I'll Be Seeing you

by Marblez

Sequel to 'There's A Long, Long Trail' - takes place during the Second World War. SLASH - PERIOD TYPICAL VIOLENCE/HOMOPHOBIA

12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer – I don't own Downton Abbey, the Crimson Field or Foyle's War but the Original Characters (of which there are too many to mention) are my creations.

Summary – Sequel to 'There's A Long, Long Trail' following Thomas, Edward and all of the others through the course of the Second World War.

A/N Title taken from a popular song of the era.

~ I'll Be Seeing You ~

Chapter Eleven
March 1943

The letter had arrived unexpectedly with the morning post, addressed to both of them and in the unmistakable hand to their journalist friend, Tom Branson; for a man who made his living as a writer his handwriting left a great deal to be desired.

"What are your plans today, Edward?"

"I haven't any, mother," Edward responded truthfully. "How does it look, Barrow?"

"Clear blue sky, sir," Thomas reported dutifully as he coated Edwards toast with a thin sliver of marmalade, placing it back on the plate for his lover to easily find. "Might be a bit chilly."

"Then we shall wrap up warm and take a turn about the garden," Edward announced, more to satisfy his mother's prying more than anything else. "And you can read me Tom's letter."

Neither of them could've anticipated that the contents of the letter would be so upsetting.

"Dear Thomas and Edward," Thomas read aloud after he and Edward had settled onto the stone bench hidden within the centre of the elaborate gardens. "I hope this letter finds you well. London is as you remember it; full of spirit and defiant in the face of Hitler's continued attacks. I'm busier than ever, unsurprisingly, and this brings me to the reason behind this letter. I'm actually writing this letter in the Anderson Shelter during a raid…"

Edward shuddered,

"Ugh! Just the memory of that foul place is enough to turn my stomach."

The Anderson shelter was one of the reasons they'd finally agreed to leave London, the unpleasant but necessary space bringing up too many bad memories for the two veterans.

"It's not a close one tonight but the sound carries, as you must remember," Thomas continued, a deep frown settling on his forehead as he continued on to the next part. "My editor has ordered me to "play down" a story, an order that came from very high up I was led to understand, but I had to tell someone the truth and I know that the two of you will keep what I tell you to yourself – that is, of course, if the censor doesn't remove it all."

It didn't look like a censor had even touched the letter to Thomas, not a single word having been blacked out, but the stamp authorising its delivery was present on the first page so it must have passed through someone's hands; perhaps they agreed with Tom's sentiment.

"I shan't tell you the date my story occurred on, nor the location although I'm sure you'll figure it out yourself with the small amount of details that actually made it into the papers. I was sent out to report on the incident without any warning of what I would find. It was…it was the worst thing I have ever witnessed. Truly," Thomas paused, taking Edwards hand when he lover reached over for it and keeping the letter in place on his thigh with his prosthetic hand. Both of them were frowning now, their concern for their friend rising with every word he uttered, their previous good spirits having been rapidly stripped away. "It should have been a raid like any other and, for the most part, it was. However in one tube station tragedy occurred; a nearby anti-aircraft battery, which was new, startled the poor souls trying to navigate the dimly lit staircase down into the tube station and in the chaos a woman holding her child fell near the bottom of the first staircase. Those I spoke to describe it as resembling a game of dominoes, one person tripping over another. God, I can't even imagine how horrible it must have been…"

Edward gasped, his face turning ashen and Thomas doubted that he looked much better.

The image his mind created in response to the words on the page was horribly distressing.

He pressed on, suddenly consumed with a need to know what had happened,

"And worst of all is the fact that the people at the back of the queue had no idea what had happened and just kept pushing people forwards, trying to make their way into the shelter. I spoke to a policeman who arrived as the disaster was unfolding; he had to crawl over the bodies to the bottom of the steps to assess the situation. His expression when he spoke of it…I can't even describe it, truly I can't. He told me he found what he estimated to be 200 people trapped in the space of a small room."

"Those poor people…"

"I arrived on the scene when they were still pulling people out, hoping to find survivors. There were a few but not many. The official newspaper report suggests that the "isolated incident resulted in a small loss of life and our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those lost" but the truth is 173 people were killed," Thomas had to pause, swallowing thickly as Edward covered his mouth with his free hand to muffle a distressed sound. "173. Because people kept pushing, kept panicking…27 men, 84 women and 62 children. Children, who should have been safe and must have been so frightened. I saw them pull a little girl out who looked so much like Aoife did as a child that I couldn't breathe. I still can't, not really."

"Oh, Tom," Edward gasped, heart going out to their friend. "That must have been awful…"

"I can understand why they want to keep it quiet, news like this would be a blow to morale that we can't afford and would most likely cause similar incidents to occur, a viscous cycle of people panicking that something like it would happen again being the cause of it happening. But I had to tell someone, had to put it to paper so that it doesn't eat away at my soul. I am trusting you with this knowledge, my dear friends, and one day when the truth is permitted to be spoken of I shall write of it again so that people will understand. I've heard that the woman who fell first survived but that he child did not. I don't know if that's true. I almost hope it's not; the pain of losing a child is bad enough without it being the result of such an unnecessary disaster. There is call for a public injury but I don't know if much will come of it."

"That poor woman," Thomas murmured, agreeing with Tom's sentiment; the guilt must be unbearable despite the fact that it had all been a tragic accident. "Those poor people."

"What else does Tom say?"

"I apologise for burdening you with this knowledge but you are the only people I can trust with it, other than Sybil of course and her strength has been my saving grace ever since."

"I apologise for burdening you?" Edward repeated Tom's words with a huff. "What does he think friends are for? Honestly. I can see I need to explain friendship to that man again."

It had taken some time for Tom to accept that Edward, who had been an officer and had once been in line to inherit a title and everything that came with it, saw them as equals.

The Irishman had come round the reality of things eventually with the help of his wife and the fact that he saw how Edward treated Thomas as his better rather than he equal in spite of the fact that he was a former servant who was still posing as a servant but every now and the. He still reverted to thinking that he wasn't quite worthy of Edwards trust or loyalty.

Thomas smiled, already looking forward to penning Edward's response for him.

His smile dimmed as he returned to reading the last of their friend's letter aloud,

"I long for the day that this senseless war is over, for the moment we can embrace peace once again and children can return to growing up safe in the knowledge that they have a future. It can't come soon enough, in my opinion. I must finish this letter now as the candle is fast approaching its end. I hope that when I next write my news will be more pleasant. Your friend, Tom Branson."

For a long moment after he'd finished reading the letter aloud either of them could speak, too distressed by the tragedy of the event Tom spoke of and how much it had clearly upset their friend. Thomas found himself folding the letter back into its envelope automatically, not thinking about the motions as he went through them until it was safely in his pocket.

"Those poor children," Edward finally broke the silence, tears welling up his eyes while his hand began to clutch at Thomas' thigh where it had come to settle after Thomas had disentangled their fingers to fold up the letter. "And Tom, poor Tom. He sounds awful…"

"Understandably," Thomas sighed, glancing around them quickly before turning on the stone bench so that he was in a better position to pull his lover into his arms, his hand cradling he back of Edwards head so that Thomas could encourage the distressed man to tuck his face into the side of his neck. In return Edward clutched at the back of his jacket, pulling so tightly that Thomas felt one of the seams begin to protest. "It's alright, love."

"It's not alright," Edward choked out, tears soaking into Thomas's collar. "I hate this bloody war."

"As do I, my love…"

Tilting his head up in a clear demand for a kiss Edward smiled sadly when it was granted without hesitation, Thomas taking as much comfort from the intimate act as his lover did.

Unfortunately for the couple they weren't as alone as they thought.

Jacks eyes glowed with hateful triumph as he witnessed their kiss, as he took in the way they clung to each other like…like animals. It was disgusting, in his opinion, and the foul nature of their relationship explained so much about his brothers failures. How could he have ever taken over the estate even before he lost his sight when he wasn't a real man?

He watched from his hiding place as their foul behaviour continued, his stomach churning, and remained hiding when they finally separated and headed back into the house. They couldn't be allowed to get away with behaving so perversely, he reasoned once they were gone, but his word alone would never be enough to ensure they were suitably punished.

No, he would have to ensure that there were other witnesses too…

Oblivious to his younger brothers scheming Edward dedicated the rest of the morning to responding to Tom's letter, throwing away three drafts before he was happy with it, much to his lovers annoyance as it was Thomas that had to keep writing the same sentences over and over again. His partners letter finally complete it was then his turn to add his own to the envelope, folding the two letters together.

How much would make it past the censor they didn't know but it would surely be enough to comfort and reassure their poor friend.

Thomas took it down to add to the pile of letter by the telephone which would be posted in time for the afternoon post, noticing that the thickest of them all was Elvira's weekly correspondence with her daughter. Margaret had travelled to America with live with her husband's family a month after their wedding, Chuck having insisted that it would be safer for her and the baby. The journey had been horrific, or so Margaret had reported, as she and the other "GI Brides" had all been crammed in together and the motion of the ship had made her lingering morning sickness even worse than it had been.

Elvira missed her daughter terribly and had only agreed for her to go so as to spare the family the embarrassment of her pregnancy confirming that they'd had to get married.

According to her letters Margaret had been welcomed by her new relations, her mother-in-law actually approving of her sons wife which was remarkable given the situation, and they'd been very supportive of her. She'd given birth shortly after New Year, officially making Jack and Elvira the grandparents of a little boy named Rhett; apparently it was a family name on her husband side. A photograph had been sent, new mother proudly holding he baby boy and even Thomas had to admit little Rhett looked rather adorable.

All through the afternoon and evening Jack watched his brother far closer than he ever had before, catching every lingering touch shared between the illicit couple, but saying nothing.

When Edward announced he was returning for the night, not on duty with the Home Guard that evening, Jack followed the couple with his eyes until they were out of the room, gritting his teeth as he saw Thomas's hand shift to his brother's lower back just as they disappeared from view. He waited just shy of half-an-hour, long enough for them to get comfortable, before making a show of remembering something he needed to speak to Edward about,

"I'll just see if I can catch him before he goes to bed…"

Slowly he made his way up to his brother's room, treading as lightly as he could so as to give them no warning, and paused in front of the closed door to listen for signs of life within.

A soft moan sounded, causing him to gag as he realised it was his brother.

"Shh!" he heard Thomas giggle softly. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"No," his brother responded breathlessly. "But, please, I need you…"

That was enough, Jack decided with a grimace.

He could stand no more.

Raising his fist he knocked, so as to keep up the pretence that his discovery wasn't planned, and before his brother could answer he turned the handle and pushed open the door.

"Edward, I'm sorry to disturb you but…"

Thomas froze, silently cursing at himself for failing to lock the door on tonight of all nights, at the sudden and unexpected appearance of Edwards younger brother. They were under the covers, thankfully, so Jack couldn't really see anything, but there was no denying what was occurring between the two men in the bed.

"Jack!" Edward gasped, sitting up so suddenly and unexpectedly that his forehead smashed into Thomas's nose with enough force to send him flying back with a cry of pain, his hand flying up to catch the blood that began to drip from his potentially broken nose. "What…?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack roared, his voice loud enough to bring everyone hurrying up the stairs towards Edward room. He watched as the couple separated, moving to sit side by side against the headboard with the covers pulled up to cover their laps, and could barely hold back his feeling of triumph as he watched his brothers face turn ashen. "You…you and…you're…" he purposefully played up his confusion and disgust just as his parents hurried into the room, his mother letting out an actual shriek. "How could you?"

"Jack, please…"

Glaring across at the pitiful excuse of a human being he was forced to call his brother he announced,

"I'm calling the police."

"No, you're not," their mother cried out. "Think of the scandal!"

The scandal, Edward thought bitterly, of course that was more important than his safety.

Still cradling his throbbing nose Thomas met the furious gaze of Edwards father.

"Did you do this?" the usually quiet man demanded, his words cutting through the atmosphere like a knife. "Did you seduce my son? Did you tempt him into disgrace?"

"No!" Edward gasped before Thomas could answer, his hands fumbling around until he found his dressing gown. "No, don't you dare blame this on Thomas," he ordered, rising from the bed once he was suitably covered. Behind him Thomas lay stunned and in pain, uncharacteristically lost for words. "I…I've always felt like this even before I met Thomas…"

"Always?" Elvira gasped, looking as though she were about to be sick. "Even when you were engaged to marry me?"

"Yes," Edward confessed thickly. "Please, don't call the police. We'll go, we'll leave and…"

"You're damned right you'll leave," Mr Courtenay thundered. "And you'll never return."

Edward swallowed thickly,

"Papa, please…"

"And you," Samuel Courtenay growled, turning his angry gaze on Thomas who met it as calmly as he could, feeling just as he had the first time Mr Carson had scolded him when he was a young footman freshly arrived at the Abbey. "The only thing stopping me from dragging you to the police station myself is the fact that we're you to be arrested for your filthy crimes it would be tied to this family and we have done nothing to deserve that."

"Our love is not a crime," Thomas found himself responding. "And it's not filthy."

"Oh, it most certainly is a crime," Jack sneered, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with his father who was reacting even better than he'd hoped. His mother was staring mutely at Edward so though he were a stranger whilst his wife looked even more like she was going to throw up than she had before. "I knew there was something wrong about you the first time I met you," he told Thomas, delighting in the way the man flinched. "After all, what sort of man willingly becomes a stretcher bearer when there's fighting to be done?"

"That's rich considering you didn't even make it to France!" Edward snapped, his temper flaring in defence of the man he considered to be his husband. "At least he volunteered!"

"I was needed here…"

"No, you're just a coward," Edward glared in his brothers direction, his words bringing forth an angry flush to Jacks cheeks; Edward wasn't the first one to refer to him in such a way over the years. "A pathetic, jealous coward!"

"Enough!" Samuel snapped. "Edward, it is your behaviour that we are discussing, not your brothers. The fact that you would willingly behave so perversely whilst under my roof…"

"There is nothing perverse about our love!"

"It's not love!" Elvira all but screamed. "Two men cannot love one another! It's unnatural!"

"I assure you it's perfectly natural," Thomas sneered across at the woman who had helped make Edwards life so unbearable back when he was injured that he attempted to take his own life as an escape. "And widely documented throughout history if you care to look."

"I don't," she responded sharply. "I would never want to read about something like that."

They were never going to win this argument, Thomas and Edward realised at the same time, as no one on the opposing side would ever truly listen to their reasonable arguments.

The best they could hope for now was to avoid being sent to jail for sodomy.

"I want you out of this house first thing in the morning," Edward's father growled, his angry gaze fixated more on Thomas than his son for the moment. "You may send for whatever you cannot carry with you but after that I never want to see either of you in this house again."

"Papa…"

"You may continue to claim your inheritance," Samuel announced, finally turning his gaze on his eldest son who had once been his heir, his pride and joy. "But only so long as you stay away and your proclivities remain out of the headlines. If you bring the family name into disrepute through your disgusting actions then I will cut you off and leave you to rot in jail."

Edward was, understandably, in tears by the time his father finished speaking.

Without another word Samuel Courtenay strode from his sons room, head bowed as though he were suddenly weighed down with unbearable sorrow. Edward's mother sniffed loudly before following her husband from the room, her head held purposefully high.

"I can't…"

Whatever it was that Elvira could do or say they'd never know as, with an almost pained sound she turned and hurried from the room.

"I guess you've got what you always wanted, little brother," Edward sighed softly, lowering himself to perch on the eve of the bed with an air of defeat hanging about him. "Me forever out of your way."

"No, if I had my way the pair of you would be rotting in jail for your crimes by morning."

"…do you really hate me so much, Jack?"

"You disgust me," Jack answered simply, his sneer audible in his voice. What Edward couldn't hear, thankfully, was the almost giddy triumph that was now plain to see on the younger man's face. It left Thomas with a foul taste in the back of his throat, the sight of Jack taking such delight in his brothers pain and suffering. "And I hope you rot in hell."

Honestly, Thomas suspected it would have hurt less if he'd physically struck his brother.

"Oh, God," Edward gasped, heart-wrenching sobs bursting out of his chest as he covered his face with his hands, his body shaking so much that Thomas could feel it across the bed. Not that he stayed across the bed for long, scrambling across the bed to wrap his arms around his lover, plastering his chest to Edwards back. "They know…Thomas…what are…oh, God…"

"I'm sorry, my love," he gasped, his lips so close that they brushed the soft skin of Edward's ear as he gently rocked them both back and forth, seeking comfort in the simple motion. "I should've locked the door. I've never forgotten before. Damnit, why didn't I lock the door?"

"It's not your fault," Edward choked out without hesitation. "Locked door or not it's…it's not your fault. I just…my father has never spoken to me like that before and Jack…God, Jack…"

Edward had lost his entire family in one conversation and there was nothing Thomas could say to make the situation any easier to bear, recalling how if had felt when his own father had physically turned him from the house after he'd been caught kissing another boy. In that instant no words would have helped to ease the pain of being cut off from those that should love you and support you unconditionally, that nothing could make him feel alright.

"…what are we going to do?" Edward asked softly, his body still shaking with violent sobs even as he fought to control them, his hands moving to wipe away his tears before they could fall. "We can't go back to London, not with the bombing as bad as it is."

No, they couldn't go back to London, not yet at any rate.

Their reasons for leaving in the first place were still painfully valid.

No, they needed to stay in the countryside for a little longer.

"We need to find somewhere to stay for a couple of days," Thomas reasoned. "We need time to find somewhere suitable to stay, be that here in Hastings or somewhere else."

"You're right," Edward sighed. "But where? And how would we explain what's happened?"

"I'd say Sam would be our best bet but she's in rented herself and I doubt her landlady would approve of two men coming to stay with her," Thomas chuckled sadly, Edward murmuring in agreement. "Christopher might take us in, or maybe even Paul. They both have the space and I'm sure they'd be sympathetic to our plight…depending on what we come up with as the reason behind your parents turning us out."

"I don't think they'd react badly if they knew the truth…"

"No, but I wouldn't want to put them into a position where their morals were at odds with their duty as policemen."

"So what should we say? About…"

Thomas thought for a long moment before settling on,

"We keep it simple; a family disagreement that couldn't be reconciled."

"Yes, that sounds plausible enough."

"We keep the details vague, say it's too painful to discuss or that we don't want to air other people's dirty laundry," Thomas continued, still absentmindedly rocking them both back and forth even though his lovers tears had diminished. He hated the idea of lying to their friends but it was their only choice, or rather it was the only choice they could see working out. "It might be worth writing to Sybil to see if we could stay at the Abbey for a little while..."

"No, I'd rather find somewhere we can rent just for the two of us," Edward interrupted him firmly. "After today I can't…I don't think I can go back to lying and pretending every day…"

"Alright," Thomas agreed softly. "We'll find somewhere to rent for ourselves."

"Perhaps we should have done that in the first place…"

"Perhaps," Thomas grunted. "No point thinking like that now, though."

"No, I don't suppose there is…"

Separating at last Thomas rose from the bed, pulling his clothes on as quickly as he could so that he could hurry across to slide the bolt home on the door, an action that could possibly have saved them had he remembered to do so before they had given into their lovemaking.

"I'll get your things packed up," he sighed, looking about the room with a critical eye. "There's no chance of me sleeping tonight, not now. Then I'll go and pack my things."

"No, I don't think I'll be able to sleep either," Edward sighed sadly, his expression filled with more pain and loss than Thomas ever wanted to see there. "Can I…can I help in some way?"

Thomas sensed, correctly, that his lover needed a distraction and endeavoured to give him one. Working together they packed up his things, returning everything they had brought to the suitcases which had been stored under Edward's bed for practicalities sake until there was only his Home Guard uniform and it's various accessories and additions to figure out.

"Could we perhaps wrap them up in a sheet?" Edward suggested. "I…I don't want to return to collect anything. I know my father said we could but…but I don't think I could take it…"

It was unorthodox but it worked, Thomas adding his own uniform to the bundle after he'd gone up to his own bedroom to pack up his things, bringing his suitcase down to Edward's bedroom and setting it beside his lovers. And then, with their things waiting to be removed in the morning the couple moved to sit in the window seat, curling together with Edward between Thomas's legs and his back resting heavily upon his lover's chest. It was a position the couple had favoured in their youth but had been forced to forgo on more than one occasion since their bodies had begun to protest the passage of time and they adopted it now, needing the additional comfort that it gave them as they waited for the sun to rise.

"…how does it look today, Thomas?"

"Cloudy," Thomas reported, turning his head to gaze out the window at the sun rising slowly behind the clouds he'd spoken of, creating a muffled sort of light. "Think it might rain."

"Appropriate," Edward sighed, tilting his head back onto his lovers shoulder. In response his lover tightened his arms around his waist, squeezing comfortingly. "I suppose it wouldn't be right for such a day as this promises to be to have fine weather. No, rain is more suitable..."

They were driven into town by Mr Wright before the rest of the family were even awake, the loyal servant barely sparing them more than a glance the entire way until he had no choice but to enquire,

"Where am I dropping you off, the train station?"

"The police station," Thomas corrected him, prompting a look of alarm from the butler come chauffer. "We aren't going to turn ourselves in, you idiot; we have friends there who might be willing to put us up for a night or two whilst we get ourselves sorted out. And, yes, you're more than welcome report that back to your employers when you return to them."

It was by pure chance that they were unloading their belongings from the back of the car in front of the police station when the familiar Wolseley pulled up behind the Courtenay's car, the front passenger door swinging open to allow Christopher to emerge, a concerned frown dropping into place on his previously expressionless face as he took in their belongings.

"Mr Courtenay, Mr Barrow," their friend greeted them, carefully closing the car door behind himself even as Sam all but tumbled out of the car on the other side, slamming her own door with significantly less care than Christopher had shown. "Is everything alright?"

"Family disagreement," Edward explained, mouth downturned. Mr Wright grumbled something under his breath and, without even a mockery of a farewell, returned to the vehicle and pulled away with a little too much power than was actually required. "I'm no longer welcome at home."

Sam let out a soft exclamation of shock, her eyes darting back and forth between their luggage and her friends tired faces.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Christopher murmured sincerely, his concerned frown only growing more pronounced as he took in Edward's haggard appearance. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"I'm in need of somewhere for us to stay for a couple of days whilst I search for somewhere suitable to rent for Thomas and myself," Edward explained, reaching out until he could rest his hand on Thomas' arm, the gesture innocent enough in appearance. In reality he needed the reassurance of his lover's presence, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, jacket and coat. "I hate to ask, Christopher, but might you have room for us?"

Thomas knew the moment he saw their friend wince what the answer would be.

"Under normal circumstances I would be more than happy for you to come and stay with me but I'm afraid I've already got my niece and her son staying with me," Christopher explained heavily, sincere in his apology. "James, her son, has been struggling since his school was hit during a raid. Most of his class, including his teacher, were killed whilst he and the other survivors were buried for almost an entire day. My niece is hopeful that some time away from the city and, most importantly the air raids will help him to recover."

"Oh, the poor thing," Edward murmured. It was impossible not to picture their honourary nieces and nephews in the boy's shoes; terrified, calling out for their parents, unable to move. Was it any wonder the boy was struggling? A grown man would have been traumatised by such a terrible experience let alone a child. "Please, don't give our situation a second thought; your family should come first. I'm sure we'll find somewhere to stay."

Sam bit her lip hard enough that Thomas feared she would draw blood before blurting out,

"I wish I could help but somehow I don't think my landlady would be all that keen if I invited two men to stay with me…"

"Probably not…"

"Speak with Sergeant Milner," Christopher suggested, indicating with a nod of his head that Thomas should look over his shoulder. He did so, finding the instantly recognisable figure of the tall police sergeant approaching them in his usual limping manner. Murmuring to his lover that the younger man was approaching the three men turned to face Paul, causing the Sergeant to pause with a frown. "He might be able to put you up for a little while."

"Is something wrong?" Paul called out as he approached them. "Sir?"

"Hello, Paul," Edward greeted him softly before launching into the amended explanation of the situation the couple now found themselves in throughout which Paul's brow furrowed to match Christopher's own frown. Explaining simply that Christopher already had guests he finished with a murmured, "…and so we're in need of somewhere to stay."

"Of course you can come and stay with me," Paul offered without hesitation the moment Edward had finished talking, smiling warmly at the two of them. "For as long as you need."

As one the couple sagged in relief.

"Thank you, Paul," Edward sighed. "Sincerely."

"I've only one spare room, I'm afraid," their young friend explained apologetically. "So one of you will have to sleep either on the settee or the floor, whichever is more comfortable."

"No need to apologise," Thomas chuckled. "I've slept in worse places."

A shell-hole in No-Mans-Land, for example, he thought to himself, recalling the awful night he had once spent at the mercy of the elements and the enemy after having been caught out by the setting sun whilst trying to bring a wounded man in. It had been so cold that night that he and Gooderson, his fellow stretcher bearer, had spent the night pressed up against their casualty in order to keep the three of them from freezing to death. The casualty had made it to the Casualty Clearing Station but no further, succumbing to his wounds before Thomas had even made it back to the front to collect the next poor soul.

"Why don't you take the morning, Milner? Get your guests settled in?"

"Thank you, sir," Paul murmured cheerfully before his expression turned serious. "Oh, and sir? I've managed to join a game tonight."

Thomas had no idea what he was talking about but judging by Christopher's expression it was important and, knowing the type of cases they seemed to get, probably dangerous.

"Where's that?"

"They're meeting at a warehouse."

"They?"

"No names yet," Paul reported. "They're a London-based gang."

Edward and Thomas flinched, their movements identical.

"They run games in the docks."

The couple had heard of the gangs that operated out of the docks from Tom who had, on multiple occasions, been sent down to cover stories to do with their illegal activities. What these gangs did to men who owed them money was too horrific to put into the papers…

"What games?"

"Dice," Paul answered, pulling a set of dice from his trouser pocket and offering them to his superior, allowing the older man to give them a quick examination before taking them back. "Crown and Anchor. Looks fair enough on the face of it but as soon as you start betting on doubles and triples, the odds are stacked against you."

"Need any help?"

"I don't think so, sir. I'll get some names and then I'll make the arrest."

What?

Thomas turned so that his good eye could get a clear look of Paul's nonchalant expression, his confidence about the situation clear. He wanted to speak up but Christopher was already responding with a soft,

"Right."

"And get the Assistant Commissioner off your back."

"Thank you," Christopher murmured, sharing an almost conspiratorial smirk with his young sergeant. Clearly there was something going on at the station that they, as civilians, were not permitted to know. "Right; best get yourselves underway before the weather turns."

"Yes, sir," Paul nodded, turning to Thomas and Edward. "Which cases shall I carry for you?"

It transpired that their young friend lived about fifteen minutes away from the police station, a walk that an able bodied man would have been able to do in less than ten.

The house itself was in the middle of a terrace, each house nearly identical but not quite, with Paul's boasting the original Victorian red-brick whilst the houses on either side had been re-plastered and whitewashed at some point. There was also a beautiful black and white mosaic door step, undoubtedly part of the original design of the house, which could definitely to with a good scrub. The front door was an emerald green colour, the paint chipping in a couple of places, and the lock was visibly stiff when Paul inserted his key.

"Here we are," he murmured when the lock finally behaved, allowing him to push open the door and lead the two of them into the narrow hallway. Directly ahead of them were the equally narrow stairs, the strip of carpet so worn that the pattern had completely vanished. "Living room in through there," Paul explained, nodding to the first door on the left before indicating the second as he headed up the stairs. "And that's the kitchen through there, bathroom too. It used to be an outdoor privy but I converted it before the war. It's got all the mod-cons; hot and cold running water, full sized bathtub, electric ceiling light, toilet…"

"That sounds wonderful, Paul," Edward murmured sincerely. One of the hardest things about returning to his childhood home had been going from their modern bathroom in London to the Victorian bathroom with various additions crammed into the small space. He held onto the back of Thomas's coat, trusting his lover to lead him up the unfamiliar stairs, making a mental note of which ones creaked and which ones didn't. It would help him later on when he was confident enough to make his way around the house alone. "Wonderful."

Upstairs Paul led them over to the first of the two doors set at right angles to each other, pushing it open to reveal a darkened room. Placing the suitcase he carried on the floor by the door their friend hurried across to pull the dark curtains back, filling the room with an abundance of light which had the unfortunate side effect of showing all the dust covering every single surface within the small bedroom.

"I apologise for the state of the room," Paul grimaced. "Normally when I have guests I air the room out first and give it a clean but…"

"You're doing us a favour," Thomas cut him off simply, placing the case he carried beside the first before retrieving the bundle Edward was carrying and placing it on the bed. "I'm perfectly capable of dealing with a little bit of dust and the odd cobweb."

He fully intended to give the room a thorough clean as soon as they were alone purely out of habit; it was Thomas's responsibility to maintain their place of residence wherever that was as he was the one that could actually see what he was doing out of the two of them.

"There might be enough room in here for a camp bed," Paul hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the large rag rug covering the bare floorboards between the room's single bed and the fireplace on the wall opposite, to the right of which sat a simple mahogany wardrobe and to the left a matching chest of drawers. Because the room itself was rectangular the space in the centre of the room was indeed large enough for a camp bed but Thomas had no intention of sleeping on one. "I could ask around at the station, see if someone has one."

"You're already doing so much for us by simply having us here, Paul," Edward countered softly, reaching out until he was able to pat the younger mans arm. "Don't trouble yourself."

"I've slept in much worse places than this," Thomas assured their friend. "And, worse comes to the worse I can top-and-tail with Edward for a couple of nights. It won't hurt us to share."

There would be no topping and tailing, Thomas promised himself, there would be snuggling.

"If you're sure…"

Careful not to seem too willing to share a bed the couple assured him that they'd be fine.

"There's a spare key somewhere," Paul offered, stepping out of the way so that Thomas could lead Edward into the room. He watched, obviously curious, as Thomas carefully showed his lover where everything was in the room, counting out the paces between the various bits of furniture. "I'll look it out later, unless you need to go out somewhere today?"

"No, there's nowhere we need to be," Edward reassured their friend as he practice finding the end of the bed from the door, counting out the paces. "We'll start making enquiries about somewhere to rent tomorrow. I don't know what's available at the moment but I'm sure we'll find something suitable enough to get us out of your hair…"

"Edward, I meant it when I said you could stay for as long as you need," Paul interrupted him sincerely, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck as he admitted, "To be honest I think I'll enjoy the company. After I got back I wanted nothing more than to be alone but then when my wife left I…well…and now that she's…"

They may have been long separated at the time of her death but it was clear that the loss of his wife was still far too raw for their friend.

As one the couple reached out to rest a hand on Paul's arm, Edward finding his upper arm while Thomas gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, which caused their friends breath to hitch.

"Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen," Paul all but ordered, clearly desperate to change the subject, backing up a step until he was stood just outside of the room. "We'll need to combine our ration books, of course, but that can wait until this evening. I've got enough to make a nice stew for the three of us this evening, plus some bread and butter."

"That sounds wonderful," Edward murmured sincerely. "Anything we can do to help?"

"…peel the potatoes?" Paul suggested. "But don't feel obligated to if you'd rather just rest."

"I think we can handle peeling some potatoes."

After reassuring Paul that there was nothing else he could do and urging him to go to work, "those criminals won't catch themselves, as you well know", and set about giving the room a quick clean before unpacking their things.

Their Home Guard uniforms alone took up one half of the wardrobe, the bulkiness of the fabric leaving them with only just enough space for their jackets and coats. Their shirts and trousers had to join their vest, underpants and socks in the chest of drawers, carefully folded so as not to create ungainly creases although Thomas feared it wouldn't be enough and he'd be ironing their shirts and trousers daily before they put them on. Their shoes he tucked under the bed in a neat row, Edwards to the left, his to the right, while their hats were placed on top of the wardrobe and their ties were laid out neatly on top of the chest of drawers alongside their cufflinks. He left a space for their watches and his prosthetics.

"Is there a good place to put the photographs?"

"The mantelpiece," Thomas confirmed, taking the three frames from his lover. Even though Edward couldn't see them he liked to have their family with them wherever they went so they had a copy of Sybil and Tom's wedding photo, an old photograph of the couple taken shortly after the twins have been born and a more recent one of the children. "There."

Once that was done he moved to sit beside his lover, grimacing as the springs let out a loud squeak in response to the added weight, and lowered his head to rest on Edward's shoulder.

For a long moment neither of them spoke, Edward reaching out to link his fingers with Thomas', and when the silence was finally broken it was not what Thomas was expecting.

"We're meant to be on patrol tonight," Edward gasped hollowly. "I…I don't think I can…"

"No, no I don't think I'm up for a patrol either," he sighed, tilting his head until his closed eyes were pressed against the warm skin of his lover's neck above his starched collar. In return Edward tilted his head to give him more access, his other hand moving to rest over the one he was holding, his thumb gently stroking across Thomas' knuckles. "I'm sure Paul wouldn't mind if we used his telephone to let Captain Taylor know what has happened."

So that was precisely what they did, telephoning the local school where their friendly Captain was the headmaster. He was giving the morning assembly when they called, or so the female teacher who answered the phone explained, and they chatted with her about nothing in particular until the assembly was over and they were able to speak with him.

He was very sympathetic to their cause, just as everyone else had been.

"Of course you can be excused from tonight's patrol," Captain Taylor agreed readily enough. "I can swap you out with a couple of the men who are down for tomorrow night's patrol."

From then on the conversation had devolved into the same nonsense pleasantries about nothing in particular as they had spoken of with the female teacher until the conversation had run dry at which point they'd said their goodbyes and hung up. The rest of their day passed in a strange sort of haze, neither of them really able to focus on anything at all.

They made sandwiches for lunch but discovered they had little to know appetite, only managing to eat them for fear of wasting their friend's food, and then spent a little while peeling the potatoes as they'd been asked to. Then, with nothing else to do Thomas retrieved the book they'd been reading together and, armed with a pot of tea, finished off the book as they waited for Paul to get home from work. It wasn't the best book, too predictable in their opinion, but it was better than nothing and he had the last three Agatha Christie books on order; 'N or M?', 'The Body in the Library' and 'Five Little Pigs.' It was the last of the three that the couple were most excited to read, the latest adventure of Hercule Poirot who was their favourite fictional detective, and they'd probably read that one first.

"I've missed having someone to come home to," Paul confessed when he finally arrived home. "And, yes, I know having friends to stay isn't the same as having a wife but still."

Dinner was simple, not unsurprising with rationing the way it was, but tasty nonetheless.

Their conversation, on the other hand, was not.

"So, Paul," Edward murmured as he carefully cut up one of the boiled potatoes on his plate. "Tell me, are you allowed to talk about these Londoners you're going after at the moment?"

"They're running an illegal gambling racket, tricking men into losing an entire week's wages on one throw of the dice," Paul explained carefully, obviously thinking about every word her was going to say before it passed through his lips. "I've been charged with gathering enough information and evidence to bring an end to their activities before they move their pitch."

"Isn't that dangerous? Those sorts of men are known to be violent…"

"I'll be fine," Paul reassured them. "I'm just gathering information tonight."

He was not fine.

Thomas and Edward were listening to the wireless when their friend stumbled in through the front door, battered and bruised, his eyebrow split and dripping blood down his face.

"Paul!" Thomas cried out in alarm, surging up from his seat to hurry across to his friend. Edward didn't know what was wrong, only that something was wrong. "What happened?"

"I got rumbled," the younger man sighed, holding himself still as Thomas took his hat and coat from him. "It would have been worse had a couple of boys not stepped in to help me."

Muttering about idiotically reckless young men Thomas all but dragged Paul over to sit in the chair he had previously been occupying, ordering him to stay there before hurrying up to collect the first aid kit from his Home Guard webbing. When he returned downstairs he found Edward lecturing Paul about going in without anyone to support him, his hands moving gently across the younger man's face so that he could "see" his injuries for himself.

"Did they get you anywhere other than your face?" Thomas all but demanded to know as he set about unpacking the things he needed, his prosthetic causing him only a couple of issues after so many years of practice accounting for it. "Paul? I need to know where they hit you."

"It was mostly my face although they did get a couple of hits in on my left side."

"Right," Thomas nodded, taking hold of his chin and turning his face so that the lamplight illuminated the bruise blossoming on his jawline. "How do your teeth feel? Any loose?"

"No, they feel fine," Paul reassured him, running his tongue around his mouth to check. "All present and correct. Honestly, Thomas, there's no need to fuss. I'll be fine in the morning."

"The fact that you're eyebrows still bleeding tells me otherwise," Thomas muttered, adjusting his attention to the wound in question. "Did a ring cause this or a brick wall?"

Resigning himself to his fate Paul sighed, confirming,

"It was the brick wall."

"That'll need cleaning out them," Thomas concluded firmly. "I'm going to get a bowl of water from the kitchen. I want your shirt off by the time I get back so I can check your side."

"Thomas, that's not nece…"

"Shirt. Off."

"It's best to just obey him when he's in medic mode," he heard Edward offer up as he stepped into the kitchen and searched for a suitable bowl to fill with cold water. "You should've seen what he was like when he was in charge of the convalescent hospital…"

"Thomas was in charge?"

"Yes, I was," he confirmed as he re-entered the living room, setting the bowl of water down. He was pleased to see that Paul had at least obeyed him, stripping off his jacket, vest, tie and shirt which just left him in his undershirt. "Undershirt off as well, please."

The bruises were significantly more pronounced on Paul's side than they were on his face; this was clearly where his attackers had focused their energy. Before Paul could protest he reached out and placed his hand over the bruises, applying a small amount of pressure to check on the state of his friends ribs, earning a pained hiss but thankfully nothing more.

"Well, you're lucky as nothing appears to be broken," he announced after repeating the move in a couple of places just to be on the safe side. "I'm going to make you up a compress which should help with the pain and the bruising. You'll need to wear it overnight and make sure you sleep on your others side. Now, let's get that eyebrow cleaned out and taped up."

Adding a couple drops of his precious iodine to the bowl of water to dilute it he then used a piece of cotton wall to remove anything that shouldn't be in the cut, such as brick dust and moss that grew on the outside of older buildings, both of which could lead to an infection. He gave Paul credit for the fact that he only flinched when the iodine first entered the cut; most people reacted significantly more dramatically to the stinging created by the iodine.

"Alright, now hold still for me," Thomas ordered once he was done cleaning and retrieved his roll of medical tape, cutting a couple of small strips. Crossing them over the centre of the wound he gently pulled on the skin surrounding it to make sure that it would hold. "There."

The compress took him a few minutes to prepare and a little longer to apply, carefully securing it in place with a bandage which couldn't be too tight or it would aggravate the injuries that he was trying to alleviate.

"When I offered you my spare room I didn't expect your first night under my roof to go quite like this," Paul chuckled apologised once Thomas had finished and began packing away his supplies, making a note of what he needed to replace in his notebook. "But, thank you."

If only that was the last time he would need to use his medical knowledge that week.

The following day Lydia, Christopher's goddaughter, disappeared whilst he was at work.

She left no note to explain where she'd gone.

What she did leave behind, however, was her son.

Even with the disappearance of his mother James said nothing, his trauma still too great, and so Christopher enlisted Sam to look after him whilst everything searched for Lydia. As members of the Home Guard the couple were involved in the search, instructed to keep an eye out for a slim, dark-haired woman with a London accent during their evening patrol on top of their regular duties. Sadly their search came to nothing and Lydia remained missing.

Sam's efforts to entertain James that first day had brought about nothing but deep sighs and haunted looks, leaving her feeling like a failure even as she planned out the next day.

"A picnic," she explained to Thomas after phoning to speak to him and Edward during their second evening staying with Paul, explaining her plans for the following day. "What little boy wouldn't enjoy a picnic in the woods? And I've made a cake, walnut, only slightly burnt around the edges, so that will be a nice treat for him, wont it?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Thomas agreed. "Nature is a balm for the soul."

"I'm glad you think so because I was wondering if you and Edward would like to join us…"

And so, before Thomas knew what had happened, he and Edward had been roped into venturing out into the woods with their innocent young friend and a traumatised boy.

"James, a picnic in the wood might be more fun if you would actually talk to us."

Sam was right.

Thus far the walk into the woods, with Thomas carefully guiding Edward across the uneven surface, the boy had remained completely silent in spite of their best efforts. He reminded Thomas of some of the young soldiers he'd seen pass through the various hospitals during the last war, the ones suffering from what had been referred to as shell shock at the time. They'd had the same haunted look in their eyes, the same lost looks and blank expressions.

His innocence had been stripped away from him when that bomb had struck the school.

"Let's see if we can find somewhere nice to sit."

"Watch your step," Thomas murmured to Edward. "There's a few exposed roots here."

"When I was your age, my father made me learn the name of every tree in the wood," Sam told them all, her attention focused primarily on James. His attention, however, for the first time since Sam had picked them up was focused entirely on Thomas or, more specifically, on Thomas's prosthetic limb which Edward was clutching hold of as Thomas's good hand was holding him onto the back of his jacket to help keep him steady. The little boys eyes were the clearest they'd been as he took in the smooth wood, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "That's a beech..." Sam continued before pausing. "…or is it a chestnut?"

"I lost it during the last war," Thomas announced suddenly, meeting the boys eyes when they suddenly flew up to his face. They were the most expressive Thomas had yet seen them. "A German dropped a whizzbang, that's what we called bombs back then, on me."

"Perhaps not the best subject of conversation, Thomas," Edward muttered, stumbling one a patch of slippery leaves after having made it through the exposed roots unscathed, Thomas just managing to stop him falling on his face. "Thank you. But, as I was saying, perhaps…"

"I saw it coming," Thomas continued, interrupting and ignoring his lover. "The bomb. A man literally leaned out of the side of an aeroplane, not the kind you see in the sky nowadays but one made of paper and string that didn't look sturdy enough to do anything much less fly."

"Shit! That's a Hun, that is!"

"We need to go. Now!"

"I'm trying!"

James was gazing up at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

He had found, possibly for the first time since the bombing, someone who truly understood what he had been through, someone who hadn't just experienced a bombing raid that came a bit too close for comfort but an actual bomb landing close enough to them to injure them.

His mouth worked as though he wanted to say something but nothing came out.

Sam, meanwhile, reached out to pat a tree as they passed it and said confidently,

"This over here, this one is an ash."

"I remember the explosion," Thomas offered up, glancing up towards the blue sky peeking through the tree branches above them before focusing his attention back on the ground. "But afterwards," he shook his head, hesitating briefly when he felt a small hand reach out to rest on the point where his flesh met the wood of the prosthetic through his clothes. He purposefully didn't draw any attention to the touch just in case it spooked James out of the progress he seemed to be making. "Nothing. There's nothing. I honestly have no idea how long I was knocked unconscious for. I don't even know what woke me. It could've been the pain, I suppose, or it could have been Peters calling out. He…he was the only other one to…"

"C-Corporal Barrow?"

"These definitely are beeches," Sam announced, rounding a tree in her search for the perfect spot for their picnic. "You can tell by the nuts, look. This looks good up ahead."

"C-C-Corporal?"

The memories from that day swirled around Thomas's mind as they followed Sam around the base of the large tree, heading for the flat clearing covered in leaves that she could see.

James, although still unable to speak, kept gazing up at Thomas.

"The others that were with us had been…"

"Jenkins? Davids?"

"I think they're dead...they're...they're in pieces...and the guy we were carrying hasn't...hasn't got a head..."

Whatever else Thomas would have shared with the poor boy temporarily in their care he would never know as at that moment something wholly unexpected occurred. They were just approaching the clearing, heading down a slight bank, when a young voice cried out,

"Watch out! There's–"

And then, inexplicably, the clearing in front of them was rocked with an explosion.

In front of him Sam was literally sent flying, her lithe body tumbling through the air before striking the ground and poor James was launched the highest out of them all due to being the lightest, moving as though an invisible giant had simply picked him up and thrown him.

Thomas and Edward, linked as they were, found themselves knocked together before being blasted sideways, the former landing on top of the latter who let out a shriek of pain as the hand which had been holding onto Thomas's prosthetic becoming trapped beneath them.

"Frank!"

Out of the corner of his eye Thomas spotted a pair of boys, not much older than James, springing up from behind a couple of tree stumps, their expressions wracked with guilt.

There was no doubt in his mind that they had something to do with the explosion.

"Run, Terry!"

Thomas tried to push himself up in order to get a better look at the boys before they could run away but was quickly overcome with dizziness, his head feeling as though it were filled with lead and cotton wool at the same time, and slumped back down to the ground.

Beside him Edward had pulled himself away from his lover as best he could, curling up on his side with his injured hand cradled against his chest, and a little further away Sam was groaning seemingly unaware that she was making any noise at all as she pressed her hands over her ears, no doubt suffering from the same painful ringing that Thomas himself was.

"Mrs Jukes?"

It took Thomas a moment to realise that the voice he heard was not from the retreating boys who had apparently set off an explosion in the woods but from the boy beside him.

James.

"Mrs Jukes?"

He was speaking or, more specifically, calling out desperately.

"James?" Sam gasped, still covering her ears with her hands. "Are you hurt?"

"Mrs Jukes?"

The poor boy was becoming hysterical, pushing himself up and twisting his head from side to side as he searched the woods for whoever this Mrs Jukes was. His hands were clutching at the ground, driving his fingers down into the dirt until they were completely obscured.

"Mrs Jukes!"

Sam finally pulled her hands away from her ears, literally crawling over to the poor boy and pulling him into her arms, holding him tight to her chest and rocking him back and forth. He kept calling out, his words devolving as he buried his face in her shoulder and began to sob.

Her hand cradled the back of the boy's head, her thumb moving back and forth soothingly.

"…what happened?"

"Something exploded," Thomas answered his lover, pushing himself up into a seated position and helping Edward to do the same beside him. "There were a couple of boys…"

"Frank and Terry," Edward murmured, hissing in pain as Thomas gently began to examine his injured wrist, checking to make sure it wasn't broken. "Were they targeting us?"

"I don't…I don't think so…" Thomas responded, genuinely unsure of what answer to give. It couldn't have been deliberate, he reasoned with himself as he carefully followed the bones of Edward's wrist with his fingertips, because if it was a deliberate attack which one of them was the target; Sam, a member of the Hastings constabulary by association, James, a young boy left traumatised by the war, Edward, a visually impaired gentleman from London and Thomas himself, his manservant in the eyes of the world. The only motive that made even the slightest sense would be if it had been Jack who orchestrated it but even then it was taking things a little far; Edward was no longer the slightest threat to his inheritance and attacking him in such a public way would only draw attention to the secret that the family couldn't bear to have discovered. "One of them tried to warn us, I think, but it was too late."

Edward grunted in obviously relieved agreement before enquiring softly,

"Is it broken?"

"I don't think so," Thomas answered. "The bones feel intact so I think it's just a nasty sprain. It's already beginning to bruise, which is normal, but we'll keep an eye on it just in case."

"Someone's coming," Edward announced suddenly, turning his head in the direction of the hurried footsteps he was able to hear a couple of moments before everyone else. "Hello?"

A heavily accented voice called out from a distance,

"What's going on? What was that explosion?"

"We don't know," Sam responded just as an old man stumbled into the clearing, a shotgun hanging over his arm, his flat cap pulled at a jaunty angle on top of his white hair. "We were only taking a walk, looking for somewhere to have our picnic, when it just…happened…"

"I've sent my grandson to telephone the police."

"Oh, thank goodness…"

It was Constable Monaghan, who had joined the RAF at the start of the war and served as a fighter pilot during the Battle of Britain until he was shot down. He'd broken both his legs in multiple places and had been invalided out of the RAF and, once he'd healed up, the young man had returned to his pre-war career with Hastings Constabulary. He still walked with a limp, significantly worse than Paul's, and had apparently gone from being a bit of a practical joker to someone who hardly ever smiled. With him was Constable Parker who should have retired in 1940 but had agreed to stay on for the duration of the war despite his arthritis.

They knew Sam well, both of them having worked alongside her during investigations, and had both been introduced to Thomas and Edward in the past and so were familiar with the couple. As such they were a little more open in regards to their concern for the "victims".

Questions were asked and answers were given to the best of their ability.

"Will you be alright getting home, Miss Stewart?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be fine," Sam reassured them, wrapping her arm even tighter around James shoulders to pull him even closer to her side. "I'm going to drive this little man back to Mr Foyle's and then I'll drop you two off at Sergeant Milner's and then I'm going to go home."

"Are you sure, Sam?" Edward enquired worriedly. "That's a lot to ask of you."

"I'm tougher than I look," Sam assured him with a tired smile. "All I need is a cup of tea and a hot bath using more water than I should do and I'll be tickety-boo, I promise."

Thomas had no doubt that she was stronger than she looked.

As they retraced their steps back to where they had left the car James was like a completely different person with every step he took, eventually pulling away from Sam and gravitating instead towards Thomas and asking him an endless stream of questions about the last war.

"James, I think Mr Barrow has answered enough questions for now…"

Scoffing as only an indignant child could James informed Sam,

"My name is Jimmy. Only my mum calls me James and I hate it."

He then turned his attention back to Thomas and asked, frowning,

"Do you want me to stop asking questions?"

"Perhaps just until we get you back to Mr Foyles," Thomas responded, relieved to spot the car not too far ahead of them. "The explosion has left me with a bit of a headache," he explained honestly, reaching up to rub at his temple. "We can continue our chat later."

"…okay," James, or rather Jimmy, sighed before surprising them all by adding, "Sorry."

"It's alright," Thomas reassured him. "You weren't to know."

They'd only been in the car for a couple of minutes before Jimmy, eyebrow arched thoughtfully, turned to offer Edward a hopeful smile before asking softly,

"…did you serve in the war, Mr Courtenay?"

Well, they had to give the boy credit.

He'd only been told not to ask Thomas any more questions; no one had said anything about Edward.

Chuckling at the boy's cleverness Edward nodded.

"Yes, I did," he confirmed. "Although I was in a different regiment to Mr Barrow."

"…how did you lose your sight?"

"Jimmy!" Sam inhaled whilst navigating the car around a corner. "You can't just ask…"

"It's alright, Sam," Edward hastened to reassure her, content to take over the duty of keeping the boy entertained for the time being as it distracted him from the pain of his wrist. "I don't mind answering. I was gassed at the Third Battle of Ypres."

"Oh," the boy mumbled, blinking in surprise. "...were you scared?"

Silence reigned for a long moment before Edward finally answered,

"Yes, I was. For a long time. And then, with time and support, I stopped being scared."

"…what was the last thing you ever saw?"

"…do you know what, Jimmy? You're the first person, apart from Mr Barrow that is, who's ever asked me that," Edward answered, genuinely surprised. Beside him Thomas shifted so as to discretely link their little fingers together on the seat, giving him support should he need it. "And the answer, I'm afraid to say is mud. Passchendaele, as the battle is officially known, is often also referred to at the 'Battle of the Mud' because of how bad it could get."

Jimmy was clearly displeased that his answer wasn't something more exciting.

His next question was about Edward's time in the army before he lost his sight, as were the other dozen or so that followed in the time it took them to reach Mr Foyle's house. Edward answered most of them completely honestly but there were a couple where the truth would have been too disturbing even for a teenage boy, particularly one so recently released from muteness brought on by trauma. Those questions were answered carefully and minimally.

Arriving at Christopher's house brought about a reprieve from the questions, Jimmy gladly disappearing up to the room he'd claimed as his own, and Thomas was about to go in search of their friends medicine cabinet when the front door opened to admit the man in question.

"Sam!"

His genuine concern for the young woman was reassuring to see.

"What happened?"

"A bomb," she responded shakily, the adrenaline definitely beginning to wear off as the shock settled in more firmly. "If you can believe it."

"Sit down," Christopher ordered her firmly, moving over to pour three large measures of whiskey as she obeyed, dropping down beside Edward on the small sofa. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, but Mr Courtenay injured his wrist."

Christopher paused, extending the second glass towards Edward.

"Edward? Do you require a doctor?"

"No, Thomas is more than capable of looking after me," Edward reassured him, the fingers of his uninjured hand curling around the glass and bringing it up so that he could sniff it. "Whiskey? Christopher, are you sure? There's none left in the shops."

"A gift from our American friends," Christopher reassured him, moving to collect the final glass which he handed to Thomas, earning him a silent toast of thanks before the former footman tossed back almost half of the measure in one go, wincing as it seemed to burn its way down his throat and into his stomach. "You're meant to sip it."

"I know," Thomas chuckled. "But I needed that to help with the shock."

"You didn't down it in one, did you, Thomas?" Edward gasped, scandalised. "You know…"

"No, I didn't down it in one…"

"I have to say, it was the last thing I was expecting," Sam announced suddenly after taking a sip of her own drink. "Do you realise it's the third time I've been blown up?"

Christopher grimaced even as he claimed lightly,

"I can't say I was counting."

"First of all, there was the pub," Sam reminded him, gesturing with her glass of whiskey, speaking of the incident that had both horrified and fascinated the couple when they'd heard about it from Christopher one evening whilst they'd been sharing a beer at the pub. What had made it even worse was the fact that it had been during Sam's first case as Mr Foyle's driver and, according to their friend, she hadn't even flinched. In fact she'd been treating the wounded patrons of the pub before Christopher could even suggest it. "And then Jerry dropped a bomb on my house."

Once again this story, when it had been relayed to them by Sam, had horrified them.

The other girl that lived with her had been killed and the only reason Sam had survived had been because she refused to get out of bed when her friend had urged her to, leaving her safe in her room when the bomb had hit and torn through the hallway where her friend had been. To make matters worse the firemen who's responded to the scene had then had the audacity to steal from Sam's landlady, a case that Christopher had ended up solving.

"And now this!"

She let out a borderline hysterical giggle before taking a sip of her drink.

"We were only going for a walk in the woods; it seems no where's safe these days."

Edward sighed, taking a large sip of his own drink whilst Thomas downed the rest of his.

She was right, of course; they should have been safe to walk in the wood.

And yet…

After a moment Christopher requested calmly,

"And you saw what?"

"Two youths," Sam answered. "They were both about eighteen, I'd say. Certainly no older. One was tall and had dark hair, the other I didn't get a good look at, and…"

"Their names were Frank and Terry," Edward interjected, turning his head towards Christopher when the detective hummed thoughtfully. "…this doesn't surprise you."

"Oh, it does, I assure you, in so much as it surprise that they tried to blow you up."

Sam frowned,

"Why do you say that?"

"They're the same men who helped Milner when he got into trouble the other night."

"Oh, well that's nice of them," Sam huffed, flopping back so suddenly that she caused Edward to jump, her hand instantly flying out to rest apologetically on his arm. "Rescue Milner and then try to kill us. Honestly, I wish they'd get their priorities sorted out…"

Thomas snorted, ducking his head to hide his smile.

"Quite," Christopher muttered. "Are the three of you going to be all right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sam reassured her employer, taking another sip her drink. "I feel tip-top."

"I wouldn't describe myself as tip-top just yet," Edward chuckled, turning his injured wrist over ever so carefully where it was resting on his thigh to draw their attention to it. To his horror Thomas noticed that the bruising had grown both in size and darkness, a couple of places appearing almost black. "But give me a couple of days and I'll be right as rain."

"Damnit," Thomas cursed, placing his empty glass on the nearby sideboard before moving across to crouch in front of Edward, gently lifting the injured wrist so that it ended up resting on his prosthetic which allowed him to carefully examine it with his good hand. He traced his fingers across the edge of the leather strip encircling his lover's wrist, pausing for a moment until Edward nodded before carefully removing the covering. Sam let out a mew of distress at the sight of the old scar on Edward's wrist, the scar standing out even more vividly than usual thanks to the bruising surrounding it. It hadn't been anywhere near that bad when they'd arrived at the house, Thomas mentally cursed. "That wrist needs a cold compress sooner rather than later given the way the bruising is becoming more pronounced and then we need to get it strapped up to stop you moving it. I'm sorry, I should have seen to this as soon as we arrived here."

"It's alright, Thomas…"

"Let me get you a damp towel," Christopher offered, hurrying into the kitchen and returning with a rather nice looking tea towel which had been run under the cold tap. Accepting the cool cloth Thomas carefully wrapped it around Edward's wrist, flinching when his lover let out an involuntary hiss of pain. "Edward, do you mind my asking when…?"

"I tried to kill myself not long after I lost my sight during the war," Edward answered candidly, shifting so as to reveal the identical strip of leather around his other wrist. "Thankfully Thomas discovered me before it was too late and saved my life. I couldn't envision a future where I could be happy or productive without my sight."

"I understand," Christopher murmured sympathetically. "I can't even imagine…"

"I'm glad," Edward sighed. "No one should be able to imagine making such a choice."

"Well I'm glad you're still here," Sam announced, moving to press herself more firmly against his side, her hand giving his arm a firm squeeze. "I'll just finish my drink, thank you for the whiskey by the way, sir, and then I'll run the two of you back to Mr Milner's."

"You'll do no such thing," Christopher insisted. "You're in no fit state to drive. I'll call Brookie to come and collect the car and run the three of you home in a little while. In the meantime I believe I have a couple of bandages somewhere so I'll search them out for you, Thomas."

"I don't suppose you happen to have any aspirin to hand, Christopher?"

"I might have some in my medicine cabinet. I'll check. Oh, and Sam?" Christopher turned to address his young driver. "Where's…?"

"He's upstairs," Sam answered dryly. "I think you'll find he's completely changed. In a way, it's a sort of a miracle. When the bomb went off, he started calling for a Mrs Jukes and hasn't stopped talking since. He all but interrogated Thomas and Edward on the way here."

Christopher hummed in understanding,

"Mary Jukes was a teacher who was killed."

"In a way, the explosion sort of unlocked everything. Did you find his mother?"

"I did."

"Where?"

Christopher was noticeably hesitant as he answered,

"She's somewhere safe."

Safe.

That was an interesting choice of word, as far as Thomas could see, as whilst the most common thought would be safe and well it was entirely possible to be safe and unwell.

Christopher excused himself then, making his way to the telephone in the hall to call Brookie, leaving Thomas, Edward and Sam to sit in silence as they finished their drinks.

Collecting Edward's glass, emptied quicker than Sam's who was still sipping at it ever so delicately, Thomas noticed that his lover's eyelids were beginning to droop and a quick glance at their young friend confirmed that Sam wasn't much better as the adrenaline began to drain from their system. He himself was feeling somewhat sluggish, his limbs growing heavier with every minute that passed and it felt as though the straps of his prosthetic had slipped as they seemed to be digging in significantly more than usual.

"Brookie will be here in a couple of minutes."

He was there in less than five, in fact, and Thomas would never know how the plucky sergeant got made it there as quickly as he did given how far away the station was.

"Miss Stewart!" the London born sergeant cried out upon being shown in. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, Brookie," she reassured him tiredly. "Thank you for coming to fetch us."

"Anytime, although personally I'd prefer it if you didn't get yourself almost blown up again."

Sam huffed out a laugh,

"I'll try not to, Brookie. Promise."

His obvious concern for her was rather endearing.

Edward was almost asleep on his feet as Thomas and Brookie gently helped him to stand, the youngest of the three taking most of his weight, and just about managed to murmur a thanks in Christopher's direction and apology to the young man helping him out to the car.

"All right then, sir," Sam mumbled tiredly as she moved to follow them out of the house, Christopher following her into the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow. And good luck with James."

She paused, smirking back over her shoulder at him as she added,

"Oh, I mean...Jimmy."

"Ah."

Brookie, it turned out, was a much more conscientious driver than Sam.

He took corners as slowly as he possibly could, thought about every move long before he made them and used the brakes ever so gently; in fact the ride was so smooth that by the time they arrived at Paul's house Edward had nodded off and Thomas wasn't far behind.

A gentle hand gave his shoulder a shake, the movement causing him to grumble.

"Sorry, Mr Barrow, but we're here."

Brookie sounded genuinely apologetic to be waking them even as he gave Edward's shoulder a gentle shake, startling the blind man awake with another quiet apology.

"You need any help getting inside?"

"No," Thomas answered quickly, his hands moving to soothe Edward's understandable panic at waking up so suddenly in an undeniably strange place. "We'll be fine from here, thanks."

"Yes, we'll be fine, Brookie," Edward offered up his own reassurance even as he pinched the bridge oh his nose in an effort to expel the last remnants of the unexpected nap he'd had. "I'd much prefer it if you focus your attention on getting Sam home safe and sound, okay?"

Using the key Paul had given them, the same key that had once belonged to his wife, they let themselves into the empty house and slowly made their way up to their bedroom where Thomas had Edward sit on the edge of the bed while he carefully treated his lover's wrist. He winced along with Edward as he wrapped a bandage around the badly bruised limb, his heart aching for the pain he was causing, and secured it as quickly as possible before using the kits triangular bandage to create a suitable sling in order to elevate the injured limb.

"How does that feel?"

"I won't lie to you, my love," Edward winced. "It's hurting more now than it did initially."

He glanced at the damp tea towel he'd draped over the metal frame at the foot of the bed after taking it from, silently promising to wash it and return it to Christopher at the earliest opportunity, and checked to see how much it had warmed up. Thankfully it was still pretty cold and so he carefully slipped it into the sling and rewrapped it around Edward's wrist.

"I'll ask Paul if he's got a hot water bottle we can put on it when he gets home from the station," he decided, adjusting the towel until he was satisfied with its position. "Then we can alternate between hot and cold compresses which should help ease some of the pain."

"Thank you…"

Without Edward's injury to focus on Thomas could no longer ignore the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, a feeling which had been growing steadily since the explosion had occurred.

A buzzing sound appeared in the back of his mind, growing louder and louder…

"Shit!"

He flinched as the voice of his long dead comrade drowned out the buzzing of the plane.

"That's a Hun, that is!"

The buzzing grew louder, louder, louder, until suddenly it stopped.

"…Thomas?"

A wall of heat slammed into him, or the memory of one did, and had he not already been sitting down he would have stumbled. Sparks of pain erupted all over his body, the worst being where the worst of injuries had been and he couldn't stop himself from crying out.

"Thomas!" Edward's worried voice barely penetrated through his memories. "What's…"

"We need to go," he growled, lost in the past as he clutched at Edward's arm. "Now!"

"Go?" Edward gasped, understandably confused. "Go where?"

Thomas flinched so violently that the bones in his neck let out an almighty crack.

"C-C-Corporal?"

In his mind he saw tears running down bloodstained cheeks…

Peters.

He was alive.

He was missing his legs and God, there was blood and bone everywhere, but he was alive.

But where were…

"Jenkins?"

Beside him Edward froze at the all too familiar name, his own memory supplying everything Thomas had told him over the years about the day he was injured whilst in No-Mans-Land.

"Davids?"

"Thomas, they're…"

"I think they're dead..." Peters voice, even though it was just in an all too vivid memory, easily drowned out that of his lover. "They're...they're in pieces..."

A hand moved up his arm, along the line of his neck and eventually cupped his jaw.

"Thomas, can you hear me?"

"…and the guy we were carrying hasn't...hasn't got a head..."

The metallic scent of blood mixed with the damp smell of mud filled his nostrils, causing him to rear back, gagging uncontrollably until the hand on his jaw brought him to a sudden stop.

"We need...t'get back...to our lines..."

"There are no lines," Edward hurried to reassure him. "We're in Paul's house, in Hastings, Thomas; you're not in France any more. You haven't been in France for twenty years…"

"How?" Peters sobbed in his memory. "My legs...my legs are g-g-gone..."

"I know..." Thomas responded, not to his lover but to the young boy he had once carried out of No-Mans-Land in spite of his own injuries. "I'll…I'll jus'ave to...to carry you...s'best I can..."

Edward flinched, not that Thomas noticed, and pulled their faces closer together.

"Thomas, please," he begged, their lips so close they brushed together as he spoke. "I need you to listen to me; you are not it France. You're here, with me. You're safe. We're safe."

"…Edward?" Thomas gasped, feeling his voice against his lips more than hearing it. "I…I…"

One or possibly both of them moaned desperately as their lips met, linking them together. The action, so familiar and filled with so much love, was enough to forcibly drag him from his memories and back into the present day. His hand grabbed hold of Edward's shirt at the waist, pulling it so tightly that he could feel the seam protesting whilst his prosthetic hand pressed down on Edward's thigh as he strained to press himself closer to his lover. Edward didn't seem to mind, equally as eager to bring their bodies closer together as they kissed as he could feel his partner returning to him with every breath they shared, with every caress of their tongues against one another. The Great War faded back into their memories where it belonged, taking with it the explosion they had suffered through earlier that afternoon.

Unfortunately the couple were so caught up in their passionate embrace that neither of them heard the front door open and shut, or did they hear the uneven footsteps climbing the stairs. No, it wasn't until they heard a loud gasp that they realised they weren't alone.

"Paul!" Edward cried out fearfully, pulling his lips away from Thomas's even as his lover turned to stare across that their young friend in horror, the colour draining as he swore,

"Shit!"

Paul swallowed, obviously composing himself before he spoke up somewhat hesitantly,

"You…you were…"

Thomas found himself grimacing, the last of the fog clearing from his mind as horror took over at the situation they now found themselves in. Their friend was, after all, a policeman.

"I wish I could say it's not what it looks like," he sighed, slowly reaching down to take Edward's hand, making a clear show of twining their trembling fingers together. "But…"

"…it's exactly what it looks like."

"Yes."

Thomas felt as though he were being stripped bare as Paul appraised them silently for a long moment, taking in the obvious familiarity of their reassuring touches to one another.

"May I ask how long you've been together?"

"Since 1917," Edward answered. "Although I've always know I was…different…"

"As have I," Thomas offered up quickly, hope blossoming in his chest when her saw an expression of admiration appear on their friends face. "You may as well know that our relationship is the reason we are no longer welcome to stay with Edward's family…"

"Yes, I assumed as much."

"I'm so sorry we've put you in this position…"

Paul interrupted Edward before he could finish his apology,

"No, please don't apologise to me, not for something that is out of your control."

"…but…the law…aren't you going to arrest us?"

"For loving one another?" Paul enquired, stepping into the room and moving to sit on the chair, taking away the psychological advantage his position had given him. Stretching his bad leg out in front of him he began to dig his fingers into the meat of his thigh. "No."

Neither of them could believe what they were hearing.

It wasn't his apparent acceptance of their relationship and, more importantly, their sexuality that surprised them. No, it was the fact that he seemed disinclined to arrest them for gross indecency, possibly even sodomy given their confession to him despite being known for his staunch ability to uphold the letter of the law no matter what his personal feelings were.

"We had a case, back before you came to Hastings, of a young woman who was found dead after being pushed down a flight of stairs," he explained softly, his expression twisted with sadness. "There was more to it, black market dealings and blackmail to name just two, but through the course of the investigation we learned that she was the girlfriend of a pilot."

Thomas frowned, wondering where this story was going.

"That pilot, who was a friend of Mr Foyle's son, was homosexual and was so afraid of his secret being exposed by his girlfriend who he had been attempting to leave that during an argument he pushed her down the stairs," Paul explained, Edward gasping in horror as he reached what seemed to be the climax only there was more to come. "He hadn't meant to kill her, or so he told Mr Foyle when he was confronted about the incident, but his fear of incarceration and the shame it would bring to his family led him to act without thinking."

"What happened to him?"

"There was a shout whilst Mr Foyle was bringing him in," Paul explained. "He promised to come quietly so long as we allowed him to help his friends one last time; he couldn't bear the thought of letting them down when they needed every pilot they had. This was back during the height of the Battle of Britain, you understand, so he was right about their need."

As one the couple hummed in understanding, remembering the daily reports run in the newspapers of the numbers of brave young men lost defending the skies above them.

"And he never came back. He was killed saving the life of Mr Foyle's son, Andrew."

Edward let out an involuntary mew of sympathy.

"There'd been some confusion earlier in the case about a photograph of Andrew that was found hidden inside the victims the diary like a secret keepsake from a forbidden love…"

"It was his, wasn't it?" Thomas asked knowingly. "The photograph. It belonged to Rex."

"Yes; he'd been in love with Andrew for years but had never said anything."

"That poor boy," Edward sighed, genuinely distressed. "…does Andrew know?"

"I don't know," was the soft answer. "But even if it hasn't been confirmed I think he already suspected something at the time of the investigation. Andrew is his father's son, after all."

"We haven't actually had the pleasure of meeting him although we've heard plenty about him, mostly from Sam who I believe was treated somewhat unfairly by the young rogue…"

"Yes, the less said about that the better," Paul chuckled softly before turning serious once more. "Before then I'd never come across a homosexual, to my knowledge at least, and he seemed so normal if sad, like an innocent rabbit caught in a snare. I ended up thinking about it quite a lot in the months that followed, about the law and its extreme punishment for what seems to be nothing more than a different way of expressing love." He paused, letting out a deep sigh before blurting out, "I looked into the church and its equally strong opinion regarding homosexuality and, well, to be honest that just left me with more questions than answers. My mother, who I believe to be a good Christian woman, has always said that love is one of the most important lessons you can learn from the bible; love and forgiveness."

Thomas could recall Flora's husband saying something similar to them when the truth of their relationship had been made known to him by accident, one of the children blurting it out without realising how much danger he could be putting his favourite uncles into. The vicar had been silent for a long moment, his eyes moving back and forth between Thomas and Edward who had been just as frozen in place as they were now, whilst his wife had babbled in her endearing way about how it didn't make any sense to punish people for falling in love. Charles had eventually held up his hand to silence her before launching into a snippet from a sermon he'd given a couple of weeks previously about love, reassuring them afterwards that he would never judge them or betray them because of their own love.

In comparison Sybil had simply announced that the church was wrong to denounce their kind of love just as the law was wrong to punish men and women for it, citing that if the Ancient Greeks, Romans and even Egyptians accepted it for what it was then why should they, a supposedly advanced civilisation, believe otherwise. Her husband, having been raised a Roman Catholic, had never spoken about the views his religion had about them,

"I'm hardly the shining example of a Roman Catholic, after all, so let's just…ignore it."

Neither Thomas or Edward wanted people to go against their religious beliefs for them, it wasn't fare to expect them to challenge such things, so when they did it anyway it filled them with a different kind of love, the deep love shared between loyal and true friendships.

Reaching out Paul placed his hand over their linked hands, squeezing gently as he said,

"Your secret will always be safe with me, I promise."

"Thank you, Paul."

"And you will always be welcome in my home. Always."

A/N I've been having real trouble with this chapter…until I switched to Jacks POV and then it just flowed. Didn't make the horrible man any more pleasant to write, of course, but the plot was finally back within my grasp. I hope you enjoyed it as it was hard work to get this chapter finished, possibly due to it being based in one of my least favourite episodes of Foyle's War. I also really struggled with writing Pauls reaction as I didn't want him to have 21st Century opinions but at the same time I just couldn't see him reacting in any other way, hence the unexpected conversations about religion at the end there. Hopefully I managed to get his reaction to be believable for the 1940's and that the opinions expressed didn't upset anyone. I've got the next six chapters planned out so…I was about to put that hopefully it won't take me so long to update but anyone who's been reading this story from the start knows that that is a complete lie. Instead I shall promised to update as soon as I can. Comment, Suggestions and nudges for me to keep writing welcome as always. Marblez