Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. And a big thank you to OhAine who talked me through a loooottt of the background of this piece. Enjoy!
PROLOGUE: A DIFFERENT EQUATION
Caen, France
The early hours of June 4th, 1944
"Mikey?"
The flash of a torch in his eyes. The sound of footsteps. Breaths taken and held. Held.
Shaky. Shaking.
The sky is dark dark above him, pinprick stars like iron nails and Will blinks. Frowns. Peers into the darkness. There's nothing. Nothing. And yet, he thought… He could have sworn…
"Mikey?" He whispers again.
His eyes never play tricks on him, he knows this- Just as he knows he just saw his brother.
Just as he knows that brother can't be here.
"What do you see?" His guide, Caro, moving in the dark. Her hand on his shoulder, mouth tight with worry. Her voice is hoarse from whispering. Her son and the other French boys are crowding beside her. Scared. Skittish. Their words are hot and worried and though he speaks the language fluently Will can't follow them. They're speaking too fast. So much noise, so much damn noise, and still he could have sworn- He thought he saw- Gooseflesh rising on his arms and he thought he saw-
You were wrong, he tells himself harshly.
A wry, private smile.
It does sometimes happen old chap, even to you.
"Rien," he answers in French, wanting to reassure both Caro and the other resistance fighters. Then in English- "Just a foolish Englishman jumping at shadows." A small smile for Caro, which causes her to roll her eyes. "Let's carry on."
"As you like, Will."
They don't have time for this, he reminds himself pointedly, turning his back on the night and sidling over to the jeep. Judging by the look on her face, Caro agrees. They don't have time for any of this. He has to get that damn radio working if they're to have a snowball's chance in Hell of making their way to Arromanches, so best he turn his attention to the job at hand. People are counting on him.
Mikey is counting on him.
"Lead on, Madame," he says with a smile, falling in behind the Frenchwoman and allowing her to get into the driver's side of the jeep. She looks suspicious but nods. Barks at one of her boys to fetch the radio and the boy complies. Will sets the device in his lap, mind focussed on the task at hand- what on Earth happened to the thing?- and as he does so their strange little band peel off into the night-
Stars above. Taut breathing all around.
Will tells himself he was mistaken.
A hundred miles away and counting lies the proof that he was not.