Hello there! You've got the longest chapter to date in your wake - a very important one if I may say. Welcoming back some characters I promised I would write for and the reoccurring, of course.
Thanks for your support as always, reviews, favorites, all that stuff. I go through them all. Enjoy.
Wandering through starry skies
And when tomorrow's day arrives
I'll be a moment closer to the
Brightest Hour here with you
-Brightest Hour by The Submarines
Chapter 9
Sybil age 45
Tom age 57
Avia age 20
Clara age 17
June 2nd, 1941 12:26am
Ring.
Clark froze his movements. Had he officially gone mad, hearing bells when there really weren't any? He put down the pen, left the paperwork, and made his way into the hall.
Ring. Ring.
Surely he wasn't that mad to be imagining these urgent chimes of the doorbell.
Clark hurried into the dining hall, flicking on the light to see the front door's bell swaying. He cursed under his breath. Who in God's name was ringing at this hour?
Jogging up the stairs and turning on the lights as he went, he was met by Lady Mary as she came down the stairs, closely followed by Mr. Matthew. It was only then Clark realized that not only were they ringing the bell, but quite loudly banging on the door as well.
He said nothing to the two that followed him into the entry way. Surely it had to be a drunken village idiot who had sauntered their way up to the house.
With a new found annoyance, Clark unlocked the large doors and flung them open in preparation for the lecture he was about to give. Only when he did so he did not find what he expected, but in its place four familiar faces that he held the utmost respect for.
"Sybil?" Mary said in disbelief, coming forward to pull her sister inside and out of the chilled night air. "What are you all doing here?" she questioned, examining them and noting they had nothing but the clothes on their backs.
"We're very sorry for barging in like this but we had no other choice," Tom started, spinning as Clark took his coat.
"What's going on?" Elizabeth's voice sounded from the middle of the room, causing them all to turn. Christopher and Nicholas were right on their sister's heels, all watching their Uncle, Aunt and cousins with startled expressions.
"It's alright, Liz," Sybil addressed her darling niece. "We're all alright. Should we wake mama and papa?" she turned to Mary, seeking her eldest sister's judgment.
Mary nodded. "Yes, Elizabeth go and wake them. Try not to startle them though."
"Yes, mama," she replied, nearly shoving her little brothers out of the way as she turned around to go back up the stairs.
"Clark, will you get someone to prepare three rooms please? And some clothes as well," Matthew ordered, nodding in appreciation to the sleepy looking butler.
"Of course, sir," he answered, leaving them at once.
"Is this about the bombings?" Mary asked, eyes flickering between Sybil and Tom. They glanced at one another, their solemn faces reflecting in each other's. Sybil merely nodded in return, any kind of response they were about to make was suffocated by Robert and Cora hurrying downstairs with Elizabeth trying to catch up behind them.
Even given the circumstances, Sybil smiled at the sight of her parents and their clearly startled appearances no matter how gentle Elizabeth might have broken the news of them being there. They were one of the many things that never changed. No matter the years or time that passed, Sybil could always rely on the fact that Lord and Lady Grantham always stood tall and mighty. The relief that swept through her at that moment was too overwhelming she began to cry, quickly rushing towards them and embracing her father first and then her mother.
"Sybil, what's happened? Are you all alright?" Robert asked as Sybil retracted her grip on her beloved mother.
"Yes, papa, we're all perfectly fine," she answered, swiping the tears from her cheeks. "I'll explain everything shortly, but first I think the girls would like to have something to eat and go to bed."
Clark had returned by then, waiting for his moment to speak. "I'll have Anna bring up trays when she brings their clothes, milady," he answered smoothly.
"Elizabeth, will you take your cousins to their rooms?" Mary requested.
"Of course," she replied with a courteous smile, looking to Avia and Clara who hadn't spoken a word the whole time they'd stood behind their parents. They made their way to Elizabeth, bidding everyone a quiet goodnight and following close after her.
"Same goes for you, boys. It's late," Matthew addressed Christopher and Nicholas who stood like stone in the corner, hoping no one would notice they were standing there.
Instead, they inwardly sighed and retired with a "Yes, sir."
"Should we move into the library?" Robert suggested when the boys were just out of earshot.
"Yes, that would be best," Tom agreed, already leading them all into the moonlit room. Sybil sat next to Matthew and Mary on the couch while Tom chose to stand, arms crossed and gazing at the orange glow coming from the lamp beside him. It was only now that the rest of them noticed the tense form of anger and fear he was wearing.
The room was quiet a moment, the rest of them waiting for Sybil or Tom to speak.
"Tom?" Sybil said softly, attempting to coax him from his stupor.
"As you probably know, a day ago Dublin was bombed," he began after a long moment. "It had been on high alert since the other bombings in January. At the beginning of May it was even more constricted, there were officers on the streets, military trucks and cars racing through the city, drills in the middle of the day," he paused, taking a deep breath. "We had been discussing the possibility of coming to visit just until everything seemed clear, but we didn't even get the chance to send you a telegram that we were coming because the damn Luftwaffe were back before we could even pick up a pen," he spoke with severe bitterness, jaw clenched. "The sirens went off – I thought it might be just another drill – but after a few moments you could hear the planes in the distance. We got out in enough time…but everything's gone," he finished quietly, nearly whispering the awful truth.
There was a long, stunned silence as everyone tried to really grasp what he was saying.
"What's gone?" Robert asked, trying to make sense of his words.
Tom nearly snapped. How could they not understand? He didn't even want to say it, the thought of it all made him physically ill.
"Everything. The house, all we own, every personal belonging we had, clothes, furniture, everything! It's gone. Out of all the chances of a shell falling anywhere it landed directly on top of our house. All we've ever worked for over the past decades is worth nothing because some damn Nazis thought it wise to drop a shell on it!" he cried, pacing the floor with fists clenched. "Of all the places the godforsaken bomb could land it lands right there."
Tom breathed heavy, letting the room go quiet before collapsing in the desk chair with his head in his hands.
"Well the important thing is you're all safe and together. No one was hurt and that's something to be thankful for," Cora attempted to cheer them, earning nothing but silence. "Now I think it best we retire. Some rest could do us all some good."
They all moved slowly and quietly into the foyer. Tom being the last, Matthew took the opportunity to speak with him.
"I'm very sorry about all this. If there was any way I could help I would, but the money I do have is technically not mine to give," he said somberly, looking ahead to where Sybil and Mary were climbing the stairs in silence.
"Thank you. I don't expect Robert to just up and buy us a new house and quite frankly I don't think I could accept it even if he did," Tom replied, equally grave. "I don't know where to go from here. My job is in Dublin but with nowhere to live how can we possibly remain there?" he stated mostly to himself.
"Well, you have a home here. And you and Sybil can stay as long as you need. I know Mary will enjoy having her sister's company for however long, and the children enjoy having their cousins around as well," Matthew tried to persuade, doing little as Tom let out a long breath.
"You are right, only I don't want days to turn into weeks and weeks to turn into months that pass without any production on moving back to Dublin."
"You won't wait until it is absolutely safe again? I mean, sure you may progress but will it be worth the effort if it all comes crashing down again?" Matthew questioned, causing Tom to silently huff.
"I suppose you're right, but surely we can't wait until the war is over? That could be years in the future! There has to be something else."
"This is war time, Tom. Everyone must come together and try to live with the circumstances they've been given. The country is under attack, this whole war is just an attempt to survive, and if we're lucky we'll all come through on the other side unharmed. For now just try and be patient."
Tom seemed to ponder Matthew's words, glaring at a fixed point behind him.
"I know you're right in this but I can't help the urge to get back up and go home just to prove a point to the Nazis that we're not taking any of the bollocks they're throwing. I guess it's a pride thing," Tom said, both men chuckling lightly. He nodded in thanks to Matthew and started up the grand staircase, quite doubtful at his ability to live the aristocratic lifestyle for as long as it would most likely take for peacetime to come.
June 4th, 1941
Since he was a little boy George had highly awaited for this day; the day where he got to do his older brother duties and be there to intimidate any other bloke that looked like he might even go near his sister. Despite his own joy, George was indeed excited for Elizabeth's coming-out. Not only did it mean her presentation to the rest of the country but it also meant the chance to be with his family for forty-eight hours leave.
How his grandfather has managed to grant him two days leave with just a letter he would never know…
George smiled out the window of the train as the blurred figures of trees, farms, and countryside passed by. He rocked back and forth with every movement the compartment made, feeling sleepy and peaceful with the evening sun radiating through the glass. With the Blitz coming to an end just a couple weeks ago, he found it easier to fall asleep than ever. Staying asleep was a different situation entirely; his body had grown accustomed to being woken whenever he attempted to rest. He was trained to run on less than four hours in the evening and run all over London from dusk till dawn.
After what felt like eternity, Downton station finally came into view. The platform was empty and quiet, nearly dark in the setting summer sun.
George glanced around, finding nothing but unfamiliar faces and no chauffeur. He glanced at his pocket watch: 8:53. His train had almost been a half an hour late.
With the realization that no one was coming for him, George sighed and started down the road. Despite the few stiff muscles in his arms and back, he was quite thankful for the walk. The evening was warm and light, making it comfortable enough to hike in his uniform. He stumbled across a few children playing in the street and nearly laughed at the looks of awe they gave him in passing. How much a simple uniform and title could intrigue a child. He greeted them and after they're initial shock wore off, they invited him to play cricket.
"I'm sorry, I can't. I have to be somewhere. Thank you though," George answered the young boy that had invited him. "Perhaps next time."
He grinned and continued on. Familiar with his surroundings, he hardly needed to look as he strolled across the street, down the sidewalk, and past the cemetery until faced with the lovely home that belonged to his grandmother. Not wanting to disturb her with his company at this hour, George reluctantly knocked on the door and waited.
"Master George?" a flustered Simmons said standing in the archway.
"Sorry to bother so late, but it seems that my family didn't receive the telegram of my arrival today, leaving me without a way to get home. So I was wondering if I might use my grandmother's car. Is she here?" he asked, peering behind Simmons, who took a step back.
"I'm afraid not, sir. She's up at the abbey tonight helping set up the debutante, but I can pull the car around if you'd like?"
"Yes, please. It'd be much easier than walking the whole way," he replied with a grateful smile.
"Christopher, help your Aunt Sybil with that. Nicholas, please be careful with those," Mary commanded from the middle of the saloon.
Matthew chuckled from the corner as he helped Anna hang a strand of flowers. "She'll give herself an ulcer if she keeps it up," Anna commented, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "She should really just let the staff worry about decorating the house, you both have enough to worry about as it is with miss Elizabeth."
"If you only had any idea how many times I've told her that. Of course being Mary, she has to be stubborn," he answered.
"I suppose it is only right to want everything to be perfect with so many nobles coming."
"Matthew, can you come and help me with these blasted tables?" Mary called from the other side of the room, struggling in attempt to move the wooden tables across the floor and out of the way.
"Go on, I can handle this," Anna told him, taking what remaining flowers were in his hands.
Matthew nodded his thanks and hurried over to his struggling wife. Finishing lifting the small tables to where she wanted them, Matthew sighed, giving her a look of disapproval. "Mary, stop worrying so much about every extravagant detail. You should take a break, you've been at this since the crack of dawn."
"You take a break. We'll most likely only do this once at Downton, I'd like it to be impressive – for Elizabeth especially."
Matthew smiled, shaking his head in admiration at the way she cared for her children. His thoughts were interrupted by Clark entering the room with an uncertain demeanor and speaking quite clearly: "Master George Crawley."
Matthew and Mary exchanged confused glances, everyone's actions seized, all stopping to watch the strapping young man enter behind the butler. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to Clark.
Having it been nearly an entire year since seeing him, the family was rightfully quiet.
"Oh, my darling boy." Mary rushed towards George, enveloping him in a tight embrace.
"You sound surprised to see me," he remarked once she'd let him go.
"Of course we are, why wouldn't we be?" Matthew answered behind Mary.
It was Isobel's turn to give her grandson a proper hug as well.
"Didn't grandpapa tell you I was coming? I assumed since he wrote the letter to my commanding officer -" Glancing at his grandfather George found nothing but a smug smirk.
"You knew he was coming?" Sybil exclaimed with a smile. "And you didn't tell anyone?"
"It must have slipped my mind. I am getting old, you see," Robert replied, winking towards George.
"So if you knew I was coming, Grandfather, why didn't you send a car?" George wondered.
Robert bounced on the balls of his feet, dipping his head. "Yes, that really did slip my mind. I suppose I am old. How did you get here?"
"I had to walk to your house, Grandmama. Simmons was kind enough to allow me to use the car. I hope you don't mind," George addressed Isobel.
"Of course not, dear. Now I won't have to bother poor old Peters this late at night."
"How long are you here for?" Cora asked with a bright smile, not expecting much time nevertheless.
"Just for tomorrow - for Elizabeth's coming-out. My train leaves the following morning at eleven. I only wanted to be here for the honour of scaring away all the blokes that might try something," he explained, looking towards his sister with a smirk.
In true sibling style, Elizabeth decided it necessary to embarrass her brother as well once releasing him from her embrace.
Before she had the chance to, she was cutoff by their mother.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, both hands to his face. "You look quite peckish."
"I am actually. I haven't eaten since lunch on the train."
"Good. Clark, can you ask one of the kitchen maids to make a few sandwiches? And also one of the footmen to take his things up to his room and run a bath?"
"Of course, m'lady," Clark bowed and left them.
"I don't want to be made a big deal over," George murmured once Clark was out of sight.
"Nonsense, you only have forty-eight hours at home. You might as well enjoy every minute. You're planning on wearing your tails tomorrow right?"
"Actually, I was appointed to Lieutenant. I brought the mess wear in my case." Rings of praise and joy met his ears, mostly from his father and grandmother. George was quite glad that no one saw this as a negative thing – well, almost everyone. His mother gave no more than a curt smile, clearly filled with despair that his twentieth birthday was approaching and the law for underage men being forced to stay within the country would no longer apply to him.
"How delightful! Even more reason to celebrate," Isobel congratulated. "What made them decide to promote you?"
"Well, my commanding officers think I have good potential. They said that when the time comes I will be a valuable asset to the men overseas."
"That's fantastic, George. I'm positive you'll be an admirable leader," his father said, clapping him on the back.
"Thank you, papa," George replied, grinning with pride. He turned his attention to the lavish decorations that lined the entire room. "It all looks fantastic. This must have certainly taken you all day."
"More like three," Christopher mumbled under his breath, earning a proper glare from his sister.
"With us all and the staff working at the same time it really hasn't taken that long," Elizabeth defended.
George hummed in retaliation, smiling at his brother's miserable face.
Andrew entered the room then, seeing it as a good opportunity to let Master George know that his room and bath were ready.
"I'll let you all get back to work then, excuse me," he dismissed himself and trotted up the stairs and into his old room with the faintest nostalgia settling in his stomach. He'd forgotten just how elegant his home was in comparison to the grey, cold military base.
Walking into the bathroom, the sight of a steaming bath made him visibly relax. Carefully undressing, George couldn't help but grin as the sensation of the hot water reduced him into complete ecstasy.
Noting the window above him was open, he lifted both dripping arms from the bath and grabbed his jacket from the floor and reached into the inside pocket to grab the two things he couldn't seem to live without these days. The simple sound of the lighter made his hands slacken, holding the flimsy paper between his fingers made his muscles loosen, and taking the first deep puff of the intoxicating nicotine could make him tranquil like nothing else.
Before he'd left George had promised himself he wouldn't be like all the others and give into the nasty habit. But after the first nights of The Blitz, his nerves were shot and he couldn't sleep, and an offer from one of his bunk mates was the only thing it took for him to go the next day amidst the smoke and rubble to the general store and purchase as many packs two pounds could buy him.
Truly it did help. When he was scared or anxious it was one of the only comforts he had.
Now he was breathing in the sweet smoke because it was a craving; a new part of his daily life. And as much as he did enjoy it, he now promised himself that when war was over he would stop, mostly because he hated relying on something so small to give him comfort and also because he despised smelling of it constantly.
For now, while he still had the chance, George slowly inhaled the last puff from this cigarette, held his breath, and then so painfully exhaled, watching the grey cloud roll out the window.
June 5th, 1941
He felt odd, like he'd forgotten something. He was looking at his house; his beautiful home…and for some reason the only thing he could think about was the fact that all over the world men were lying in trenches or tents or holes or just on the cold hard ground and here he was: warm and filled with delicious food, talking with high aristocrats and mighty rulers from all over England, enjoying himself and being happy while his fellow countrymen were dying.
George tried to smother the feeling with brandy and champagne but he could not shake the dense guilt that took every ounce of energy from his body.
He put down his half-finished champagne flute, deciding it best to not be drunk at his own sister's coming out celebration.
As he turned back around George came face-to-face with two girls, both undeniably younger than he and both undeniably heavily intoxicated.
"Hello there, soldier," the blonde of the two purred, entering the personal bubble George liked to have for himself and nearly tumbling over in the process.
"Good evening, ladies. What can I do for you?" he politely acknowledged, holding his breath at the combined smell secreting from them burned his nose.
"You know," the other, brown-haired girl began, sloshing the champagne in her glass terribly close to the edge. "My friend and I love a good soldier," she murmured, finally spilling half of her drink onto his shoes.
Frustrated, George searched the crowd for a way out of this conversation and eventually found it in his sister in the middle of the floor, dancing with a suitor that looked like a threat in his eyes.
He excused himself from the fourteen year old alcoholics and made his way through the crowd of people surrounding the large dance floor, then maneuvering through the dancers and tapping the shorter boy on the shoulder.
"Mind if I step in?" George asked the wide-eyed boy who quickly glanced at his bright and shiny uniform and practically ran in the other direction.
He chuckled, facing his laughing sister who was also glaring at him in disbelief. "How do you ever expect me to find a suitor if you keep scaring them off?" Elizabeth exclaimed as George took her hands to continue the dance.
"You should be thanking me, dear sister. Any man who runs when he faces your brother doesn't deserve your hand in the first place."
Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. "I'm sorry I didn't get to speak with you earlier. How are you, George?"
He frowned a fraction of a second. Never would he let his innocent and pure little sister know the inside of war. Somehow she'd remained good all her life. She'd been happy and unharmed by the world, and he refused to be the person to take that from her by telling stories.
"I'm fine, truly," George answered, smiling despite her worried look. "Really, Liz, everything is alright. Don't worry about me."
"Of course I worry about you. Most of the time you're all mama and papa talk about. It's quite annoying really," she teased. He laughed, briefly scanned the crowd, and frowned. "What's the matter?"
Only now did he realize he'd stopped their movement and was now standing in the middle of the room, staring. The waltz from the band stopped, as did the other couples around them. She came in and out of vision as passers obscured the set path his eyes were locked with.
"Oh yeah. I made sure she was invited," Elizabeth broke his thoughts and the party regained life around them. He looked as his little sister in awe and for the first time realizing just how grown up she was. "You can thank me later," she cheekily said, pursing her lips in an expecting smile. "Go on!" she encouraged when he stared at her blankly.
Completely tuning out any other words from his sister, George crossed the room, fought the crowd, and joined Emma in the corner where she stood. As he'd been picturing this moment for months, he could do nothing but keep his eyes locked on hers to make sure it was in fact real.
"Hello, George," her sweet lips spoke.
"Hello," he eventually choked out, leaving them in silence until Emma blushed and looked away. "How are you? Well I hope," George nervously sputtered.
"I am, thank you. And you? How are you?" she questioned, expecting nothing but the expected. With her studying medicine she knew the physical and mental tolls that war took on men. Awful things led to awful trauma, both during war and after.
"I'm fantastic now that you're here," he grinned. "Actually…it is quite hot in here. Would you like to get some air?"
Emma took no time in replying, looking over his shoulder at the drunken girls that had been invading every sense of George's personal space and were now looking directly at her and rolling their eyes. "I would love some air."
They strolled the grounds in the clear night sky that bathed the acres of his home in bright moonlight. They walked in silence for a while, thankful for the brisk summer evening.
"How are your parents?" he broke the still quiet. "The last time I saw them was under unfortunate circumstances. I couldn't tell you how happy I was that you weren't with them."
Emma smirked. "They're…if I tell the whole truth, not well." At his concerned face she elaborated. "After the bomb they went to my uncle's house. With no work and no house, they feel like intruders, like they're a bother to my aunt and uncle. Despite that, my father seems to have found solace in a bottle of brandy every night which just makes my parents argue. But that's all that my sister has sent me in letters, perhaps there's more. They are here by the way, but papa is most likely glued to the corner of the room with a drink in his hand and mama is probably bouncing from person to person so fast you can't keep eyes on her for more than a second."
George digested her words, saddened that there was nothing he could do.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could help them somehow. I'd give them money but I feel they wouldn't take it, and I also don't have any authority over my own finances," he teased.
She smiled, thankful for his company. "You're right, they wouldn't take it. They wouldn't take it if it was handed to them on a silver platter. They're stubborn that way," Emma murmured, drifting off into her own thoughts.
They walked a few more moments in silence before coming to the top of the hill where George always raced his brother when they were little. It was a relatively small hill, but the view from the top was that of the entire grounds and beyond that.
"Your home is beautiful," she sighed with eyes focused on the glowing castle. "Like an ocean liner on the dark and wavy sea."
"Yes, although it is a shame they had to have the ball here instead of London. I had always looked forward to it being in London. The summer house has a great sense of fun. When I was younger I thought I could get away with anything the few weeks we were there."
"And did you?" Emma asked in the dark.
He could hear her smiling as she awaited his answer.
"Sometimes," he replied teasingly. George plopped down in the soft grass; legs sprawled out before him with no care of stains in the world. And he wasn't surprised when she joined him, cross-legged and smiling. "Once when I was ten, I told Christopher that there was a ghost in the house that was known to steal the youngest children from a family. He was so terrified that he and Nicholas would be taken that he couldn't sleep that night and went crying to my parents. When they asked me who'd filled his head with such nonsense, I blamed it on our cousin who was staying with us at the time," he paused, laughing at the recollection of the memory. "My Aunt Edith was not pleased when she thought it was her son who'd told such an awful thing to a six-year-old, and luckily Chris was so preoccupied he never corrected them."
They were both laughing now.
"Perhaps you should come clean to your parents, don't you think?" she suggested between chuckles. "Clear your cousin's name?"
"No, I don't think so. My parents would still be upset at this point in time. Maybe in the far future, when they're old and hard-at-hearing. Besides, my cousin is still a bit wonky. He always thought he was better than the rest of us ever since he was quite young."
"And what does this wonky gentleman do now?" she wondered.
"Well, he mostly lives off my aunt and uncle's pension. It's expected, my uncle is ranked highly with a magazine, so they're well-off."
"I thought he was close to your age?"
"Oh, he is. About a year younger in fact...You wonder why he isn't in the King's Army?" Emma nodded. "Well, like I said, he's wonky. As soon as the war started they packed up and went off to America," George replied bitterly, picking at the grass beneath him.
"Sounds cowardly if you ask me," she spoke into the resentful silence that followed his words. He was caught off-guard by this, but it surprisingly comforted him. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked back to his house.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
The brief moment of happiness was destroyed for George as his twisted and routine senses surrounded him with the echoed roaring of planes and lone sirens, explosions, the ground quaking under his feet, aromas of smoke and ash. He squeezed his eyes shut as his ears started to ring and hands began to shake.
"So how long are you back for?" she asked, looking at him through the shadows.
He swallowed and stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets, trying to gain back what composure he could manage.
"I catch the train back to London Friday afternoon," George answered, pulse racing through his veins. "If I'm quite frank, I long to be old enough to be shipped overseas. Of course being in London is close to home and I enjoy the men I'm with…but London will never be the same to me. Even though the Blitz is over it will always be the city of rubble and disaster. They can rebuild and start over but all I'll ever see is fire and smoke and people losing their homes or dying in a blast," he spoke deeply, voice low with grief.
"You've started to smoke haven't you?" she asked bluntly, gazing over at him.
After a stunned moment, he answered. "Yes."
"Don't worry, I understand. It's a stress relief. All men of war do it."
"How'd you know?" he questioned, impressed with her knowledge of seemingly everything.
"You forget I'm studying medicine, Private Crawley. You're eyes are bloodshot and you have dark circles, which I just assumed was from a lack of sleep, but what really gave it away was your yellow tinted fingers and the fact that you've been rubbing them together like something was missing."
George looked down at his hands, staring at them with a disappointed glare. Suddenly the lighter and packet of cigarettes on the inside of his coat felt like lead. He pulled them both out and held them tightly in his hand but not daring to light one.
"Lieutenant," he muttered, examining the glossy packet in his hands that shone despite the dim light.
"What?"
He paused before answering, inhaling sharply. "It's Lieutenant Crawley now…I was promoted last week. They said that I'm 'Very promising,' and that when the time came in September for me to have my own platoon, I would 'Lead with great courage.'"
"Oh," Emma breathed. "That's fantastic. Congratulations…You're going to be a wonderful leader," she encouraged, beaming at him. Soon her smile faded and she stared at the ground with a crossed expression. "I worry about you," she calmly stated. "I worry about you," she drew a breath, and exhaled, "all the time…every minute of every day," she shrugged with a sad look on her face. "At night I think about you before I sleep and hope that maybe wherever you are…you can feel me thinking about you, which is bloody mad because that kind of soul mate stuff doesn't exist, right? There's no fifth sense that allows me to send you some type of sign. That's all complete rubbish…isn't it?"
George merely smiled and looked at the horizon of trees and patches of fields. "When my father was in the first war…he got injured, severely. So severe that they thought he'd never walk again. And the moment that he got hurt - miles away in some battlefield, when that shell went off and he was thrown into a ditch - my mother tells the story of how she felt something unworldly come over her. She said it felt like ice water running down her entire body and she went completely numb, dropping her cup of afternoon tea all over the floor. Now any true Englishman will tell you that it had to be something extremely serious for a British native to discard their cup full of tea. It was only many years later, after I was born, that they pieced that puzzle together and discovered that that fifth sense soul mate rubbish does exist…How? I have no idea, but it does, and I'd say it's a pretty powerful force."
He placed the carton and lighter back inside his pocket, smiling brightly.
"So you're saying that if I feel a chill you may be dying somewhere?" she teased, causing him to wholeheartedly laugh for the first time in a long while.
"Yes," he said between chuckles. "I suppose I am…or maybe you're right and my parents are just mad." Still beaming from ear-to-ear George stood, brushing off his hands and extending one towards her. "Come on, I would like to dance with you at least once this evening."
Emma grinned, slipping her tiny hand inside his large one and allowing him to pull her from the cool grass and into the cooler night air. Before he could drag her off she stopped, jerking his arm and meeting him face-to-face.
It was in that very brief but lagged moment, with her face saturated in the glowing night light and her eyes flicking from his own to his mouth and back again, he knew in the deepest part of him that he was undoubtedly, unquestionably in love with her. And it scared the hell out of him.
Before he had time to be terrified his mouth met hers in an array of warmth and sparks.
His thoughts from a moment ago had gone. He was a blank mess of surprise and relief and joy.
His skin tingled where she touched him on the back of his neck.
He gently gripped the small of her back.
She tasted of champagne.
His heart pounded in his ears.
It felt like an eternity when in actuality it was no more than a few seconds.
George unintentionally wobbled backwards, breaking the connection abruptly.
He stared at her for a long second until her lips formed a terribly bewitching smile. Despite his stupor state, he beamed as well, heart fluttering in his chest.
"Right," Emma breathed. "Now we can dance."
George couldn't shake how proud of herself she looked, starting towards the house with a spring in her step.
He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief before jogging to catch up with her.
He knew that come what may they would have this moment. No matter what happened in their future, they would have this.
