A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

64. Sweet Mother

Chapter 64: Sweet Mother

Katherine Maguire was a very talented woman.

A woman who could speak more than one language, placed into a country, and now a continent, where she was the enemy. There was much to her that was not known to those she was supposed to be close to, but her courage could be seen in various ways. Her whole life had been a struggle, or at least since leaving school where she'd performed admirably, but in the knowledge that there would be no true future for her afterwards other than menial work. A husband and a family of her own was the natural order of life that she was supposed to subscribe to, but that all changed when she fell pregnant, without the father of the child to support her. Luck found her very quickly, or perhaps it was damnation, entering the world of espionage as a young mother in order to remain a part of the world she lived in, and support her young son. She was still there for James throughout his childhood, often at the expense of herself when she would almost work herself into the ground during the time where she was not with him, just for the few hours a day that she would be.

She'd known that from the very moment she began working for the Intelligence Services, that it would be the way of life that she would have to live, though what choice she held was truly questionable at the time. Returning to Ireland as a single mother of a bastard child, with no income and shame hanging over her was out of the question, the family already suffering a loss in reputation in her absence. Word quickly spread of her escape to England at the time without the facts being fully established, an opinion that even her sister bought into over time, not that she knew any better. There were no ill feelings towards Deirdre on her part for the attitude she knew she would develop without being in her presence to confirm it, trusting her to keep a watchful eye on James when she'd sent him away ahead of her assignment in Germany. The point of the war which she'd reached that day was never one she'd envisaged.

Stood outside in the cold waiting to be called by Kurt or Hans, she'd waited for far too long. Although a coat was wrapped around her, it was incredibly cold that Sunday, to the point where even the more hardened Italian soldiers were complaining about the weather. When she'd made the suggestion the day before, freezing out in the cold weather was not part of the plan, but it was the sacrifice she had to make in order to find out more about the English prisoner that was in Kurt's care. After Taranto, she'd been informed of her son's death, hiding her grief somehow whilst her assignment continued in Germany at the time. When she was alone in the days following it, she cried fiercely for the loss she'd suffered but could not openly admit to. The young son left behind to fend mostly for himself was dead, without ever seeing him again to tell him how much she truly loved him. Heart-breaking was an understatement yet suffer on she had to.

Hearing from Kurt that there was a young English Pilot in his care, that he'd taken from the very same Italian city that her own son was supposedly killed over, piqued her interest immediately. Finding out quickly enough from London that there was something more to the story of the young man other than him simply being captured, the dream that it was James began. It was an unrealistic prospect when she'd been told in no uncertain terms that he was dead, heroically dying leading the charge against the Italian Fleet but the dream was always there. It made sense to her too, knowing just how important James' life was, and not just because she was his mother. To her, he would always be incredibly important because he was flesh and blood, but to the country, he was even more so. Not a single detail that the Nazi Doctor gave her was definitive proof that it was, and when presented with the excuse to find out on behalf of the country, she took it without hesitating. His acceptance of her request to see James benefitted her personally… not just when it came to the future of those that she served.

Following Hans down to the room where the prisoner was held, before she truly knew that it was her son, Kathy's mind focused on what she would do if it was him or even if it was not. The second of the two scenarios was the far easier one to act upon; though disappointed, she would still submit the findings to London for them to be able to finalise their plans on rescuing the otherwise important Pilot. All the while, Hans whispered warnings to her that she might not enjoy what she saw, which was concerning if not completely unsurprising. After the argument back at the house in Rome that morning which was still not completely resolved between the young couple, she no longer expected anything less than something terrible. She wouldn't be attempting to convince Elsa that James was a liar either, prepared to inform the young blonde of everything that she'd truly saw if at the same time telling her to do nothing about it. Elsa's heart was in the right place, but it was not the time to raise objections, especially knowing, and feeling, Kurt's anger.

The Lieutenant continued to refer to her as Lyla all the way to the room, a name which she'd grown accustomed too, even if it was not her own. Lyla Walsh was a woman that she did not know whatsoever in reality, though she did know of her a little. Another Irishwoman was required to be able to play the role that she needed to, her own name having been associated with men who the Doctor might have known. Although it was her first assignment in Germany, it was not her first assignment with a German, the risk of her name being too well known was not one that they could take. Why they'd chosen the woman in particular, she did not know and would never know as far as her overseers in London were concerned. She was not required to know the reasons for the woman that was chosen, only certain elements of her character. Some of those details were changed anyway, on the off chance that there was a spy within Derry who might tell Lyla's actual husband what was going on, and she knew enough to know that he did not know what his wife's name was being used for. The spy had manifested themself eventually, but as far as Kathy was aware, Lyla's identity nor her own, were in the possession of Kurt.

With the door to the boiling hot room in sight, she removed her jacket, leaving it on a hook outside upon the advice of Hans. The heat was far too much to be completely natural, correctly thinking to herself that they must have been in some sort of underground forge. A fireplace could not emit such heat either, she knew, which meant it almost certainly had to be industrial to some degree. Allowing herself a moment whilst Hans' back was turned, she breathed out a breath of both hope and fear, uncertainties creeping over the Irishwoman. Knowing that the sight in the next room could potentially break her heart, she did not know if despite her skills as an actress, she would be able to cope. If the opportunity to break out into stage work would have been available before she fell pregnant with James, then she would have taken it without hesitation, but it was not so easy for a young woman from a fairly poor family in Derry. There was no simple route into acting, but she'd proven throughout her career in the Intelligence Services, that she was capable. One assignment did come with the additional bonus of being able to take to the stage, though it was not under her real name and the French Diplomat who'd been supportive of her doing so, disappeared without trace soon after thanks to her work. He was a horrible man though…

Entering the boiling room, her eyes were drawn to Kurt at first out of the fear of finding out what her heart wanted to be true but did not want to see. She'd seen his eyes like that on the night that he'd raped her, when she'd put aside her dignity as another cost of having to serve Britain. Being assaulted was nothing new to her in her line of work, having to fight her way out on a number of times, but never had the assault been sexual and never had she allowed it to happen without a proper defence of herself. Knowing that any attempts to fight back against the evil Nazi that night risked everything that she'd worked for and created, Kathy suffered through the ordeal. The long-suffering life she endured sank to a new low that night, one which was acceptable to those back in London but had scarred her forever. The man responsible for the stain on her honour was stood before her with what looked like a cattle prod in his hands, engaging her in conversation straight away before she even had the chance to look to the shadow of the hanging body out of the corner of her eye. Against the backdrop of a Blacksmith's forge, another low of her life started to play out.

"Lyla! I am sorry for leaving you out there for so long!" Kurt exclaimed merrily. "We… we had some things to discuss before we could bring you down here".

"It does not matter". She replied quickly, without looking to her right, instead staring directly at him. "I am already warm here".

"Yes, you should be. The forge over there could keep you warm all night if it was necessary too".

"Hopefully we will not here that long".

"Quite right, my dear Lyla".

Conversing in German, it was amicable enough for nothing more to be thought of it. However, beneath his otherwise calm exterior, it was clear to her that Kurt was furious. He'd mentioned about how frustrating the prisoner could be at times when he tried to question the man, who according to the Doctor would offer such stern resistance that it was pointless to have any extended period of questioning with him. That information wasn't enough to tell her that it was her son that was causing her supposed lover such anger, but when she'd formed the idea that it could be James, then she knew exactly where he'd gotten the stubbornness from. Teaching him a lot of things when he was younger, most importantly how to be a gentleman, the same stubborn attitude that ran in the family must have passed on down genetically.

"Hans, make sure he is awake".

She'd kept her eyes fixed upon Kurt, which he hadn't questioned, even after he'd ordered the Lieutenant to check on James. Fresh from being put through the intense pain of being burned with the molten steel rod repeatedly by Hans, it was entirely possible that James could have passed out after Kurt finished speaking with him upon announcing her arrival. The human body could take a lot of punishment depending upon the pain threshold and characteristics of the person who it belonged to, James having proven to be able to withstand far more than most. Physically he was an incredible specimen of muscle but mentally he was a force of incredible strength of will, that could only be broken by the acts he was unwittingly responsible of ordering, to be able to ensure the safety of the only woman he loved as much, if not more, than his mother.

"I… 'm… 'wake…".

Croaking out the words, James could barely open his eyes thanks to his body redirecting all of his efforts to the wounds that he'd received courtesy of Hans. When they did flicker, his head was bowed down to a spot on the hard ground rather than in front of him, where he would have found not only Kurt's face but the face of his loving mother too. She was not on his mind at all as he hung from the bar on the ceiling, Erin not being on it too much either, just the basic will to be able to survive and not give in any further to Kurt trying to gain control of his mind. He'd seen the stubbornness of his mother throughout the years growing up, and it was that same stoic ability that he was showing in front of the very same woman, not that he knew he was doing it. Her parental capability was shown to be validated, in a setting that should never have played host to such a test.

Having spoken so quietly, his words went unheard by Kurt and Kathy, but Hans was close enough to able to hear what he'd said, though he didn't understand. Noise was enough to tell him that the Englishman was awake, a fact that was quickly conveyed to the other two members of the room, one of whom still did not look over to the prisoner. Finally picking up on her inability to turn her head to the side, Kurt falsely deduced that she was waiting to be introduced properly to the prisoner. Thinking it to be very peculiar when she apparently hated all things British, the Doctor expected her to make eye contact immediately and spit at James, not wait to be formally introduced to him. She was a lady though, a fine, fair lady who deemed it essential to be seen as one even by her enemy, or perhaps especially by the enemy.

"My dear, this is the man who has been causing us so much trouble…". Placing a hand on her left shoulder, Kurt gently pulled her round to face James. "… Captain James Maguire, 815 Naval Air Squadron, Fleet Air Arm… he likes everyone to know that".

Her son.

When Kathy's eyes finally did settle upon the figure in front of her, his name rang out like a rusty old church bell when it dropped from Kurt's lips. Her big handsome boy in front of her, chained up like a wild animal that required taming in order for it to behave. In his consistent defiance against Kurt's torture he'd developed a lion-like nature but he was still her boy, the child she'd brought into a world that was becoming ever crueller by the day. When she'd lay alone, barring one midwife, giving birth to him, the thought that they'd find themselves in the situation that they were in at that moment was one that was so far from any of the others, it was quite ridiculous. The world was at war though, a war that brought about strange changes of circumstances when they were not expected whatsoever. That was where they found themselves, underground in the Blacksmith's room at an Italian compound, the son being tortured while the mother viewed him without being able to do anything.

She was proud of the man that he was though, piecing together everything that Kurt had told her about him with a lifetime of her own knowledge. His strength of character was beyond what she'd ever taught him, the time in Ireland clearly benefitting him far more than she could have ever thought it would. Deirdre's influence on him was apparent when she thought more closely in the few seconds that followed Kurt announcing his name to her, the tempered fire of a strong woman being converted into a weapon for the calm, young gentleman to wield when he needed to. Loyalty to his country was clearly in abundance too, Kurt having bemoaned the young man's frequent demonstrations of his allegiance to Britain and to the importance he claimed he did not know of. Kathy herself had always kept that knowledge from her son, believing him to be safer not knowing it rather than having the details, but gazing upon his bare chest that heaved every breath, she began to doubt the decision in her head. The price of him not knowing the secret she'd withheld was much graver than she realised. Kurt wasn't just hurting her boy to get the answers out of him, he was fully torturing him.

"James, I would like you to meet my partner, Lyla…". Kurt spoke in German to him. "… Lyla Walsh. You might have heard of her before?"

Lyla Walsh… it was a name that he knew. His mind barely held the capacity to think, but when it entered into his consciousness, James remembered it immediately. Her husband was one of the managers at Erin's workplace, the factory, and he'd remembered being told her story by the girls one day when he happened to be at the Quinn house and they were all there. Fending off constant verbal assaults from his cousin, he'd heard most of the story from Erin and Clare, with Orla offering little to it because her focus was taken with something else. Michelle only interjected with salacious content to add to the story, which was nothing out of the ordinary for her he'd learnt at the time. To tell Kurt that he knew of her was not something that he was willing to do, as well as fearing his bodily strength enough to be cautious of trying to look her in the eye. Under enough pressure as it was, he did not dare risk pushing it over its admittedly impressive limit.

All Kathy could think about as she looked at him, was how well he'd kept the body. She was always in good shape herself, her beauty having never left her from her teenage years when she was sought after by almost every man in Derry. Her boy's looks were just as impressive she knew, but she'd never quite seen him as muscular as he looked before her in the chains. That was with his limited diet too, that did not allow for significant muscle gain, though he could gain thanks to his exercise routine in confinement instead. The young women of Derry must have thought of him highly, she thought to herself, unaware that one woman in particular had fallen so thoroughly for him before the war that the affection of any other would pale in comparison.

"G-g… good d-day to you… ma'… ma'am…".

Kathy would have given anything for him to have addressed her as mum but addressing her as ma'am would have to do. He'd spoken to her in German too, a language which she'd taught him herself from a young age. Learning it herself during her early days of work for the Intelligence Services, when she'd acted as the mistress to a member of the German Ambassador's staff, the length of the assignment meant she'd needed to learn, partly from that very man. Wary of German intentions even in the early years after the end of the Great War, she was the link that enabled the British Government to understand what was happening in the country, without having to rely upon an agent based there. After the assignment was over she'd decided to bestow the knowledge upon her son so that he would be able to have a significant asset later in his life. Both were quick learners, James at a tender age having quickly picked upon a language that a lot of adults struggled with. A decision made years earlier was proving to be validated though, giving her son a weapon to fight with that would have blindsided the Doctor when he revealed it. It had done, not that Kurt would ever know who taught his prisoner to speak the language.

"Come on James, you can give her a better answer than that!" Kurt shouted, before she could say anything.

Nodding to Hans, the Lieutenant's fist found the ribs of the young Captain, who whimpered in pain as the strike landed right on one of the spots where Hans had previously applied the steel rod. A lesser man would have screamed in pain from the heavy strike, but James was not going to give them the satisfaction of showing just how much he was aching. Burying her own feelings deep down, Kathy could have screamed for her son as he was beaten, especially when she was only just a few feet away but could do nothing to stop his suffering. Helplessness was not a feeling that she enjoyed entertaining.

As he fought against the pain in his body, still delirious from it, James took a quick glance at the two people stood in front of him, before he lost focus again and his head was bowed. Kathy caught his eyes at that moment, hoping for perhaps a spark of recognition in his eyes towards her whilst also hoping that he did not blurt out who she really was. If he was to reveal their connection whilst both Kurt and Hans were in the room, neither of them would live to see the following day. Thankfully, though slightly disappointingly, his eyes showed nothing at all when they met, their identities safe from Kurt at the very least.

"James likes to think that he is better than the rest of us, Lyla…". Kurt explained to her, whilst she fought to control her anger. "… likes to believe like the rest of the British, that he is above the laws of the world".

Unable to reply because of the agony that he faced, James coughed instead. Promisingly for his own health there was no blood that came out when he did, but the exposed wounds on his back and sides were taking their toll. Needing to be cut down from where he was tied, to have his wounds seen to properly before infection set in, he tried to focus his mind on better times, rather than on Kurt. When the Nazi was in control like he was stood in front of him with the young man's own mother at the time though, there was little chance that he would be able to. Hans being ready to strike him from where he was stood behind him, did not help either.

"Sadly, James also likes to kill the innocent and blame me and Hans for such an atrocity… he has no honour".

"That is… quite shocking". Kathy replied, swallowing her anger.

"It is my dear and I am sorry that you have to hear this but Hans and I… we have been falsely accused and Elsa has gravely misunderstood what has been said. She is an innocent young woman… I… I can sympathise with why she would believe him, but he is just another British liar. You know what they are like, don't you?"

There were Brits that were liars, dishonest men and women that she despised regardless of the nation that they belonged to. Her son did not belong to that group of people. If there was ever any doubt in her mind that whatever atrocity had occurred was not of Kurt's making, then it was completely washed away when he blamed James. She might not have seen him for nearly three years, but Kathy Maguire knew that her son would never willingly murder anyone. Killing when it came as part of the territory as a pilot, he would do because it was his job, something which she respected, knowing he would never abuse such a position of power. Kurt trying to convince her otherwise was foolish on his part, but it was information he would never receive. Playing along, the Doctor was allowed to continue.

"He has shown great strength though, Lyla, it had to be said…". Kurt continued, but began to pace around the stricken James. "… his defiance against me was… impressive. But he has a weakness…".

"Other than being British". She sneered, trying to humour him.

"Ha! My dear, that is most amusing but I am being serious. He is in love with a young woman, that is his weakness. As smart as he might be, he was stupid enough to love her".

Coughing again, James was hurting, suffering terribly yet could not find it within himself not to challenge Kurt on his view. He was not going to allow such a comment to stand, saving his mother from having to say exactly what he did a second later, the two thinking in synchronisation.

"Love… 's nev…rrr… stupid".

"SHUT UP JAMES!" Kurt roared. "Hans!"

Ordering his Lieutenant, there was once more no need for the order to be given in detail. Hans knew exactly what he would be doing, walking around in front of the woman he knew as Lyla, to demonstrate what they did with the young man when he stepped out of line. She'd tried to treat Hans like a son in many ways, the blonde-haired young officer filling the void in her life when her work took her away from James. Powerless again, she could only watch as the Lieutenant hurled punch after punch at her son's body from just a couple of feet away in front of her, striking his ribs repeatedly to elicit whimpers and moans, especially when burns and bruises were struck. Only a man in peak physical condition such as James could withstand such a horrific beating, pride swelling in her heart at how he coped. Pride was the only emotion that she could fight her upset with though, the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes temporarily, but luckily when Kurt was not watching her. He was far too drawn to the pain that his prisoner was being put under.

Eventually, Hans ceased when Kurt shot him a look from opposite, behind James, the two quickly swapping places once more so that the older man was stood next to the Irishwoman.

"You see Lyla, he brings pain upon himself but deserved because of what he has done to some many innocent people".

"Yes… I see". A hesitant reply was given.

Noting her hesitation, Kurt placed her hand in his, squeezing it tightly so that she looked up into his eyes to be able to watch what he had to say. For a moment her guard had been down whilst recovering from the horror that was watching her son being beaten when he was a completely innocent young man.

"I know it is unpleasant my dear… I know that he is unpleasant". Kurt snarled, tilting his head in James' direction. "But that is Britain for you, is it not?"

"Yes". Kathy replied quickly. "The British are very unpleasant".

"Exactly! Which is why we cannot allow them to have such a man back to strengthen them".

With acting skills being required again, though not too unnaturally, Kathy could only frown at the comment that Kurt made. Although it was obvious that for him, keeping James as a prisoner was the far better choice, the way in which he said it made it odd. Britain being able to just have a prisoner back was hardly something that would happen, but the Doctor appeared to imply that there was more to it than that. Another reason why it was better that he stayed in his hands and was not transferred elsewhere. Unable to decipher what he meant, she played the naïve card of the faithful woman to the Nazi.

"I am sorry Kurt but… what do you mean?" She enquired softly to enhance the level of naivety on show.

"James can be useful my dear". Kurt smiled as he dropped her hand. "He belongs to us now and we must make sure that our ownership of him is displayed. Come".

Beckoning her to follow him, Kathy's legs did not respond for half a second out of fear of what she might be getting herself and her son into. The extent of Kurt's brutality towards her son was already known to her but if she was to become involved in furthering the sickening torture that he was placed under, she did not know if her heart could take it. The son that she'd nurtured against a world that would have shunned him in other circumstances, he was the greatest achievement of her life which was filled with plentiful success to accompany the many failures that were found along the way. Hurting him, in any way, was too much. Kurt Van Der Heijden was the man in front of her though, along with a belligerent Hans Hartmann, which made the prospect of such an act far more likely.

As Kurt manoeuvred around James' body, the young man was able to steal another glance their way, looking to the woman he'd been introduced to as Lyla. If she didn't think she'd dreamt it, she could have sworn that upon a second viewing of her, James recognised her. With the danger that lie in Kurt or Hans noticing their looks, she did not dwell upon him or what she'd seen for long, re-focusing on the Doctor but with the hope in her heart that her big handsome boy knew that it was her there. Not that she was able to keep him safe nor do anything to improve the situation that he found himself in during the ever-darkening Sunday night.

Taking his gloves off as he moved, Kurt came to a stop to hand them over to her, prompting another look of curiosity from the Irishwoman. She'd moved slowly behind him, coming to a stop just behind his shoulders but in full view of the forge that burnt brightly in front of her. Embers flickered away, reflected in her pupils, representing the fiery hell that she being presented with there. Her son was hanging behind her, tied to a metal bar that protruded from the ceiling, his legs and hands tied to separate poles on either side of him. Her own life choices led Kathy to the dingy yet smouldering conditions at the compound just outside of Rome that night, whereby another choice was about to be thrust upon her.

"Take them Lyla, I want you to have this honour".

She couldn't. She couldn't do what he was asking, the demonic responsibility of such a heinous task could not fall upon her aging conscience. That was what it told her in the brief few moments following the words that came from the Nazi's mouth, struggling to comprehend that any man would want to do such a thing. She could see the Swastika pattern at the end of the rod, that was already showing signs of where it had previously been dipped into the fire. To brand her own son as a Nazi was an act that even the finest actress in service to Britain could not pull of convincingly… but what choice did she have? She spoke the words to herself, a question of her conscience as well as the wider concern that was the course of the war. Whatever her decision was, the choice that she made was going to be pivotal to the lives of millions. Being aware of such responsibility was almost as soul destroying as having to commit the physical act.

"Kurt… I… I…".

"Lyla…". He turned, his eyes holding the same warmth as the fire but also the same danger. "… we cannot always do the nice thing in war, but we do what we must in order to do the right thing. This is the right thing to do, so please… do it".

The poisonous tongue of the viper before her was one which she was immune to, able to see through his lies easily. Kurt was a despicable man that she wanted to be rid of as soon as it was possible, but she would be with him until those in London deemed it the time for her to detach herself. With the war preventing them from getting to her it was unlikely that the time would come quickly, nowhere near quick enough to stop the situation she faced herself in developing. She was being asked to tarnish her son's skin and their reputation as a family by making him into a Nazi, Kurt's very own Nazi that he wished to model. The innocence of James Maguire was long lost to the ravages of war, but his heart remained golden in the eyes of his mother whereas her own was muddying itself. There was no choice if truth were to be told, truth which she was telling herself in her own head whilst she looked into the fire, avoiding Kurt's stare.

For the good of the millions of people in Europe and across the world that would have their futures threatened if she were to expose who she really was, her duty would have to be done. The bounds of her assignment never covered how to proceed when forced to torture one's own son when the lives of so many were at stake if she failed to do so. To save not only them, but almost certainly James' life for the foreseeable future, her own conscience would have to be violated, broken for the greater good so that dire consequences would not be faced. Temporarily halting one monster, she would create another out of her very own child. For a woman who unlike her son, still believed in the concept of a higher being and religion, her ticket to the planes of Satan's oblivion were irrevocably sealed.

Nodding lightly to the Nazi Doctor, ignoring his nightmare-inducing grin as she did, Kathy dipped the rod into the fire to burn the end with the Swastika on. Watching her closely from the side, Hans did not know what to make of what he saw, as unlike Kurt, he noticed the withheld emotion in her eyes. Even though it was his mentor that counted the Irishwoman as his lover, the young Lieutenant was far more emotionally connected to her. A heartless man would have thought to question such upset, but he was suffering from his own battles of the heart that he did hold, unlike Kurt whose blood flowed seamlessly without one. Although he may have been happy to apply the molten steel to the English prisoner's back himself, somehow Lyla being the one to do it felt wrong. She was a strong, independent but innocent woman who did not deserve to be involved in the aspects of war which were not meant for those who found the capacity to care for life.

For the good of the world and under the instructions of the British Crown, Katherine Maguire always did her duty.

If it was at expense of her son, it was an expense that was sadly justified.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

His screams could have killed her, her previously sturdy shields of acting ripped apart within an instant. The molten steel was only pressed into his side for a moment, in a spot just above the hip, which was free of other burns, but the mark that it left would stain him forever. James, thanks to her, was a property of the Nazi Empire that dominated the theatre of war, and life, that was Europe. In doing so she might have succeeded in one duty, only to spectacularly fail at the most important duty of all, one that superseded every other one that she was asked to perform. Her duty to him as his mother, the woman who brought him into the world. The price of the world living to fight another day was her motherhood.

She failed him.

Throughout the entire thirty seconds or so, her hand shook terribly, the only visible sign of distress which the actress that she was could have convinced Kurt was just the fear of permanently damaging the prisoner when Kurt clearly did not want to. Still watching her emotions intently, Hans was quick to take the rod out of her hands and into his gloved ones instead, placing the rod back down out of the way, the deed done. A satisfied Kurt revelled in James' pain, as well as knowing that the young man's body provided the proof of what he'd been telling James himself. The Captain, once of the Fleet Air Arm, was now his. His prisoner and his killer… the man he was conditioning to be of service to the Empire that was supposed to be his sworn enemy.

"You have done well my dear, The Führer will be proud of your contributions". He told her, the words in German denting the air. "You may go, we shall join you shortly".

Kathy couldn't run out the room without attracting unwanted questions, though Hans had already seen more than enough to wonder whether he should ask them, but her speed increased once she was sure that she was far enough away so that they would not hear her running. The tears and sobs began at roughly the same time too, the deed of branding her son as if he were no more than a cheap cow in a farmer's field getting to her. Reaching the freezing air of the Italian night she rounded the corner of the building, bypassing where she'd stood before she went in, spewing her guts up all over the grass, shivering from a mix of the cold in the air and the ice in her heart. Ice which she did not mean to be there but felt anyway. She was nothing… a degraded mother who could not do the one job that was asked of her. Keep her son safe, even though in one way she was.

The world needed her in one guise. James in another.

His importance being so great, it was strangely the world that outweighed just him alone.

How she was meant to go on… she did not know.

---

London, 3rd March 1942

There might have been a war on, and rationing to boot, but those in the upper echelons of society still knew how to throw a fine party. It might have been a night where the skies would have to be watched, the threat of the Luftwaffe being an ever present even if their attacks did not come every night as they once did. The threat perhaps not being quite what it once was, was partly the reason why a party of that ilk was going on but there were other opportunities to be had during it. Some of the most important people in the country, government ministers and military officials were in attendance, discussions about strategy held informally in front of wives and, in some cases, mistresses, but without any dangerous secrets being let slip.

Part of the reason for that was the presence of soldiers who acted as guards around the party, especially due to the presence of foreign dignitaries. Although there were none from any of the nations that were considered the enemy, there were copious French and Belgian members of the elite that were present, some Dutch too. Their countries were now under the control of the Nazi's, but they remained loyal from what they told those in Britain. That loyalty was constantly under examination though, to ensure that trust was not misplaced by the final European heavyweight in the west that remained standing to actively oppose the atrocities of the Empire that spread across the continent. As well as the soldiers there were certain others that were there to watch over proceedings, though their identities were not as obvious as the men wielding weapons. Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Menzies was one of these men.

One of the busiest men in the country, he would not normally have the time to attend such an event, but it was the under the Prime Minister's insistence that he attended. Churchill himself had made a fleeting appearance towards the start of the event but he was required elsewhere to make decisions, making himself scarce very quickly. The head of the Intelligence Services identity was known to the ministers in attendance, along with some of the elite of the country, but he'd placed agents within the crowd too, just to be sure. They were young agents with fake backgrounds, having apparent wealth from their estates in the countryside's of Wiltshire and Somerset, where those others in attendance would not question. He himself was left to mingle with those that he needed too, mostly the military officials in attendance, some of whom were already taking advantage of the copious alcoholic beverages that were on offer.

A married man, his wife was not in attendance with him even when her presence would not have been unusual for such an event. Instead she remained at the family home to look after their young daughter together, whilst he moved from crowd to crowd on his own. Conversations were amicable enough with those that he spoke to, but with far more pressing matters on his mind than the tomfoolery of the elite mocking those with little money beneath them, he grew quite tired of the conversations. The Enigma project and the operations of Bletchley Park remained on his mind a lot of the time, the key breakthrough in the war that the Nazi's remained unaware of. The tide was turning in the Atlantic, not just because of the arrival of the Americans, but because of the decrypts that were available thanks to the code they'd cracked. Every single day he still supplied Churchill with the most important information, having done so at the party that evening before the Prime Minister made his exit.

"You know Edmund…". One woman spoke to her husband within the group Menzies found himself in. "… that boy who works at the stables… his mother was a whore!"

"Good grief!" The man exclaimed in reply.

The shocked faces of those in the rest of the group were hardly unexpected, though the Lieutenant Colonel did not join in with them. He certainly did not need to know the background of a stable boy at a country estate somewhere in the home counties, nor how dubious the morals of his mother were. Although he himself was a member of the Elite, having been born into wealth rather than having earnt it, he did not subscribe himself to such gossip.

"I say…". Another man spoke in the group. "Does your stable boy wash himself? I imagine coming from the gutter, he has no concept of personal hygiene".

"I would hope so". Edmund replied. "My horses are some of the finest thoroughbreds in Surrey, I cannot have his peasant stench infecting them!"

"Master Turnell would not allow him to smell my dear". His wife interjected.

Nods and hums of approval rang out throughout the group, as Menzies took a sip of the drink is his hand, which was actually water. Planning on retiring to his quarters at some point during the evening, he was going to do some more work before turning in for the night, therefore avoiding the alcoholic offerings that were dotted all around. The conversation about the stable boy continued on around him, not that he was particularly keen on listening nor did he interject with any comments of his own. The poor young man's life was being examined by the nobles that thought it to be so entertaining to criticise, having nothing else better to do if truth were to be told. Luck soon changed for the intelligence officer though, if it could be described as luck.

"Excuse me… excuse me…".

The voice of another man broke into the circle of the group, cutting their conversation off abruptly, to the annoyance of the nobility involved within it. One of them within it took significant exception to the presence of the new man that found himself within their circle, who by his outfit was one of the staff that were employed at the party. Seeing himself interrupted by someone who was clearly far beneath his social standing, the rich man venomously set about the poorer one.

"How dare you, man!" He shouted at him. "Do you not know your place you lowly degenerate! I shall have you fired!"

"Forgive me, sir". The staff member offered his apologies. "I have an important message to relay to the Lieutenant Colonel".

All eyes were drawn to Menzies, who was already focused on the staff member. It wasn't unusual that he would have to be called away when he attended events but given that the two major projects that the Lieutenant Colonel was involved in were of the highest importance, to be called away usually meant bad news. That evening however he was much calmer, reacting as if being passed a message to leave immediately was normal. It would not be proper to show any further reaction around those who would gossip anyway, for it would mean more work in ensuring their loose tongues were tied back up again.

"Thank you my good man…". He addressed the previously castigated staff member. "Ladies, gentleman… please forgive me but I must depart your company for now".

A further round of hums acknowledged their acceptance that he would be leaving, not that his presence made any difference to the flow of their conversation anyway. The man who'd taken such offence at the staff member's interruption wasn't quite finished with running his mouth though, turning his head to Menzies to relay something to him.

"It would be proper to teach this vagabond some manners while you are at it, Lieutenant-Colonel!" He huffed.

"Oh, indeed I shall, my good sir". He replied in his gentlemanly voice. "I wish you all a good evening".

Retiring with the sound of replies from those in the group he was leaving, Menzies quickly fell into line behind the member of staff who would be taking him to a quieter spot around the large building that they were in, to be able to speak in privacy. The message was clearly one which could not be heard by those in attendance at the party, important enough for the staff member to know to drag him away. They walked out of the main room that hosted the guests and along a corridor, where a soldier on guard in the hallway saluted the Lieutenant Colonel as he walked past, Menzies offering him the same courtesy. Soon the sounds of laughter and merriment were gone, the two men far enough away from the buzz of the party atmosphere to be able to speak. After passing the kitchens, the staff member led him into a room at the side, which was labelled for the staff only, but was in reality a room for Menzies and his staff only. When the door shut behind them, they both breathed out in relief.

"You need to learn your manners, Smithers…". He addressed his disguised Captain. "Alas, we will make a noble gentleman of you, yet".

"Might we instead plant some incriminating evidence into that man's home. I would even pick out the noose to hang him with myself…".

"Now, now Smithers, you cannot treat your betters with such disdain".

Aware that his superior officer was teasing him, Smithers was able to shake his head without the threat of any repercussions for doing so. Menzies, amused by the man's behaviour, let out a laugh in the knowledge that it would most likely be the only part of their conversation that would be amusing. They'd both correctly deduced beforehand that something would happen that night, but which one of the two was to be correct about what would, the Lieutenant Colonel was about to find out.

"What news?"

"Emerald Two, Sir".

It was Smithers who was proven to be right, not him. He'd assumed it would be to do with the enigma project and an urgent message being decoded, but instead it was the news that both of them feared more. They'd been waiting from a message from their most trusted agent for days, knowing that her ability to be able to was severely limited by the factors of the conditions that she worked with. One wrong move from her to contact them and a far worse scenario would play out. The potential rebound upon the young man in the custody of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden was too severe to risk, which meant the delays were justifiable.

"What news does she bring?" The Lieutenant Colonel enquired.

"She has made contact with James. He is exactly where she told us he would be… still alive but continually tortured".

The positivity of the statement, James' location being firmly known, was counteracted by the negativity of his condition. For Menzies, there was almost no change in their knowledge if he were to look at the information from a defeatist's perspective. There was absolutely nothing they could do to change the position that the young Captain was in at that very moment. They could not stop the torture that he was having to go through, for information that the young man himself was not aware of, even though there was now someone in contact with him who did. Having Katherine Maguire be the one to confirm the location of her son to them was their very last resort, but they'd been left with little choice. Her orders did not explicitly contain the wording that told her to do so, but there was enough implication in the last message that Smithers had passed on to suggest that it was what they wanted.

"At least we know where he is…". Menzies mused. "What of her? Did the message appear different to normal?"

"I think there was an evident worry to it. He is her son after all". Smithers reasoned.

"Yes… quite. We do need her to maintain her calm though Smithers, we cannot risk any incident befalling the boy because of her emotions".

"I think she understands that, Sir. It is in her own best interests after all".

Katherine Maguire was a woman that Lieutenant Colonel Menzies respected nearly as much as he respected his own wife. The circumstances involving her employment with the Intelligence Services were not specifically known to him, understanding as he should that there were details missing from the files when he'd first came across her during his earlier years working in the service of the country. Her aptitude for the work of espionage was something else though, a rare talent in a woman who would have held a far different life if it were not for those that she worked for. They gave her a purpose and a meaning in a world that could so easily have kicked her to the kerb, or perhaps worse. She was the finest agent that he possessed within his ranks, the only man or woman capable of performing the sort of role she'd done since just before the war began. Even so, she could have held all the respect in the world, and he would have still been justified to have questioned her ability to pull off the particular part of her role she was being asked to do successfully. None of her previous assignments ever involved her own son.

"Do we proceed with the plan, Sir?" Cautiously, Smithers tackled the most evident question they had to discuss.

"Which one?" Menzies snorted.

"The one that involves her, Sir".

They'd given the Prime Minister two plans in total, one which was heavily reliant on the influence of their man in Italy, Domenico and the other which the Prime Minster almost immediately refused. Churchill's knowledge of James' past and his mother's role as a spy for the country meant he was well aware of the implications of the two crossing paths. There was more danger in her coming to his aid than any of their other agents, the love between a mother and son being an easy weakness to exploit should anyone be aware of the connection. However, after some convincing from the pair of them, Churchill allowed it to be held in reserve should the other plan seem unlikely to work or if it became unfeasible in any other manner. Neither such situation was yet to develop but in Smithers' mind, as well as Menzies', her involvement was guaranteed. Now that Kathy knew where her son was, as well as what was being done to him, they were wise enough to know she would do all that she could to see him to safety.

"I fear that we are left with little choice, Smithers." Menzies sighed. "I doubt Miss Maguire will rest until James is brought to safety".

"She is a professional…".

"She is his mother!" Menzies interjected sternly. "A mother's love will not cease because of duty, Smithers, not entirely. Would your wife put aside her love for your son if we told her to?"

Cornered, Smithers could not argue any further. It might have been his suggestion to divert to the plan, but it was merely a testing comment to try to understand his superior officer's thoughts on the matter. In the time that he'd been the handler of the agent in question, Kathy's professionalism in performing the role of Lyla Walsh had always been exemplary. The standard of agent that was required for their branch was set by the woman, a very high standard for any who wished to work as operatives for them. All of that experience and ability meant nothing when it came to family, which deep down he knew upon a search of his feelings. Menzies was right; a mother's love could not be controlled or put aside for the sake of their own plan.

"No… Sir…". He answered his superior quietly. "But we cannot rush forward with our operations either. We only need to look to what happened in Taranto to know the danger of rushing forth a plan".

The deaths of Giovanna and the other agents were tragic, but when reviewed it was apparent that they were almost always going to be likely. Aims for the night in question were clear very quickly, but the process of extracting James from Professor Molinari's mansion was almost completely left upon the shoulders of the agents themselves. Giovanna had gotten herself close, too close, dying without a real plan to properly extract him, especially when it was known to them that Doctor Van Der Heijden would arrive that night. In the months that followed they'd had the time to learn from their mistakes and rushing into saving James would not be one that they fell for again.

"Domenico believed the fourteenth of this month to be the right day for it and Admiral Cunningham has given me the all clear for that day too". Menzies replied. "We cannot afford to delay any longer than that Smithers but this time we at least have a clear plan in place with her".

"We just have to hope that the plan succeeds, Sir. I would be a liar if I were not to say that I have my doubts".

"I do too but it is all that we have. Look at the resources that we are having to utilise… if not sacrifice… to make this succeed. We only have one chance".

"A chance to pull off the imperfect". Smithers rightly stated to him.

"Sometimes that is the only way".

Glum reflections on the course of the war filled the small room that they were in, the two both pulling at their collars in order to loosen the tense atmosphere. Unbeknownst to the rest of the partygoers in attendance that night, the war around them was being decided upon plans finalised in that room, by two men rather than an army. The news that Katherine Maguire brought them was of the most vital importance, information which was setting off the chain of events which could in fact end the war prematurely. If anything went wrong or if the Nazi's were to discover the truth behind the young man within their custody, Britain's stance at the last remaining fighters in Western Europe would crumble away into the seas around it. James Maguire needed to be brought back safely, no matter the cost. Time was as much as their enemy as Doctor Van Der Heijden or Lieutenant Hartmann, conspiring to make the fourteenth day of March, of the year nineteen forty-two, the pivotal date for the course of human history.

Menzies soon returned to the party, falling back in with another group who were equally as despicable and judgemental as the one he'd been with when Smithers fetched him. His Captain was no longer in the building, returning home to Kent with the orders to contact Emerald Two, Britain's most valuable agent, relaying on what was to be most important set of British instructions of the war to date.

She was being ordered to rescue her son.

---

The icy grasp of winter was slowly beginning to leave Derry, but the opening days of March sent one final salvo that left the residents of the city shivering in the cold. There was no snow at least, but the ferocious blasts of cold wind and driving rain made conditions for getting to and from work most unpleasant. The whole week required a jacket to be able to proceed outdoors at any point during the day, with many becoming soaked when they were caught out by the rains, even with their jackets on. There was talk of floods at one point, but it remained just that, talk. Flowing along into the ocean calmly, the banks of the Foyle were not threatened at any point though some of the flatter, drier areas inland did receive localised flooding without it ever causing a problem. Some of the soldiers were less than pleased though; it made their training rather muddy to say the least.

At the Quinn household, the family were all settled in for the evening after long days at work. Gerry's shift started earlier that morning in order for them to clear a backlog of work, the man of the house being up since around four o'clock. His longer hours were beginning to show, yawning in his spot on the sofa next to his wife, the two sharing a blanket as they both read. Mary herself was not as tired as her husband, but her day was not easy either. The work at the factory was increasing for all of the girls, Erin and the girls too, which meant significant effort was being made once more. There'd been worse days towards the start of the war but the two of them were left tired by having to get used to such days again, after a relative period of calm in the workload. Deciding to accept some private orders on the side as well as the uniforms for the soldiers, the spike in demand shot right up. It left some of the girls quite angered, Michelle especially.

In front of their parents, Erin and Anna were sharing a blanket too, reading in front of the fire. Their fireplace was illuminating the room for them, enabling them all to be able to read long after darkness set in over the city. A lot of nights were beginning to finish in the same way for the four of them, spending more time together as a family than they had even a couple of months before. When their household was often used as a meeting point for varying activities between family and friends, it made a peaceful change for just the four of them to be together that evening. Reading was the primary activity that they could all agree on, a hush descending upon the house as they concentrated on their books. A lot of families were not able to have such pleasant evenings, especially those who were missing sons and, in some cases, daughters, because of the war.

Anna continued to progress at school, sending shivers down Sister Michael's spine every time that she went near the young Quinn. The Headmistress continued to allow her to take classes, educating those students her own age to give certain teachers some time off. Her ability to be able to commandeer a classroom, so that they would listen to her, was incredibly impressive along with her academic skills. Her reputation was beginning to spread around the city after the speech she'd given to the American soldiers upon their arrival. Walking to school one day she was spoken to by almost everyone that she walked past, bringing a smile to Granda Joe's face as he walked most of the way with her. He wasn't doing it to protect her from the world, but the patriarch of the family enjoyed her company that much that he wished to spend as much time with her as he could. Coming towards the end of his lifetime, Joe was aware that he didn't have that many years left to create such happy memories, not missing a chance when it presented itself to him.

There was another set of exams that were due to come up during May, whilst some of the older children sat exams too. Two months or so away, Anna was already beginning to prepare for what were inconsequential examinations once again but were important milestones for her. Measuring her academic progress was incredibly important, something which Sister Michael agreed with her on when they'd spoken about it together. With another year of schooling under her belt, she would almost be ready to leave the school, though could not for a number of years according to the rules. Her maturity was the only barrier in her way, a seven year old, which she would be by then, not expected to be ready for the world of work, especially during wartime. As part of her preparation, she'd placed Erin, Michelle and Clare on standby to be of assistance once again, leaving Orla out of it as she would be of little help. The more practical aspects of life would be where she would require her cousin and those lessons were not needed for some years yet.

Next to her on the floor of the Quinn house, Erin tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear whilst focusing on her book. Her life was beginning to improve once more, after so many months of pain she'd endured after losing the man that she believed to be the love of her life. She still thought of James daily, occasionally dropping a tear or too when thoughts of what their life together could have been like sprang into her mind. Those days were far and far between, a far cry from days where she could barely open her eyes in the morning without bursting into a sobbing fit. Comfortable with her working life, despite the increase in workload at the factory, she was producing garments of the highest quality which had not gone unnoticed by management. Meyler, the supervisor, looked after the girls in his own way, always acting especially fairly towards Erin, Michelle, Clare and Orla. He'd quietly informed them all that he'd petitioned management for them to have a bonus added to their wages the prior week. Despite thinking that they would refuse him without question, they'd surprisingly agreed under the proviso that none of them spoke a word of it to any of the other employees. The girls kept their word and enjoyed their bonus, treating themselves to an extra drink when they went out on the Saturday, apart from Orla who was still banned from nights out by Joe.

Erin's own happiness was helped immensely by the usual unwavering support of her friends. Michelle, Clare and Orla all had their own ways of showing their support but as a group they came together to prove that their friendship was as incredibly strong as they said it was. Orla's ban on going out at night was a slightly sour point for them and trying to convince Granda Joe to put a stop to the ban was met with a firm stance from him. Michelle made a very unwise attempt at it too, which led to a shouting match between the two that required Gerry's intervention, at his own expense when his father in-law assumed he was on Michelle's side. They got over it by having some of their best times during their days at work and in the daylight hours at the weekend, which suited Clare too. Her da was far more open to her being out with the girls in the day than at night, even if he did not impose any restrictions like Joe did. When they did go out, they would often pass by soldiers training or hear the shouts of sailors from the ships in the harbour. Whenever they heard those shouts, it was the cue for Michelle to think of Clint, as well as needle Erin about Lieutenant Hamilton. Neither of them had seen the two sailors since the night Michelle dragged them all down to the harbour to meet Clint, but it didn't stop her from reminding Erin of how taken she apparently was with the Lieutenant. The blonde shrugged off the comments every single time, but there were occasions when Clare would notice the reddening of her cheeks when Michelle mentioned Lance. They'd all told her how happy they were for her in holding affection for the Lieutenant, though Michelle did have to spell it out literally to Orla before she understood it. The young Quinn took no notice of them… even if Lance was admittedly quite handsome. Very handsome…

In front of the fire that night she was finding herself thinking about the Yank again. The first true gentleman she'd begun to know after losing James, there was an alluring quality to him that she could not help but investigate. They'd only shared a brief amount of time in each other's company, yet Erin could almost feel the mysterious undertones to the Lieutenant. A young man with responsibility over a section of his own, he moved with the grace of a gentleman without truly sounding like one. He was kind to her in their interactions, having saved her from hurting herself when they first met each other and treating her with incredible respect the second time. The part of her that she'd locked away, the young woman that once fell in love with the best man she'd ever known, was beginning to have life breathed into it again by the arrival of the Yank, not that she would admit it to anyone… not even to herself.

Her thoughts were still on Lance, and not the book, when peace was shattered that evening. After nine o'clock at night they were not expecting any more visitors, but trouble often found the family at the oddest hours of the day. They never locked the doors, not feeling the need to particularly when there was no chance of anyone robbing them when they hardly had much themselves. The decision not to do so was one which backfired when Granda Joe came barrelling through the front door that night, scaring the living daylights out of all four of them. Gerry was immediately up on his feet to discover the source of the commotion, meeting Joe's eyes when he turned.

"What are you looking at, ye porky southern turd!"

"Evening to you too, Joe…".

Wasting no time in ripping into his son in-law, Joe earned himself a vicious stare from his daughter whilst his two grand daughters watched on with interest, putting their books to one side for a moment. He was already dressed for bed it seemed, having arrived in his nightclothes as well as a pair of slippers that Mary had given him for his birthday the year before. His own interruption was seemingly as shocking to him as it was them, judging by his state of dress. After her initial anger for his treatment of Gerry wore off, Mary's mind turned to exactly why he was there, brows furrowed for her Da to see. The explanation came almost straight away.

"Has Orla been round?" He asked in a hurry. "She's not anywhere in the house and I've been callin' her for five minutes!"

"She's not been here…". Mary replied. "Are ye sure she's not outside?"

"Aye I've checked!" Joe protested.

He'd hoped to have found her next door to put his mind at rest, though he would have still told her off for going over without saying anything first. When it was apparent that she was not though, a conclusion was quickly formed in his own mind, which was forming in the minds of the other four as well, not that any of them were prepared to say it. Erin especially was convinced of what she was thinking at that moment, cursing her cousin for her stupidity when it came to what she thought she'd done. Orla might have been away in her own world a lot of the time, but she should have known better than to anger her Granda in the way in which she was doing. Joe couldn't even blame Gerry for once, no matter how hard he tried.

"She's snuck out… the cheeky wee f…".

"Da!" Mary cautioned him against the profanity. "We don't know that for certain".

"Aye but I reckon she has Mammy…". Erin added.

Turning his attention to Erin, Joe practically scowled at her a second later. Recoiling from his angered looks, she was ready to take him to task over the look that he was giving her, not happy with it at all. Before she could though, an accusatory Joe made sure that he got his word in first, serving to rile Erin up even more.

"What do you know about it? Kept it secret have ye!?" He challenged.

"I have not!" A raging Erin replied, pulling herself up to stand. "And anyway, who are you to judge when yer off sneaking over to Maeve's all the time!"

Mary didn't want to look as if she was weak to her daughter's fury being thrown around, but she couldn't help in agreeing with her, turning on Joe. Still believing that her father was seeing the old tart slyly behind their backs, any mention of the woman always started her off. She would never be good enough to replace their mammy, something which she and Sarah made perfectly clear to Joe on a number of occasions. Clearly, he hadn't listened to them, with Erin seemingly adding her weight behind their belief that Joe was still seeing her. Angered himself about having the accusation thrown at him when he was still not satisfied by Erin's answer, prompted more shouting on his behalf.

"I do not! I know you girls, you always tell each other everything! Where has she gone? Ye know she's not allowed to go out!"

"I don't know Granda!" Erin roared back once more. "Do ye not think that you suffocatin' her inside is why she's gone?!"

All the while that they argued, Gerry trying to get a word in around his father-in law, wife and daughter, Anna returned to reading her book in the corner. With a blanket now all to herself, the fire crackling away behind her, she was soon lost in the world of the story that she was reading rather than the argument brewing in front of her. The youngest member of the house often found it easy to transport herself away to another world during such times, finding the invaluable skill to be called upon once more that evening. Around her, fires of a different nature continued to burn.

"I am not suffocatin' her! If she could act like an adult around the Yanks then I wouldn't have to keep her indoors, would I?"

"We all need to j-".

"Stay out of it Gerry!" Joe immediately cut him off, before turning back to Mary and Erin. "Now I won't ask again, where is she!?"

Sensing that the argument was going nowhere when Joe was so sure that Erin knew something, when her father could tell that she didn't, Gerry was not going to stay out of the way as was requested. The peacemaker of the house would have to suffer the verbal tirade that would come from Joe in order for the delicate situation to be navigated. When he was as tired as he was that night, he could have done without what he was going to propose but anything was preferable to a full-blown argument in the fire-lit living room of the Quinn house. In his best sweater and a decent pair of trousers, he wasn't exactly dressed for a trip out. A jacket over the top would have to do though, something which he did have.

"Why don't I go and have a wee look for her". He spoke up. "I'll pop over to Ferguson Street to see if she's gone to Sarah".

Gerry's idea was a grand one, at least Mary thought so. Flashing a smile to her husband, recognising that it was not at all what was on his mind when he was so tired, she was grateful that once again he'd stepped in to stop Joe from making the atmosphere around the house any bleaker than it needed to be. For once, Joe thought his idea was a sound one too but there was never going to be a flash of recognition nor appreciation for it, when he was so unwelcoming of Gerry as a whole.

"Send you out at night?!" Joe scoffed. "As long as ye send Orla back but don't come back yerself, that would be just grand…".

"I won't be leavin' her to walk back on her own now will I…". Gerry countered. "And maybe Erin could come with me".

Not so keen on venturing out into the night at such a time, Erin wanted to throttle her Da for dragging her into it as well. She didn't know for certain where Orla would have gone, but to spend a night with a Yank was a highly likely possibility. Although they did not venture out as much as they had done at first, some were still in the city at night, soldiers stationed within the walls as well as the sailors that came up from the harbour. Not every officer was as strict as they should have been, some even accompanying their men out into the night to find themselves strong drink and weak women to give themselves to. Prostitution remained a problem despite the efforts to stamp it out from the local authorities too, which left an incentive for the Yanks that were onshore. Whilst Orla might not have been charging like some girls were, the morals of what she was doing were questionable in the eyes of her Granda.

"I… Well… I… suppose I could… aye". A slow and distorted reply eventually came from her.

"Grand. Let's not waste anytime then". Gerry announced. "Come on Erin love, get yer jacket".

The two them moved out of the living room to the hallway, Joe stopping Gerry to whisper in his ear first, where Erin whispered her anger towards her Da, out of the earshot of Joe and Mary. Understanding his daughter's frustration at being dragged out so late on a Wednesday evening, he apologised to her but admitted that he was worried that Orla was doing something she might regret, which Joe would not forgive her for easily. Reasoning that it was better that they caught her, rather than Joe, Erin softened and agreed, heading out into the dark of the night behind her father, who made sure to grab the house torch to assist their visibility on the trip to Ferguson Street… not that either of them expected to find Orla there.

Back in the living room, Joe remained in front of his daughter in his nightclothes, with more on his mind it appeared. Recognising that there was still something that he needed to say, Mary decided to coax it out of her Da sooner rather than later. With Gerry out of the house along with Erin, there were not so many distractions in his eyeline that could anger him. Anna's quiet reading in the corner became all the more convenient too when he was in the mood that he was in that night.

"What is it, Da?"

"Can ye…". He stopped to clear his throat. "Can ye help me with Marie. I've left the poor wee thing on her own for a minute but I… I need yer help with her, so I do".

"Aye 'course I can". Mary shook her head, trying to understand why he appeared so shy to ask. "Anna, will ye be alright here on yer own for a bit?"

Most parents would not allow anywhere near as much freedom to a six year old as she allowed Anna, but her youngest's exemplary behaviour made it far easier for her to give such trust. Pulling her head up from her book for a moment, there was a small curve to her lips that indicated her cooperation would be a happy one, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement too.

"I'll be fine, Mammy". She responded sweetly.

"Any problems you just shout as loud as ye can, ye hear". Mary wagged her finger at her, making sure Anna understood.

"Yes Mammy, I know. I'll be alright… ye should go and help Granda".

Contented that her daughter would be alright on her own for a few minutes, or longer, whilst she read, Mary soon followed Joe around to the McCool house next door. Warmed by the fire and the addition of a second blanket to herself as well as the one she'd been sharing with Erin, Anna focused on her book in complete warmth. She was normally meant to be in bed a few minutes later and would often be so tired that she would willingly go to sleep, but the anticipation of whatever was going on with Orla appeared to have boosted her energy levels. Her eyes did not begin to shut despite the snug feeling of having two blankets wrapped around her, charged by the thoughts of what could be going on with her cousin. She knew enough about Orla's habits to guess, proving her smarts by leaving the search and the arguments to the adults.

Back out on the streets, Gerry and Erin walked side by side as they closed in on Ferguson Street, having to stay close together to follow the torchlight that Gerry shone out in front of them. They'd walked by a cop on their way down one street, stopping to ask him if he'd seen Orla at all, giving the man in uniform her description. He hadn't seen her, instead giving them the advice to visit the station the next morning if she did not turn up, whereupon they would take an active interest as she would be missing. Erin somehow managed not to remark to the man just how useless that information was to them, no doubt helped though by the soft hand that Gerry placed onto her back.

"Da…". Erin whispered.

"Yes love". He whispered back.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Rolling his eyes in the dark, but quickly so that she did not see, Gerry did not particularly want to hear one of Erin's ideas. She might have held a more level head than some of her friends, and certainly spoke more sense than the cousin that she was out looking for, but she could still come up with some bizarre plans at times. The last thing that Gerry wanted was for them to lose time on a poor idea that led them nowhere.

"Go on then". He said to her after a couple of seconds.

"Look, I think we both know that she isn't going to be with Aunt Sarah and Shane…". Erin started, waiting for her Da's nod before she continued. "I think we should check The River first. If she's going to have gone anywhere first, that'll be where she's gone".

Finding no weakness in his eldest's logic, Gerry wasn't inclined to disagree. The pub was often where a lot of dalliances between the Yanks and the local women would begin, the barmen doing nothing to stop it happening to the anger of some of the authorities. They'd asked for their help in tackling the prostitution problem but were angrily told that it was not the business of those working at the pubs to sift through every relationship they saw before them to judge whether it was one that was real or being paid for. As long as the patrons paid and didn't cause any trouble, they couldn't care less whether any untoward transactions were occurring on their property.

"Alright love, let's go to the River".

The diversion was not one which took them particularly out of the way, diverting them further into the main part of the city than planned instead of heading to Ferguson Street which was just on the edge of it. The advantage of heading further into the city was that there were usually more people around, but apart from another couple of policemen that they found on patrol that night, there was not another soul out. Some were most likely still inside, given that the night was cold and that the pubs were not quite ready to close but it was still far eerier than it was on any other Wednesday night. As they neared The River they finally did see another person, a middle aged man who stumbled out of a different pub, finding a spot against the wall where he dropped his trousers and proceeded to urinate all the way down it.

"Oh what a lovely sight…". Erin complained in a whisper.

"Those coppers will be back in a minute love…". Gerry chuckled lightly to her. "… the poor fella needs to hurry himself up".

Snorting, Erin tried not to laugh out loud so that the drunk man remained unaware of them walking past him. Neither of them were too keen on getting into a conversation with the fella who'd clearly not been able to hold his weight in drink that evening. It was quite rare during wartime for people to get as drunk as he was, given the restrictions around alcohol, but the fella managed it somehow. Focusing on their purpose on being out there that night once more, Gerry brought them to a halt outside The River, where they peered in through the window to see if they could spot Orla. The whole of the pub could not be seen through the one spot where they were standing, but from what they could see, Orla was not there. Gerry hoped that she would be, but Erin believed that she could guess her cousin's whereabouts far better than her Da and took over from him when they moved back from the window.

"Right Da, you wait here while I go inside". She instructed.

"What!?" Gerry responded under his breath.

"Trust me, Da. I'll get the answers from the barman, and you keep watch for her out here. If she comes past, grab her".

"Wh-".

"Please Da!"

Breathing out loudly, to display his displeasure at being left outside to keep watch, Gerry agreed to his daughter's plan after a moment, nodding his head under the lamplight of the street. If truth were to be told then he didn't have a better one other than him going to ask the man behind the bar himself, which might not have been the best idea. If Erin went looking for Orla then there would be no rumours spreading about what she was up to, instead the patrons most likely drawing the conclusion that the group of girls had become separated at some point. If Gerry was the one to go in and ask the questions, the rumours would break out like wildfire that the young McCool was up to no good with the family out looking for her.

"Thank you". Erin replied, her voice still low. "And, by the way, what did Granda say to ye on the way out?"

Briefly telling her the exact wording that Joe used in his own whisper, Erin's eyes widened in alarm for a brief moment before she composed herself. The need to find Orla became more pressing than ever with that information in her mind, Erin thought to herself, almost knocking the door of The River down on the way in, she was in that much of a hurry. Shaking his head at his daughter's antics, Gerry shifted round so that he was watching the street, or more precisely the drunkard they'd passed on the way in. The fella was still stood with a hand against the wall, creating a watery streak all down it and onto the pavement from where he was urinating. He only needed a couple more seconds and he would have gotten away with it, but the coppers on patrol happened upon him just a little too early, shouting to him to stay where he was. Gerry could only watch on with an ever-widening smile, as the drunk fella decided to risk a lack of compliance, quickly tucking himself in and making a dash for it up the street. The Cops were onto him soon enough, but even they did not expect to catch him as quickly as they did after being aided by an unexpected source.

The fella's own trousers.

In the act of hastily tucking himself back in, the drunk didn't secure the clothing of his lower half properly. A howl of laughter finally escaped Gerry's lungs when the man's trousers promptly jettisoned themselves from around his waist as he tried to escape, sending him flying forwards into the concrete with his genitals exposed to the brisk night air. When the cops caught up to him, he was trying to make himself decent, but by that point it didn't whether his wee fella was hanging out or not, he was going to be spending the night in the cell for public indecency. Gerry could even hear the coppers laughing from a distance, at what was an admittedly hilarious situation that was played out on the streets of the city that night.

Distracted by the dramatic foot chase to the right of him, Gerry did not spot the man approaching on his left until he was almost stood right next to him. Some would have jumped out of their skin at the sudden arrival of a man out of the night, but Gerry did not, shuddering slightly instead without it being too obvious how off-guard he was to the approach of the man. In the half-second he had before the man opened his mouth, Gerry noted his uniform and the American flag sewn onto his sleeve, recognising him to be a sailor.

"Evening, Sir". The sailor addressed him.

"Alright there". Gerry replied with slight suspicion in his voice. "Can I help you, son?"

"Yes I was rather hopin' that ye would…". The heavy accented Yank replied. "… I don't suppose you've seen one of my boys around here tonight… he's about six foot, maybe a little shorter… short, dark hair… might have been wearin' a cap".

The drunkard was certainly a local from what Gerry could see and seeing as the only others that they'd gone by on the way in were the Cops, he was going to have to disappoint the American. Glancing again to his sleeve, he noted that the man held more stripes than a lot of the sailors he'd seen previously, deducing that he must have been an officer, though a junior one as he looked no older than Erin.

"Sorry son, there's not too many about tonight…". Gerry sighed, watching his breath in front of him. "Bit too cold for most I reckon…".

"You might be right, Sir". The Yank nodded, with a smile on his face. "Sorry for wasting your time".

"Do-".

Gerry was going to tell him that it was not a waste of his time, it was actually not too unpleasant at all in helping him pass the time while he waited for Erin. The interruption came through her though, as the pub door opened and she strolled out, clutching her jacket closer to her as the cold began to pinch at her neck. She didn't expect to find anyone else out there with her Da, starting off the conversation with him without whispering either, like they had done before they went it.

"Right Da, I've spoken to the barman and he said tha-".

"Lance?"

"Erin?"

More confused than he was just a second before, when he was more annoyed about being interrupted, Gerry suddenly felt as if he'd lost five minutes of the conversation. Erin returning outside so quickly was not that much of a shock when she had a habit of getting the information that she wanted rapidly when it was put across to the victim, as they were in that situation, the right way. His daughter knowing the name of the sailor that he'd been stood speaking to not a moment before was most peculiar though, with the added detail that the two were on first name basis when they addressed each other raising his eyebrow. He did not want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to with the familiarity shown. Erin hadn't mentioned the fella before though…

Erin's cheeks burned when she found the Lieutenant that she thought of highly, and with ever more frequency, was outside talking to her Da. She was yet to talk about him to anyone in the family, except from Orla, who she didn't talk to about him specifically, only if he came up in conversation thanks to Michelle. She didn't have anything at all to hide from her Da when it came to Lance, yet somehow could not shake an oddly embarrassed feeling that she was developing. Berating herself internally for showing a reaction that she'd not experienced herself since… well, for a very long time, she came to her senses to make the introductions.

"Da, this is Lance… Lieutenant Hamilton". She quickly corrected herself. "Lance, this is my Da".

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Quinn, Sir". He held out his hand.

"Aye, so it is". Gerry replied, trying his best to remain friendly whilst still being suspicious, shaking the Lieutenant's hand. "So how do ye know my Erin then?"

Erin wasn't going to leave it to Lance to explain the circumstances in which they'd come to know each other, instead wishing to explain it in a more positive light. As much as there was no issue with what had happened when Lance stopped her from falling, having the American admit to having his hands on her might be too much for her Da. They didn't need any delays in finding Orla and nor did she want her Da to develop a view of Lance that wasn't true at all. Without any practice in her head about how she would handle the situation, the words spilled from her lips far too quickly yet still somehow hesitantly.

"We met… I was walkin'… I well… we met when I was walkin'… ye know, down by the harbour, Da".

"Right…". Gerry responded slowly, trying to piece together his daughter's stuttered version of events.

"It is an honour to have met your daughter, Sir". Lance engaged him, in what Gerry saw as a failed attempt at chivalry. "But I must ask you, what are you doing out at such a time of night?"

They didn't have the time to give him a full debrief of why they were out that night, as they would have to describe Orla as a character in detail for the full picture to be known, which was not an easy task. Defining the young mother was not a task for those who wished to save time when she was the character that she was. Lieutenant Hamilton hardly needed to be appraised of their family troubles either, in Gerry's mind, which was already telling him to be suspicious of the fella. To a degree he knew he was treating him harshly, but Joe would give the fella a lot worse treatment in the same position. He would not have remained so calm when the familiarity between Lance and Erin was portrayed in the manner it had been in front of him.

"My cousin's wandered off…". Erin looked up at him, offering a simplified version of events. "… ye haven't seen her, have you?"

Dropping his guard for a moment, Gerry could not stop the light laugh from escaping under his breath, earning him a curious side-eye from Erin. It suddenly dawned on him how amusing it was that both they and the Lieutenant were out looking for someone who wasn't where they should be, the parallels being quite stunning. There were almost certainly superiors on both sides that would not let them hear the end of it should they fail to return their respective missing persons.

"I can't say that I have, Erin". Lance shook his head.

"What did the barman say, love?" Gerry quickly returned himself to the conversation.

"He said that she was in there not long before we got there but left with a fella…". Erin began to explain. "American fella apparently and they didn't say where they were going".

"What did he look like?" Lance enquired with her upon hearing the man was of his nationality.

"According to that fella behind the bar, he's about six foot tall… was wearing a sailor's cap and had his tongue down Orla's throat…".

Gerry really didn't need to know the last detail but nearly didn't anyway after the first couple of details that Erin relayed from the man behind the bar. Lance put a hand over his face too, the reaction of the pair them only serving to confuse the blonde that was stood in between them. Softly chuckling away to himself, her Da was shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation and how fate acted in the most amusing ways. Instead of turning to his daughter to explain why he'd reacted the way he did, his focus instead was drawn to the Lieutenant, who'd removed the hand from his face to look back at Gerry.

"I don't believe it… Six foot tall… wearing a cap… that's yer man isn't in, Lieutenant?"

"That sounds like him". Lance growled slightly as he spoke. "And if he was already well… I think I have an idea of where they've gone. Follow me".

Surprised that he would automatically assume the destination of his man, who it might not have been, and Orla, Gerry still didn't quite know what to make of the man. As first impressions went, he wasn't overly fond of him nor did he particularly dislike him, but his appearance that night on a very similar mission to what they were on stood out as odd. He'd not quite managed to see just how much his daughter had blushed at the sight of the Lieutenant when she'd first found him out there talking to him but wasn't to be fooled by her story. Her nerves told him that she'd clearly thought a lot of the Lieutenant, in the same way a lot of the local women fell for the Yanks. They had soft accents and heavy wallets… exactly what a lot of the women were after.

The American took charge of the group of them that formed, oddly being the one to lead when he was the outsider of the three. Unfortunately, there were a couple of abandoned houses down one particular street that were being used for such activities as the one they all suspected that Orla was up to, albeit without the added incentive of financial betterment. Lance walked quickly through the streets, at such a pace that conversation between them was not possible, Erin and Gerry simply trying to focus on keeping up with him. When he announced that the house in question was just up the next street, Gerry, not for the first time that evening, was struck with disbelief. Of all of the places it could have been, it was there.

"It's always feckin' Pump Street!" He grumbled, looking at the sign that indicated the road name. "It's a good job we didn't bring yer Granda…".

"Da!" Erin moaned at him in much the same way Mary would moan at Joe. "Now's not the time".

It was the perfect time as far as Gerry was concerned, with Joe not being there to fight back against any comments made about him. For once though, he would have to concede that Erin was right rather than him. They had a more important task in finding out exactly where Orla had gotten to and what she was up to, despite already having a fair idea of the details. Lance did not add to the conversation with anything, but as they neared the house in question, he held out his hand for them to stop, the three of them pressed up against the wall of the house next door to the one that they were going to enter. None of the other residents of Pump Street were up, Gerry taking a look around them to see if they were being watched at all and finding no one. He'd moved protectively in front of Erin as a father would, leaving her at the back of their line, breathing out heavily. Adrenaline unexplainably ran around her body, the anticipation and fear of what they might find oddly appealing to her.

"Now, stay behind me…".

Lance commanded stoutly, reaching into his holster to draw his pistol, which raised both Erin and Gerry's eyebrows. His training as an officer in the American Navy was shining through.

"I have no idea what we might find in there and it could all get very ugly if I don't take any precautions". He explained.

"I'd have thought shootin' yer own men might be a wee bit too far". Gerry almost hissed at him.

"It's just a precaution Mr Quinn, nothing for you to worry about".

Neglecting to tell the Yank that a gun being drawn was a mark of concern in his eyes no matter the situation, Gerry instead nodded his feigned understanding. Erin's nerves only increased when she saw the gun too, but when she took a look at Lance holding it, it was as if the pistol was part of the man's body. His stature as he stood calculating his plan was one of a man that was assured of himself, moulded into the role that he was performing. It was only when her Da nudged did she realise that she was stood there gawking at the Lieutenant as if he was the only man in the entire world.

"Stay close to me…".

Lance's whisper crept into the ears of both of the Quinn's present, though it was far less soothing for Gerry than it was his daughter. The Lieutenant pushed the door open gently, the old hinges only squeaking a little, in what was an otherwise silent entry into the house for all three of them. Passing his torch forward to the Yank, Gerry was met with a nod of the head from Lance, who in turn shone the light out in front of them. As soon as the door was shut by Erin, they could all hear a familiar sound of creaking coming from the upper floor of the house, putting to rest any doubts of what Orla was doing. Looking over his shoulder, Gerry met Erin's eyes and the two shook heads together, showing their disappointment with Orla. The act that she was seemingly engaged in was not one which they could condemn her for, but when she was breaking the rules that Joe set, sympathy was not easy to find either.

Showing off aspects of his training which he only expected to have to do in combat, Lance checked the other rooms downstairs first, whilst Erin and Gerry stayed at the bottom of the stairs in the freezing cold house. Evidence of some occupation was dotted around the home, but in the form of small fires that were started in old barrels to keep those around them warm. There was no heating or fireplaces as such, the only other sources of warmth being a few abandoned candles that could be made out on the floor, but most of them were broken. Awkwardly perched within earshot of the act upstairs, Gerry and Erin were both quite embarrassed to hear the moans of pleasure, and grunts, from Orla and whoever the fella was. Neither had ever imagined they would have to listen to Orla having relations with another man, but Lance insisted that they did not proceed up the stairs without him, leaving them with little choice.

When the Yank was finally finished with his checks downstairs, he motioned to them that he would lead the way up the stairs, where his ears were assaulted with the sounds of debauchery that were occurring above. Gun still drawn, Lance took every stair slowly to make sure that they were not heard, wanting to catch his man in the act so that he could put in a decisive report to his commanding officer. The delinquent behaviour of many men from his ship was causing concern for the superiors, who hoped to have them out into combat as soon as possible so that they would have to learn to behave or face death. Derry provided many of them with the opportunity to abscond, something which did the city's reputation no good either if the local women fell pregnant.

The house was not a large one, especially on the upper floor, where there was only two bedrooms and one small bathroom. The closer they got to the top of the stairs, the more obvious it became that Orla and the fella were in the room closest to where the flight ended, judging by how loud the moans and grunts had become. Sighing, and to some extent seething, Lieutenant Hamilton cleared his mind ready to perform his duty. Continued activity from within the room suggested to him that they hadn't been detected, which meant that barring any ridiculous escape, he would catch his man and get him on a charge. Orla's fate would be left up to her family, a discussion that he would not get involved in with it being a private matter, unless it was prostitution. If any money had exchanged hands between Orla and the fella, he would have to report them both.

Glancing back to Gerry and Erin, who were waiting with bated breath behind him, a chilled breath escaped his mouth as he put a finger over his lips. The last thing that he wanted was for one of the two to burst in there before him, blocking his path to be able to catch the sailor. With his pistol drawn, Lance edged forward so that he was right up against the door, trying to block out Orla's cries of pleasure from his ears. If the door hadn't been closed completely then he would have tried to look in to confirm their identities, but without such a luxury, there was only one method that he was prepared to utilise.

Pistol in hand, he moved directly in front of the door, aiming a kick to it which he knew would open the door immediately judging by the decrepit state that it was in. The proceeding mix of shout and scream that followed came from the two occupants of the room, who were caught red-handed, and for the sailor, red-faced when he immediately spotted that it was his section's officer that was the one to catch him. The Lieutenant looked down to the two of them on their spot on the floor, sharing a worn-out old mattress that was stained on the unoccupied side. Straddled atop the sailor, Orla's body had twisted towards the sound of the noise and with her arms she covered her bare breasts from the view of Lance, though he was not interested in eyeing her up at all. The room around them was completely empty apart from a fire that flickered in another empty barrel to the side of the mattress, one of the windows smashed from where a stone had clearly entered from out in the back alleyway.

"Get your ass up Sullivan and get decent!" Lance shouted at the sailor as he holstered the pistol. "I'm detaining you and taking you back to the ship, right now!"

"On what charge, Lieutenant, Sir!" The sailor asked in a serious tone.

"Don't you get smart with me, sailor! Get up, get dressed and get out!"

Roaring at the insubordinate young sailor, the Lieutenant's patience ran out with the man from his section straight away. He wasn't old enough to completely command the respect of all of those in the section, but he was still an officer who they should have respected. Sullivan was a troublemaker from the first moment he'd been introduced to him, not being overly surprised earlier that evening when it was reported to him that the man had gone AWOL from the ship. Some of his friends aboard were not particularly forthcoming with any information that would help the Lieutenant, which led him to the conclusion that he was out seeking a woman to spend the night with. Orla happened to be that woman, and it was to her that Lieutenant Hamilton spoke to next, the young mother now being covered by at least her underwear if nothing else.

"Miss, your family are very worried for you. I will leave them to take you home but first of all I need you to be honest with me. Did this man pay for you for sexual intercourse?"

"No!" She wailed. "I'm not one of those like Tina O'Connell!"

"So he didn't offer you any money for…".

"No he did not!" Orla stood her ground. "I just wanted to have a good time, like. Here, check my jacket, there's no money in it!"

She threw it to him whilst she continued to get changed, Lance inspecting the garment thoroughly. All the while his left hand stayed out behind him to indicate to Erin and Gerry to wait exactly where they were until he was finished. He still required them to stay out of the way whilst he satisfied himself that no illegal activity was being conducted in the abandoned house that night. To her credit, Orla spoke no words of a lie, not a single penny being found within her jacket, leaving the Lieutenant to conclude that she really wasn't out to make profit. Sullivan's luck was most definitely in at the start of the night, he concluded, with the sailor almost certainly having set out with the expectation of having to pay for his company that night. That luck had finally run out, but not before Sullivan got his fair share of pleasure from Orla.

"Thank you, Miss…". Lance addressed her again, throwing the jacket back to her before focusing his attention elsewhere. "You can come in now".

In the belief that it was he who was being spoken to, Gerry went to turn around the corner, only to find that Erin was in his way, charging her way into the room to confront her cousin. It wasn't the way that he wanted to go about tackling the young mother on the matter, especially with what Joe had told him on the way out, but Erin was like her mother in that respect. She only held the one way of achieving the answers that she wanted and that was the aggressive, up in the face approach. He decided not to follow her in.

"Orla!" Erin screeched at her cousin. "What the hell do ye think yer doin'!"

Accosted by her cousin, Orla didn't appear to take any notice of Erin's shout at first, continuing to button up her jacket. Her shoes were already on, and she was almost ready to go, but her blonde cousin was not going to let her away that easily. Ready to give Orla a piece of her mind about the risks that her behaviour was posing, she stood with her hands on her hips with a face that demanded an answer being flashed towards the brunette. Rising up from where she was sat on the mattress, Orla found the face waiting for her, with Erin blocking her only way out too. For a young woman who could so often be found to be lost in the real world, the adult Orla was present that night, very much aware of what she was doing. In her own mind, she did not think that she was doing anything wrong, and reminded of a conversation she'd held with her cousin in the church graveyard a few months earlier, she fought back.

"Stay out of my life, Erin!" She snarled, most unusually for the woman that she was. "I'm an adult now not a wain, I will do what I want to do!"

"Catch yourself on Orla, yer not that mature! If ye were, ye would know what yer doin' isn't right! Think of what could happen!"

"Don't make me unhappy because yer not! It's not my fault no fella wants ye!"

Instantly, Erin reacted with surprise at the comment from her cousin, who was not known for such angered outbursts. The comment immediately hurt her too, as it was a thought that she'd had tumbling around her conscience for some time. With little luck in getting a fella before James arrived, his death put her back to where she was before, except there was no fantasy relationship with John-Paul O'Reilly to hide behind after what she'd assumed was his death when he'd not returned home with the rest of his unit. Apart from the Yanks on the first night they arrived, who were prepared to spend a night with any woman no matter what they looked like, she often wondered whether any man would ever want her again. After the best few months of her life with James, she was scared of never being able to experience such delight again. She wasn't prepared to admit that though, instead putting on a front to disguise her pain.

"I… I'm not unhappy!" She cried. "I'm worried for you! The way yer carryin' on, yer goin' to find yerself pregnant with some fella's wain, who he won't want! Ye couldn't do that to Granda, it'd kill him!"

"Leave me alone!"

Erin's words were clearly hitting home for the young mother, who was beginning to cry, but was equally reluctant to cede defeat. Pacing forward, she shoved Erin out of the way, though it was not a hard enough to push to send her to the floor, the exit no longer blocked with Lance dealing with Sullivan in the corner of the room. She needed to get out into the air of the night, away from Erin, where she could think to herself about her life rather than have everyone else thinking for her. Although she was not as mature as some women, life as a young mother had grown her up considerably, which left her knowing that she was risking everything by doing what she was doing. David's instruction to move on could be manipulated and used to say that she was by seeing fella's like Sullivan, but in her heart she knew that her husband would have wanted her to find another man to marry not multiple men that she would only hold a physical relationship with. Those thoughts were not ones that she wished to have in front of anyone else though and making her way through the door she put them to one side, only to be grabbed and stopped from going anywhere. Having listened to the whole of the conversation, Gerry wasn't letting her go anywhere.

"Let go of me, Uncle Gerry! I can look after myself!" Orla bellowed at him.

"I know that!" He angrily retorted, releasing his grip on her. "It's not you who needs lookin' after! That's not the point, Orla".

"W-w… what do ye mean?"

"It's Marie…". Gerry told her, looking deep into her eyes as Erin materialised in the doorway. "Ye've left her with Granda Joe and she's been sick… she's not well! We've not come to stop ye livin' yer life, we've come to get ye for yer wain!"

Orla felt as if she'd been hit by a train when Gerry notified her that her daughter was ill, panicking within half a second of him mentioning her name. Joe's message to Gerry on the way out was that Marie was not well, throwing up just minutes before he'd broken the peace of the Quinn house that Wednesday evening. They'd not wasted any time in looking to find her because it was of the upmost important that her mother tended to her. Joe was a man of many talents, but he could not recreate the tender loving touch of a mother looking after their sick child. The Southerner hadn't wanted to upset her so deeply by informing her so bluntly about Marie's illness, but he had to in order for her to stop and listen. The terrified look in her eyes was not one that he wished to see repeated again.

"My baby… my Marie… oh god!"

Running out of the house before any of them could stop her, Orla was sprinting away in a hurry to get back to her daughter, forgetting that she did not have any way of seeing where she was going in the dark. Lance tossed the torch back to Erin with a smile, knowing that she needed it a lot more than he did. On another day she would have to thank him properly for his assistance that evening but catching up to Orla was the far more important of the two tasks. With her Da at her side, they left the building in pursuit of the young mother, though Gerry quickly found himself behind, his knees not quite being what they once were.

A nasty reality check it was for Orla, but one which was badly needed…