinking! I panicked."

"I bet you weren't the only one panicking." Tom was still laughing.

"He turned as red as a tomato and ran from the dugout." Jo let her embarrassment fade as she laughed. "It was a good thing he was moving so fast, it meant Fritz didn't get a change to shoot."

Tom shook his head in amazement. "So what happened next? I'm guessing – by the way you're still breathing – he didn't give you a court-martial."

"I sat in the dugout for ages waiting for something to happen, then when he finally came back he blushed more than I'd thought humanly possible, but he told me that he'd told the doctor to mark me off and that was the end of it." Jo grinned. "Out of all the captains I've had, he was the best."

Another snort escaped Tom's lips. "That might need rephrasing."

Jo frowned for a second before her eyes widened and she gasped, smacking his leg with the back of the brush. "Thomas!" She exclaimed indignantly as he sat there laughing.

"Miles will definitely be jealous," he teased as she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Where is he?" Jo asked, trying to change the topic of conversation, spitting on the toecap of the boot in her hand.

Tom shrugged as his laughter subsided. "I think he was dealing with an infection." He grinned, laughing at his words before he'd even said them. "But don't worry – I doubt he'll get the same result as your Captain."

Jo's retort was cut off by a shout.

"Private Coleman!"

Both looked up to see Foley striding towards them purposefully. "Joe, the Colonel wants you to report to him. Now." He added as he reached them. "There's a few officers there, came with the convoy. So go smart," he advised as she shoved the boots to one side, dragging herself to her feet.

Jo mumbled her thanks as she twisted the buttons into their places and straightened out her jacket. "Why does he want to see me?"

Foley shrugged. "It's not my place to know."

She threw a glance back at Tom, who looked just as bemused, and followed Peter towards the hut. She was led into the Colonel's office where he sat sedated behind his desk. His eyes flicked away from her as she entered as if he didn't see her. Two other brass hats were sat in front of the desk, their arms folded and stern expressions on their faces.

"Coleman," one of them acknowledged her presence. "I understand you were stationed here as an orderly two years ago?"

"Yes sir." Jo replied automatically.

"It seems you refused to be sent home…" He wasn't questioning, he knew exactly what had happened.

A knot settled in her stomach. Was this the court martial she had been expecting? "Yes sir," she repeated. He face was a façade.

"Despite having had operations on your stomach." His flat tone scared her as he flicked through some sheets on a clipboard. Her records probably.

"Sir."

He nodded, his eyes not rising from the paper to look at her. "You've been healing well?"

"Yes sir."

"They're good doctors here," he seemed to agree. "Can you run, Coleman?"

Jo was taken aback by the sudden question. "Sir," she stammered, her answer sounding more like another question. She knew where this was going and her hands shook against her sides.

"We're sending you back to the front."

Her stomach became an abyss. There it was. She would have preferred the court martial. She swallowed dryly. "Sir."

Whatever was said next completely passed her by. She just handed her book back to the Colonel, barely registering her own movement. Brett never once raised his eyes to look at her as he scribbled her new unit information onto the pages.

"Good," the other brass hat announced as Jo shoved the book back into her pocket. "You'll be leaving with the convoy."

Okay, she could do this. Tom had said they'd be here a few hours, that would give her enough time to… it would be long enough. It had to be.

"You have five minutes."

No! That wasn't fair! "Yes Sir."

"Go on then," his look was full of disdain. "Toute suite. We don't have all day, Coleman."

"Yes sir," she saluted formally, wishing she could punch the smugness from his face. But she wasn't going to give that bloody base rat the satisfaction of provoking a reaction from her. She turned on her heel and found herself practically escorted back to her tent by Foley who must have been waiting outside.

Jo didn't let herself think as she followed him towards the tent. If she thought about what – about who – she was leaving, she wouldn't be able to go. And she didn't have a choice.

Tom was still sat outside the tent and he stood up when he saw her face, but she didn't meet his eyes as she pushed past him through the flap. "I'm going back," she explained as Tom followed her, asking what was wrong. "To the trenches. They're sending me back."

"When-"

"They've given me five minutes," she cut him off, shoving things into the kit bag – a spare pair of putties, the boot polish, then more assorted things that she probably wouldn't live long enough to use.

"Is Miles still in theatre?" she asked, suddenly meeting his eyes. Her voice was thick with the concentration of keeping herself together.

"Yes," Tom answered quietly, and for a moment they were both silent before she turned her eyes away, brushing past him again.

"That's – I suppose that'll make it easier." She swallowed a choke, convincing herself that Miles would understand. "Tell him I'll be fine. I'm going back to John, he'll look after me." They both knew it wasn't true, but neither said it. "And tell him…" she trailed off. There was so much she wanted to say, and yet she never wanted to have to.

There was a shout from outside the tent.

"I'll pass the message on," Tom promised, even though she'd never finished it. His smile was almost real.

Jo put a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were digging into his back but he didn't complain. "I'm really going to miss…" she stopped talking as a sob threatened to escape.

Tom's eyes were bright as he met her gaze. "Keep your head down, Jo Coleman."

Jo forced herself to grin back, "don't worry, no one's going to get me on the wire." She pinched his cheek, perhaps a little too hard. "You keep smiling Thomas Gillan."

His laugh was short, but it was there.

"Send me away with a smile," she quoted, letting out a small laugh of her own.

Another shout hurried her along and someone picked up her kit bag and threw it carelessly into the truck. "Get a move on you lot!"

With a sense of finality, Jo patted Tom's shoulder once more, turning to the squad forming and took her place in the ranks. She could see him watching, his face subdued before he turned and walked away.

Orders were shouted and Jo turned with the squad as they began to file into the waiting truck. It was only when she grabbed the cool rail in her hand that she realised what she was doing and panic started to twist her stomach; she couldn't leave like this without seeing Miles. How could she even have thought that would work? She tried to turn back but she was pushed forwards by the flow of men until she was sat on the low bench. Still she craned her head to where she could see the tents. A few nurses stood there waving their encouragement to the men.

The engine revved and Jo tried to stand up – she had to see Miles one last time – but the corporal yelled at her to sit. The truck lurched and she fell back into her seat, her chest tight. This was it. She was leaving. A sudden movement caught her eyes and, ignoring the shout of the corporal, she pushed her way to the very back of the truck. Miles was running towards them and she felt her heart split in two; he was there. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to run into his arms and never leave. But the truck was rolling in the wrong direction. All she could do was watch as Tom sprinted up behind him and grabbed his shoulders, no doubt trying to calm him down. Miles tore the apron from his front, throwing it – for the sake of throwing anything – onto the ground. Jo's eyes stung as she watched the ever shrinking figures of him and Tom stood side by side at the gate, Tom's arms holding him as they faded into the distance.

She felt tears running down her chin but she wiped them away, pretending they weren't there, in the way the rest of the men pretended they didn't see them.

..

Tu l'as aimé ?

As always please let me know what you think‼ Reviews make me very happy!
Oh and just to clarify in case anyone was wondering – a short arm inspection is a medical check-up for VD ;)

I would love to say that chapter three will be up soon, because it's full of Kitmas…. But I'm afraid that it would take a miracle for me to get that uploaded before I fly out. Sorry!

If I can I'll get it finished, and then my friend may be able to upload it for me. But no promises.

I'll be back on the 18th August… and I promise the rest will be uploaded in the next two weeks after that‼
Adieu mes amies!