Elizabeth found Bea Rogers washing dishes in the kitchen, Mick sat on a small chair playing with his boat. She keenly felt the separation. The men were off to work, arranging the details of a dangerous mission while the women were tasked with domestic duties, care of home, child, and the dishes. In the Baker Street Offices, Elizabeth played an integral part of the workings even if she didn't always know the details of every mission. Here, she knew what was to happen, but played no role except that of voyeur.

Bea said that her maid had Fridays off, which explained why she was washing their breakfast items. Elizabeth helped to dry them while the two women attempted to find a topic of conversation; she was unsure what to share despite Mrs. Rogers being part of Special Ops. But as she had never visited Scotland or sailed before, the weather and her experience on the ship carried them through a cold luncheon until Mickie was put down for a nap. A house tour was suggested.

The house was lovely. On the ground floor, there was a huge family parlor with a fireplace so massive that Mrs. Rogers could stand up in it. Heat from it kept the cold winters at bay. Nestled between this room and the dining room was a small one that was used as a study. The drapes were pulled wide as the room faced west and captured whatever sun shone in; Scalloway's harbor was visible lying across a small bay called a 'voe.' The ruins of an ancient building were just visible as well as the buildings that made up the harbor.

Upstairs were four bedrooms. She knew about the one she shared with William, and Gene's was small. Elizabeth wondered why he hadn't been given a larger one, especially when Beatrice explained that Mick didn't occupy a bedroom.

"He's in the sewing room, next to us. We fitted it out as a nursery when we came here." The small space worked as a baby's room, and given rationing and Bea Roger's responsibilities; there wasn't much time to sew. Mickie slept sprawled in a cot, his limbs akimbo when they quietly peeked in.

The principal bedroom was large, but Elizabeth was surprised that two single beds were spaced next to each other with a small table in between. She didn't know this woman well enough to ask about their sleeping arrangements, but Beatrice noticed her gaze.

"John often works at night, and I sometimes still get up to see to Mickie. Separate beds work best, so we don't disturb one another." Elizabeth could only nod.

The last bedroom was charming and far larger than the one allotted to Gene Carter. While there was a bed in it, a radio set sat on a desk. A painted screen blocked it from view if anyone stood outside the window, but it explained how Colonel Rogers was kept apprised of information. Neither woman mentioned the device.

"When Mick is a little older, we'll place him here," Bea remarked.

"You don't know if you might need the nursery again," said Elizabeth. Her hostess froze as she was turning to lead them back downstairs.

"No. We take steps to make sure there won't be another child right now. We'll wait until the war is over to consider having another. Surely, you can understand?" This woman, both a mother and an operative, played so many roles, yet she pleaded for understanding and support from Elizabeth for her choices. Beatrice Rogers needed another woman's assurance.

"I do. Life is fragile now. We need to be clear about our choices." One side of her mouth came up in a half-smile that she hoped encouraged but didn't mock.

"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy," said Beatrice, placing a hand on her arm.

"Call me Elizabeth," she answered.

"You must call me Bea," said her hostess, whose arm dropped, though she smiled. They returned downstairs to sit in the parlor where they spoke of their families as the afternoon slowly passed. Beatrice had as many brothers as Elizabeth had sisters; there was enough to share.


Mid-afternoon, the men returned with Colonel Rogers hollering for tea. William and Gene filed in behind him removing their coats. Elizabeth could see all three men from her chair in the front room.

"What a scene, you yelling!" Beatrice exclaimed, walking down the last half-flight of stairs with a still-sleepy boy in her arms. "What if you woke your son?"

"Sorry, my dear. We'll be off at ten tonight and need to pack and prepare," said the Colonel. "Despite having been gone most of the day."

Beatrice hitched Mickie a little in her arms. "You're going to sail with them?"

"Talked to Captain Salen on the Hessa; he'll take them. The crew is always by volunteer, but I've never been turned down. Don't worry; the weather looks to be on our side for the trip over; it may be rougher coming back," he explained. "Tea?"

"Yes, dear," she murmured. Elizabeth stood and offered to help. She heard Colonel Rogers tell William and Eugene to wash now since they wouldn't see a wet flannel for at least a week. While William glanced at her, he and Gene Carter dutifully marched upstairs; she went into the kitchen.

Beatrice still held Mickie and swayed him in her arms; his head nestled on her chest. Elizabeth hadn't heard him speak much, though she had little experience with children.

"He isn't ready to be put down," said Bea.

"I'll make the tea," Elizabeth offered. She got the kettle boiling and put leaves in the pot while Beatrice rocked her son. She asked Bea why she didn't sit down.

"It's easier to rock on my feet," the mother answered as she swayed, almost as if she were dancing. Elizabeth hadn't considered the action 'dancing' before, but it must be instinctive, and we all learn to dance at a young age, she thought. By the time the tea was prepared, the boy had perked up and was ready to run off to find a toy. Beatrice set the pot on the dining room table before she considered what else to serve.

"I'm going to take William a cup and check to see if he needs help packing," said Elizabeth. Beatrice made an agreeable noise as she walked to the kitchen, and Elizabeth carefully walked up the stairs to their room, balancing the full cup. She briefly knocked, but then opened the door. After all, it was a shared room; they had shared one in Aberdeen.

The room was messier than before; his case lay open on the bed, and items lay in piles next to it. William wore his dressing gown and stood near the bathroom door; she guessed he was going to bathe.

"Gene is taking his time," he whispered. "I think he knows that I'm waiting." She closed the door quietly and brought him the cup.

"This should improve things," she said.

He took the cup from her hands but put it on a dresser, then turned back. A powerful pair of arms grabbed her; her own displayed the same strength as they reached around his waist. Their lips crushed together as passion flared between them, like the wick of a lamp turned up high with a brightness that instantly flared. His hands roamed all over her back and bottom. His dressing gown was thin—that was why he packed it—and barely covered the muscles and planes of his body that pressed against her, including his maleness.

Fingers worked at the buttons and clasp of her skirt, and it slipped to pool on the floor. He pushed her towards the bed with its jumble of items on the top and maneuvered her to the clear space near the head. He started to unbutton her blouse, but she stayed his hand.

"Hold on," she said, not wanting it to tear or be too wrinkled that Bea might notice. Elizabeth quickly undid enough buttons to pull it off and threw it on top of his items. William pulled the pillows off the bed while Elizabeth folded the bedclothes down, then she lay crosswise on top. Her slip was rucked up, and she tugged her knickers down her legs; he pulled them off entirely.

The dressing gown spilled off his shoulders, revealing his naked body illuminated in the afternoon light. Elizabeth could only stare. His body had been a feast of touch that night so long ago; this day it was entirely a visual sensation. Playing her part, she sat up—even as he reached for her—and pulled her slip off, unhooked her bra, and displayed her nakedness in complement to his.

Hearing his groan at the sight of her nude body gave her intense pleasure; William leaned down to touch and kiss her breasts. Then his hands were everywhere; they were a tangled heap of skin and limbs and lips fueled by love and desire and time. Not in the sense that there was but a few hours before he disappeared into the night, but that their time had come at last. They both knew that they would formalize their relationship when he returned no matter which path William chose. Their union was swift and intense; afterward, they lay panting crosswise on the bed while she cradled him against her chest.

"I will really have to bathe now," Elizabeth whispered in his ear.

"Hopefully, it's free now," he whispered back.

"I suppose I've been helping you pack," she said then. "And your tea is cold, I'm sure."

"Cold tea is worth drinking for such a treat," William murmured.


Beatrice Rogers didn't notice Elizabeth's extended absence. John was talking rapidly to his wife while eating from a full plate at the dining table. Gene joined them minutes later, his hair wet. Elizabeth merely poured herself a cup and filled a plate.

"Where's William?" Gene asked.

"He just finished packing and will bathe," she answered, sipping her tea to cover her embarrassment. William appeared presently, and the men ate heartily even though there were plans to have a late dinner before they got on board the ship.

Colonel Rogers explained to Elizabeth and Captain Carter that the trip over to Norway could be as short as two days or as long as five depending on the weather. Captain Salen expected an easier time getting across, but the return voyage couldn't yet be anticipated. They might be hampered because of their activities and the other Norwegian mission's actions might put the Germans on high-alert. They feared that the Luftwaffe might strafe the boat if it was seen.

Elizabeth ate little as she listened. It would be a long waiting period, not knowing what was happening to that small team.

"Will you be going?" she asked Colonel Rogers, unsure if he might sail over but stay on board, or merely take the Major and Captain to the harbor to see them off. His earlier message had been unclear.

"I will see that every possible detail I can provide to them is made clear," he responded, looking at her and making Elizabeth feel included. "But I promised Beatrice I wouldn't go adventuring. We've Michael to think of." He looked at his son, who had grown hungry and sat with them at the table, eating far more than she believed a small child could eat.

"I see. I appreciate all the support you've given, and opening up your home to us," she said to both her hosts.

"Speaking of which, I've another task." John Rogers nodded to the table, threw down his napkin, and walked out. She heard his feet in the passageway and then go up the stairs. Beatrice watched his retreat then began to gather dishes; Elizabeth jumped up to help, and the two moved them into the kitchen. Mickie was content to sit with William and Gene. She thought both eyed the little boy with curiosity. William likely considered what having a son would be like, but Eugene mentioned that he was the oldest and still had younger siblings at home. He probably envisioned Mick as a little brother.

After all that tea, Elizabeth needed to use the toilet. She excused herself to run upstairs, but in the hall, she paused. The door to the front bedroom was cracked open, and she could hear the sounds of the radio being used. The colonel must be receiving final information and instructions for the team.

She stepped into their room and used the bathroom first before eying the chamber that would be where she slept and waited and worried until William came back. He had tidied the sheets and pillows as well as finished packing the items that had been on the bed. His pack still lay open.

On impulse, she hunted in a drawer at a small desk and found both paper and pencil. The paper was even monogrammed 'Rose Cottage.' Elizabeth sat down to write a note then tucked it into his case before returning downstairs to help finish washing and to start cooking dinner.

Shadows lengthened. The group watched the sky darken as they sat in the large family space repeating information and incorporating the colonel's newest report from the Germans that 'all speed necessary should be taken' to get the prisoners to Bergen. They assumed that meant the hillier route with the ferry crossings. The only piece they didn't know was how many other prisoners might be transferred and the escort's size. Two men were a woefully small team, even if Special Operations had access to an abundance of weapons. They hoped that Norwegian resistance could swell their numbers.

After another meal, bags were gathered in the hall as final preparations were made. Again, Elizabeth's role was a voyeur as she watched the two men repack their items into worn duffel bags as if sailors about to deploy. Colonel Rogers brought them clothes to wear, holding up various pieces to see how they fit.

"Are they not to wear uniforms?" she asked. Soldiers not wearing uniforms weren't covered by the Geneva convention, though Hitler had issued an order to execute all commandos, even if in uniform.

"It's for the voyage if spotted on the ship," said the colonel.

She nodded, though Elizabeth wondered how she would survive the upcoming days of worry. Inside, she felt sick, but when William walked upstairs, she followed him. He jumped a little as he was removing off his trousers, but she shut the door quickly. His sailor clothes gave her a different perspective; he looked more Greek. He could play different roles, be a sailor, a diplomat, a soldier, a lover.

After he tugged a heavy canvas jacket on, he beckoned and engulfed her in his arms; his lips were on her neck with a ferocity she had never felt. It had nothing to do with the mission but everything to do with how he felt about her. Passion exploded between them as they kissed and caressed, the heat from their bodies, giving warmth to the room. Their ache was even greater than the lust that had fueled their afternoon display, but they were out of time. With a final kiss, their arms fell to their sides, and they looked at each other.

"Shall I come to the harbor?" Elizabeth asked.

"You may," William answered. "I'm not sure how interesting it will be."

"I want to come."

Beatrice stayed behind because Mick was asleep, but the men and equipment were loaded in the car, and they drove around the small bay to the harbor. Had there been a bridge between the house and the wharf, it would have been a matter of a quarter-mile, but it was over a mile to drive around the voe.

Unlike the ferry harbor in Lerwick, this area was quiet with few people around. A heaviness hung in the air as if it might rain. William and Gene unloaded their duffels and moved silently down a long dock towards the ship. It was smaller than Elizabeth imagined, probably forty feet in length, low to the waterline, with only a small cab barely visible over its railings. She couldn't imagine how the captain could see to steer as he stood inside and navigated.

Captain Salen stood on the dock, watching the proceedings, and answering questions after greeting the group. He shook hands with Elizabeth without questioning her presence. The final items were loaded, and they grouped around the gangplank.

"These are for you," said the colonel passing small bags to William and Gene, who pocketed them. "Good luck. Get your men." He shook hands with a firm grip and an elaborate shake before he then saluted, both men returned the salute. It wasn't a ceremony for her to participate in, so Elizabeth merely watched as they first boarded, followed by Captain Salen; the Norwegian crew were already on the ship. A board swung to close the gap in the railing, and sailors worked to untie the lines, but William sought her then.

He was stone-faced but stared at her, despite its being night and a moon hidden by clouds. She stood poised and watched the Hessa push off and disappear into the black of the harbor.

In the drive back to the cottage, she braved asking Colonel Rogers what he had given the two operatives.

"Cyanide capsules. In the case of capture, they won't have to suffer torture before they are shot," he answered succinctly.

"Best," was all Elizabeth could say. She managed to say goodnight inside and ran upstairs. Once in that large bedchamber, echoing with William's loss, she threw herself on the bed and wept.


A/N: In case it's not clear, the 'Shetland Bus' was a means of transport between the Shetland Islands and Norway during the war. It was composed of Norwegian sailors who had fled their homeland. Every mission was by choice. They took weapons and supplies to Norway and brought people back.

In the beginning, they fitted out old fishing vessels with weapons hidden under decks or in barrels mounted to the deck's floor. This was dangerous work, the North Sea is an unfriendly place, and add to it the Nazis in boats and airplanes, it was extraordinary that men volunteered. They did experience some horrible disasters, losing boats and all hands.

One of the 'skippers,' Leif Larsen, was one of the most decorated naval officers in WW2. Eventually, the United States would donate some higher caliber vessels for the 'bus' in late 1943 which made the crossing easier and faster.

On the CLOY front, utter silliness from the supporting cast, and I'm still dying. Shout out to writers who write such powerful and compelling women, every one, even the villainous ones.

In case you think I'm spending too much time on K-drama, it gives me a lot of ideas for my writing. Just like reading Japanese manga has since my kids introduced me 10 years ago. One of my stories, the Regency The Nunnery (pulled for publication, I'll see if I can set on sale) is inspired by the manga, Princess Jellyfish. Tsukimi, the jellyfish loving-girl who lives with a group of men-hating women, stumbles on an interesting rich man Kuranosuke.

I've got a new idea for a Regency P&P story that is a cross between it and Iron Chef in a way (honestly!). It's based on the manga Love is War. Instead of chapters, they're 'Rounds' and with every round, there's a winner or loser. Rounds include topics like having tea, awkward seating, eating lunch, overheard conversations, or teasing. I've not written a word yet, alas.