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 :)

69. Breath, taken away

Chapter 69: Breath, taken away 31st July 1942

Out in the distance, streaming into the Foyle, a small fleet of American ships were returning to where they'd previously been docked. After months at sea training, mostly in the waters around Scotland, the servicemen were returning to their home base of Derry. Training in the waters that surrounded Britain was vital for the Americans, for them to get used to the seas that they would most likely be fighting in. Although the Royal Navy held a significant amount of power around the North Sea and the English Channel, there was always the likelihood for American involvement in combat too. There was also the potential for troop carriers to be used, which would also come under attack if a battle were to occur, sailors and soldiers alike needing to know what to do.

Waiting patiently on the land side of the docks, three of the four girls stood together to await the arrival of those onboard. For Michelle, it would be the first time in months that she'd seen her fella Clint, who she was attempting a proper relationship with. Most proper relationships didn't start with such absences between those involved, but the young Mallon was never one to go by conventions. None of them were in that group, albeit some more than others. Erin too was awaiting the return of a man from one of the ships, the same one that Michelle was waiting for that held Clint too. She might not have been in the level of relationship that her friend was, but after months away from Lieutenant Hamilton, she'd certainly missed him. For the first time since James' death she felt for a fella again, and keen to explore those feelings, she was looking forward to seeing him again.

Accompanied by Orla, they'd found their spot looking over the docks, where the American ships were approaching. A steady stream of people grew throughout the morning, although it was nowhere as many as it had been when the Yanks first arrived. Luckily for them, they were waiting relatively calmly as opposed to some of the women stood on the shore, with scowling faces. The common denominator between those women, other than that they were all stood alone spread out across the docks, was their rounded bellies. There were plenty of American servicemen who were going to have face the consequences of their actions, too many according to some people. Church was ablaze with rumours when young women did not attend on a Sunday, with a lot of them turning out to be completely correct. They'd been at school with some of those that were stood waiting, not that too much sympathy could be found from their group. Erin wasn't interested in their situations, and neither really was Orla, with Michelle only taking an interest to snigger at their carelessness. In her own words, she'd taken a platoon one night and still remained child free.

However, the Americans were not the topic of conversations between the friends that morning. Supposed to be enjoying a rare morning off work to be able to see the Yanks back in safely, they were instead discussing the latest news that Erin discovered through her Granda Joe the night before, when it came to Clare. The little blonde was missing that morning, which Michelle immediately questioned when she didn't meet the others at the time she was supposed to. Never usually that late when they met up as a group, it was only when Erin revealed the reason why did she understand… not that she could comprehend it immediately. An internal bomb went off in her head when a word beginning with M was mentioned, almost making her lose the thread of what was said entirely. Luckily, when Erin wouldn't shut up about it, one of her more impassioned rants about what was going on, it was easy enough to ask for her to clarify.

"Hold up… yer goin' to have to tell me all that again… Joe said what!?"

"I'm serious Michelle!" Erin almost screeched. "Granda said that Sean told him that Clare's gettin' married to that fella. That the Bishop approved of it and Sean was already sayin' yes for her".

"Christ! Why the fuck isn't he givin' her the choice!?"

Sean Devlin not being a fair man was hardly a surprise and shouldn't have been to Michelle either when she thought he was a prick. However, what was at stake was a lot more than usual. Clare's whole life was hanging in the balance when it came to her future, a future that she saw very differently from her father. He might have wished for her to be married to a good young man like the Bishop's nephew, but she was not interested at all. Her wish was to find herself a woman to settle with, against what society and her Da wanted for her. When doing so would only bring shame upon their family name, she was trapped to live in a hell that she simply didn't want to be in. Her friends, two of whom were only made aware of her preferences the day before, were left with difficult decisions ahead themselves, though all three held vastly different agendas on how they saw the situation. A none to unusual situation when it came to their circle of friends.

"Ach come on Michelle, ye know what he's like. If there wasn't a war on, we'd be at church this mornin' watchin' her get married!"

Huffing and puffing, Michelle didn't want to hear Erin's argument, which was far too logical for a Friday morning. She knew it was the truth though, as much as she hated to have to hear it. Although marriages could be arranged at short notice, it wasn't as if the Bishop's nephew was a serving member of the military. Although his uncle may have been one of the most powerful men within the church across the whole country, even those familial ties wouldn't see a marriage arranged any quicker. Disgusted as a whole, the young Mallon ensured that there was a silence between them all whilst she tried to think of something else to say. It didn't last too long though, as Erin's opinions on her fellow blonde were vast, and her inability to keep her mouth shut was well known.

"Ye… ye don't think Clare wants to ride one of us, do ye?"

Exasperation when it came to Erin's narcissism was nothing new to Michelle, but she'd hoped her friend would be more considerate of their fellow friend's situation. Clare certainly didn't hold any attraction to Erin, with her affections instead once being with Michelle until it was made clear that it would not progress any further. When she believed that the world revolved around her though, Erin was always going to think that it was something to do with her, one way or another. Orla wasn't too opinionated on such matters, but she was well tuned to the conversation, stood waiting around with nothing else to do and very little else to distract her as it normally would when the others were whittling on.

"Why would she want to ride one of us?". Orla enquired with her cousin. "We're her friends, Erin".

"I know!" An exasperated Erin, for a change, replied. "But what if she's hidin' a secret from us. I know she wouldn't say anythin' after all we've been through but… ye know… I am single and not… unattractive".

Playing with her hair as she spoke, to Michelle and Orla it looked as if she was lost in thoughts of how good-looking she was. What the two of them didn't realise is that she was actually thinking of the former's cousin, on one afternoon when they'd been together before the outbreak of the war. He'd told her then how beautiful that she was as he kissed her passionately, starting at the lips and moving further down her body, ripping pleasured hums from her lungs with consummate ease. James being the gentlemanly lover that he was, caressed her gently as he did so, silky hands to brush across her already pleasured skin. Her cheeks were beginning to heat as she was lost in those thoughts, only pulled away from the memory of her English fella by realising just how hot they were. She didn't want to give away the wrong impression to her friends that she wanted Clare to find her attractive. Not at all. But to feel so loved as she had been on that day… she would have given anything for that feeling again.

"Wise up, Erin. Clare's not goin' to want to ride you!" Michelle retorted, bruising her friend's ego slightly. "No offence but yer middle of the park".

"Middle of the park!?" An outraged Erin almost screamed back at her. "I am more than middle of the park, Michelle! I'll admit I'm no Charlene Kavanagh but…".

"Fucking… get yer head out of her arse please! Christ, anyone would think ye want to ride Charlene the way ye make her sound. I thought ye didn't like her anymore?"

"I don't! But ye can't deny her beauty, Michelle".

Shaking her head, Michelle could deny it, and actively would. Throughout her friendship with Erin, the blonde always appeared to put Charlene on a pedestal above them whenever it came to conversations about beauty. She certainly was fairly reasonable looking, Michelle wouldn't deny her that, but she was nowhere as pretty as Erin made her out to be. If anything, the young Quinn was far better looking than the spy that was in their midst's, a fact which she was preparing to impart on her friend. That wasn't until she'd put a hand to her forehead, already feeling a raging headache coming on from having to chide Erin for her stupidity.

"Christ alive, Erin, listen to yerself! Yer far better lookin' than Charlene, stop thinking she's some exotic beauty just because her Da's got a mansion or two".

"I'm flattered, Michelle…". A slightly hopeful but mostly annoyed Erin, responded. "… but hardly any fella's look at me… not like they look at Charlene".

The inner jealousy that Erin felt towards the heiress was seeping out from where it usually hid within her conscience. Accepting from a young age that she would never be as beautiful or have as much money as Charlene, she used the blonde as a reference for how she wished her life to be, often trying to live up to those standards when it was not feasible. Having Charlene work alongside them in the factory for a short while made that gap disappear, the jealousy completely disappearing along with it, but outside of that time she'd always felt it. Even when she was lying in bed with James one day, she worried that he would leave her for Charlene, though the Englishman was quick to repeat Michelle's opinion that she was the better looking of the two when compared to the wealthy young woman. Around the girls she'd not talked about harbouring such feelings, with them now out in the open for at least Michelle to pick up on if Orla did not.

"Stop, Erin… Charlene's nothin' compared to you… to me… to Orla… to Clare… sure she's got money, but she isn't a fuckin' diamond either!"

"What?"

"Oh for…". Trying not lose her patience, Michelle paused for a moment before continuing in a far more composed manner. "She's got lips that a dead bass would be buzzin' for, for a start! I wouldn't kiss my Ma with lips like that!"

"Aye I've always thought she might be a fish…". Orla chimed in. "Ever since that day I saw her swimming in one those wee ponds out in the country".

"Charlene is not a fish, Orla!" Erin rounded on her cousin before changing focus to her friend. "Ye can't say things like that Michelle!"

"Seriously?"

Eyebrow raised, Michelle was beginning to wonder whether Erin was suffering from temporary memory loss. She'd always said what she wanted, and almost always did what she wanted to until she took it that far that her parents got involved. Stopping her train of thought for a moment, Erin accepted the stance. When it came to Charlene though, her jealousy was perhaps not as strong as it once was when she reflected upon what was said. She still thought that the young woman was good-looking but after hurting her feelings when she completely withdrew her friendship upon James' untimely death, there was an element of it still missing. There was a whole side to Charlene that none of them knew though, and when there was clearly nothing more pleasant to be said about her, then it made it time for the conversation to change.

"Anyway, we've gotten off track. We were talkin' about Clare and her… well…".

"She isn't goin' to marry this fella". Michelle stated adamantly. "We can't… we can't let her become miserable".

"But what do we do, Michelle?" Erin once again offered a logical question. "Clare can't… be with another woman, it's not allowed… it's not… right… I guess".

Whether it was right or not was a debate that would not end well if it began, Michelle choosing to ignore Erin's beliefs. The problem was a more immediate one than that would ever be. Trying to stop a marriage was not something that they'd done as a group before, though it would hardly be considered beyond them given their long list of shenanigans down the years. For a group of twenty one years olds, their maturity was not very high at all, measured even worse when one of them had a child of her own. Orla was a character like no other in Derry though, which was almost a free pass for the madness that she could induce. The other three should have known better, which was how most residents who knew them, viewed them.

"We could kill the Bishop?"

Stunned momentarily, Michelle and Erin wore similar expressions as they slowly turned their heads to Orla, who stood in between them. She was frowning at them when they met her eyes, wondering what the problem they had was. In her own mind she'd made a very plausible solution to put an end to the problem that Clare was having, one which was perfect to her. Unable to understand why they were looking at her funny, she didn't know what to say in return. Thankfully, she was a friend of two young women who didn't have any trouble when it came to voicing what they had to say.

"And how would that help Clare, Orla!?" Erin hissed, flying off the handle with her.

"He has a cracker wee hat, so he does, I have always wanted to try it on. If we can kill the Bishop then I can have his hat and then stop his wee nephew from marrying our Clare".

Amazingly, it probably wasn't worst plan they'd ever heard from her… except from the part about murdering the Bishop. Stopping the wedding by the means of holding more power than anyone else in the church was an intriguing idea, though one that highly unlikely to succeed. Murdering one of the most powerful men in all of Northern Ireland was neither a sensible or moral plan, though her friends highly doubted the latter of which was on her mind. Orla didn't lack a moral conscience, but it was fair to say that it would have to be coaxed out of her to be seen when her mind was elsewhere for the majority of the day.

"Yeah… I think we'll avoid murder, Orla. Probably wouldn't go down too well aye…". Michelle replied first.

"Yer probably right Michelle… but he does have a cracker wee hat so he does. I just want to wear it".

Ignoring the juvenile statement of her friend, Michelle was prepared to take the conversation back to more sensible ideas. Although she couldn't think of anymore herself, which was a problem. She'd spent all night trying to think of yet another way to help Clare, but all of those options were exhausted. Sleeping with the fella was the only obvious one left, which up until the arrival of the Americans, would have been the way in which she proceeded. However, in finding Clint she was putting those days of her life far behind her, which left the little blonde on her own when she could find no alternative. Marrying the fella was the best course of option left, even if it meant sacrificing dreams, it was better than facing death. At least that is how she saw it.

"I… I don't know girls… we can try to delay it but… honestly, what's the point? We can't fight her Da and… and the rest of the fuckin' city!"

"Well you've changed yer tune! sShe'll be miserable if we don't! I don't want to spend all day with her if she's mopin' all the time!" Erin responded passionately.

Once again, she was thinking of herself, irritating Michelle who was trying to see the wider picture in order to help their friend. She did have a point though, one which couldn't be contested. Clare would become so miserable if she was forced to marry, that being around her for all of the day would be absolutely horrendous. Hard to be friends with at times thanks to her constant panicking or her inability to be able to keep calm in situations that required a cool head, it was a worrying thought to have her even worse than usual. They loved their friend dearly, and always would, but the situation that she was in was presenting them with a challenge that they were perhaps not ready for, given their combined lack of maturity.

"She'll always have us though girls.". Michelle proudly reminded them. "We can help her through those tough days… just no-… we can't do anything about the marriage, that's what I'm sayin'".

"Why don't we see if someone else will seduce him. I hear that Gallagher girl's single again, maybe she might fancy the fella". Erin desperately made a suggestion.

"Her?". Michelle sniggered. "Her brother beat up Father Thomas from Ballymena, I'm not sure she's from the sort of family who'd appreciate her havin' it off with Bishop's nephew".

"Big Mandy?"

"Now yer bein' ridiculous Erin! I think we're just goin' to have to accept that we can't help Clare this time. We've done all we can!"

Faced with defeat, Erin didn't like to back down but could hardly say that Michelle was wrong. They'd racked their brains for an answer that would get Clare out of the predicament that she was in, but in truth, there was no answer. At a time where society wrote the scripts of almost all that lived within it, room for anything outside of the ordinary was limited. A woman was meant to be with a man, a man with a woman… the idea of a relationship between those of the same sex was absurd. The bible's teachings were very clear, certainly when it came to the Catholic Church and to defy the church was a very poor choice. Death could loom at the end of that path, a death that would probably be extremely brutal to deter others from walking it. Molly O'Keefe might have been alive but she was living far from the Foyle, away from the prying eyes of the public who knew her secret. They'd not be able to function as a group without Clare if she were to suffer the same fate as Molly had.

"There's no wind today, so there isn't…". Orla went off on a tangent. "It's very hot".

"It's July, Orla". Erin reminded her. "It's always hot".

"Aye I'm roastin' here. Clint's goin' to think I'm a right minger if I'm all sweaty!"

Momentarily turning their attentions back to the American ships that were coasting up the Foyle, they tried to spot the ship that both Clint and Lance would be returning on. There was a small fleet's worth of ships returning that morning, although not all of them were at sea the whole time, some having only recently been out on training exercises. Their ship was out for the longest alongside one other, a lengthy stint of training that accelerated their combat effectiveness. Although it seemed like a distant world to imagine them being deployed right up against the French Coast, even the citizens of Derry realised that the Yanks would be facing the Germans before long. The Bismarck might have been sunk, but it's sister ship Tirpitz was still active, leaving the chance of an engagement with the battleship a possibility. It would require the greatest training that could be given to be able to defeat such an enemy.

The heat of the day was only going to increase the closer it got to midday, just like the tension between friends was only going to increase when Clare eventually joined them. Orla was the first to spot her coming, the diminutive blonde weaving her way between pregnant women who were all lining the docks waiting to break the fortunate, or rather unfortunate, news to the sailors who were returning from months away. She nudged Erin, who in turn caught Michelle's attention, the three of them turning to face their oncoming friend. They could all see the tears from a long way off, Michelle and Erin expecting her to be crying anyway given what they'd heard. Glad to have heard it from Granda Joe before hearing it from Clare, Erin was happy that she'd told the others too so that they could face her more sympathetically. The air was still somewhat toxic around her and Clare anyway thanks to her reaction to Clare's revelation, not that the young Devlin would be receiving an apology for it.

When she looked up to see them waiting for her, Clare began to fret even more than usual, an impressive feat to say the least. She was fairly sure that over a number of months she'd experienced days which she could have considered her worst ever, but the prior day was on another level. Erin's and to a smaller extent, Orla's, reactions to her telling them that she was a lesbian, upset her immensely when they did not seem to understand. Erin could only see how it affected her rather than how it affected Clare herself, whereas Orla's lack of awareness and sensibility made her an unsuitable confidante for any problems. On the way home she didn't know if she could forgive, but by the time the night was over, around the time she'd wrapped herself up in bed to hide under the covers, forgiveness was made. Unable to afford hostility from within her friend group, Clare required all the help she could get to be able to fight her way out of having to marry the Bishop's nephew. Her Da's gleeful delight at the fella finding his Clare to be the one that he wished to be married to, hurt her the most of all, knowing how much he would be hurt if she was to tell him the truth… which she would never, ever do unless there was no choice.

"Morning Clare…". Erin addressed her first. "Yer late… did ye wake up late?"

"Ye… yeah… yes! Yes I did!" A bizarrely energised reply came.

"Grand. It shouldn't be too long now until the ships are docked and the fella's are back on shore".

Nodding to Erin, Clare fell into line alongside Michelle, in between her and Orla. Silence descended upon them once more, though the immense field of tension around them could have been felt from Donegal. The latest arrival to the scene could feel the emotion beginning to bubble away inside her, close to the precipice where it would spill over into tears and sobs. The only factor missing to upset her further from the night before was the element of violence. Sean was in far too good a mood to have struck his wife, who was ultimately pleased herself that they'd found Clare the perfect fella to settle with to have children. Her Ma sided with her Da throughout, although she could not find it within herself to criticise her mother for it. If she suspected anything, then she was saving her own skin by not saying anything to her husband who would take it as an insult if she tried to prevent the marriage.

Typically, Orla's scatterbrain approach ensured that they would all start speaking again. Unknowingly, she lacked the consideration to approach a subject properly, instead diving into what was a delicate matter, without a care in the world.

"Granda Joe says yer gettin' married… congratulations, Clare. Can I be one of maids… I promise I will behave myself! Marie could be a maid too!"

Not for the first time, Erin could have killed her cousin for how she handled situations. Erin herself was no saint when it came to delicate matters, especially not the ones concerning Clare given her own reaction, but she knew not to speak of such things. As cute as the scene of Marie being a maid at a wedding was, it could not be a wedding that saw Clare as the bride, a fella waiting to be bonded to her in matrimony in the eyes of the Lord, and the community. Michelle was equally angered, though considerate somewhat when she knew that Orla meant no offence to Clare and would not have wished to upset her. For the diminutive blonde, she was not upset at all upon hearing what was said, instead confused as to how they knew.

"How… how did ye…".

"Yer Da didn't say?" Erin enquired, brows furrowed. "He told Granda Joe outside church, so he did and Granda told me when he came in last night".

"R-R… right".

Clare held it together for the solitary moment it took to reply, but the dam broke within a half second later. She was a mess, without a wink of sleep all night from the foul life that her father committed her to, the one that she did not want to live. It wasn't fair for her, when society was seemingly built against her. Outnumbered at home, facing the weight of the world on her small shoulders, the words simply no longer worked for Clare Devlin. Scared. That was what she was above anything else, she was absolutely terrified of the future that was laying in front of her, one that she could not escape from.

"Clare…".

"What do I do!?"

She turned to Michelle, almost begging her for an answer. They'd seen Clare upset many times before, but the wild look in her eyes spoke of a tale of woe and peril that was fit for a book or the stage. Helplessness looked horrendous in any form that it presented itself, whether it was the body of a young Englishman being whipped into submission by the Nazi's or a small blonde woman, struggling to live with her secret in Derry.

"We'll think of somethin'…". Michelle tried to placate her.

"I need somethin' now!" Clare retorted viciously. "I… he told the Bishop that I wanted to marry his nephew! My Da has his mind set on it!"

"Give us time, Clare!"

"Time is the one thing I don't have, Michelle!"

"Alright, I know!"

Desperately wanting to help her friend, but without a firm idea in her mind about how she was going to do it, Michelle needed a miracle. Miracles were not something that happened in Derry very often, not since James left anyway. A miracle that would go against the conventions of society to be able to assist her friend from getting cornered into a marriage that she did not desire. God's crueller hand dealt Clare with the life that she was forced to live, constantly having to lie to the man who'd helped raise her, about who she really was. To her mother too, lying to her parents after everything they'd done for her throughout her life. There was nothing that they could or would be able to do to help her with her sexuality though, not when it was so clear that she could never be with a fella. She simply felt nothing.

"What about you, Erin? Can ye think of anythin'? Orla?"

"I think the Bishop has a cracker we-". Orla went to make her point again before she was interrupted.

"Enough, Orla!" Erin warned, forcing her cousin to back off. "Look Clare, I don't know what you think we're goin' to be able to come up with. We can't fight yer Da about this".

Deep down, Clare knew that Erin's answer was the most likely one to be correct, but it was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear of the masterplan that they'd made to be able to extract her from the painful road her father tarmacked in front of her, the road to misery that she saw her life was going to be, if she continued down it. Under duress to appease her Da and the wider group that was the rest of the community, it was the only possible way forward for her future. Suppressing those thoughts though, Clare could only think that there must have been a way to escape that lifestyle without having to become a nun somewhere, with no contact to the outside world.

"Please… please…". She begged, shaking off thoughts of the truth.

"Clare… we talked about it earlier and we couldn't think of anything…". Erin explained. "I… I'm sorry but yer… yer goin' to have to marry this fella…".

"Shut yer hole, Erin!" Michelle suddenly rounded on her, ferociously cutting into her friend, changing her mind once more. "Clare, I promise ye, we will help somehow. I promise".

"Mi-".

Stopped by her friend's glare, Erin stopped what she was going to say out of the wish to not face a further verbal bombardment. Michelle knew too that ultimately Erin was going to proven to be correct, but if she could think of something with a little more time then she would act upon it. Quite what she could do was beyond her state of mind that morning and had been since the prior day's altercation about the matter at hand, but she continued to try. Time was very much against them as Clare said it was, but she was going to need more if her brain was to engage with a proper idea to help her friend.

"The ships are comin' into dock. We'll have to talk about this later". Michelle stated, pointing towards the ship that was almost slowed to a stop in front of them.

"I need ye now!" Clare once again demanded.

"No Clare, ye need to calm down. Stay here with Orla, me and Erin will go and see the fellas".

A protest was ready from the little blonde, but she was stopped from making it as Orla wrapped her up in a warm hug. Reading the situation well, a rare case of her doing so, she knew she needed to do something in order for the rest of them to stop arguing. Smothering Clare the best that she could would at least put a stop to any further shrieking on her part, leaving the calmer pair of Michelle and Erin to get closer to the ships to see their fellas. The young Devlin did not contest the embrace that she was given though, firmly requiring it in order for her to be able to go on. Orla's caring nature from being a mother shone through in her action, even if she did not completely intend for it too, instinct taking over.

Grabbing Erin by the arm to ensure that she did not linger around the other two, Michelle led her down the dock, right beside where the soldiers would disembark when they were told that they could. Realising that there would be women waiting for a lot of their sailors upon their return, the officers decided to allow them all to see the women, albeit briefly, before returning to their ship for further debriefing and orders. The men of Lance's rank were those in charge of making sure that all of the men returned to the ship as required, a particular concern to some of his superiors after the trouble they'd had with prostitution in the city. Giving their men free license to wander off into the city in search of women of dubious morals was not the order, though it could easily be interpreted to mean as much by a lonely sailor.

"I'm dead chuffed to be seein' Clint again…". Michelle harmonised about the fella she'd fallen for. "He's such a great fella… I… I've missed him".

The affectionate, but also vulnerable side to Michelle shot forward the nearer they got to the ship, sharing her thoughts that she hadn't intended to. She kept them close to her heart, where she held Clint in such high esteem. She'd been with a lot of lads in her short time, but there was never any man that got close to him in terms of how they made her feel. They were yet to do anything more other than kiss, however, the fiery explosion of feelings every time that their lips touched was enough to blow any other man out of the water. He was tender and caring, the opposite of most fellas who saw her for what she'd been at the time. Just another ride… a very good ride, but one they didn't have to care about. Clint cared for her, wanting her to know that he did so by the way he would cup her cheek whenever they kissed. A proper fella… a gentleman.

"I'm sure he's missed ye too". Erin hummed in return.

"Ach well, yer missin' yer Lieutenant too, aren't ye…". Michelle bumped shoulders with her, the blonde rolling her eyes. "What? Is that no true?"

Erin couldn't deny the truth, though like Clare she was having a struggle in facing it. Although her truth was far less of a life changing one than Clare's was, it was still a difficult one in its own right. The hope that James would one day return, having survived improbably rather than being deceased as was thought, still flickered even if it was becoming an ever more distant dream each day. She'd proven just a few minutes earlier that morning though that she could become lost in thoughts of him, of how he treated her as if she were a goddess. His goddess. The feeling of contentment from their summer together was one she'd never truly been able to forget despite how far she'd come in her grieving process for him. Lance was a handsome fella in his own right though, with a vying thought in her head telling her that he was the man for her to move on with, even if they were just friends.

"Yeah… I… I have missed him… but ye know, just like I'd miss you". She nervously clarified.

"Aye right. Ye've dreamt about ridin' him haven't ye!" Michelle wickedly mocked her.

"No! I have not!"

She most certainly hadn't but trying to convince Michelle otherwise was a task that was not worth the effort. Instead, her focus went to actually locating Lance, and Clint for Michelle's sake, scanning the ship to see if she could see either of them. It didn't take her long to find the Lieutenant though, as he was stood right out on the deck with what appeared to be his section behind him, all of them saluting the small crowd that waited for them. At least one or two men out on the deck caught sight of the rounded bellies of women that they knew on shore, all the more reason for them to volunteer to stay onboard to complete any extra duties that might be required. Working harder for the Navy was far easier than facing a raging young Derry girl with a child on the way and no permanent fella around to help her raise it.

They had to wait for another ten minutes or so once the ship was docked, as protocol was completed onboard the ship. The men couldn't simply just file off to leave their stations abandoned, not that they were going anywhere immediately. Michelle looked around desperately for Clint but could not see him, though Erin reassured her that due to him being lowly ranked as they knew he was, he was most likely having to perform some duties still whilst the rest of them paraded out for the people. Both were certain that he would be able to make his way off of the ship for a while, although he wouldn't be with Lance's group, as he belonged to a different section to the one that the Lieutenant held responsibility over. When the first did make their way down the ramp, some more sheepishly than others, Lance led them off of the ship before slowly making his way towards the two of them. He'd already spotted them from above, making his path to them much easier to navigate.

"Lance!" Erin called as he drew closer.

When they were finally in front of each other, without anyone in their way, she proceeded to throw her arms around him, an act of care that was touching for anyone else who saw it. He didn't stop her from doing so, warmly accepting her embrace after having months of hard training at sea when even his role as an officer didn't spare him from the rigours of it. Erin wrapped him up tightly around her, finding comfort from being within his grasp after so long apart. It was the same sequence of events as her dream of James' return, only Lance had actually came back after parting with her, whereas the Captain did not.

"I've missed you!" She admitted to him immediately, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"I can see that you have…". He chuckled, resting his hands just above his hips. "I have missed your company as well, ma'am".

Addressing her politely, Erin could almost feel herself swooning from his comment. Lance's way with words was almost comparable to James', both being very able wordsmiths when it came to expressing themselves around her. Whilst she believed that she was on a different level to them all when it came to her command of the English language, written or oral, she could not put them down for their individual abilities. Whilst she reconciled with Lance, Michelle walked off further down the dock, having spotted Clint exiting the ship. The two of them would hold an even warmer embrace upon being reunited, their relationship rekindling after months apart. Never experiencing the depths of emotion that she felt for Clint before through her various conquests, the young Mallon's knees were incredibly weak upon seeing him again. She'd finally found true love.

"Where's she going?" Lance asked Erin about her.

"Ach, she's off to see Clint ye know… what was his last name…".

"Johnson?" A surprised Lance answered.

"Aye that's him? Ye sound surprised?" Erin playfully enquired.

Lance's body language and facial expressions appeared to change for a moment, shifting awkwardly on the spot as Erin confirmed the identity of the fella that Michelle was going to see. She didn't see it though or chose to ignore it by not acknowledging it openly to him, though for anyone else who would have seen his reaction, they would have noted the change in the man.

"Your friend Michelle did not strike me as the kind of woman who would wait for a man… that's all". He clarified, albeit gingerly.

"It's been quite a shock to the rest of us too…". Erin agreed, chuckling lightly. "… but Michelle's full of surprises, so she is".

"I can see that…".

Tilting his head slightly after his remark, Lance diverted Erin's attention to further down the dock where Michelle was kissing Clint passionately, the two all over each other. Making a comment about the lack of oxygen intake that the two of them were allowing themselves, Erin made Lance laugh heartily, snapping him back out of the odd body language he'd taken upon. She still hadn't noticed it at all though, leaving his change in behaviour as a subtle one to the completely oblivious blonde beside him. After a couple of minutes where they continued to quip to each other about the two's extravagant session further down the dock, they turned away, focusing on what they needed to say to each other. There was a piece of unfinished business between them that existed from when they'd last spoken, on the same night that they'd worked together along with Gerry to fetch Orla back from her shenanigans.

"Lance, ye know ye said ye wanted to ha-".

"Dinner?" He interrupted her, most ungentlemanly, but with a smile on his face. "How about tonight?"

"I…". She stammered, blushing. "I… I'd need to ask my Ma… and…".

"I'm sorry Erin…". Lance softened his words, reaching for her hands to take in his. "I can't talk for much longer. I have to make sure that my men stay around the docks and don't wander off. I have shore leave tonight and we could talk more then? Please?"

She could never deny him when he sounded so hopeful, but it would be a tough ask when her mother stood in their way. Gerry would not stop them from going out, even if his own opinion of the fella was somewhat lukewarm when compared to James, though he was suspicious of the Englishman's charms at first, James having to earn his respect. There was a hint of desperation in his voice too along with the hope, a feeling that made Erin feel better about herself more than anything. There'd only ever been one fella who she'd enticed before, the others having all been her solo conquests on them which all amounted to nothing, except the kiss on the cheek from John-Paul O'Reilly. Though like James, he too was dead.

"Alright… aye… The River at seven?"

"Seven it will be". He grinned, letting go of her hands. "I shall see you there".

Quickly leaving her side upon spotting one of his men perilously close to the edge of the docks, Lance left her with a red face. Their dinner date would be going ahead as planned, which made Erin a delighted young woman. How she would sneak out she did not know, but when her future was out there in front of her, her Mammy could not deny it to her.

Those were thoughts that would have to wait though, as whilst the solution to the life ahead for her looked to be one without significant stress, the more pressing matter of Clare's future remained in the balance.

For all of the girls, their futures were beginning to appear in front of them a lot sooner than they'd imagined…

---

She stood there in the doorway, face full of hope, arms open and waiting for the man she'd missed so much. They'd spent so much time apart from each other, away from each other's grasp but the familiarity of the warmth that they shared between them was reborn upon seeing each other. A war that raged across the world attempted to keep them apart, but in the course of love, nothing could stop them being together. The wind was light, the sun shining, on a warm afternoon in the city of Derry. The rest of her family watched on from the windows too, pleased to see that he'd came back to them alive, ready to take her hand in marriage to begin a family of their own.

"James!"

"Erin!"

Closing the final distance between them rapidly, she also moved forward with her arms open to meet him in an embrace. The two sank into each other, their bodies being reminded of the feel of each other as they intertwined for the first time in years. Feelings that were long cast away to the back of both of their minds after all that they'd been through, together and apart, shot back to the very summit of their consciousness, to be examined properly by a young couple that were very much in love. Nazi Germany's attempt to capture, and torture him, might have been successful for some time with the threat of her being harmed, but as she nestled into him that afternoon he knew they would have never been able to hurt her.

"I've missed you…". She cried, tears flowing freely. "They… they said ye were… dead".

"Please don't cry, Erin…". He pulled away slightly, using his thumb to wipe away her tears. "I have never stopped thinking about you… never stopped fighting so that we can be together".

"Oh James, I love you!"

She reached her hand forward to cup his cheek, an action that he mirrored to leave them holding each other tenderly. Those were the images that got him through the darkest days of his torture… images which were now a reality.

"I am sorry… I wish I could have came home sooner… I… I know I have upset you". A vulnerable James begged for forgiveness.

"Stop it…". She almost giggled, swatting him with her free arm. "Ye silly fella… It… it doesn't matter because I have ye back with me now and that's all I've ever wanted!"

"But I want more".

Confused by his comment, she let go of his cheek just as he let go of hers. The more that he wanted was another one of those dreams that kept him sane as Kurt Van Der Heijden brutalised him to find out who he was, perhaps the best dream of them all. It was going to be by no means conventional when it came to the formalities of such an arrangement, albeit his reputation with her family counted for a lot. Equally he'd hoped that his own family would be there to see it, but after so long apart from his beloved, he did not wish to waste anymore time without asking her the most important question of all.

Crouching down, he quickly dropped to one knee, planted to the firm ground of the pathway up to the Quinn house where he'd been many times before. Only this time he was back with a life changing offer for Erin, one that even a man who doubted the existence of a higher being, prayed to one for hope of her acceptance.

"James!"

"Erin Joseph-".

"James!"

She was not saying his name as he thought. Fooled by his own mind, cast into a dream like nature, it was only the second time that he was called that he realised that the voice of a man from Derry was saying it, not a woman. A man who's voice he'd not heard for some years up until the night before, when he'd been so close to making his escape over the border into Spain, towards the safety of a return to home shores.

"Havin' a dream were ye?" John-Paul enquired, as the Englishman yawned, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes… of sorts". James replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "What time is it?"

"Ye've slept a bit too well, so ye have. It's just after nine".

Eyes widening, James did not want to be up so late when he wished to leave so soon. Setting out early was his preferred plan, but it was clear that his body fought against him when it came to executing it. It was essential for his body to do so though, as he'd tested it to the extreme over the months of escape from Italy into France. He hadn't always been on the move during that time, but he'd spent enough of it on his own, walking in ditches and fields, following streams and rivers, to make his body yearn for a proper night of sleep. The last time he'd slept in a proper bed was back in Rome, though it was hardly comfortable even before Kurt decided to destroy it. Succumbing to the temptation of further sleep, he was well behind schedule, but John-Paul was not to know, as he was unaware of James' plans, the two not having discussed them the night before.

"I've left ye some things to shave and wash with. It's a bucket wash though I'm afraid, no such luxuries as a bath up here".

"I can manage". James chuckled. "Thank you, John-Paul".

"Don't mention it". He curved his lips up slightly. "When yer done, come and meet me downstairs and we'll have a talk".

Nodding his gratitude, along with his acceptance of John-Paul's instruction, James watched as the Irishman departed, hearing the creaking of floorboards to indicate that he'd headed straight down the stairs. Vaguely he remembered that the room that he was in was the first one to the left as they'd ascended the stairs. By the time they'd reached the flight of stairs though, his body was already giving up having breathed a sigh of relief when the warmth and safety of a normal property could be feasted upon by his eyes. Tiredness appeared to catch him completely off guard as he tried to make it to the room, remembering that John-Paul kindly propped him up some of the way before he could finally sleep.

When the Irishman first revealed himself out behind the building James attempted to use as cover, the Englishman did not think he would be awake by the following morning. When a knife is around one's throat and a gun prodded into one's back, he thought, there was very little chance that the conversation was a friendly one. John-Paul, as far as he could remember, was yet to explain why he'd confronted him in that manner although James was not naïve when it came to such scenarios. His silence was at least guaranteed if he was held at both knife and gunpoint, and it could have been for his own safety if there were others around who would not have hesitated to shoot him on sight. It would have been agonising to die just a few miles away from the Spanish border.

With his plans for the day ruined, and John-Paul seemingly having other plans for them that morning, James decided to take his time shaving so that he made himself most presentable. Meeting John-Paul O'Reilly for a quick chat was hardly dinner at The Ritz, but he didn't wish to look too scruffy either if there were others around who might not take so kindly to him. In such a remote area of France, high up in the mountains where the nearest city of Perpignan was hours away even if travelling by car, he hardly expected to find a full garrison of Vichy France's finest troops waiting for him. He'd not seen any soldiers around when they'd walked into the building the night before at least, though taking chances that there wasn't any was not something that he was willing to do. He washed himself just as diligently as well, the water in the bucket ice cold from one of the streams that lay just south of the village, towards the border that James wished to head to.

The clothes that he'd worn the prior evening were hardly the best, borrowed like the map from the friendly couple miles back down at the foot of the mountain range. Clothes that befitted a common labourer made him fit in if he was found to be walking alongside a road in the middle of nowhere, but over the few days it had taken him to reach the village of Mantet, they'd become infested with the stench of bodily odour. Without a separate bucket to wash the clothes in, James was left with a decision to make until he realised that John-Paul had already made it for him. There was a wardrobe in the room, and curiously, James decided to peruse it to see if there were any clothes inside that he might borrow. A dark beige suit was hanging up waiting for him, complete with matching trousers and a white shirt that he could wear underneath. He'd almost be the smartest dressed man in the whole village, but familiar with such suits that he wore frequently back home, he was not going to turn down the offer.

Fully dressed, shaven and washed, James exited the room to discover the room opposite's door was open, showing him what appeared to be the bathroom. Answering one of the many questions he had for John-Paul, he utilised the facility before making his way down the stairs to the awaiting Irishman. A sign in the bathroom answered another one of the questions that he would have asked, though quite why the owners of the establishment advertised their name in the bathroom he did not know. His command of the French language was as non-existent as his Italian, but inferring enough from the words he could see, it was simply the village hotel of Mantet. It wouldn't be necessary to clarify with John-Paul though, as he was at least safe where he was.

Making his way down the stairs, it didn't take long to find the Irishman, sat on a stool in the corner below the stairs. The downstairs of the hotel was more like a bar than a reception, the owner doubling up as the barman it seemed. There were around four of five other patrons that were sat around, all of them with their eyes on him, along with a waitress who was also trying to work out who he was. Choosing to ignore them rather than making any sustained eye contact in return, he instead headed over to John-Paul, who'd already done him the favour of leaving him a glass of water to drink. He too was having a glass of water, tucked away in the corner where he could see the whole of the rest of the bar, along with the back door that was over his left shoulder. With his analytical brain still as sharp as ever, James recognised the positioning as a sign that the Derry man was always looking over his shoulder, with an escape route in mind should anything go awry.

"Don't take too much notice of them…". John-Paul commented on the locals. "… they'll soon forget that yer here… just like they did with me".

"Right… I shall ignore them".

Unexpectedly hesitant even to himself, James took the seat next to the Irishman, on the right of the large round table. He too could also now see the rest of the bar, glad to not have his back to the locals in case one of them did take offence at his presence. As much as he did not have a reason not to trust John-Paul when he'd helped him, he did not wish to test the resolve of any local who decided he was not welcome to stay.

"Welcome to the Mantet Village Hotel…". John-Paul welcomed him like a Mayor would. "The only decent place in this fuckin' shithole".

Lowering his voice for the second half of his comment, he tried not to attract the ire of any of the locals who he knew. None of them appeared to have registered the comment, though James attributed that to the fact they probably didn't know any English at all, nor would they be too concerned with what John-Paul had to say.

"The beds are at least more comfortable than a few sheets on the ground or a tent…". James scoffed. "Thank you, John-Paul. I really cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me".

"Ach, I couldn't leave ye out there fendin' for yerself now, could I?" He laughed. "Besides, another ally that I can trust is always helpful out here. I don't get to see too many friendly faces that often".

"I too have longed for a friendly face after the last few months… or… I suppose the last few years".

"I bet ye have. What happened anyway, ye were goin' to tell me last night but ye were that tired, ye were asleep before ye could".

Frowning, he couldn't recall having said that he would tell him, but he was that tired the night before, James could hardly say that he was lying either. The whole story in full, the involvement of his mother amongst other details, he could not tell, not to John-Paul even when he did trust him. Those were details that only somebody from the Intelligence Services would be able to hear, though with no way of contacting anyone from that branch, the full picture would most likely remain unclear forever. A simplified version of the tale of his escape from Italy could at least be imparted on the Irishman though, to explain just how he'd found his way to Mantet.

"The Nazi's were holding me in a camp outside of Rome…". James started, his mind casting images of the room he'd spent so much time in. "They were going to transport me back to Berlin to face further questioning but just before we left, I managed to escape and stole a car".

"Jesus!" John-Paul whispered the exclamation. "How the fuck did ye get away?"

"I must have gone undetected for some time… I… I am not sure quite how but by the time the car gave up near to the French border, they must have stopped chasing me. I slipped over the border on a goods vehicle that took me to somewhere close to Nice and from there… I've been walking".

"That was some escape, James! I don't think too many fellas have escaped a camp and made it all the way as far as somewhere like here without dying".

"Luck appears to have been on my side". The Englishman commented softly. "What about you? How did you manage to end up here of all places?"

Like James, John-Paul would not reveal his whole story, though for differing reasons to the Englishman. Similarly though, there were parts of his tale that were only fit for the ears of certain people, James' ears not being one of those that could be invited to hear it. He'd walked for a considerable amount longer than James, through rougher territory too when the Nazi's first swarmed their way through France two years earlier. James might have held demons from his travails, but if he were aware of the full extent of the deeds of the man next to him, then he would not speak of any of his own hardships again.

"I'll give it to ye simply, James, the Nazi's overran us on the way back to Dunkirk and most of my platoon either got away or died where they stood. I played dead for a bit and they fucked off after the rest of them so I slipped away. I found the road south and started walkin'".

"All the way here?" A shocked James responded. "You've walked the length of France!"

"I made a few stops along the way, like…". John-Paul continued. "But aye for the most part I have. I got here just before Christmas last year and I've been here helpin' out since. And helpin' any strays like yerself as well".

"I am not the first escaped prisoner then?"

"Ye won't be the last either, James. There's been about… oh I'd said ten or eleven lads that have made their way up here this year. As far as I know, they've all made it back home".

The fact that he wasn't the first man to attempt the crossing, settled James down. John-Paul's intentions may not have been clear as to why he did not escape with them, but there was always going to have to be someone who stayed behind to help others. If John-Paul was volunteering to be that man, then he could hardly bring himself to question his motives.

"That is refreshing to hear". He commented, John-Paul smiling to him.

"It's not without risk though. Soldiers come up here once every week, mostly to collect money from the people but they check around sometimes too. I have to keep myself well hidden, so I do. I'm surprised ye didn't run into them on yer walk up here".

"I saw no one really, other than a shepherd in a distant field. I suppose the soldiers may have taken an alternative road down out of the mountains".

"Aye… maybe…".

The dangers of having men out looking for him were still not completely erased from James' mind, not after everything he'd been through. Kurt was one of the most powerful men in the Nazi regime, with a direct line to Hitler himself. Killing a man such as he was not without consequence, and when Lieutenant Hartmann would have found the bodies, he would have reported them immediately. He'd not ran into any Nazi search parties that were out looking for him on the way, though he'd hidden from convoys of their vehicles on numerous occasions throughout his journey across Southern France, theorising that some of the men in those trucks could have been assigned to find him as they passed. It didn't matter though, because they had not.

"When do you think it is best that I try myself?" James enquired, not hiding his intentions at all.

"Tomorrow". The answer came immediately, though quietly. "If ye stay here for too long then the soldiers will be back and it'll be impossible for the two of us to hide when it's hard enough for just me on my own".

"Early, I presume?"

"Six… maybe earlier if we can both get up. I don't think anyone here would go tellin' the soldiers or anythin' but I've always gone out early with the others before you and it's worked".

"There is no point in changing a plan that does not need fixing". The Englishman hummed. "I have supplies as you saw yesterday, so I am ready to leave as soon as you are".

Dipping his head, John-Paul took the information in as a familiar plan formed in his mind. He would help James to safety just how he'd aided those before him, though his own escape from France would have to wait. Unconcerned by his own inability to escape though, the Irishman began to talk his English friend through the route up over the mountains, and to the border, where James would be on his own for some of the way into the other country. There was a man that John-Paul trusted on the other side, who went by the name of Pedro, the very same man who'd he passed the other servicemen onto once they reached Spain. Simply walking into Spain to find a way home was not the way out of the country, as although they were neutral in the war and would not shoot any man they found, imprisonment was the alternative they offered. It wouldn't matter what the nationality of the serviceman was, even escaping Nazi's would be put into prison until a time where they could be safely returned to their countries. Pedro was the man that made sure that the fate in question was avoided, ensuring safe passage to a port where a merchant vessel could be boarded that was heading off to trade elsewhere or even into Portugal, Britain's oldest ally who still traded with the old Empire.

"You can trust this man, Pedro?" Diligently, James asked about the man. "He has seen men back to Britain safely before?"

"He was here when I came here last year…". John-Paul relayed the story to him. "… took me in, got me fresh clothes and offered me his help. There was another fella who arrived a couple of days behind me and we started this arrangement that I'd get someone like yerself to the border, you'd have a few miles walk down the other side of the mountains and then Pedro would pick ye up. I trust him with my life, James".

"His assistance proves his noble nature". James stated soundly. "Very well, I shall ensure that I wake in plenty of time in the morning".

Instead of offering any words or a nod, John-Paul instead offered his hand for the Englishman to shake. The gesture did not quite fit the actions around it, but when he was showing respect, James would not turn the man down either. He could have quite easily cast him aside when he was an Englishman, but John-Paul's generosity did not discriminate. Having spent the best part of eighteen months walking from one end of France to the other, starting with watching friends die, he wasn't prepared to see others die from what James could see. Both took sips of their drinks as they watched the world go by almost, catching the occasional glance from one or two of the patrons who were still trying to work out who James was. Foreign strangers were nothing new to the villagers of Mantet, who always appeared to find the Irishman talking to them before they went away again. He was too useful for any of them to question though, helping out around many houses throughout the village and not many of them spoke any English anyway, let alone with any competency.

"We've plenty of time to talk anyway, James… but did ye want somethin' to eat? There's not much here but there's enough, so there is".

"I am rather hungry, but I would not want to impose".

Holding his hand up to stop James from being gentlemanly, John-Paul looked over to the waitress who noticed his tilted head immediately. The two didn't know each other that well beyond a couple of conversations in Derry when he'd been in the bank but the Irishman was well aware of how much of a gentleman that he was. James watched on as the waitress strolled her way over to them, appearing to sway her hips the nearer that she got to John-Paul, whose face lit up. Aware that John-Paul had a woman back home to go to in Ciara, the next few seconds surprised him when the waitress proceeded to sit on the Irishman's lap as he spoke to her in what he believed to be Spanish. Another language that he did not know, James felt awkward sat just over an arm's length away, glancing up to the woman with a gracious smile across his face. Acting gentlemanly once more, only because he did not know what else to do, it was another minute or two before the woman went off again. Prior to her departure though she leant in for a kiss with John-Paul, who playfully swotted her bottom as she walked off.

"She's a good girl, Sofia…". He said, voice trailing whilst his eyes followed her.

"Is she Spanish? It sounded like Spanish that you were speaking?" An inquisitive James asked.

"Aye she comes from across the border originally but came here to look for work before the war started. She's taught me a bit of Spanish, so she has… amongst other things".

A mischievous glint appeared in the Irishman's eye, which told James exactly what he meant, not that he hadn't already been able to work it out for himself. In a lonely, desolate place such as Mantet, John-Paul could hardly be blamed for enjoying the company of a woman, but James didn't know how he did it when he knew there was a woman at home that he was betraying. If he was in the same situation, he would have to politely decline any offers, which he'd had to on more than one occasion since leaving Derry to serve, unable to comprehend the thought of giving himself to anyone else other than Erin. He could never do that to her, not when he loved her so greatly, the young blonde being the beacon that guided him to the light side of his life again when the dark was in retreat.

"I hate to pry but…".

"Ciara?" John-Paul read his question before it fell from his lips, stunning James. "I know what yer thinkin' but let me explain this to ye, James. I've been away a long time and she's goin' to think I've been dead for two years or more now… she'll have moved on. If I'm stayin' here for a long time then I'm goin' to need to find someone and Sofia… she's a cracker girl, so she is".

"Do you not worry that Ciara has not moved on? If you were to return to Derry, she might be waiting for you".

"I don't live in a world of dreams, James. I would give anything to be back with her again, I won't lie to ye about that, but I have to be realistic. There's nothin' for me back home if she's found another fella".

There were no melancholy tones that accompanied the man's statement, but James couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was not attempting to hide his love for Ciara, a love that must have been flourishing like James' was with Erin before the war broke out. The war did not care for love stories or romanticism though, only the brutal reality of conflict and the lives that it took with it in order for the smallest of goals to be achieved. John-Paul could not see any hope for a life back in Derry without her by his side, nor would he take a girl like Sofia back with him when he knew that his parents would not approve. If everyone in Ireland thought he was dead anyway, he could make a new life for himself high up in the mountains of France, out of the way of the rest of society with another woman that he loved in the waitress.

"I see…".

"Ach, let's not talk about women, eh?" John-Paul smirked. "Say, what regiment were you in anyway… and how the fuck did you end up in Rome?"

Despite everything that happened, James felt far more comfortable discussing the battles he'd been involved in than John-Paul's private life. It wasn't his world to know or care of, and though he himself would not have been able to follow the same line of starting a new life when there was someone back home who loved him, James luckily didn't have the same problem. Although she would have been told that he was missing, if not deceased, Erin would always be there for him… he just knew it. She wouldn't move on to someone else like John-Paul was doing with Sofia, not when they loved each other so dearly.

Erin would wait for him… he was certain of it.

---

Erin waited for him outside The River, having arrived far too early.

She'd agreed to meet up with Lance for seven, but in her haste to get ready with plenty of time to spare, as well as get there, she ended up stood outside for around quarter to. A dinner date in wartime was a rare treat indeed, especially when there was rationing but the Lieutenant clearly was able to find a way to treat her. It was one of his many endearing qualities, the ones she would limit herself to thinking of when there was no one else around, too afraid to tell anyone of how she thought about him. She wasn't embarrassed as such, but there were reasons for why she could say nothing when it came to all of her friends, as well as the rest of her family. Her mother's blatant hostility towards the Americans being the most prominent of all.

Arriving home after work, immediately breaking into a monologue about how she was going out for the evening with the fella, she didn't give her mother much of a chance to fight back. Raging, Mary still managed to get a word or two in but was stopped from completely ripping into her daughter by her husband. Gerry held his tongue on his own thoughts about the Lieutenant, knowing that it wasn't their job to control the rest of her life. Using the situation that they were seeing with the Devlin's, he argued that they'd be no better than Sean if they stopped Erin from going out, an argument that only made Mary angrier. She didn't appreciate being compared, in a sense, to that man, who was a controlling influence over his household. She relented with Erin though because of it, leaving the young blonde to get ready in peace.

One of her best dresses was the one that she wore that evening, covering herself in make up as well to make herself look the part. Lance couldn't have been too different to the other Americans, she thought; he wanted to see her at her very best. When she'd finished with it, she looked far different to normal, a far cry from the young woman that toiled away in a factory making shirts five days a week. In her head, when she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, she was more like a Hollywood actress. A refined beauty with a taste for the luxury in life, that was the image that Lance wanted to see, just like the rest of the Yanks did with the Irish women that they courted. Not that the two of them were courting… of course. The family did seem destined to annoy her throughout the evening though, with Anna making an unusually snide remark about how much makeup she was applying. It wasn't her sister's business to find out why she felt the need to, nor was it for her to remind her older sister that she never put that much makeup on for James. She shrugged off the comment without answering, convincing herself that it did not need to be answered, certainly not to Anna. Deep down in her conscience though, Anna's comment rang true. She'd never needed to make herself so presentable for the English fella…

However, after only a few minutes, Lance showed that he was just as keen as her, arriving at speed from the direction of the docks. He was dressed in his best uniform for the evening, cutting a dashing figure as the sun gleamed onto his face, almost illuminating him to her. In the middle of the summer, the sun was still strong at such a time of the day, leaving her comfortably warm in her dress rather than shivering with cold. It would still be fairly warm by the time that their dinner was completed too, rendering a jacket unnecessary. Despite the dress though, she wore flat soled shoes rather than heeled ones, finding them to be more suitable even if they did not quite fit the image she was trying to pull off.

Greeting each other with a hug, Lance didn't waste any further time by talking outside, leaving the conversation until they made their way in. Once inside, there were a few looks from some of the regular patrons of The River, who were in that Friday night as well as the barman who strangely trusted the American more than he trusted her. Unfortunately for Erin, the actions of her and the rest of her friends with the trouble that they caused people in the city, gave them a reputation for calamity ensuing wherever they were. Keen to avoid trouble, he hoped that the pair of them would not be staying for too long. The Yanks caused him enough of a bother without one of the local girls having to join in with one of them too.

"Where shall we sit?" She asked him, looking to the vast array of empty tables around them.

"Go and find yourself a table, Erin". He replied. "I'll go and order our food and drinks".

"But I don't know what I want yet…".

"I already have that taken care of, trust me. Now you find yourself that table, I'll be there in just a minute".

The two exchanged smiles, Erin almost giddy with excitement when she realised he'd gone to some lengths to ensure they would enjoy their meal. When a fella put effort into making a girl happy, it meant something in her mind, noticing a similarity between Lance and the deceased James. Both of them tried to make her feel special, even if it meant going to extreme lengths themselves to be able to do so. Organising a dinner at The River was no trip into the air in a private aircraft, mind, but she shook off the thoughts, telling herself not for the first time that it was not fair to compare Lance to James. She wasn't in a relationship with Lance, whereas she had been with the Englishman. Either way, she felt a lot better about herself when she sat herself down at the table.

Keeping to his word, Lance was only another minute or so, returning with a drink for her as well as himself. Quite how he'd managed to get hold of the wine that she was drinking, she did not know, but would not complain when it was so good. It was rare for Derry to have such finery, not unless it had been smuggled over the border. Smuggling did not always guarantee goods though, especially if items needed to be ditched to avoid detection. Lieutenant Hamilton's presence appeared to have ensured it though, a grateful Erin smiling at him upon taking the first few sips. Lance himself settled for a whisky, a single rather than a double for the young man, who was being incredibly sensible for a man on shore leave. It was his duty as an officer to be though, setting the example that the men needed to follow.

"This is lovely…". She mused merrily, looking directly at him. "Thank you, Lance. I… I've been lookin' forward to tonight".

"So have I". He admitted, smirking slightly. "Your folks didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

She could only sigh at first, an answer in itself before it was expanded upon.

"Just Mammy. She's… well she rules the house quite firmly ye see".

"Nothing like my mom then". He responded, sipping his whisky. "My daddy is in charge back home, Mom's no better than we are".

"Can we swap?"

They laughed jokingly at her comment, one which Erin would never repeat in front of her mother. As much as Mary annoyed her daughter, it was never to an extent where Erin would have meant the comment that she made. She wouldn't swap her family for the world, even if they did do their best to consistently frustrate her, and in some cases, hold her back from the woman that she wanted to be. They'd been there for her at her lowest though when they could have just as easily left her to fight her battles alone. Lance's home situation sounded very similar to the one at the Devlin household, though his father probably didn't hit his mother nor was he attempting to force a marriage onto one of his children. The problems with Clare were for another day though, as she was focused on the dinner with Lance, and nothing else.

"How was yer trainin'?" She began the small talk properly with her enquiry.

"It went very well actually, a lot better than I thought it would". Lance explained. "It was interesting to learn from some of the Brits about their experiences fighting the Krauts at sea. I have to admit Erin, I have never been in a battle in my life".

"That's nothin' to be ashamed of, sure yer only into yer early twenties, Lance. Peace is better anyway… less chance of gettin' hurt that way".

Her mind was conjuring thoughts of another fella she knew who'd gone away to fight, who'd gotten himself hurt and never came back. She wanted peace as much as anyone, but even more so when she knew what it felt like to lose someone close to the heart during wartime. Not wishing for a repeat of what happened with James, with Lance, it was morale raising to hear that he'd taken in the information from those who'd survived naval encounters with the Nazi's in the past. Peace would surely not come quick enough to stop him having to be out in combat, but with the wise words of those with more experience than him, she hoped it would keep him safe from the cruel hand of fate.

"I know. I just wish that either this would all be over, or I could fight tomorrow… I hate all this waitin' around nonsense". He bemoaned the situation, shaking his head.

"Tomorrow? Ye wouldn't want to rush… would ye?"

Spotting her nervousness, Lance softened his smile further, leaning forward slightly further in his seat to talk to her again. As he did so, Erin could feel the heat begin to rise in her cheeks the closer that he got to her, having to fight herself to regain control. Strong emotions like that around men were almost alien to hear, having only felt them once before in her entire life. With James though, they were far stronger than they were with Lance because her knees were not jelly-esque substances when the American spoke. She wasn't thinking about that though, not at all, because James was dead and would never make her feel that way again.

"I'd be careful ma'am, I promise".

His words were honeyed, not that she recognised them as such. He was a wordsmith of sorts, a better one that her in reality. The ability to coat his words so sincerely was one that saw him in good stead for many years, navigating his youth back in America using his ability to speak well to get his own way. From his mother to the young girl from the next village over, he was able to talk his way into and out of any situation, with consummate ease. He was no spy at least, which was a positive when Derry already held three of them, though another one for those who despised the Nazi's would make them the overwhelmingly stronger force. The Nazi spy was rather on her own in that regard.

"Tell me more about ye…". She lifted the mood of the conversation, asking him another question. "Ye've seen all my friends and know a bit about my family but I don't know too much about yer's".

"Alright…". He chuckled. "We own land down in the state of Virginia. Our family's been in business and land for generations… all the way back to the days just before the revolution".

"Ye must have a lot of money then. Not like my family…".

"We have been lucky, I cannot contest that, Erin. It doesn't always mean that we have everythin' that we want though. The family's word used to mean something but not any more… new families emerge all the time back home and they have more power than us now".

"Oh… I guess that can't be nice for the older members of yer family".

"My Grandpa… he died cursing the names of those people for taking our spot in society. In his eyes they cheated their way to the top where we worked for generations to succeed".

To anyone else, it would have been a ridiculous story that was truly a problem that only the very rich could see as one worth worrying over. If Mary or Gerry were present, they would have shaken their heads at such a tale, after years of working themselves almost into the ground to be able to provide for their children and improve their quality of living. Trivial tiffs over which family held more power out in the American countryside was hardly a compelling reason for sympathy to be given. However, to Erin it was completely fascinating. There was a story to be written about it if she could find out further details, or perhaps a poem. An old family of tradition being brushed aside by modern upstarts, but not without giving them a fight or two in return, all the while being surrounded by the backdrop of another world war.

"Do ye have many brothers or sisters? I just have Anna but I reckon ye've got more?"

"How very clever of you, Erin". He complimented her wise assumption. "You're right. I have two brothers and three sisters but I'm the youngest so I'm the one who gets it rough when we're all together".

"I can't imagine that's fun".

"It isn't, I can assure you of that. I'm quite close to them though… I don't know about you, but I think you gotta be close when its family".

"Aye, when it's family ye have to be". Erin agreed. "Friends too".

For a brief moment she was distracted from the dinner to think of Clare's predicament again. The diminutive blonde was so tightly trapped in a hell that she could not escape from, a hell that the rest of them could do little to help her with. Wanting to forge a destiny of her own, the chance to simply did not exist for the young woman when the conventions of the world that they lived in would have to be broken to make it happen. Not even the presence of the Americans could help them, not when some of them were perhaps more deeply religious than even Sean was. As much as the news about Clare's preferences made her feel pressured in her own sphere, beyond her usual bluster, Erin did still care for her friend. She almost certainly owed her an apology at the very least.

"Speaking of friends, I spoke to Michelle earlier when I was trying to gather my men together".

"Michelle?" Erin frowned, curious immediately. "I didn't think she'd stay for a chat…".

"I was just as confused, I must say". Lance offered her a grin, before his facial expression changed to a more serious one. "She err… she… she told me about James".

At the mention of his name, Erin froze, almost dropping the glass of wine that was in her hand. Usually warm blood turned rapidly to ice when his name fell from Lance's lips. She thought of the Englishman a lot, alongside the thoughts she held about the Yank in front of her, but to have the latter speak of the former was a very different sensation to what she expected. It almost felt wrong for Lance to be talking about him when he did not know the fella she'd lost, the beautiful, handsome, gentleman that she was once so madly in love with… a love that never quite completely faded, no matter how hard she tried to relegate it to her past. Of course, Michelle went and mentioned him, she thought, probably trying to warn the Lieutenant about any outbursts she might have or any comments she might make about him. Even though James was her cousin, it wasn't her place to be involving herself in her relationship with Lance. Erin herself should have been the one to tell the American about him… not Michelle.

"Right…".

"He sounded like a good man. I know the two of you were close so I… I am sorry for your loss, Erin… truly I am".

His hand came forward to settle over hers for a second, but he deliberately did not allow it to linger so that she did not think he was taking advantage of her in a moment of reflection. Determined not to allow the memory of him to make her cry like it had done on many occasions before, Erin plucked up reserves of courage from out of thin air in order to stay composed. Her inability to keep her thoughts in check usually resorted in her flying off the handle during such scenarios, but for once she remained sombre and reflective. As much as it pained her to think about what James would have wanted, she knew at the very least he would not have wanted her to cry around other men because she was thinking of him.

"Th… Thank you…". She stuttered for a second, before pulling herself together. "He… he was a good man… one of the best. David was too… I guess Michelle told ye about him as well?"

"Yes ma'am. Your family must have been incredibly strong to help both you and Orla through that time… I can tell they're good people".

"They are".

Her family were incredible, even though she sometimes didn't want to admit it or even took advantage of it. She'd never have made it through the war without the support of her parents in particular, who knew of things that no other family member or friend did. Anna's support was touching too, as well as her ability to make the rest of them proud with her academic achievements. With her friends at her side as well, who could sometimes promote tough love but would always find a way to support her, she was well looked after when she thought of it. Sometimes the young Quinn would not want the love yet knowing that it was available to her thanks to the gregarious nature of those around her, her life was better for it.

The rest of their dinner progressed amicably, with Lance's surprise living up to the billing. Quite how he'd arranged a full roast for their meal was beyond her, the Lieutenant brushing it off as a simple use of his rank to be able to get them the finest meat. There was evidently some financial persuasion involved too, but when she was feasting on the finest cuts from the bone it really did not matter at all. Her portion was so large that she could barely eat it all but forced the last full mouthfuls down out of gratitude to the Lieutenant. There was no further talk about James during the rest of the evening, Erin avoiding any subjects that would bring him into the discussion. Speaking about him in short bursts was manageable, but in a prolonged conversation with Lance of all people, the wee English fella was not to be spoken about. She couldn't deal with that sort of a chat.

By the time that their dinner was settled in their stomachs, and their drinks were completed, the clock was ticking on for nine o'clock. She'd promised her parents that she would be back by no later than ten, and wanting to make a quick stop at Ferguson Street on the way back to see her Aunt Sarah, she needed to be getting going sooner rather than later to be able to fit the detour in. Luckily, Lance was the first to move, rising from the table whilst telling her that he thought it was about time that they went before the pitch black of the night properly set in. July was drawing to a close that night, the dusk of that month settling, the dawn of August just hours away. There were changes aplenty in Derry that night, and it would not be the only one that came to the surface, albeit it would be the most visible.

Outside The River, the dolled-up Erin stood next to Lance as the two of them stopped for a moment to admire the empty street in front of them. Apart from the odd copper out on the beat that night, there was barely another soul about, those being out already ensconced within pubs or at one of the dances. A rare moment's peace, in an otherwise chaotic world.

"That was a grand evening…". She said to him, turning to face the Yank. "Thank you, Lance… honestly, Thank you".

"You've been mighty fine company, Erin… and you look so pretty too".

She didn't dare meet his eye when he made another comment about her beauty, almost unwilling to acknowledge it. Strangely enough it wasn't even the first time she'd found herself glowing red at such a compliment that day, Michelle having also complimented her good looks to leave her glowing scarlet. Feeling his glare upon her though, eventually she lifted her head to see him stood there grinning at her, unoffended by her initial lack of acknowledgement. Every little action he seemed to complete when she least expected him to was the correct one, making her like him just a little more each time. There was definite attraction, she could no longer deny it and would not even do so to Michelle. Lance… Lance was different to most fellas… in a way she was yet to understand but also yet to find wrong.

"I… I need to get going…". He suddenly spoke to break their silence. "My shore leave only extends until the officers meeting tonight. I… I can't be late to that".

"Of course…". She fidgeted, smiling still. "Will ye… will ye have shore leave again soon?"

"I'll come and find you… I promise. But until then…".

He was interrupted by the young blonde in front of him before he could conclude his farewell for the evening. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek, properly showing what she thought of him physically beyond a hug. Kissing a fella was something she'd not done since James passed, though it was nothing compared to the snogging that they'd done in the glorious summer before the war. She couldn't think that way though, kissing Lance on the cheek as a way of saying thanks in the most part. The look on his face from the joyous interruption was very much amusing, betraying his own thoughts about the Derry girl in front of him. There was no time for him to question it any more, as when he looked up, she was already off running down the road, shouting back to say goodbye to him.

Giggling to herself, Erin felt alive for having the audacity to commit such an act on the seemingly oblivious Lance. Back behind her in the city, there was an additional spring in his step too, walking back to his ship, celebrating a successful evening.

She really did like the fella.

---

The next day, south of Mantet…

Spain could only have been a few hundred metres away.

Wrapped up in coats despite it being the summer, the two men having to go almost to the height of the mountain, they trudged their way up a snowy path, on their way to the peak where the reverse slope contained a life of freedom that James missed dearly. John-Paul led the way up the path, on a route that he knew well, well enough to explain in it in detail to James. They were going up the Dona, one of many mountains around the area, that peaked at over two thousand metres up. The oxygen began to become limited the higher they climbed, and though it might have been the summer, it wasn't the hottest summer that the area had ever been through. The very tops of the peaks were still snow covered when they would often not be, a wintery look to the area. Looking out all around them, the two could see the peaks of the other mountains of the area, which were completely uninhabited.

They hadn't risked going over the pass between the Dona and one of the other mountains, John-Paul dismissing James' idea to do so. The area was far too open and more likely to receive attention by any Spanish soldiers in the area or even armed citizens who may have ventured as far as the border. Passing over the peak and down through the rocky areas on the other side guaranteed some safety from other people, though the route itself was hardly an easy one. It was also easier for Pedro to locate him, John-Paul told James, as he would be checking those areas for any man that was trying to make it over the border.

"It is beautiful up here…". James commented to John-Paul. "Perhaps one day under a flag of peace, I could bring Erin up here. I am sure she could find poetic influence from the landscape of these mountains".

"As long as ye don't let her publish it and spare the rest of us from havin' to hear it… aye I wouldn't think that'd be too bad an idea".

"Honestly!" James moaned about John-Paul's reply. "I cannot seem to travel to a country without someone within it criticising her work!"

"That's because it's shite James…". John-Paul told him straight. "It doesn't matter if yer an Irishman, Englishman, Frenchman or a German… anyone can see that she has no talent… ye shouldn't encourage her. Money talks and she won't get any if she starts publishin' all that".

"She's a misunderstood genius…".

Murmurs of discontent remained hidden from John-Paul, but James was not too best pleased with the way in which the Irishman so cruelly dismissed her work. He almost fought a constant battle in trying to convince other people that his beloved's works were artistry, a belief that he held true to his heart. He wasn't just saying it to protect her because he loved her, he genuinely believed that they were works of art. Unfortunately, there were too many people who were not enlightened enough to see the beauty of the work, to open their eyes to the world Erin created with words. He was a believer in it, and in her. When he returned to Derry, which was looking more likely by the day, he would make sure to tell her how much he believed in her, condensed into the question of marriage that he would put to her.

But of course, his life was nowhere near as simple as that.

He wasn't allowed such success, not after the success of making it as far as he had done, the smell of the life he missed filling his nostrils, destined only to be a whiff.

The border was only drawn on a map, but James was able to mark it in his mind when he spotted them. It was cruel of the two of them, to stand there on the edge of his freedom, to deny to him once again. Both men were soldiers, wearing cold weather gear and holding sub machine guns, with his only remaining weapon being the wooden spoon, tucked away within the new jacket that he was wearing to complete the trek. High up in the mountains, there was no way to complete another miracle like he'd managed before, the fight almost evaporating the second that he locked irises with the two men that waited for him at the peak. He came to a standstill, feeling the presence of John-Paul to his side, but slightly behind him, the Irishman's eyes fixed firmly on him.

"I presume they are not friends of Pedro's?"

They were not.