Author's Note:Hey everyone, thanks for all the reviews! I gotta start by saying that I have an assignment coming up - actually two so I don't know when I'm gonna update next so I've left this chapter open to be continued on immediately in Ch.38 because otherwise it would've been tooo long and a lot happens in this chap.

So this chapter - Throws us right into Georgina's condition (bear with it) and tell me what you think of her new career choice yay or neigh. And we havea tommy/Mary scene as well as a lot of Joseph.

So enjoy and tell me what you think! x

Chapter 37 – Phase Three

Probable spinal damage.

Matthew was deaf to the sound of his own voice screaming for Dr Valentine, while he swarmed the bed and started examining Georgina, it was just three words that kept him glued to his seat the entire time.

Probable spinal damage.

Those three words bounced themselves gleefully around Matthew's brain, taunting him of his past injury, the one he was so sure he could just forget. Never had he felt so helpless, so wretched and utterly, utterly wrecked. But now… now as he stared down at his darling girl, his baby girl, her face contorted with panic as she was rendered helpless, something much more than wretchedness and misery coursed through his mind. All of a sudden he was struck with a much brazen feeling – wrath.

Wrath at Britain for declaring war on Germany twenty-six years ago!

Wrath at Hitler for starting - well all of this because of the first war and his own personal vendetta against the Jews!

Wrath at the Lufftwaffe for attacking their beloved city!

And most of all, wrath at himself for not being the husband and father his family needed during the one time when they needed him the most!

Matthew thought it had been a true blessing when he found out he could walk again but now the same cruel fate had snatched his daughter! His darling, his princess - his rock! Georgina. What had she ever done to anyone to deserve this? She was a strong yet wonderful girl who always brought out the very best in her brash and stubborn brothers and showed solid support towards her sister at a time when no one else would. So why did she have to suffer? And what was she supposed to be paying for? Matthew wished with all his heart that he could switch places with her. Yes, he'd do it, he'd choose that life in a heartbeat if it meant Georgina didn't have to!

He could've broken down then and there. But the strong hand clamped firmly on his shoulder forced him to remain calm in his seat. "Just wait to hear what the doctors have to say Papa." Joseph said in a tight voice.

Matthew gave him a stiff nod and turned his attention back onto Dr Valentine. "What's wrong doctor?"

The young doctor slung his stethoscope around his neck and shot the Earl a reassuring smile, "You don't have to worry Lord Grantham. Georgina is suffering a temporary paralysis due to the shock she's just recieved. It's really quite common."

Surprise forced Matthew speechless. He could do nothing but gape at the young doctor.

"You said temporary," Joseph pointed out quickly, "Are you sure? She will definitely be able to walk again won't she?"

"I don't see why not?" Dr Valentine responded with a smile. "When we examined her after she was brought in, we didn't spot any permanent damage to the spine. The blow to the head wasn't as hard as we initially feared so we didn't have any anxieties about permanent paralysis."

Matthew tried to swallow his panic as the doctor's words sunk in. "Right. Well, that's comforting." He choked.

"It feels as if my legs have been dipped in icy water." Georgina said in a bland voice.

"So when will she be able to feel again Dr Valentine?" Matthew asked, shooting his daughter a worried look.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably, "As to that I cannot say precisely Milord but the feeling should return once the initial shock has worn off." He turned to Georgina who was just staring miserably at the ceiling, "Now Lady Georgina – you might experience some pain when the feeling returns but it's a good kind of pain. Also, you'll need regular visits from your local doctor to check your progress."

"No problem." Matthew said rapidly, "He's known Georgina since she was a little girl, I'm sure he'd be willing to contribute."

Dr Valentine frowned slightly at the frostiness laced within the Earl's tone but he merely wrote it off as fatherly anxiousness. He turned his attention back to the young lady, "Do you have any questions?"

"No. But thank you doctor." Georgina said quietly. After the doctor bustled off, she took a few deep breaths to allow her sudden anxiety rush to ebb away. Finally, she turned to her father with a cracked smile, "At least it's not temporary. Let us cling to that at least."

"I think we need a second opinion." Matthew muttered through clenched teeth. The worries and fears still lingered in the back of his mind, poking him tauntingly.

"Papa!" Joseph chided, shooting a quick glance at the doctor who was thankfully tending to a patient further down the ward and out of earshot.

"What?" Matthew shot back, "I don't think that doctor knows what he's talking about, he's twelve!"

"Papa," Georgina interrupted sternly, "Please stop talking. My head's spinning!"

"Oh, my darling girl." Matthew breathed, stroking his daughter's ebony curls, "You are so brave. Do you know that? You're my little storm braver."

Georgina chuckled softly, then her eyes suddenly clouded with fear, "Mama! Oh God she was hit by a brick!"

"Take it easy Georgie," Matthew ordered gently, "Your mother is fine. She just received a mild concussion that's all. She's taken Benjamin back to the hotel to get some sleep but she should be back soon."

"So Benji's all right too? They both are?" Georgina asked, relief washing over her like a soothing balm. "Oh thank goodness!"

Matthew shrugged, "Well, he has a sprained leg – but that's all!" He added firmly as her eyes widened.

"He's quite the tough little champion. Even Churchill would've been pleased with the way he handled himself." Joseph said with a warm smile which wavered slightly, "He was the one who stayed with you until the ambulance pulled you out."

Georgina heaved a sigh of despair, "Oh poor darling. How is he really?"

"I'm sure - he'll be thrilled now you're awake," Joseph said swiftly, trying to cover up his hesitancy with a smile. "So will Mama."

"And what about you Joe?" Georgina asked in all seriousness, "How is everything going? Or is it all RAF classified information?"

"Well, I can say that I shot down six enemy planes yesterday." Joseph said with a dismissive wave.

Georgina's face twitched into a mock reproof, "Oh, only six?" Joseph just shrugged with a smirk, "You must be losing your heroic touch Joe."

Matthew cleared his throat loudly but said nothing. Joseph's smirk slid off his face.

Georgina settled herself back against the pillows and gazed at her brother, "Tell me Joe – what is it like to fly in the sky? Describe it to me, please." There was a trace of longing in her voice.

A thoughtful yet dreamy expression graced the young heir's face and when he spoke his voice was smothered with a fond caress. "Well, the cockpit is rather cramped when you climb in. But then once you're in the air… you don't really need to think, it's almost as if the aircraft has a life of its own! You're operating the controls but really it's you and the Spitfire together. That's why it's always hard whenever we lose one. It feels as if we've lost one of our own – in a way I suppose we have."

"Do you think maybe after the war is over, you could take me for a ride?" Georgina asked hopefully.

Joseph released a tired chortle, "After the war is over? Let's just take it one day at a time eh? I'm still having a tough time trying to get this one," He clasped his disgruntled father's shoulder, "To agree for a quick flight. I promised him it would be perfectly safe but of course he doesn't trust me." Joseph added with a twinkle in his eye.

"It isn't that!" Matthew responded in a clipped voice. "It's just – I have flown in a plane before."

Joseph snorted, "That was what? Fifteen, sixteen years ago? Planes have developed a lot more since then!"

"Regardless you're still in the air aren't you? Away from the safety of the ground…" Matthew sidled a sheepish glimpse at his son, Georgina had to bite on her lip to stop herself from laughing.

A wide grin started to leak across Joseph's face, "Papa are you afraid of heights?"

"Certainly not!" Matthew huffed. "I just prefer the safer method of ground travel, that's my opinion am I not entitled to it?"

"Oh of course," Joseph replied in mock seriousness, "I'm just at a loss as to how we can defeat a whole army of Luftwaffe with cars."

"Your sarcasm doesn't do you much credit son." Matthew responded tetchily.

"Do you think maybe I could be a Pilot?" Georgina asked with hilarity.

Joseph reacted to her question. She meant it as a joke, an innocent form of banter but it stuck a very sharp cord with him. "Actually Georgie that's not such a bad idea." He answered in a hush, his mind whirring with possibilities.

Matthew whipped around to glare at him, "What?" He spat incredulously.

"I said it's not such a bad idea." Joseph repeated absently, his blue eyes growing wide with excitement.

"Joe, I – I see you thinking." Matthew said tensely, "Whatever you're thinking stop it!"

"What are you thinking Joe?" Georgina asked, shifting against her pillows and staring at her brother with anticipation. "Oh do tell!"

"Or just keep it to yourself!" Matthew interpolated with warily.

"The Air Transport Auxilary," Joseph started with enthusiasm, "They train and recruit women Pilots for jobs like transporting military equipment from factories to maintenance units, etcetera!"

"Well that won't make her a target!" Matthew said, the sarcasm running freely off his tongue. "Ferrying military equipment?"

"It's been perfectly safe so far!" Joseph replied with defiance, "And she could do it too!"

"You know when my legs have healed; I actually think I might volunteer!" Georgina said with firm eagerness.

"All right, let's not overexcite her." Matthew interjected in a fluster, throwing an irked glance at his son from over his shoulder, "Georgina you heard the doctor you're supposed to be resting!"

"Papa I think I have had quite enough rest don't you?" Georgina responded in a clipped voice, "Besides, I want to know what's going on in the war. And if these air battles are coming to an end anytime soon."

Joseph laughed, "No such luck there. We're still fighting stronger than ever. He glanced at his watch and whistled, "Speaking of which I have to get back to base now," He addressed his father, "But I'll drop into the Savoy on my way? Tell Mama and Granny the good news and update them on Georgie's progress?"

"Only that she's awake, not that she's planning to jump into a plane the minute she recovers," Matthew said sternly, "We don't need to worry your mother anymore. She'll already be panicking about Georgina's condition. And telephone Downton as well. I'm sure your Grandmama and the rest of the servants are eager to hear of Georgie's recovery," Matthew added with a smile.

The young Pilot nodded and proceeded to leave but was called back by his sister's worried voice. "Be careful Joe."

Joseph halted, spinning on his heel to face her. With a heartening smile gracing his lips, he lifted up his two fingers in a V shape.

Churchill's victory sign.

Despite the tidal wave of emotions that had engulfed him within the past few minutes, Matthew couldn't help the proud grin from seeping onto his face as did Georgina. Joseph burst out laughing and marched towards the exit, shaking his head in amusement.

September 12th 1940

Lady Mary Crawley absently fiddled with the napkin on her lap while she gazed around the Savoy tearoom in ire. The whole room was pulsating with the life of the rich and famous. Urbane men and their sophisticated lady companions reclined in their cushioned armchairs, elegantly sipping tea and nibbling on scones or cakes from a three tier tray whilst discussing the latest 'tragedy' arisen from the London Blitz, trying and failing miserably to undertake the required look of sympathy and concern. But really it was all just gossip for them, a source of enjoyment to keep them entertained throughout teatime. Mary could just tell by the mere look in the eyes of these women. None of them had experienced the pain that she had. Of course people used their faces like a mask to hide their inner anguish but their eyes – yes, the eyes always betray the truth. And these people's eyes were nothing than mere orbs of triviality.

While Mary observed them all indulge in tea and luxurious food which could feed a whole country village, she felt an overwhelming urge to grab these women by the neat hair and slam their faces into their expensive cakes. But of course she was a Lady and such behaviour was not warranted, not even in wartime. Her hands clenched the napkin tightly, twisting uncomfortably in her seat. Barely three months had passed since her son had been shot, nearly left for dead at Dunkirk and now her daughter had temporary paralysis. Oh, how the heavens must hate her! Of course she should have been exceedingly grateful that it wasn't permanent, a fact that Matthew and Isobel forcefully kept reminding her. Yet… the 'what if' always chilled her to the bone. Georgina may be eighteen, but she was still her little girl.

Mary was so absorbed in her own grief, she didn't notice the gentle hand that touched her shoulder in recognition.

"Aunt Mary?" Mary jumped in alarm at the sudden touch. She turned around quickly to see her young nephew grinning at her. "I thought it was you!"

"Oh, Tommy!" She beamed in welcome at the young man who tipped his hat in respect. "What are you doing here?"

Tommy's smile wavered slightly but he clung onto his decorum, saying smoothly, "I have a meeting with friends."

Mary glanced around the tearoom with an amused look, "Here?"

"They're quite important friends." He replied evenly, "But I'm afraid I'm rather early."

"Oh. Well, in that case won't you sit down and have a cup of tea with your dear aunt?" Mary suggested with a raised brow, indicating the vacant chair opposite her. Tommy eyed the chair with hesitation but Mary was not one to give up, "Oh go on Tommy!" She implored playfully, "I really could use some cheering up and fresh conversation. And we do have so much to catch up on."

Her nephew tilted his head in amusement and sighed, "We do don't we. Oh all right, maybe just a few minutes."

While Tommy settled himself in his seat and busied himself with the tea, Mary seized the brief opportunity to admire her nephew and the way he had sharpened up these past few years. Tommy and Siobhan had always been close with her children and they in turn had always treated them like their own siblings.

"How's Georgina?" Tommy asked in genuine concern, "Temporary paralysis isn't it? I heard about what happened from Joe. He still keeps me informed from time to time."

"She's surprisingly tough given the circumstances." Mary replied with a small yet fond smile, "She's determined not to let it stop her from carrying on though."

Tommy's face fell slightly, "He also told me about Aunt Rosamund. I never really knew her that well but it's such a tragic way to go."

Mary felt her throat tighten at the memory, "Yes it is rather tragic. They said that her heart just…couldn't take it anymore."

"And I also heard that Biggin Hill was hit last night?" Tommy continued, his eyes wide with curiosity, "That's where Joe's squadron is based isn't it?"

Mary sucked in a sharp breath. "Biggin Hill yes. But thankfully he had the good sense to call and let us know he was all right. Apparently he had been asleep when the bombs were dropped…" She shuffled anxiously in her seat, eager to shift the focus away from her son, "Anyway it wasn't just Biggin Hill, a lot of the neighbouring airfields were hit."

"I'm sorry am I making you uncomfortable Aunt Mary?" Tommy asked nervously, noting her sudden stoic countenance.

Mary just smiled. "You're a darling. No you're not." She felt a warm flutter in her heart as she watched him relax. He might look just like his father but he was very much the embodiment of her little sister in spirit.

"So tell me Tommy – why are you no longer in the army?" Mary asked, injecting her voice with indifference although her mind was burning with curiosity.

Tommy paused, the cup halfway to his lips. He forced a nervous laugh out before replying, "I was injured. And they didn't want me back."

"Nothing too serious I hope?" Mary responded in concern.

Again Tommy just shrugged while he sipped at his tea, "Nothing that will persuade Papa to see reason."

"I see." Mary slowly lifted her own cup to her lips while they both lapsed into nostalgic silence.

They had all been close once. Tommy and Siobhan always used to be in and out of Downton during Summer, Easter and Christmas, but in the years leading up to the war, politics and opinions had once again divided the family. Mary liked Branson very much but his stubborn attitude towards his beliefs affected his children much more than he cared to realize. When she had politely pointed this out to him, he took it rather offensively. They hadn't stopped speaking to each other per say, but Branson felt that Ireland's neutrality was something that should be commended whereas Matthew had merely refused to comment on the matter which only wounded Branson more. Sybil and Mary tried to bridge the peace between them but it wouldn't hold. Not just yet anyway.

Which is why when young Tommy Branson decided to join up on his own accord, it would've made perfect sense for his father to be irked by the gesture, but Mary just could not see him cutting his own son out of his life.

"Tommy," Mary started before she could stop herself, "I know you hate talking about it but really, I have to ask," She took a deep breath while Tommy collected himself together, "What could you have possibly done to anger your father so much so, he had to throw you out of his life?"

Tommy's eyes narrowed into cold slits, "Nothing. Listen to me Aunt Mary, I have not done anything wrong. You know as well as anyone that all my life, my father has taught me to stand up for what I believe in and that is exactly what I am doing now. He's just upset because those beliefs don't coincide with his!" He released a bitter chortle and nearly slammed down his cup, "Well bully for him!"

"And those beliefs are what exactly?" Mary asked warily.

"I just want to contribute my services to the war effort." Tommy answered steadily, "Because I want to fight on my mother's behalf. She is still English is she not?"

"Oh Tommy." Mary sighed, her voice drenched with sympathy, "I've spoken to your mother."

At these words, the aggression behind Tommy's eyes melted into that of longing. "You – you've spoken to Ma?" His voice was soft, almost childlike. "Oh God, how is she? Is she all right?"

"Of course she isn't Tommy, she's missing you so much! And you don't even write or phone her!" Mary chided, "Won't you just ring and talk to her? One phone call Tommy, that's all! Then maybe she can sleep a little better at night!"

"I've tried." Tommy growled, "But – he answered the phone and – then he cut me off."

"Let me talk to Tom," Mary tried in a reassuring manner, "Then maybe he'll see -"

"Aunt Mary it won't work!" Tommy snapped. He immediately softened, "Look, just trust me. I know my father and he won't budge on this one. What I'm doing – it just disgusts him to the core."

"Why can't you talk about it?" Mary whispered.

Tommy just gave her a look. "Why do you think Aunt Mary? Come on, you're smart. I know you know the real reason."

Mary closed her eyes in reluctance. "I – I had my suspicions. And I respect the fact that anything you want to say to me is classified – so naturally you can't tell me anything."

"Just don't tell anyone." Tommy said in a hollow voice, "I'll be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out."

"My lips are sealed." Mary said firmly, drawing her finger across her lips. She tried to brighten up for the sake of her nephew's spirit, "Now, what say we browse the menu and have a bite to eat? I don't know about you but all this rationing has set me on edge and right now, I'm really yearning for some good old fashioned cucumber sandwiches."

Tommy twitched his lips into a wry grin, "All right then."

Mary signalled to a passing waiter, "Excuse me?"

The young waiter doubled back at the request of the beautiful Countess, blushing slightly. He couldn't have been older than seventeen. "Yes Milady." He answered with incredible politeness.

"May we please have a plate of cucumber sandwiches?" Mary quickly read his name, "Frank."

"Certainly Milady." Frank bowed his head and started to scurry off.

"Oh and another pot of tea." Tommy added with a smile.

At the sound of Tommy's voice, Frank froze, all sense of cordiality flooding away from his demeanour as he glared at the young Irishman. Tommy blanched in shock under the harsh gaze.

"Sorry, is there a problem?" Tommy asked pointedly, determined not to squirm in discomfort.

This only incensed the young waiter even more. He threw Tommy such a cold look before replying in a tone dripping with ice and contempt, "No there's no problem. I'll be right back with your tea and sandwiches. Sir." He stalked away, throwing the bewildered duo another scathing glance over his shoulder.

Tommy turned back to his aunt, completely flabbergasted. "I wonder what I could've said to upset him now?" He said in an irritated voice laced with amusement, "It seems that's all I can do lately. Upset people."

"Well you're not upsetting me." Mary reassured with a resolute smile, "These past few months have been hell. These past few days have been hell!"

"How is Edward?" Tommy asked with sincerity, "Did he get off all right?"

Mary nodded rigidly, "I'm still awaiting a letter to say he's arrived safely. But he's in Egypt so naturally it'll probably take weeks, months even."

"All this worrying can't be easy in your – well, condition." Tommy said with a shy smile, nodding at Mary's 'baby bump.'

Mary stared at him to check if he was jesting or not. Her eyes slightly narrowed, "Did Joe tell you anything else?"

Tommy shook his head, his eyes wide with innocence, "No, just that he was expecting to be a big brother again in January. You and Uncle Matthew must be thrilled of course. Six children, a big family!" He added with a smirk.

Mary covered up her fraying anxiety with a small giggle, "Yes we are. Can you believe it? A baby amidst a war and at our age?"

"You both don't look a day over forty!" Tommy stated with defiance, reminding Mary forcibly of Sybil. "What's your secret?"

"Children and lots of them," Mary replied with a sigh.

Frank trudged towards them with a tray of tea and sandwiches balanced in his hand. With a dim glower at Tommy, he set the tray down and prepared the tea.

"Milady." He said politely, pouring the beverage neatly into Mary's cup.

"Thank you Frank." Mary said kindly, reaching for her cup.

Then the waiter turned towards Tommy, his steely gaze growing colder. "And for you - sir…" He proceeded to tip the pot into Tommy's teacup but deliberately missed the mark and poured the searing hot liquid over Tommy's lap instead.

"Jesus!" Tommy cried, leaping out of his seat as the scalding tea scorched through his trousers. He grabbed his napkin and started dabbing at the darkening patch spreading over his left leg. Couples from the tables nearby started to peer at them in amusement.

Mary turned to the waiter, her face contorting in utter fury, "What in Heaven's name was that about?"

"I'm terribly sorry Milady, but I'm afraid I just missed the young man's cup. My mistake. Sorry." He replied in a voice quite the contrary.

"No you're not," Tommy snarled, his brows furrowed in anger, "And that was no damn mistake. You did that on purpose."

"And why would I want to do that?" Frank responded, raising his voice louder.

Tommy shrugged, his breathing growing ragged, "Only you can answer that pal."

Frank's eyes glimmered, "Don't you call me pal. One thing I am not is your pal! You lost all right to even talk to me, the moment your lot claimed neutrality."

Both Mary and Tommy flinched in shock and realisation.

So that was the reason for his open resentment.

Mary's head fell into her palm. It all made sense now. The moment this young waiter had heard Tommy speak, his entire behaviour had changed.

"Look Frank," Mary said in quiet desperation, fully aware that most of the attention in the room was focused solely on them, "My nephew, Tommy, he isn't like the others."

"He's Irish isn't he?" Frank countered, eyeing Tommy with disgust, "That makes him exactly like the others in my book!"

"Well clearly your book is all in black and white!" Mary snapped, her voice echoing around the hushed tearoom, "You cannot single out one person who has done absolutely nothing wrong just because you harbour a grudge against their people! I thought such disgusting behaviour is what this country is fighting for!"

"Exactly!" Frank practically yelled, "How is it fair that our boys have to be the ones to fight but the Irish yobs lounge around on their backsides and get off Scott free?"

"Now look here -"

"I had two older brothers!" Frank interrupted fiercely, "One fell at Trondheim, the other at Dunkirk."

There was not a morsel of movement in that tearoom.

Mary closed her eyes and forced some sympathy into her voice, "I'm very sorry about that. I really am. But that's hardly my nephew's fault. And for what it's worth," She added sharply as Frank opened his mouth to argue, "My nephew is choosing to fight for us in a much more dignified way. Which is more than you'll ever do."

With those words Lady Mary Crawley rose from her seat like a swan from the lake, clutching her pocketbook and with a swift nod at Tommy, she swept down the aisle of tables towards the main staircase, turning the heads of everyone she passed.

September 13th 1940

"Tell me Branson does the word classified mean nothing to you?" Chester Fenwick, Head of M15 yelled across his mahogany desk. "You were completely aware that all information acquired is strictly classified and you even signed the National bloody Secrets Act!"

Tommy closed his eyes and released a patient breath before replying as calmly as he could, "I know Mr Fenwick sir. I slipped up, I'm sorry. You can be rest assured it'll never happen again."

"It had damn well better not." Fenwick snarled, his eyes growing small with fury, "Just consider yourself blessed that Fanshawe and his crew weren't there. Next time you might not be so lucky! We've invested a lot in this operation and simply cannot afford any – slip ups."

"I don't need to be told twice." Tommy retorted, his tone tranquil yet laced with menace.

Fenwick blanched slightly before waving his hand dismissively, "Very well, get back to work Branson."

September 15th 1940

8:30pm

The losses they experienced that day had not been in vain.

Joseph Crawley landed smoothly on the grass runway of Biggin Hill. With a great deal of help from the aircrew, he lifted his canopy up and hoisted himself out of the Spitfire, almost stumbling to the ground, his mind dizzy due to lack of energy and sheer grief.

"Crawley!" Frederick grabbed his arm to steady him, "Are you all right?"

Very slowly, the Downton heir turned his head to gape at his friend/Squadron Leader. How could he ask him that? He knew what had happened! Over the course of twenty-four hours, they had just watched fifteen of their colleagues, their friends, become engulfed in a blanket of flames and neither Pilot could protect them without risking their own lives or the lives of others. The guilt and heartache had chewed its way through Joe's mind until he could nothing but lapse into a semi-state of catatonia.

"Am I all right?" Joseph echoed softly, his mind completely drunk with combat fatigue. "I don't know Frederick. Am I. First, we lost – we lost Pearce -"

"You tried to protect him!" Frederick said with reassurance, "You did everything you could but that Heinkl was too quick for him… these things happen Crawley, you know that better than anyone."

"Then Jones, Harton, Keyes, Lowe, Newman, Stillman, Grey -"

"Now Grey took down two Messerchmitt's before he was hit!" Frederick interrupted with forced firmness, "They caught his fuel tank – Joe we knew it was going to explode straight away, there wouldn't have been time for him to jump out. And you, you were the one who avenged him by shooting down the plane that caught him in the first place."

"He should've been put into a Spitfire." Joseph mumbled absently, "I knew that Hurricane would fail him."

"Now there's to be none of that talk," Frederick ordered, pulling Joseph away from the aircraft, "We were all in Hurricanes once remember?"

"I still don't understand why he didn't try to escape?" Joseph asked, clutching onto Frederick's shoulder while he led him back to camp. "Do you think his canopy didn't work? Or – or there was a technical difficulty?"

Frederick shrugged, "Who knows? It's no point dwelling on it now Crawley and especially in your current state. It'll only kill you."

"What about Dominic?" Joseph whispered through quivering lips, guilt churning in the pit of his stomach, "We both saw – what hap -"

"Ah, there you both are!"

Both Pilots snapped their head up at the abrupt sound of their Wing Commander striding towards them, a look of relief tinged with gratitude etched upon his stern face.

The young Pilots tried to straighten up sharply but naturally Joseph could barely even hold his head up, let alone keep a straight posture. Wing Commander Shields eyed him suspiciously before addressing Frederick, "What's wrong with Flight Lieutenant Crawley?"

"He's just suffering from severe battle fatigue sir." Frederick answered quickly, subtly propping Joe up by the elbow. "It's been a very rough day for everyone sir."

"That it has." Wing Commander Shields responded with a sombre nod. "Today will be marked as a memorable day. I have it on good authority to report that Operation Sealion, Hitler's attack on Britain, has been cancelled! Phase two is over and phase three has officially begun chaps! Fifty-six losses for the Lufftwaffe! You boys will be hailed as heroes from this day forward!" Shields continued, completely oblivious to Joseph who was starting to shake right in front of him. "Thanks to your determination and defensive spirit!"

"What about our men sir?" Joseph asked, careful to keep the derision to a minimum. "How many losses did we have? Roughly."

"About twenty-seven." Shields replied quietly.

"Twenty-seven." Joseph repeated, almost laughing out loud to prove the full extent of his misery, "Tell me Wing Commander Shields, what was the point -"

"Like I said he's so tired, he's about to collapse any second!" Frederick interrupted swiftly, "Flight Lieutenant Crawley performed brilliantly today sir."

Joseph glared at him in disbelief. Performed brilliantly? It wasn't some theatre show! Men were dead, their friends were dead, good men, men with their whole lives ahead of them, men barely older than they were!

"Well in that case I think he's entitled to a little rest." Shields said calmly, "Go home Crawley, I'm granting you three days leave."

"Are you sure you can manage now that we're twenty-seven men down?" Joseph asked, doing nothing to stop the scorn from trickling into his voice. If he would, he would've punched the man and felt proud doing it. He didn't care if it landed him in trouble; he was too tired to give a damn. This must be how Edward feels, Joseph thought, smirking to himself.

Wing Commander Shields narrowed his eyes, saying in a cool and collected voice, "You're tired Crawley and you look like hell so I shall let that one slide. Trevelyan – you see he gets off in one piece."

"Yes sir." Frederick nodded quickly, waiting until Shields had stalked off before rounding on Joseph. "You idiot! Why go and insult the Wing Commander of all people!"

"Oh, don't give me that!" Joseph snapped, tottering back a few steps in his tired state, "The last thing I feel right now is heroic." He proceeded to walk back towards the camp, his head hung low in ironic defeat.

Once inside, he headed straight for his cabin and started to gather his kit bag together, stuffing in clothes and anything else he might need. Without warning he hurled his bag against the door, releasing an agonizing groan. Joseph wrapped his arms around himself and sunk to the floor, staring blankly at Dominic's empty bunk. Of course that just made the situation even worse and he felt the tears of terror and self-loathing burn behind his eyes.

Papa.

Right now, Joseph felt as though he was still at Dunkirk, drowning in that icy, bloodshed water and the one person, the only person in the whole world who could rescue him, who could drag him out of his abyss of despair was his father.

to be continued...