Chapter III (Burma, 2 Years Ago)

Haddock stared down numbly at the blood that now covered his trembling hands and constricted torso. His breathing came fast and hard; he wasn't in control, he could feel himself slipping into the abyss that was delirium. He tried to call his training to mind, to steady his heart rate by slowing his breathing. It wasn't working. Try as he might, he could not bring his mind or body back into submission.

He clenched his fist to try and abate the damned shaking; clenched them so tightly his knuckles went white and he could feel the pain of his fingernails digging into his skin.

Good, the pain will center you. Trying again, he inhaled deeply and held it for 6 seconds before exhaling. He repeated this several times until, slowly, he regained some semblance of control.

Turning his head, he gazed upon what remained of his platoon. Frederic 'fish legs' Ingerman was vomiting over the side of the barge so violently Henry was afraid he would rupture his intestinal line. Meanwhile, Sydney 'snotlout' was sitting with his back to the rail, arm in a sling, and a vacant expression on his face. As if his soul had been left behind in the mud and blood of the jungle and all that remained was the vessel it had inhabited. And there, placed near the rear of the ship, lay James. His body had long since gone cold, and even through the darkness and the blanket that wrapped him, Henry could see the stiffness that meant rigor mortis had set in. The boy had barely had just turned 17. Lied about his age to get here, he wanted to serve, do his bit for King and country. He had, and Henry would make sure his country thanked him properly for it. Damn. He really had let the situation loose control.

He stared at the carnage a bit longer.

No, the realization came to him clear and sharp. He had never been in control. Of that, he was now sure.

(Present)

Her hand was soft but firm, and behind that womanly exterior lie a startlingly amount of strength. Her handshake alone could put to shame some officers he had served with. Without consciously realizing it, he gently rubbed his thumb across the gap between her thumb and forefinger.

Astrid had extended her hand wanting to regain some of her dignity after practically falling apart in front him. Dear God that was a mistake. At first, everything was fine, until she felt his thumb slide across her skin and she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that." He was looking intently into her eyes. They seemed far to wise for a face that young.

No, that's not quite right. While he did look young, there were deep creases beneath his eyes. Why would the son of a family as important as the Haddocks look so aged?

"S'no problem." For a moment, that seemed to last a millennium, they looked into each other's eyes. Neither of them knowing exactly what the other saw.

00000

Stoic paced the room out of frustration. It had been hours since his son had gone out and the fear he had been battling was starting to reign victorious. Giving into a momentary wave of anger he picked up a book and hurled it at the wall. The force of which it impacted the wall caused the frame hanging there to slip and fall.

With a curse, he bolted across the room, terrified that he might've broken the image. Sighing with immense relief he realized it had not. There, in the center of the picture and still as beautiful as the day he lost her, was his wife. When the picture was taken she had been holding their son, a warm smile on her face as she rocked him gently. Gently, he traced her face with his finger. Seeing her, frozen in time and perfect, caused warring feelings to rise up in him. For every time he faced the realization that his wife was gone the sword of pain slammed into him, through his ribs, and directly into his heart. He could feel it again, the waves of sorrow crashing against him threatening to drown him.

And there, lie his anchor. Swaddled in a hand stitched blanket playing with a strand of his mother's hair. A wide and captivated grin on his face. His son was the only thing keeping him on this side of sanity, the only thing preventing him from surrendering himself to the agony that permanently lived within him.

He stood up and placed the photo back on the rack and returned to his seat. The flames of the fire flickered on his face as he stared into its white center. In it, he saw death, violence, and destruction. A roaring blaze of chaos devouring everything in its path. Sitting there in that chair, he offered up a prayer to God, begging him to look after his boy. For he knew that he couldn't bear the burden of losing him too.

He had scarcely finished when the door burst open and in he stumbled. His hair was windswept and he had snowflakes on him. He opened his mouth to reply until he saw a head of blonde hair following directly behind him. Even more puzzling was that his head of hair was attached to a young lady who was wearing his son's winter coat. Quickly, she shut the door behind them and made sure all its locks were in place.

"Dad," pausing to pant and catch his breath he continued, "This Astrid. Jack almost killed her."

00000

15 minutes later Astrid had changed and was sitting in front of the fire trying to warm herself. Clasped in her hands was a cup of tea that she had been nursing.

"When I arrived she had already scaled the ladder in the alleyway. No small feat considering you have to jump at least 3-5 feet just to reach the bottom rung." Henry said recounting the story. "After that, I grabbed her and started to drag her to my carriage. No need to tell me that wasn't proper."

Henry stopped his fathers reply with a raised hand. "She gave me one hell of a blow. Damn near broke my nose." He chuckled at the memory. "Make no mistake, she has fire inside her that not even most men can even muster."

Henry's father raised an eyebrow at the admiration in his son's voice. Seeing that look, he looked down quickly. Perhaps it was his imagination or was his boy blushing. Turning his back to conceal his small smile, he walked towards her.

She looked up at his approach and he expected to see fear or alarm in her eyes. He was mistaken, the intensity of her gaze would've cowed a lesser man. Without really knowing why he felt great pride at this.

"How are you holding up?" She stared up at him a moment before answering. "Well, all things considered."

"You wouldn't be Hofferson's girl would you?" She seemed surprised he knew who she was. "I am, how did you know?"

He chuckled slightly, "A father's greatest pride are his kids. Especially so when it comes to daughters."

Astrid paid rapt attention. She was unaware that her father had spoken so highly of her.

"And you sir? You're stoic right? Stoic the vast?"

He stared off, as if he was looking through her and into the past. "I was."

Looking at her all bundled up in sheets and furs, Henry was sure he'd never seen a creature as breathtakingly beautiful as her. Strong words for a woman you just met and barely know. The words echoed in his skull and he banished them with a scowl. He couldn't explain it, but for some reason, he knew that for as long as he lived, he would never feel, for another woman, this way again.