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 :)

71. The Rock

Chapter 71: The Rock 27th August 1942

The sounds of birds singing their morning songs, was the tune that accompanied all of those who were in and around the harbour. There were many ships stationed there, British warships that were either entering or exiting the Mediterranean. Britain controlled Gibraltar, a territory which faced bombs just as regularly as mainland Britain did at times, the people used to facing the Italians when they made their sorties. There was little they could do to stop them from coming, though their accuracy when bombing could sometimes leave a lot to be desired. The ships would sometimes be used in order to drive them off, but they were also valuable targets for bombers too, which often left them having to defend themselves rather than the rest of the land under British control.

New arrivals were a consistent theme around Gibraltar, which was strategically important in more ways than one. Convoys to Malta often stopped there to pick up additional supplies, as well as refuelling the ships ahead of the rest of the journey. The air base also provided additional cover in the air too, the convoys aided by reconnaissance planes as well as fighters that could fly out some distance in order to help protect the convoy. A very important one had passed through the area one night earlier that month, to resupply Malta desperately. It was a large convoy full of multiple merchant ships as well as battleships, including the HMS Eagle, which was one of two carriers in the Mediterranean Fleet during James' time aboard the Illustrious. The convoy was battered and bruised by the time that it reached Malta later in the month, Eagle being sunk too, but the island was supplied at a time where it was critical to do so.

Another new arrival was James himself, who'd been to Gibraltar once before. When he'd first made his way out to the Med two years earlier, the convoy stopped in Gibraltar for the night. He was the only one of the airmen to have left the ship that night for a meeting onshore, in the very same building that he was stood in on the hot morning of the twenty seventh day of August. All of the most important men in the fleet were in attendance at the meeting, and as a squadron commander, his thoughts were required too. Glory awaited him in the Med at that time, though if he'd have known the aftermath of it then he would have been hesitant to claim it. Due to the meeting being conducted in the evening and at speed, he'd held little time to appreciate the island's beauty. Given a second chance, he made sure not to make the same mistake twice.

Despite the evident reality that there was a war raging around them, even if it was not being conducting in mainland Spain, to which they were connected, the territory still basked in the summer sun. Those outside were wearing the thinnest clothing possible, some of the sailors aboard the ships removing their shirts due to the heat. James too could only manage a shirt, though he held his jacket over his shoulder as he watched daily life unfold before him. The shutters that covered the window were wide open, allowing him to peer out over the harbour and see the sea lapping into the coast gently. The shouts of the men aboard the warships could be heard from back where he was, and listening in closely to them, James realised that a small number of them were about to depart. They weren't part of convoy going to Malta or part of a larger force. The three destroyers were part of a screening unit, most likely heading into the Med to join up with the fleet to reinforce them. Not the most appetising target for any bombers, they certainly wouldn't be attacked in the day when they were hardly worth it.

The sound of an engine sparked his interest, which drowned out the shouts of the men aboard the destroyers, and the sound of conversation that he could hear from the floors below him. Looking over to his right, he spotted an aircraft returning to base, gearing up for a landing on the runway that edged out into the sea. He recognised the noise from anywhere, the sound of a returning Fairey Swordfish, on its way back to base following some sort of mission. He'd missed the sound of the aircraft he'd flown extensively, the machine that was responsible for the majority of his greatest achievements barring the North Sea incident when he was test piloting a Spitfire. He'd heard one of those too the day before, another aircraft that he was particularly fond of. When he gazed upon the Swordfish though he dreamt of flying once more, a passion denied to him for nearly two years. Two days away from flying was almost a nightmare for him at one stage in his life, but the twenty-one year old was absolutely itching to get back in the cockpit. A part of him wanted to make a break from where he was residing, offering his services up to whoever the commander at the base was. He would even take orders from another, despite his high rank, just to be able to experience the thrill of flight again. He knew it was not wise though.

James might have been safe in Gibraltar, back within the hands of his own country, but he was far from free. Under arrest would have been an incorrect comment, but he was under close watch at all times from those in the Admiralty building. He'd received a room to stay in when he'd arrived, being tended to by a nurse for a couple of days upon arrival. The need for her to look after him did not remain, but his frustrations did. Communication about the next step forward, and for his sake, the journey home, was totally non-existent. The nurse wouldn't have known those details, but one of the various officers he'd seen roaming around would have surely been able to at least point him in the right direction of who he needed to speak to. Placed into a room on the very top floor where few others were billeted, he was far from happy about the arrangements yet chose not to complain. If he was honest, for a day or two, James found himself glad of the rest, along with the exceptional food that he was given. Quite how they'd managed to keep the territory that well fed he did not know, passing on his thanks to whoever was cooking, with those that served him. Most nights he'd eat with a couple of other officers that were staying in the building, both men of the navy who were also on the way home on the next available date.

Although that level of care was being taken, James was not a man to be fooled into letting his guard down twice for the same reason. Professor Molinari always made sure that he was well looked after during his containment in the man's mansion back in Taranto, looking after James' needs as well as his wounds. One of those wounds was reopened by John-Paul as they'd tussled atop the Dona, a fight that saw another victim added to the list of those who'd faced James. It was a list that grew, though James didn't care to think of it. His shoulder was perfectly fine almost a month on, not hurting at all when being put under pressure. He'd told the Irishman no word of a lie when he said that the stab wound wouldn't hurt him that much. The living proof was found that morning as he watched the Swordfish begin to land, fading out of his view as the aircraft began to brake along the runway.

From the moment he began to trudge out of the Pyrenees on the Spanish side, he was hopeful. He also didn't have any idea where he was going, nor did he know any Spanish at all to be able to talk his way around any hostility that he encountered. The existence of a man called Pedro was a doubt in his mind, believing that John-Paul embellished the story of the previous escapes, which were not escapes at all. Entering territory which might not have been completely hostile, but was far from friendly, with wounds that were still bleeding after a couple of hours of leaving the peak, that hope was wavering. On his own he'd managed to stop the bleeding around his shoulder, applying significant pressure to the wound that eventually stopped the blood rushing out of it. The solitary bandage that he'd managed to keep within his jacket was used to quickly cover the wound, but it was a shoddily done job when blood was still pouring into his left eye from the cuts around it. His cheek was burning from the wound he'd sustained, but he was too persistent to allow it to ruin his chance of escape.

In the end, his worries were needless, thanks to the work of two men whose job it was to ensure that he returned to his country safely. British agents in Northern Spain were on high alert for any man crossing the French border. They were given a vague description of the man they were being told to look out for too, but not a name. The name of the young man in question could not be given out, even though it was a name known to many who did not know the secret. Within the Intelligence Services though, naming him would have confirmed to so many that he was important, that rumours could spread about why it was so. Even agents in the field could be curious at times, and there was nothing about James that made him appear any different. Two of those agents were up in the mountains, resting at a small cabin that was located in a small copse miles away from civilisation. From the windows of their cabin they couldn't quite believe their eyes when they saw a young man hobbling on in the distance, completely unaware of their small resting point. Rushing out to meet him, they took the risk of speaking English, one which was validated when a relieved James fell to his knees. Taken into the cabin immediately to be warmed, as well as have his wounds seen to, he was lucky that one of them was a trained medic. All of the bleeding around his eye was stopped, leaving him free to spend a night of rest as his body gave out from the day's exertions.

To be able to make it from just over the border from France, all the way to Gibraltar, in just a few weeks, was almost a suicidal proposition. The likelihood of being caught was incredibly high despite a network of spies that were placed along the route. Franco might have been uneasy to allow the Nazi's to drag his country into the world war, when they were only just in the aftermath of their own civil war, but he was hardly keen on allowing free British passage either. The Spanish were not foolish, they knew of spies of both sides that were at war within their country but did not care if they intervened to stop the movement of soldiers. Some British servicemen did escape through the country, but for many others it was a trip to prison that awaited them when they were found by Spanish soldiers first.

It started with a trip on a train, which he remembered the majority of, mostly because he was on his guard at all times. Out of necessity, he needed to watch out for anyone that might have tried to act against him, when he was pretending to be Spanish. It wasn't the first time he'd attempted to pass off as being from another nation other than his own, but it was only German he could pull off successfully. Speaking no other languages, his Spanish knowledge was extended to the basics by the agent that accompanied him on the train south. Bribery was another important part of the trip, train guards being bribed not to think about the presence of two Englishmen on their train. The train got them as far as Malaga, painstakingly close to Gibraltar without them being able to make the crossing.

He'd assumed they would make the crossing by land quickly, but instead they'd waited for a couple of days at a house within the city. He was effectively imprisoned there, told sternly by the agents not to leave the house unless they told him to or be seen at the windows. Taking the time to heal his wounds, it was far from a peaceful couple of days when the sounds of work filled his ears at all times of the day. They were only a short distance away from a factory, a factory that annoyingly to him, seemed to be open throughout the day. What he hadn't realised was that while he was resting, agents were planning the final part of the trip that would not be conducted on land as he assumed. Their alternative was one that, once it was explained to him, James thought to be ridiculous. He told them as much, though in his gentlemanly manner rather than shouting at them, but ultimately went along with their plan.

One night, after a couple of nights in the claggy atmosphere of Malaga, he boarded a fishing boat with a couple of the other agents, ones local to Malaga. Passing himself off as a fisherman, in a plan that he was unaware of almost mirroring the same one intended to rescue him from Rome, it crossed over into Gibraltar at night under the watchful eye of a couple of destroyers that were sat on the eastern side of the territory. The Spanish didn't attempt to intercept the small vessel, believing the crew to have made a stupid error in going out in the fog, which strangely covered the water that night. That was what the crew, who were all paid off handsomely for their efforts, told their fellow countrymen when they returned to Malaga. Amazed that he'd successfully crossed into Gibraltar, he was immediately taken care of properly upon arrival. James was smart enough to sense that they'd been expecting him as much as he'd been expecting the courtesy they offered.

He'd realised after a while that whilst his eyes were fixed out to the sea that surrounded Gibraltar, he was daydreaming. If he'd leaned forward any further, then he would have fallen out of the window that he was looking out of. After everything that he'd gone through in order to get to safety, it would have been most annoying to have blown it away via death through falling out of the window. The ground beneath was rocky, not designed to have a falling Englishman land upon safely. Coming to his senses, he ran a hand through his hair, cut back to how he liked after years away from the style. Shorter, slick-backed, his chin missing all facial hair that enjoyed growing upon it, in appearance at least he was already home. It was how Erin liked it too, and when he finally stepped foot in Derry again, he hoped to remind of how much that she did.

Caught in the haze of his own dreams, he also found after another minute that he was not alone in the room. The room that he was in was on the floor below the one where he was billeted, a floor that appeared to be designed for meetings. There were meeting rooms and small reception rooms, like the one that he was in, all the way along the corridor that appeared to go on forever. The Admiralty's presence in Gibraltar had been significant for a number of years, especially during the various wars that took place throughout that time. Young sailors hoping for greater command often went to Gibraltar during the Napoleonic era to pass their exams as officers, though many of them returned utterly disappointed thanks to their failure. He was expecting an examination of some kind too, though it would be more of a fact-finding mission, he presumed. When the country was so anxious to see him back safely, they would no doubt need to know everything he'd been through. Everything. It made him quite nervous.

The other presence in the room was not going to be the officer there to question him, he presumed, as instead he was greeted by a woman. In a building frequented mostly by officers in the Navy, women were a rare sight outside of the areas for the non-combatant staff, which were all on the ground floor. Quite what she was doing in the same waiting room as he was, he did not know, but ever the gentleman, when he spotted her upon turning around from the window, he made conversation with her. Dressed in a green, chequered, summer dress, he also doubted that she was an agent of the Intelligence Services like his mother was, appearing far too out of place. The look on her face told him that she did not particularly wish to be there.

"Good morning Madam". He addressed her, taking a couple of steps towards where she hovered by the doorway. "A beautiful morning, is it not?"

"Yes… yes it is…".

The woman's auburn hair shone in the mostly bland room, with décor that inspired little. She was smaller than he was, covering far less surface area too when compared with his bulking chest. Her smile was radiant, reminding him of another young woman back home for a brief moment, lifting his spirits. She was a little older than Erin was, perhaps by two or three years, though still retained a youthful look when compared to some. Holding her arm out, correctly guessing that James would take it in order to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles, she grinned warmly at him. He didn't think too much of the grin, but it was a similar grin to one that most of the women of Derry gave to him before the war. It was no secret that they all thought he was a very attractive man, the woman in Gibraltar appearing to follow their line of thinking.

"Captain James Maguire…". He told her as he pulled away from her knuckles. "To whom do I have the honour of a hand to hold?"

Blushing furiously, she could barely think of a reply for a moment as he stared directly into her eyes. It was done with no malice on James' part though, not only because he loved Erin too much to betray her, but also because he'd noted the wedding ring on the woman's finger. Kissing her hand was a sign of his status as a gentleman, but he would never take it further than that with a woman already bonded in matrimony. Finally after a few more seconds, she regained her composure in order to answer his question.

"Please, just Amy will be fine". She replied, incredibly breathily.

"Amy it is…". He smiled, letting go of her hand. "What brings you to Gibraltar, Amy?"

He could tell that she wasn't a native of the territory, judging by her accent, which was from a different shore to the one that could be seen out of the window. She was clearly from Merseyside or somewhere around the area, though there was a slight refinement to her accent that suggested she'd lived elsewhere for a time. Her dress was finely made, her face lightly covered with makeup to bring out her clear beauty. One of the women he'd been with before he moved to Derry, though only for a short time, looked similar in appearance to the auburn-haired woman before him. The name of the young woman wasn't Amy though, avoiding an embarrassing case of being unable to recognise a former lover.

"My husband". She smiled softly, fiddling with the ring on her finger. "He was injured in battle a few months ago and I was granted passage to come here to see him with our son. We only expected to be here for a week but here we are two months later".

"Is your husband well?" James asked her, having noticed how she'd nervously played with the ring.

"He is alive. We are to return home in two days".

Whatever ship she was going to be on with her husband and son, he wished to be upon to. Although it wouldn't be for the reason of enjoying their company, which judging by her decorum would be above average, it would be to make his own trip home. He didn't care where the ship would stop, whether it was Derry or Southampton, as he would be able to find his way back home from wherever he found himself. It would be a question to ask during the debriefing he knew was about to happen, with the officer that would be assigned to him. Amy's husband was most likely receiving some sort of debrief too, he assumed, trying to make sense of why she would be there waiting too and not in the room they were staying in. The absence of her previously mentioned son also confused him, though she quickly clarified the reason as to why he was not with her.

"Telling our son off. He is quite the unruly child at times but kicking me in the shins this morning was the end of it where I'm concerned. His father can deal with him".

"Perhaps his father's wisdom will ensure his compliance". James diplomatically offered a thought.

"Wisdom? His father… you're being serious?"

The tone of her voice was one that contained not only pent-up anger but upset too. When she'd fiddled with the ring on her finger previously he'd read the wrong signal, something that he was coming to realise. She hadn't done so because her husband was deceased, instead fiddling with the ring due to difficulties in the marriage. Her comment about the man that she was married to completed the picture for James, though it did not tell him what to say to her. He was hardly an expert in marriage when he was not even engaged to the love of his own life, unsure of what to tell her in order to make her smile. He was still a gentleman though, a gentleman with a knack of conducting himself properly in the company of a woman.

"I am sure that between the two of you that you will be able to instruct your son to behave to the standards that you wish him to".

"What about you?" Amy enquired with him, having cheered up immediately. "Do you have a wife? Children?"

Finding himself to be awkward, James didn't respond straight away. In his head he wished to scream that he did, that the blonde back home waiting for him in Derry was his in the eyes of those who needed to see it. Children were another step beyond that, though he at least hoped to start a family with Erin upon his return, but at that moment, he did not have either.

"I have someone at home waiting for me". Eventually, he gave his answer. "I hope to ask for her hand when I return".

"Oh…". She seemed almost disappointed in her immediate reaction but recovered. "She must be a very lucky woman to have a handsome man like you coming home to her. When did you last see her?"

"Before the war started…". Glumly, James reflected on that thought. "… I have been away from home a long time".

"You should be careful. Please, don't take this the wrong way but a lot has changed since then…"

"What do you me-".

"Captain Maguire!"

A man, one of the staff officers he'd spoken to upon his arrival, interrupted the Englishman in the middle of the enquiry he hastily wished for an answer for from Amy. The auburn-haired woman would not be allowed to tell him though, as he was required for the debriefing he'd been waiting for at the most inconsiderate of moments. The staff officer decided not to tell him why he was there, figuring that the Englishman would have realised why he was cut off so rudely from his further questioning of the lady he was speaking to. James would have to think himself why she would have warned him to be careful, as though he knew there would have been changes, how it impacted on him greatly was a mystery. Derry one of the furthest cities away when it came to the range of bombers, not offering the vast array of targets that London could. The staff officer was at least going to allow him to bid farewell to her before the two exited to the meeting room that he was going to be in.

Reaching for her hand, James did not miss the reddening of Amy's cheeks once it was within his grasp. He didn't think any more of it though, missing a comment of David's over his shoulder to tell him what he wasn't thinking.

"It has been an honour to make your acquaintance, Amy" He spoke softly to her before placing the kiss to her knuckles. "I hope you and your family have a safe passage home and a prosperous future".

"Thank you. Good luck to you, Captain. I hope you find your sweetheart waiting".

"So do I".

Parting on friendly terms with her, James followed the staff officer down the corridor to where his debriefing would take place. She moved out from the doorway into the corridor for a moment, watching the retreating figures of the two men as they continued to walk away from her. The ring on her finger was a curse sometimes, none more so than when a gorgeous man such as the one she'd just been speaking with was there for the talking. Without it, she could have worked her away around him to ensure that he would have forgotten his sweetheart back home. Amy told herself that at least, not quite aware of just how much James in love with Erin. It didn't stop her from dreaming though…

"I wish my husband had eyebrows like that…".

---

She had every right to be nervous… of course. It was a big day for her, one which she'd both looked forward to and worried about for a couple of weeks. Thanks to a downturn in the amount of clothing required, the factory management were once again allowing some of the women time off, Erin and the rest of them being the lucky beneficiaries that week along with her mother too. Gerry was still at work but starting earlier and finishing earlier, which meant he would be home in good time as well, once he'd retrieved Anna from her picking of the raspberries out in the fields. The younger of the sister's dedicated her entire summer to the war effort, an act greatly appreciated to all. Thanks to her speech when the Americans arrived in Derry, she was already seen as somewhat of a local legend at her age, but that standing was only increasing.

Her older sister's nerves were down to what should have been a normal Thursday night dinner. Except that Thursday, there was a special guest that would not normally be there. Granted shore leave once again, Lieutenant Hamilton would be joining them at the Quinn household for dinner that night, an invite that was hotly contested. Mary refused at first, not wanting her daughter to have anything to do with any of the Yanks after everything that happened with Orla, but her eldest remained persistent. Far more open to the idea of having the fella round after meeting him previously, Gerry managed to convince his wife that they should have him there, even if he still wasn't convinced about the man. He wouldn't judge him until he began to know him better, as it would not have been fair to do so, and dinner presented an ideal opportunity for them to get to know Lance. To him, it appeared obvious that Erin held feelings for the Lieutenant, recognising it as a progressive step in the right direction as she moved on from James.

Receiving some luck, Joe, Orla and Marie all said that they would stay away and have dinner next door, which would have made for quite the scene if they were all in there together. Trying to explain to Lance about Orla's strange comments or her Granda's well known lack of tact during certain conversations, would have been tiring to say the least. There was already enough for Erin to contend with anyway thanks to her mother's poor opinion of Americans in general, but she'd made sure to tell her Mammy to behave that morning. A glare came her way because of it, but it was a small price to pay for ensuring that any scenes would be stopped or at least kept to a minimum. If Lance was put off by her family, she would be very upset indeed.

Walking through the city together on the way to the house, Erin became a guide of sorts to the American. Whilst Lance did know his way around, having been in the city plenty of times since his arrival earlier in the year, certain landmarks and places were still unknown quantities to him. He wasn't quite aware enough about how fantastic the walls were, as an example, but Erin soon put him right by waxing lyrically about them. They were just about Derry's best feature in her opinion, apart from her poetic ramblings that was, though she spared him the torture of having to listen to her workings. He would one day have to read through them though, a day which she hoped to hear from him how good that her work was, like how James used to tell her. She'd thought of him too, though very fleetingly in the end, trying to distance the dead fella from her thoughts on a night that was supposed to be about Lance.

Arriving at the household, introductions were made, apart from with Gerry who he was already acquainted with. Mary's introduction was a wary one if judged at its kindest, a cold welcome if judged harshly. Erin, immediately angered at her mother, glared at her to remind of their conversation earlier that morning, but whether she took the warning seriously was another matter. Anna was complimentary when she was introduced to Lance, a welcome that was not as warm as Erin might have liked it to be, but one which could not be criticised either. The older sister could judge her parents' thoughts on Lance before he arrived, which made her more concerned by what her younger sister would say. Although anything she said could have simply been passed off as a silly comment for a child, she knew how smart and intuitive Anna was. No normal child when she was so intellectually gifted, if she could find fault in the American then any chance of her being able to explore a relationship with Lance would be instantly more difficult.

Dinner was a fairly drab affair, with little said other than pleasantries between them all. Gerry wasn't a man that was overly invested in the military or even the war to an extent, but he mostly drove the conversation with Lance, asking questions about operations and his role as an officer. Erin was thankful that he did when Mary would not offer anything other than a couple of smiles, seemingly uninterested in learning more about the fella. Whilst they hadn't spoken about whether they were truly together, Erin believed she held an understanding with Lance that it was almost certain that they would be, prompting her to invite him to dinner at the house. The food on offer was at least reasonable, despite it being a rationed meal, Mary managing to do a mean Sheppard's Pie with a homemade recipe. She'd negated to mention that it was Deirdre Mallon's recipe, mind, but that was what friends were for.

It was only after dinner, once they'd all made their way to the living room, that conversation and excitement picked up. Anna was making an effort to engage Lance a bit more, which her older sister made a note of to thank her later, up until she decided to humiliate the fella by dragging him into a card game. Confident of his abilities against a six year old, Lance was more than happy to accept a game, fascinated by the fact that she could actually play cards at all. Granda Joe's lessons paid off though, because as soon as they were into a game of poker, Gerry also playing, Anna wiped the floor with him as if he was the beginner and she was the master. Unlike the games in the officer's mess where cheating was a fairly common and somewhat accepted practice, in a completely clean game his skills were sorely lacking. Luck was also not with him either that night, though Gerry wasn't bemoaning the same luck when he could have been too, albeit he knew beforehand that facing off against Anna in cards was a guaranteed way in which to lose. Disappointed that her sister didn't let up, Erin eventually forced them out of playing any further games, though it was after financial damage had been done to Lance, who'd lost nearly a week's pay to Anna in the course of around thirty minutes.

"You have quite the ability, Anna…". Lance conceded graciously as he sat down, though his thoughts were anything but. "I'll have to take you aboard the ship to play against my Lieutenant Commander".

"Does he have a lot of money? I think he'll need it". She answered confidently, giggling.

"He has money and if tonight is anything to go by… I think you might be right, miss".

Grinning at the scene, though still agitated with Anna for taking plenty of money from Lance, Erin was contented with how the evening was progressing. Sat next to him, their knees were touching, which was as close as she dared to get to him when her mother's eye roamed towards them. Occupying the armchair that her father would usually sit in, Mary's gaze drifted over to the two of them throughout, even when they were sat apart once the card game began. Any hint of any interaction other than a slight brush of knees would be picked up on and immediately castigated. She didn't want Erin to be anywhere near the American whatsoever. Erin might have hoped that her opinion of him would have changed after some time in his company, but she was not bowled over that easily. There was something about the tall, well-kept American that she didn't approve of, without being able to quite put her finger on it.

Sat with them on the sofa, Gerry was somewhat martialling their interactions too, though far more subtly. His presence there deterred them from any further contact, especially when he was sat to Lance's left, with a roving right eye that was monitoring everything. He wasn't as distrusting as his wife, but he too found there to be something dislikeable about the fella. Voicing his opinion wasn't an option to him, smart enough to keep his mouth shut when it was clear that Erin really liked the fella, though it would change if he could pinpoint what it was that he didn't like about him. However, he also remained hesitant to judge Lance too harshly when he barely knew him, prompting the man of the house into asking a couple of questions about the American's life back home.

"So, Lance, what do ye parents do?"

"They… they don't really do anything now, Mr Quinn". The American replied, turning his head to Gerry.

"Retired, are they?"

"I suppose you could say that. My fathers not worked for some years now… he… he leaves the running of the family businesses to associates".

"Sounds almost perfect for them". Mary almost sneered, Erin frowning at her furiously in return. "Gives them plenty of time together".

Clarifying herself to appease Erin momentarily, Mary wasn't surprised that the American sat in her living room was of a wealthy background. The moment he'd walked towards her to introduce himself, he carried a walk which screamed of elegance, sophistication and upper-class charm. She certainly wasn't charmed by it, having thought back to the time when she first met James who nearly had her weak at the knees. Sarah's behaviour was no better too, the pair of them thinking at the time that if they were a few years younger then they would be fighting over the wee English fella. The same feelings were not stirred when she cast her eye over Lance for the first time. If she were to condense how she would have described him upon first inspection into one word, then the word would have been snob.

"Not working does have benefits, I suppose, Mrs Quinn. For the last few years, I've spent a lot of time with my father at home, learning off of him. A privilege to be the youngest sibling in the family, I guess".

"Is it a big family that ye have?" Gerry enquired.

"Yes, Sir. Along with my brothers and sisters, we have plenty of cousins who live nearby. There was a joke back home that our blood almost ran the whole village nearby because there were so many of our relatives living there".

Showing a diplomatic streak, Gerry chuckled at the story that Lance told, much to his wife's annoyance. The young Lieutenant was pleased to have at least gained some form of respect with one of the blonde's parents, recognising that Mary was hostile towards him. Valuing his life highly enough, he did not mention it aloud, especially when it didn't really matter in the future. Erin was only there to have his child before he went out into live combat, with no intention to return to her or provide any assistance with the child's development either. There were far more better-looking women back home that he would rather see and raise a family with whose parents were much more open to him than at least Mary seemed to be. Erin was merely a failsafe, the trust and understanding of her family not something that he actively required.

"So you've plenty of money then". Mary sounded off again.

"Mammy…". Erin warned at a whisper, embarrassed by her behaviour.

"It's alright Erin…". Lance offered a hopeful smile, keeping up his act. "Your mother is quite right, my family have been mighty fortunate over the years to have kept business going. My grandfather… he… he had to make a lot of changes because of what happened in the years after the war".

"It's been a rough twenty years or so then?"

Gerry's question seemed to flummox Lance for a moment, in turn confusing the southern man who'd asked it. The lack of Joe in the house was an act of god, as he would have no doubt criticised him for asking such a ridiculous question that stopped the flow of the conversation. Although if Joe was there, Gerry knew not to venture too far into subject of the last war with his father in-law. After his wife's death towards the end of the conflict, as well as the dark days around that time due to reasons which were no longer spoken about in the family, it was always best to avoid it. Occasionally the patriarch would bring up the subject himself, making the older members of the family nervous when they didn't quite know what to say in return. There were plenty of old wounds from that time that did not need to be opened again.

"I'm sorry Mr Quinn, Sir, I don't follow you?"

"The war… ye know the Great War… maybe they call it something different over yer way".

"Oh!" He realised, exclaiming quite loudly. "No Sir, I… I was referring to the civil war".

There was shock for a moment, at least for Mary, Gerry and Anna, when he mentioned a conflict that they were aware of. That war was nearly one hundred years prior, but the stories that came from it were well known across the other side of the Atlantic too. A battle between differing ideals of one part of the country and another, it marked a massive turning point for the lives of many. For those on the losing side there was a harsh reality that was to be faced, a losing side which the Hamilton family were on. He wasn't going to go into the details unless he needed to, but Lance was aware they'd lost at least four young men in the family during it, losses that amounted to nothing when they came out on the losing side. Bitterness towards those on the Union side remained to that day, despite there being very few combatants that remained alive to that day. Erin's knowledge of that particular conflict was not complete, but nor could she claim ignorance when it was brought up in conversation. Eager to steer away from any further discussion on the matter, she was the one to break the silence.

"What businesses do ye have in the family now then, Lance?" She chirpily put her question to him, watched intensely by her mother in the corner.

"We have a couple of timber yards back home and also a legal services firm as well". He explained. "One of my brothers looks after the legal firm but the timber yards are left with my father's associates. We make decent money but… it's not what it once was".

"What about before that?" An interested Gerry spoke up. "Ye said yer grandfather had to make changes in the family business?"

"That is correct, Mr Quinn. We were in the cotton business for generations but… things changed after the war. Business wasn't so… simple… anymore".

Both Gerry and Mary, as well as their children, had a feeling what he was attempting to imply without the Yank saying it. Erin only allowed the thought to creep into her mind for a moment, not wanting to dwell on it any further when it would mean tackling some far heftier subjects that really did not need to be discussed on a Thursday night in Derry. In the same way that Gerry was thankful that Joe wasn't there, Erin was glad that Orla wasn't when the young Lieutenant mentioned cotton. She would have no doubt gone on to mention how much she loved cotton and whether Lance could get her some fresh cotton clothing, sparking discussions that didn't need to be held on how his family business used to work. Sour thoughts were left in the minds of the rest of them, though Gerry sensibly decided to show no change in expression, not wanting to ruin Erin's evening with the fella when she was into him as much as she was. Mary was nowhere near as helpful to her daughter's chances, thoroughly disgusted with his background, despite knowing he could do nothing to change what he was born into. Anna… Anna remained intrigued, though her intrigue soon bordered on dangerous when she opened her mouth.

"So which side did yer family fight on then, Lance?"

Surprised by the question from the youngest person in the room, Lance could feel his face heating up. Discussing his family's role in the civil war, not least the fact they were on the wrong side, was a topic that he knew not to discuss outside of the circle of officers aboard the ship. Attitudes towards those of differing skin colour were different in Northern Ireland, where they appeared to accept those who he considered inferior, equally. He'd witnessed it a couple of times in the city himself, where even some of the women were happy to kiss black men and Hispanics, enjoying their company and love. It would never happen back home, not at all, but unlike older generations of his family who would have made comment on such heretical actions, he knew to be quiet. They were in an allied country who did not suffer the infestation of the inferior, he'd told himself when he arrived, reluctantly accepting their beliefs that completely contrasted his own.

Anna's stare was as unrelenting as his willingness to become embroiled in what could turn out to be an argument, but infatuated with him and annoyed with her sister, Erin came to the rescue.

"I think Lance has to be back on his ship soon, don't ye? We can't have him in trouble with his Captain now, can we?"

"Yes…". A confused Lance answered out of instinct, before realising what she was doing, standing up. "Yes that is right. I am sorry to have to leave so soon Mr and Mrs Quinn, but duty calls".

Mary went to make a comment to tell him to sit down and answer her youngest's question, but she was too slow to do so, allowing Gerry to say something first. What he said did not go down well with her at all once the words left his mouth, ensuring he would be having words with his wife once the fella left for the evening. She was at least satisfied that the Yank was leaving, fed up with having him in her house when he was what he'd told them he was. She didn't want a man like that courting her daughter, although even Mary knew deep down that Erin had her heart set on the fella. The way in which she looked at him was the detail that confirmed it, the same looks Erin once set upon James years earlier. The Lieutenant wasn't James though, far worse of a man to her. In losing the Englishman to the war she'd not only lost her wooden spoon, but also her daughter's best chance at discovering an almost perfect future. Perfection may have been an unobtainable quality, yet James Maguire managed to be incredibly close to it for the matriarch of the house.

"No problem, Lance. It's been lovely to have ye over tonight and get to know ye a little better. You'd be welcome again".

The complete opposite of her mother, who scowled at Gerry, Erin beamed at her Da for offering an opening for Lance to return again. She was going to invite him anyway whether they liked him or not, but to have her father's apparent approval was music to her ears. He was always the more understanding parent of the two anyway, that she knew, with her Mammy's behaviour making her feel ashamed of the family that night. Her attitude towards the Americans, and to Lance in particular, was going to have to change, because he would be visiting them a lot more in the future. In her own mind that night, she was no longer unattached to any man and was no longer mourning James' death. Lance was her fella now… even if she'd not officially confirmed it with him. Internally, her conscience still screamed to not commit to the fella and to still hold out hope for James, who she'd really thought to be the love of her life. Unfortunately, life was supposed to last a lot longer than a summer together with that person and when Lance was the grand fella that he was, it was evident that James was not that fella… or perhaps he still was. Confused with her feelings when she should have long been over the passing of the Englishman, entering into a relationship with Lance was the best idea for a way forward. She thought…

"Thank you Mr Quinn. It has been my pleasure to meet you all. I'm hoping for a rematch with Anna here". He looked down at where she was sat on the floor, offering him a small smile. "I have some money to win back from her".

"I don't want ye to lose everythin'…". She replied with plenty of cheek and a smidgen of arrogance, to which he could only grin.

"We'll see on another night, Miss, we'll see. Goodbye Mrs Quinn".

Deciding that she would not rise from the armchair in order to shake the hand that was offered to her, it was only her worldly experience that stopped her from aggravating Erin any further. She was already pushing the boundaries of acceptability for her daughter, who was livid with her behaviour that continued on all night. Breaching them any further would have resulted in an embarrassing clash in front of the Lieutenant who did not need to involve himself in the affairs of the family. A family that he was looking more and more likely to be a part of in the not too distant future.

"Goodnight Lieutenant Hamilton…". She addressed him by rank. "See him to the door would ye, Erin?"

Fists clenched, cheeks burning with a passionate rage, Erin chose not to verbally reply to her mother when the only words on the tip of her tongue were ones that Anna did not need to hear at her age. Her younger sister most likely knew their meanings anyway thanks to Granda Joe's often foul-mouthed tirades in her presence, though testing the water any further with her mother was not high on the agenda for the elder daughter. Leading Lance through to the front of the house, she hesitantly asked for his hand once they were out of sight from the rest of the family, who for once didn't follow on to watch them. Accepted immediately, she wore the widest grin she'd managed for some time. Towards the front door of the house, she was walking hand in hand with a fella. Her heart almost fluttered at it… almost.

She opened the door for her American fella, her fella, who was smiling himself when the cooling air of a late summer's evening struck him. He was happy, not from holding her hand, but from finally being able to get out of the atmosphere of her home, which was slowly turning against him. And from her too. There was no need to waste any more of his evening on a young woman that he cared little for when she was merely a means to an end.

"Thank you for coming, Lance…". Erin looked up at him as they stopped, her hand still in his. "… I… I am sorry abou-".

"Don't apologise". He interrupted her. "My parents would have been the same, Erin. My sisters ain't that good at poker though…".

"I know…". She chuckled. "Anna's… one of a kind".

Putting on his best act, Lance giggled at the comment which was true. Her sister took an incredible amount of money off of him in a short space of time, with her talents very much on show. The smarts of a six year old should never have been as great as they were within her. Erin giggled at her own comment too, leaving an awkward moment of silence between them as they both began to complete their amusement. Lost in her own little dream world where she was attempting to think of something else to say to him before she left, Erin's thoughts were put to one side when the Lieutenant decided to make the first move. A move that enabled him to go back to the ship, at the expense of himself when he did not find her attractive in the slightest.

Cupping her cheek with one hand, he let go of her hand with the other, bringing it to her waist before pulling her in towards him. The most adorable squeak was ripped from the young Quinn's lungs, not that the American saw it that way, as she propelled forward into his chest. Stopped from crashing into his body, his lips were on hers in the following split second. Erin's world was a sea of passionate fire again, the taste of a fella being adorned upon the junction of their mouths. Keen to impress Lance, she held the kiss for a good few seconds, bringing her free hand up to his cheek in order to show him the same level of affection. She'd not kissed a fella like that since James left to fight, the first time in almost three years that the young Irishwoman was able to show true passion when it came to a man. Lance came up for air soon enough though, breaking the spell far too early for the blonde's liking, Erin pouting when the two met gazes once again.

"Goodnight Erin". He uttered, a feigned smile across his face.

"Ye… A… Aye… goodnight… Lance". She fumbled, adrenaline pumping. "Take care!"

"I will miss…". Replying, the Yank was already turning to leave. "I'll come find you again when I next have leave".

"Cracker…".

Her answer could be described as dreamy, a young woman locked away in a fantasy world where she'd just been kissed by the fella that she had feelings for. The attractive American Lieutenant, who was still a somewhat mysterious proposition even to her, leant forward and snogged her. It wasn't just a dream anymore, but a reality, a reality which saw her watching him all the way down the path and out onto the street, upset that he couldn't stay any longer. After so many months of pain after James' death, the days of a feeble woman who only knew sorrow were long in the past. Lance Hamilton kissed her. Although she would have done if he hadn't, in the end it was the Yank that made the first move not her. Their love was mutual in her heart and in her mind, locked away from the knowledge that he viewed her as nothing more than an object for him to utilise for his own goals. Making the first move was simply a way in which he needed to disguise his true intentions, desperate to return to his ship after a night he'd thoroughly hated.

Erin though… she was in love. The kiss was merely a reflection of that, but it also confirmed something for her. The words may not have been said by the Lieutenant himself, yet the touch of his lips on hers screamed out for the world to hear that they were officially a couple. To define their relationship sensibly and diplomatically, they were in the early stages of courting. He'd met her parents though, the sign of a serious fella who was going to be around for a long time. In her mind that was the picture of a future that she could finally work with; if he'd have known, Lance would have howled in laughter at her thoughts. To fool her into trusting him, he would at least agree with the courting, but he was not in love with her at all. She was far too ugly for his tastes… the kiss that night nearly making him vomit, the American needing to stop once he was out of the sight of the house to attempt to bring his stomach back under control.

Almost collapsing back into the door, the trance-like state Erin was in made her feel happier than she could have ever imagined. Even after the mixed performance of her family over an awkward dinner with Lance couldn't stop her from feeling that way. Her cheeks were still inflamed, burning away from the sensations of having the fella cup a cheek and place his lips entertainingly over hers. It was perfect, a reminder of the tender care that James once ga-.

"ERIN!"

What the kiss couldn't change, was her mother's attitude. The family couldn't change that even with the kindest of words; a Yank didn't have a chance at all.

"SHUT THAT DOOR! OR ARE YE TRYIN' TO INVITE ALL THE FLIES IN THE NORTH WEST IN?!"

Her replacement wooden spoon was not quite being called into action, but Erin didn't dare risk facing a meeting with it, closing the door with almost a slam before returning to the living room. Gerry almost held a sixth sense, both mother and daughter thought later that night, because the moment she went into the living room, he exited with Anna claiming that it was her bedtime. It wasn't that far off it in truth, but there was an ulterior motive in him ushering her off quicker than usual. To her credit, Anna didn't make a fuss or a scene when her Da grabbed her by the hand and almost dragged her up the stairs, especially when he sat and read her a story to get her off to sleep. The motive was soon found to be a reasonable one, as raised voices were heard from the ground floor of the Quinn household almost the second after they'd left the room. Erin demanded an apology from her mother, as well as admitting Lance had kissed her at the door, lecturing Mary about having respect for him when he was going to be in her life for the future. Stubborn as a mule, Mary didn't budge, not offering an apology at all. Eventually an exasperated Erin left in the direction of her own bed when she couldn't win, defeated in battle but not in the war to change her mother's views.

A smart man, Gerry knew it would be the first of many verbal confrontations over the young American sailor that his daughter thought so highly of.

To him, Lance did appear to be more trouble than he was worth…

---

With the cautionary words of the auburn-haired woman still fresh in his mind, James traversed the corridor behind the staff officer. Their journey took them all of the way to the end of it, the very final room on their right being the one in which the meeting he was heading into would take place. There was nothing said between the two men all the way along, James instead enjoying the silence to allow himself to gather his thoughts together. His journey to safety was complete, but his mental journey in how he got there would be examined again that day, making the process appear far from over in his mind. Waiting for the staff officer to confirm with whoever the officer was inside that he was ready to receive James upon their arrival, the Englishman was able to take a quick glance out of the open window that looked out over the airfield. The Swordfish he'd seen earlier that morning was parked up on the edge of the runway, landing successful. He couldn't see the pilot though, which was disappointing when he hoped it may have been one of his men from the 815.

"He'll see you now, Captain".

Brought out of his thoughts by the staff officer's statement, he only offered a nod of the head before smartening himself up. Despite the searing heat of the day, the jacket that was previously slung over his shoulder was equipped, doing the buttons up very quickly in order to not leave the man inside waiting. Shown through by the staff officer, the door quickly closed behind him as the man who'd escorted him to the room made himself scarce. Unlike the majority of the meeting rooms on that floor, the one he was in was more of an office. There were maps and documents all over the room, along with a large desk with chairs either side of it, a feature that dominated the room. Stood up in front of the chair on the other side was the officer who would lead his debriefing. Locking eyes with the man, the pilot immediately recognised him as someone that he'd met before, without being able to put a finger on who he was or where he'd met him. Shuffling forward to close the distance to the desk, where a hand was waiting for him to shake, he tried to think of a name. They certainly hadn't served together aboard the Illustrious and the almost plain clothes that the man wore, rather than a full uniform, confirmed that to him too. He'd definitely met the man somewhere though…

"Captain Maguire". The man addressed him by his rank as they shook hands. "You are well?"

"I am. Captain…". His brain suddenly kicked into gear as he answered, remembering the man to be of that rank, opening the floodgates to where he knew him from. "… Penrose?"

The avalanche of information hit him quickly, the full picture completed as their handshake ended. Back home in London, after he'd disobeyed Lieutenant Commander Borrett's instructions to mine harbour entrances in the Netherlands, instead helping to cover the retreat in Dunkirk, both he and David were instructed to report to Admiralty House. On a day that they believed they would be put onto charges, and potentially lose everything due to languishing in a military prison for years, James was instead complimented and promoted, ousting Borrett from command of the squadron, which he led with excellence from that moment onwards. Captain Penrose was the lesser ranked of the two officers of the Fleet Air Arm that confirmed his promotion that day, though he couldn't remember the name or rank of the other man. Doing well to remember the man's name after everything he'd been through, James almost congratulated himself for doing so.

"Hmph…". The other man huffed amusingly. "You remembered my character, I am impressed. I regret to inform you that Captain Penrose is not a real officer".

"I see…".

"Captain Robert Smithers, British Intelligence. Sit yourself down, James, I think you realise that we have a lot to discuss today".

"Yes… quite".

Taking a seat opposite the Intelligence officer, James found himself unsurprised. His mother probably knew the man too from her time serving the country, and after everything that had happened since the fateful days of Taranto, it made sense that it would be an officer from the Intelligence Services that was left to debrief with him. Smithers made sure that the young man was catered for though, a large jug of water between them with full glasses each on either side. The windows in the office were open despite the nature of their business being secretive, the weather simply too hot for them not to be. Wondering how James was managing to sit in front of him in a jacket, Smithers almost thought to tell him to take it off but decided against doing so. He was there to find out information from him, not tell him how to dress himself.

"I am going to need a detailed account of everything that has happened since the night that you were shot down…". Smithers explained. "I appreciate that this may be difficult but there is a lot that we need to understand about what happened to you, James. We have all day if we need it".

"I understand…". He sighed slightly, taking a sip of the water. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Take me back to the night that you were shot down. We have gathered from the testimonies of other pilots from your squadron, that the attack on the Italian Fleet was progressing successfully when they lost radio contact with you".

"That is correct, Captain. Myself and Leading Airman Donnelly were struck by flak from the Italian gunners. Our only option for survival was to make a landing somewhere nearby".

"I remember that the two of you were friends when we met previously…". Smithers' tone changed to a more sympathetic one, James dipping his head in recognition. "I am sorry for his loss".

"With all due respect, Captain, as much as I appreciate the apology, it is his wife and daughter that should have received those sentiments, not I".

Smithers agreed wholeheartedly with him but decided not to mention that he'd been present at his and David's joint funeral. The thoughts of those in the Intelligence Services were already passed onto Orla and Marie by Charlene, even Menzies realising that David's loss was regrettable. Although the young Captain might have been their objective, looking after his best friend had still been important to a degree. Through the reports from other officers that served with the men, it was clear that their success in raids in the Med were down to the incredible partnership that the two formed, along with James' ability to command the rest of the squadron. Although he might not have been the Englishman's second in command, David's influence upon him was far greater than any other officers, without it being deemed unprofessional. To lose the Irishman, a young father, was ultimately an acceptable loss when James' safety was at stake, but not one which they would speak of in such terms.

"You were captured when you were shot down". Smithers returned to the debriefing. "I imagine they were far from pleasant with you, considering you were attacking their fleet at the time".

James couldn't help but laugh at the statement. The Captain opposite him was understandably unaware of just how far the lack of Italian pleasantry went, even if it was accidental. He would have been knocked about by them anyway should he have been captured properly, as he was supposed to have been.

"That is one way of saying it, yes". He replied to the frowning Smithers. "One of the soldiers opened fire on me. I nearly died next to David in the grass that night. I would have done if it was not for the Professor that decided to save my life".

"Professor Roberto Molinari?"

"Correct. In my rush to find a landing spot, I'd apparently chosen the lawn of his mansion. I think it almost certainly saved my life to make a mess of his lawn".

Writing notes down about what James was telling him, Smithers could barely stifle a chuckle at the comment either. When he'd sailed out to Gibraltar away from his family, he wasn't sure what to expect. Reports on James were scarce after he'd escaped Rome, with no actual sightings of him by any of their agents in France throughout his time passing through the country. One agent managed to find a farmer who believed he'd seen the man walking down the country roads near his home one day, but upon a search up to a few miles away, they never found a trace of him anywhere. Another report came in from the couple who'd supplied him before his journey into the Pyrenees, telling them that he was close to crossing over the border. It was the primary reason why the agents on the Spanish side were keeping an eye out for him, after a couple of months of uncertainty as to whether the Englishman was even heading their way.

"You were held inside the mansion after he saved your life, yes?" Smithers questioned, another nod received in return. "Do you have any idea why he did not send you off to a camp?"

"To be honest with you, Captain Smithers, I think for a time he admired my courage. Once I'd regained my full consciousness we would talk regularly about the war and about our own lives. I suppose you could say that for a long time I was comfortable, if you can call being held against your will comfortable".

"But that did not last?"

"No. I asked him when I would be moved to a camp and then he told me that I was not going anywhere. After all that time where we'd made pleasant conversation, it turned out he did not believe that I was who I said I was. They'd received intelligence that my death was not reported in any newspapers or official reports and it made even the Nazi's suspicious. I suppose you were aware of the newspapers unfortunate submission…".

Knowing not to directly answer what James wanted to know, Smithers ignored the comment. The younger of the two was correct though; he was well aware of the situation when it came to reporting the pilot's death. His importance, not that James knew it, prevented them from shouting from the rooftops that he was alive and well. If the press were to even get the slightest inkling that there was more to the story of the young Captain than met the eye, then they would investigate thoroughly. There were only so many stones that could remain unturned without having to break the law to be able to keep the secret safe. Murdering journalists was not something that the Government could allow but neither could the scandal be allowed to be released into the eyes of the public, at a time when support and unity were more crucial than ever.

"Did the Professor ever question you about your background?"

"Not extensively". James scoffed, shaking his head. "I wish I could have been able to convince him that I was not the spy he seemed to think that I was. Sadly the Nazi's seem to have a spy over their own in Derry…".

"Yes, we are aware of her".

Surprised by the Captain's awareness of the spy that Kurt confirmed the identity of, the young man sat up straighter in his seat from where he'd started to slouch. The woman in Derry that the Nazi Doctor once threatened to have hurt Erin, was far from a violent criminal, though looks could be deceiving, he supposed. When there were already Nazi's in the city, Professor Joyce having also had his identify confirmed to James as being at the very least sympathetic to their cause without being a party member, it wasn't too difficult for him to believe that she would at least pass on information. Some of the best weapons were not those that could take life on the spot, but those whose information could ensure to the loss of life in the future. They were the dangers that every country needed to control. As James stewed over his thoughts, Smithers grabbed a folder from a pile that was to his left on the desk, opening the cover and setting it down in front of the young pilot. The photograph within the file was of a very familiar face indeed.

"This is the woman that we believe to be the spy. Can you confirm this?"

"Yes… that is her. Doctor Van Der Heijden told me himself".

The face of a traitor. A traitor to Britain as a whole, but more scandalously, a traitor to the city of Derry that she belonged to. To betray those who were considered an enemy almost as much as the Nazi's was one thing, to betray all of those in the community was another. Discussion about her was for another day, but Smithers was already using the time where he did not focus on James throughout the months of the man's journey to Spain, to formulate a plan of dealing with the spy. Bringing her in was an easy enough task, but he did not wish to risk the identities of either of his two agents being exposed by them leading soldiers or other agents to her. Charlene would no doubt be involved in whatever plan he finally decided upon, but for once, time was on their side when James was safely in their hands and the spy held very little threat to his life.

Removing the folder from the view of the Englishman, Smithers took a momentary pause to have a couple of sips of his drink too. The heat of the day was only increasing the further that they went into the morning, forcing droplets of sweat to trickle down his forehead. Remarkably, when he glanced at James', the young man was yet to sweat even a millimetre. No man could have been able to resist the heat that well, he thought to himself, not even a man who was known for being able to pull off the impossible on a consistent basis. Unaffected by the heat, James sat calmly waiting for the next question to be put to him during the debrief. His mind was almost clear in the small office, although he would have been lying if he said he wasn't somewhat bored.

"Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden…".

It didn't matter how many times James heard the name, a familiar sickening cry began in his stomach to remind him of the horror of a man he'd spent months at the mercy of. Smithers couldn't help but notice how white he went, despite the young Englishman having already mentioned the man himself. His scars were not only physical…

"Tell me about him". Smithers prompted. "We know you passed into his care in November last year after our… rescue attempt".

"You mean the suicide mission you sent those poor Italians on!" Suddenly, James snapped. "You sent them to die, Captain Smithers!"

"That was not our intention!" An angry retort came from the Intelligence officer. "I will concede that our plan was not the most informed one, but their losses were regrettable and have been remembered as such! Now please, the Doctor".

An argument between the two of them about what happened that night would have been poor form for men on the same side of the war, even if James was prepared for it. He didn't have anything against the man who he was sat opposite, but he did not believe him either. When his own mother was used as a tool to rescue him when the stakes were at their highest, Giovanna and the rest of the agents that died trying to evacuate him from the Molinari mansion were most likely passed off as irrelevant by the Intelligence Services. Smithers himself might not have been the man at fault, the only reason he held his tongue any further, recognising that his answer did at least seem to come from the heart rather than being a rehearsed line. His words still followed the rhetoric that James expected to find from a man in his line of work, but with compassion for those lost within the tone too. Giovanna at least didn't deserve to be remembered as simply a needless sacrifice in his eyes.

"As you say, I was passed into his care that night. Not before I witnessed his Lieutenant kill Professor Molinari in front of me".

"The Germans killed the Professor, not you?" Brows furrowed, Smithers enquired.

"Of course they bloody did!" Agitated, James snapped again, before telling himself to cool down. "I could hardly shoot the man when I did not have a gun".

Scribbling down the notes furiously, the older of the two men was thankful that his younger compatriot was not responsible. When there were so many Italians who'd lost their lives that night in the botched rescue attempt, to hear he was not responsible for any of the deaths was a positive. An image of James trying to break out alone, shooting anyone in sight was not a new one in his mind whenever he reviewed the files of what they knew about that night. The logical explanation for the Professor's death was betrayal, a rare time where it was most obvious answer there was for what happened.

"The Doctor took me to Rome that night and explained what he wanted from me. Molinari promised me that his friend would be a tougher proposition than he was. I can say with certainty that he was not wrong…".

"You were tortured?" Smithers didn't need to ask but thought it to be the best way to get the full story from him.

"I think you are going to need a lot more ink than that…". James almost sniggered, pointing at the pot on ink on the desk. "… but… I… I will tell you".

For more than thirty minutes, James broke down the agonising details of his time imprisoned in Kurt's care. Every last detail that he could remember, which regrettably was not everything, but was still more than most, found the ears of Captain Smithers. There were already vague details that the Intelligence officer knew, but the expansion into further detail shocked him to the core. Torture was not something he'd ever seen done in the flesh but he did not find himself naively assuming that the techniques were not deployed. In some circumstances, Britain used the practice as a country itself, his own branch of the Intelligence Services even responsible for some of the sessions of torture that were carried out.

Confronting his past was far from easy for James, who more than once found himself struggling to hold onto his composure. Talking about the trauma he'd been put under made him feel much calmer, especially when Smithers did not judge him at any moment. It wasn't his job to pass judgement on his fellow countryman, merely wishing to understand the details that the Intelligence Service did not know as well as reaffirming those that they did. The legacy of the torture would live on with him forever and stopping properly for the first time without having any more obstacles to climb over on his way to freedom other than the trip home itself, James was beginning to come to terms with it. When he spoke of being placed on the rack, he could almost feel that his joints were being stretched out again in the basement of the Rome compound, scratching his back throughout the story of his flogging that took place to break in the dawn of a New Year. When it came to what happened in the forge, the story was not completed in full, too ashamed to show the branded mark on his skin to Smithers. It didn't stop his skin feeling as if it was on fire throughout the rest of the story that was true though. He wanted to forget that night… but found that he could not.

The moment that he brought his mother into the story, James noticed how Smithers' posture and body language changed. There was guilt on show that was not hidden, guilt that Smithers did not try to hide at all because he knew he would not be able to. Kathy Maguire was the greatest agent they'd ever had as far as he was concerned, the woman partly responsible for ensuring that his career in the Intelligence Services was going to be a glittering one. Appointed her handler when he was relatively inexperienced, at a time where experienced counted for everything, he owed a debt to her which increased with her death. The woman's son being sat before him explaining the final moments of the woman's life as she died in his arms, brought a tear to his eye. Uncomfortable was an understatement to how he felt when it was upon his message that Kathy's sacrifice ultimately began.

"So you killed Doctor Van Der Heijden? The German reports were correct?"

"Only one of us was going to be leaving Italy that night and I did not wish to face my death so soon. His death did not please me, I would add… but I did what needed to be done".

"Your country thanks you for that". Smithers smiled. "But what of your escape?"

Another lengthy story ensued, that took nearly another thirty minutes and all of the ink that Smithers had in the pot, which slightly amused James during another story that was not amusing at all. Once more there were certain details that he neglected to mention like in his time with Italy, where he kept quiet about the massacre he'd witnessed and accidentally been responsible for. There were events that happened out on the roads and in the countryside of France, that needed to stay out on the roads and countryside of France. Revisiting them himself was far too difficult when certain truths were very hard to live up to. He'd done what he needed to do in order to survive, but whether a man like Smithers would have seen it the same way was a different matter entirely. At the start of the war he was a good, honest young man who rarely ever told a lie or hid the truth about anything in his life, but after three years that image was diluted. On the outside and around others, he was still the gentlemanly James Maguire, but within his conscience lay a darkness that took a significant amount of energy to cage. Beneath the surface, he was a shadow of the man that left Derry and the love of his life to fight for his country. The key, he knew, was not to allow anyone to see underneath.

"This John-Paul O'Reilly injured your eye, I presume?"

The knife wound might have been treated quickly by the agents when they found him, but by then it was too late. He was left with a permanent scar that ran from just across from the side of his nose, up to the corner of his left eye, stopping only to miss the eye, whilst continuing diagonally above it before it stopped short of his hairline. It may have made his appearance more rugged, but it also betrayed the change within him that he did not want people to know about. A physical scar that showed as opposed to the heavier mental ones that he carried, he'd not stopped to think too much about how he looked, lacking the vanity to be bothered about whether Erin would find it off-putting or not. She loved him so much that it would not matter, he told himself.

"Yes. Yes he did".

Finishing off his notes for a couple of minutes, Smithers allowed silence to descend upon the room whilst James collected his thoughts. A significant weight was lifted off of the younger man's shoulders that morning, even if it wasn't the complete weight that rested there. Plenty of young men carried guilt in their lives, but perhaps none more so than James himself. He was guilty most of all of surviving, when so many others he knew had not. David was the first, and the one with the most devastating impact, which always came with the loss of a friend. He was responsible for the Irishman's death though, the pilot of the aircraft that was landed on Italian soil, peppered with shells that killed the man. Giovanna's death may not have held the same impact, but her relentless conquest to try to get him into safe hands saw her lose her life needlessly when he did not ask her to do so. The massacre… that spoke for itself… too loudly for his liking.

"I think I have all that I need…". Smithers began to speak again, James's attention returning to him. "Now, we must speak of where you go next".

"Home, I would hope". James breathed out, almost begging to be allowed to.

"There are a couple of ships leaving for Britain on Saturday. I have arranged for you to be on one of them which will take you all the way back to Derry".

"You… you are not joking?"

"No James, I have a habit of telling young officers they are going home only to send them to the West Indies or India". Smithers sarcastically responded. "You are going home for good, James. But not without reward".

Confused, the young pilot couldn't understand what reward he would be entitled to, when some of his actions were far from heroic. A reward for survival was hardly something that could be given out, otherwise at the end of the war, providing that they were on the winning side, every serviceman would have to receive an equal reward. Watching Smithers at all times whilst he searched his mind, he saw the Captain reach into his drawer to retrieve something. A piece of fabric that he knew the meaning of so well, he'd been in the position that he was in before in familiar disbelief. His rise in the ranks at the start of the war always left him confused when he was promoted twice, in reasonably quick succession, with limited combat experience. The rank that he was being given was one that he did not even recognise.

"As of today, you are hereby retired from the Fleet Air arm at the rank of Vice Air Admiral. Your country thanks you for your service, James".

"Vice Air Admiral?" He remarked loudly. "But I am a Captain? That is not a direct promotion… it… it would ruffle the feathers of every officer in the Fleet Air Arm when it appears on the register".

"Then you will be pleased to know that I will not appear on the register".

"I… I do not understand you, Captain Smithers?"

"You are quite right in your thoughts, James. To place your name onto the register would cause quite the stir amongst the armchair generals of London. The paperwork will be completed but as far as the rest of the Fleet Air Arm are concerned, you are no longer an officer, serving or otherwise".

Dealing with the surprise of such sudden, and quite frankly ridiculous promotion, should have left James without words but instead he was handed an opportunity by the Captain. Since the very moment his mother warned him not to seek the truth, he'd began a boyish pursuit of disobeying her wish, wanting to know why he was so important. Only a man of importance could be raised through so many ranks at once without there being a clear and obvious reason as to why the promotion occurred. He'd not fought for nearly two years, not in the role he was meant to complete at least. He needed to know the truth of why he was being treated so specially when others were barely given any respect at all. His apparent luck could no longer be ignored when it would seem it was manufactured, not a natural progression based upon his abilities.

"Is this because of the truth my mother withheld from me?"

The time that Smithers feared had come, a time which he needed to supress a wry smile with when the question came. Both he and Menzies knew that it was entirely possible that the young man would have either been told or worked out the truth for himself, and they were both proven somewhat correct. Kathy's dying breaths were partly spent on trying to keep him from the truth that Kurt attempted to weed out of him when he knew absolutely nothing at all. It was a truth that came with an incredible cost to those who knew of it, as well as to the country in the resources that were required to keep the truth from escaping into the public eye. He still held a duty to attempt to continue Kathy's approach, but Smithers was not a fool. He would have to tell him.

"James…".

"No, please, Captain Smithers". He interrupted. "You cannot convince me that there is not a deliberate ploy to ensure my upward progression through the ranks. Alone your efforts to rescue me from captivity are suspicious enough in my mind, but please do not blind me with naivety. I am aware that there is more to myself than I even know. I beg you, Sir, tell me what that is".

"You cannot unsee this if I tell you…". Smithers repeated Kathy's thoughts. "James, you are a man who has served his country honourably and you can return home a hero, to live the life that you have always known. There is no need for you to veer off of the course of life that you have undertaken".

"My mother died to protect me!" James roared. "I will not allow her sacrifice to mean nothing! She died to help me escape because she would not allow me to fall into the hands of Adolf Hitler! There was more than just her motherly duty in that action!"

Shouted at by the younger man in front of him, Smithers briefly thought of the day where his own son would be bellowing at him in reply, another young James albeit a baby rather than a senior officer in the Fleet Air Arm. That wasn't just what he was though, he was so much more than that to the country of his birth. Very few people in the entire country knew of why he was so important, all those that did swearing to an oath that the secret would die with them, only spoken of with others who knew the truth. The Nazi's would have never gotten the information out of James, no matter how hard they tried, but they were no longer in a position to try. As much as there may have been a spy loose in Derry, they would not be able to harm James if he was to return, nor would they know to find out such information. The truth could be told with that level of safety confirmed, which was why he retrieved another document from the pile, a copy of the file he'd seen hundreds of times alongside Lieutenant Colonel Menzies.

"Are you sure?" Enquiring for a final time, Smithers did not hand the document over immediately. "This will change a lot…".

"Captain, please. I think I am deserving of an answer".

Laying the document in front of the young man, Smithers kept a consistent stare upon him for his reaction. He'd practiced what he'd say over and over in his mind, yet the words were escaping him as he tried to think of them once again. James did not notice him staring though, not after opening the document and reading the very first few words before any further descriptions of his combat actions were mentioned.

It could not be.

He could not be… it was not possible.

Surely… surely… it must have been lies.

The exact reaction he was having, was what Smithers predicted would happen. The words written in that document could not be unseen. His own reaction was one of shock when he saw it himself back in London. What it must have done to the young man's mind was only something he could imagine in his own.

"B… but… this… this cannot…".

"Why do you think both I and your mother, warned you. I am sorry for you to have to find out this way but… now I think you realise why your life was so coveted and why we could not allow Adolf Hitler to possess you. To think what he would have done…".

"That… that makes me…".

He was still in disbelief.

"Yes James. It does".

Smithers took a moment, standing up to tower over the young man whose eyes were struck wide at the first page of the document about him. The document that told him who he truly was.

"You are the firstborn son of King George the Sixth and, though illegitimately by birth, the true heir to the throne of Great Britain and all of her territories".