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 :)

73. Zemblanity

Chapter 73: Zemblanity 5th September 1942

There she was, stood there in front of him where he wanted her.

Only with another man. She'd followed his instructions to the absolute word. Erin moved on exactly how he told her to if he'd died. But he hadn't.

He wasn't wearing a surprised look on his face like she was, because Anna warned him before he stood out that Erin was with another man. Even when he found out through the younger Quinn sister, he didn't fall over with shock. For months, even a couple of years, James convinced himself that she would wait for him when he returned, ignoring the reality of the situation. It took being back on home soil for that reality to hit home. Poor Anna was almost too embarrassed to tell him, he realised, but he was grateful that she'd done so. It softened the blow somewhat to know that Erin would be holding the hand of the fella that her sister briefly told him of. The Captain from Yorkshire aboard the ship he'd been brought back on was right. The Americans were a nuisance and one of them, the man he saw with her that afternoon, stole the woman he loved from him. All he could do was chastise himself… he should have known that she would not have waited, nor should she have been forced to do so.

Anna almost shook throughout telling him, after her initial run to him where she almost knocked him over, leaping at him. Smiling like he'd not done in some time, James accepted her embrace and lifted her up to his eye level. As much as there were others he'd missed more, Anna Quinn was always high in his thoughts. An incredibly smart and thoughtful girl, she'd grown considerably since he'd left to fight, not that it was a surprise to him. After three years away she would have got bigger, the more she advanced in age, her smile seeming wider too. When he'd finally put her down and asked her how she was, and more importantly, whether the rest of the family were well, that was when she began to shake. It wasn't right for a six year old to have to break such news, but she did so anyway.

"Mammy's well James… and Daddy… and Granda…". She hummed. "And… and Aunt Sarah's gettin' married, so she is!"

"That's excellent news! I am glad that she has found someone". James replied. "And what about your sister?"

Her initial gulp at the time made him worry that something had happened to Erin, which made the Englishman produce a gulp of his own. The initial thoughts before he found out the truth were ones of worry and concern. If he'd lost her, for some time without knowing, he would have never forgiven himself for leaving in the first place. She'd been alive until around the time he was thought to be deceased, that he did know, though how long it was after that she might have perished, he did not know. From what Kurt passed on from the spy in Derry, they'd indicated that she was alive and well, enabling Kurt to taunt him with hurting her. Trusting the Nazi Doctor was not something that was in his nature though; She could have easily been dead without his knowledge and the Doctor could have simply withheld that from him. Captain Smithers never mentioned her at all during the debriefing nor did he ask, assuming that no news was good news, not that it would have been the concern of the Intelligence Services to tell her he was alive.

It was only a few seconds later that those thoughts were driven away, but the truth that followed still told him that he'd lost her, just not in the mortal sense.

"I… James…". Anna struggled to find the words, cracking under the intense pressure of being the one to tell him.

"What is it, Anna?" He begged her to know. "Is she hurt? Is she… is she dead?"

"No! No she's alive and outside…".

"Anna…". Kneeling down in front of her, they were at eye level once more. "You look frightened. I know you did not expect me and I sincerely apologise if I am the cause of your terror but… please… what's wrong with Erin?"

"She… she has someone else".

Those words hit him harder than any other, lightning bolts to his heart at the time, ones that pierced deeper than he could have ever imagined. With all her smarts, Anna was painfully aware of how much the knowledge must have upset him, even if James did his best to hide just how much he was hurt by the news. In a way he shouldn't have been when it was upon his suggestion that she move on from him if he'd died but it was bittersweet when all the time she thought he'd been deceased, he still breathed. Still fought for her, because the love of Erin Quinn spurred him on in the most difficult of moments when all other hope appeared lost. As his fight grew stronger through the wish to see her again, their love faded thanks to the greatest enemy of mankind. Time.

To demand anymore from Anna would have been wrong of him, but the younger Quinn sister offered up a short portfolio of the man who now held the honour of standing beside Erin. His name was Lance, Lance Hamilton, an American Lieutenant aboard one of the ships in the harbour at the docks where he'd been not an hour or so before. James could at least take heart in the solace that he was the far better card player out of the two, not that it mattered when there was far more at stake than a game of poker. He'd arrived with the rest of the Yanks towards the start of the year, but according to Anna it was only in recent weeks that Erin's relationship with him became truly apparent. Unbeknownst to the English fella, if the plan his mother made worked and they'd escaped via the method the Intelligence Services were willing to conduct, he would have been back in time to prevent them getting together. For his own sake it was almost better that he didn't know.

Outside in the warm afternoon air, after Anna's description of him, James cast his eye over the man. The way in which he held Erin's hand showed some sign of affection, a heavy sign in many ways when it was clear she was taking comfort in having it there. The look he gave the American only lasted for a second or two, but it was enough to get a better picture of the man. They were around similar heights, Lance's hair fair in comparison to his darker colour that was similar to Michelle's. He was handsome, of course he was, the sort of man that on looks alone would make any woman proud to be on the arm of. An air of grace remained about his overall persona, more grace than even the pilot, though only by title he was supposed to be graceful. It didn't mean to say that he wasn't, but he was not up to the standard of a Prince at least. Also evidently clear to him was that the American was yet to see combat, his eyes too puppy like and unbroken, his face too clean for a man who was actively serving in combat for his country or one who'd seen the grizzly reality of the conflict. He could almost see the luscious country backroads of Virginia in the man's eyes, when in the Englishman's, one could find fire and loss.

The rest of the family hadn't change a lot in appearance, though Gerry and Martin in particular looked thinner to what they'd done when he left. Neither man was particularly large, but the war's rationing was leaving a lasting mark on the two of them. When he looked into his aunt's eyes for a second, having plenty of them when everyone in the garden was so stunned by his presence, he saw the similarities to his mother. He would never tell her, nor would he tell any woman in the same circumstance, but Deirdre wasn't quite as good looking as her sister, though she knew that anyway. There'd been a time when the roles were reversed but as Kathy matured, she became the apple of many a fella's eye. Only he would know just how high the rank of fella she managed to attract would ever reach. Still, Deirdre's still shared some features of Kathy's that made her stand out, the good looks clearly passing through the family when Michelle was equally as attractive. She too looked no different, if anything looking better for the war rather than worse for it. There was only one notable absentee that he could think of, but before he had the chance to ask, he was engaged in conversation.

"Aye what's up James' ghost?"

It was, of course, Orla who came to her senses the quickest. In a situation so completely absurd, the one member of the family who understood how to pull off the bizarre, was the first one to say anything. She'd never expected to see him again either, not after he'd supposedly died on the same night as her husband, who must have died because he wasn't with James, God having seemingly separated them as ghosts. The two were such good friends that they would normally be side by side even in death, though if it was not God's will then she knew she would have to respect that. Unlike her cousin who'd been a tearful mess for so long, she was already long over the days of extended grief for the fella she lost on the fateful night in Taranto. She would happily talk to the ghost of the English pilot without a care in the world.

"I… I am not a ghost, Orla. It is very much me that stands before you".

"Oh… so yer not dead?" She frowned.

"No…". He chuckled. "No I am not dead. Completely alive, that is what I am".

Nodding her understanding, whilst still remaining just as perplexed as everyone around her, it quickly struck James how much he missed her company. He'd not even spent that much time with her during his few months in Derry before the war broke out, but five minutes in Orla's company made any man or woman feel as if they'd been friends with her for years. There were no barriers to work around with her nor did she have any attitude that made talking to her difficult. Unlike Erin who was so in love with him that it made some conversations awkward, Clare who could not go five minutes without having a panic attack or Michelle who'd at the time hated him, he could just talk to her without worrying about any judgements being made. She was completely non-judgemental with everyone that she came across, making it hard for Orla to have any real enemies. Whilst smiling at her, he noticed the little girl clinging to her leg shyly, glancing up at him every couple of seconds. As soon as Orla noticed that he'd seen her, introductions were made.

"James… this is Marie…". She spoke calmly, pulling her daughter off of her leg to face the Englishman. "Now Marie, this is James. You remember James, don't you?"

James' turn to frown, he couldn't understand how she'd remember him when they'd never been introduced before. Sure, David most likely mentioned him in a couple of his letters, he could vaguely remember appearing in one, but he'd never returned home and Marie was born after he'd left. Out of practice after being away from Derry for so long, he'd forgotten the golden rule of entering conversation with Orla. There wasn't always logic to what was said.

"From the stories?" The little girl almost croaked the words out as she looked up at her Mammy.

"Aye that's right. James the English pilot. I told ye he was real".

Facing her fears, Marie turned to look at the man, slightly afraid of his scarred face. Orla might have been a woman to make an odd comment or two at times, but as a mother she was already giving out important life lessons. A couple of men who'd been injured in the war were already back in Derry, men who were in receipt of worse facial injuries than James. Most children would run away when they saw them on the street, but Marie was taught not to. Orla would often talk to the poor unfortunate men that had been castigated upon their return from the war and also from hospital, Marie told not to see them as strange but as heroic. Understanding that they should be respected for their efforts, not put down because they were different to how they were before, Marie knew not to be horrible to James despite her initial fears. He was one of the heroes of the stories that her Mammy would tell her before bed at night, not a monster like his face suggested.

"Did ye know my Daddy?" Her timid voice poked through the air. "Yer always the other hero with him in the stories that Mammy tells me!"

"I did". James confirmed solemnly, only just avoiding the icy cold sensation of tears on his cheeks. "Your Daddy is much more of a hero than me".

"He's not comin' back like you, is he?"

Taken by surprise at the heartbreaking way in which she enquired, her lashes fluttering hopefully, he could only take a glance to Orla. Telling the little girl the truth if she hadn't done so already was not his place, the news needing to come from her not him. It would also be inappropriate to do so in front of the entire family, not wishing to make her cry when she was surrounded in the garden. Orla confirmed with a nod though that it was fine for him to proceed. She'd only held the conversation with Marie a few weeks earlier about David's death, having asked enough about when he was coming back home. Deeming her mature enough to be able to understand the knowledge, which was in part thanks to learning completed at church, she broke it to her gently that David was with God rather than coming back to be with them. Upsetting it still was, but Marie was always told about how brilliant of a man David was, every word being the truth. He would always be her hero, as he should have been when he was her father.

"He is not but… he will be doing you proud wherever he is". James replied softly, crouching slightly to meet her eye level.

"Mammy says he's with God and you were with God. What's God, like?"

He couldn't help but force himself into a smile, which was really more of a chuckle when he was not a man with strong beliefs. David wasn't with God at all in his mind, he was sadly dead with nothing else for it, though to tell Marie such a thing would be cruel. If he was to be proven wrong upon death and there was indeed the realm of heaven laying in an afterlife locked away, then David would absolutely be doing his family proud. He'd always be with them in their hearts regardless of whether he could see them or be anywhere near them, because he was that sort of man. Dying for the chance for them to one day be free of the threat or, worse, rule of the Nazi menace, he was definitely the hero in their story. Once upon a time, James would have seen himself as the hero alongside his friend, but no longer was he the hero that many painted him as. Too many of his prior actions could be judged as those not in line with a hero, to which he agreed.

"I never quite made it to God…". He carefully explained to her. "He… he was not ready for me. He must be a good man, I can tell you that, because your father would only ever serve at the side of a good man".

His explanation might have been careful to avoid hurting the two year old, but in doing so he hurt himself. There was truth to the second half of what he said, David would only ever serve next to someone who was worthy of his time and effort. That's why they'd worked so well as a team during their days together in the Fleet Air Arm; David would have given his life for James, and in a certain light it could be argued that he'd done so in the end. He'd served that James though, the Captain of the Fleet Air Arm who was merely that, just a higher-ranking officer thanks to his combat abilities and a gentleman thanks to his upbringing. That was the man that existed before the night of David's death, before the attack on Taranto turned from spectacular to destructive… before he became the man who'd returned to Derry three years on from leaving to fight. David would only serve at the side of a good man. James was not a good man, not anymore.

Suffering from another bout of shyness, Marie took a step back towards her Mammy to clutch her leg again, though not without giving James the slightest of curves of the lips. He was going to be seeing a lot more of her, he knew, especially when he'd promised David that he would always look out for his daughter if he was not there to do so himself. She was a beautiful little girl that was a credit to her parents in her looks and by how she spoke so comfortably, without being a tearful mess without her father there to comfort her. As she retreated, another voice took her place, not the voice of her mother who'd been the first to engage the Englishman while mouths hung open. A couple still did, not least Erin, who was experiencing a whole host of emotions that she did not understand. It was only thanks to Lance's steady hand by her side that she hadn't collapsed onto the floor, her brain in total overdrive. He wasn't dead…

"James!" It was Clare who spoke up, strangely not panicking, and moving towards him. "Yer… Yer!"

Under the eye of her parents, whose eyes were certainly opened by what they saw, Clare practically threw herself at the uncomfortable young pilot. His eyes flickered back to Erin for a brief second before he could feel the weight of Clare careening into him, trying to understand her thoughts from afar. She was difficult to read when she was not vocalising her thoughts, or at least she was more difficult to read after years of separation. He could see there were tears in the corners of her eyes, but without asking he did not know whether they were for him or for herself. She'd met his gaze for that brief second too, the pair frozen in time as they found each from across different ends of the crowd. The moment was gone as soon as it appeared though, James having to channel his thoughts to Clare, Erin trying to wonder what emotion to show when she was so confused. Lance appeared to notice though, squeezing her hand even harder as he dropped his head down to a smile at her. She returned the gesture, but only after a quick glance to see if James was still looking.

"Clare… you look beautiful…". He complimented, unaware of the thoughts he was setting off in her Da's mind as he watched on. "I have missed you".

"I have missed you too". She sniffled as she pulled away, looking back up at him. "I'm so glad yer alive!"

Her delight was more selfish than anything, though she was genuinely glad to see that he'd not joined the growing list of British men to be killed during the war. She remembered all too well the dark days of the eleventh month of two years prior, the agonising wave that swept both his and David's lives away, to break Erin and Orla's. The latter pairing would never be able to reconcile again, though she'd seen how well Orla accepted that her husband would not return to her, a casualty to the war instead. However, she'd also been there for Erin as much as she could during her bleak moments of upset when her fellow blonde did not know how to go on without him. James' return at least provided some comfort, though her friend already appeared to have transferred where she received that comfort. So preoccupied with fighting her own battles, she'd not had time to discuss Lance properly with the other girls but like Mary, she found something about him to be off-putting. His demeanour didn't seem quite right to her, a trust missing that was easily found in the Englishman stood before her.

"I am glad to be back. There were so many times that I could have done with your company". He told her, not lying at all when he said it.

"Aye… me too… me too…". She trailed off, the comment to painful to continue.

Struggling to find any further words to say to him, Clare fumbled for a moment before she was beaten to speaking any more anyway. She wasn't having a cack attack as such, but like anyone who was meeting with someone they'd not seen for so many years, she wanted to ask everything without being able to think of anything. Desperately, she wished to able to confide in him too, but that would have to wait until another day. Asking for his ear when he'd only just returned that afternoon was the height of rudeness, an act that would see her receive the appropriate punishment should her Da find out. Finding out what the punishment would be was not high on her agenda at all. She would still do so though, when the time was right for her to burden him with a secret that was already out of control with those that did know. At least the James she knew would be a calming influence on the dilemma. The James she knew that was, not necessarily the man stood in front of her.

The interruption came from one of those within the family who was most delighted to welcome him home, remembering how gentlemanly he was as well as how good-looking he was. In the opinion of Mary Quinn, the smartly dressed, refined young man was one of a kind that should have been the man holding her daughter's hand that afternoon.

"So what are ye doin' back here, James?"

She almost shouldn't have asked, and if allowed a second attempt at addressing him, she would have been far politer. The two hadn't fallen out before he'd left for the war, leaving her no right to scold him in the manner she had. He did need to explain himself, mind, but she knew better than to bombard him the moment he returned. Fully understanding why she'd done so though, James did not take offence at all. He was stood in the garden of her house after all, at an afternoon event he'd invited himself into rather than been expected to appear in. His appearance was still sending shockwaves throughout the family and would so for some time. To Mary though, James' return did at least mean that her daughter would be distracted from the American she did not approve of.

"I have actually come to return something to you…".

He chuckled softly, trying not to look over her shoulder, where he knew he would be able to see Erin. If he could see her face, then he would have still found confusion across it as she locked herself into a battle with her own emotions thanks to his return. She felt absolutely every one possible as he engaged with the rest of her friends and family, unable to find the words to be able to say what she needed to say to him. She didn't even know if she could say them if Lance was by her side, in case the words she found were ones that would hurt him. Deep down inside, there was still a small part of her that screamed for the Englishman, that she knew. Though those screams were muffled by something else that needed to be said to him first.

Mary, however, was allowed a reunion that day, with an object she'd not forgotten about. A mother could never forget a spoon that was used for so many years to discipline the children of the house, and on occasions, their friends. It was replaced upon being handed to James as a memento for him to remember them all by, as well as for anything else that it may have turned out to be useful for. Although its primary actions were against the hands and wrists of Erin and Anna, the more innocent violence it was used for ended up serving the spoon well. She didn't know as she held it that she was holding the very weapon responsible for ending the life of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden. Nor was she aware of how it served as a weapon throughout the journey that James made on foot across southern France. Kurt wasn't the first man who'd seen his life drain away thanks to the wooden utensil. Wisely, James would keep that from her though. He'd made sure to clean the spoon thoroughly before he left Gibraltar, the traces of its service life washed away well in time.

"Your spoon". James stated with a hint of fondness in his voice. "It proved to be most useful, just as you said it would".

"I'm always right, so I am…". Mary tried to not hide her lack of modesty but failed appallingly.

"Of that, I am sure, Mary. Thank you for your time but I am awfully fatigued from my journey and I… I would not want to take any more of your time after my intrusion".

"Yer not intruding son…".

Gerry spoke up next, though even he wasn't convinced with his own tone. James was intruding on Erin's feelings, not out of malice but by accident when he held every right to visit when he was unaware that she'd found love again in Lance. A love that was vastly weaker than the one she'd held with the young pilot, but love none the same in her eyes, which was good enough for him. Tilting his head with a smile, one that was forced out when inside James did not find any reason to be happy, he ensured Gerry that he knew his place now.

"I think we both know that I am, Gerry. I am sure I will see you to speak to during Mass tomorrow morning. Goodnight".

"Aye…". Dipping his head, an unspoken understanding came to exist between the Englishman and the southerner. "Night son".

Allowed to leave unchallenged, James walked away briskly through the house, before his walk became even brisker once he was out onto the road. Retrieving his belongings from where he'd left them in the Quinn's hallway, he already had the key to his cottage thanks to Smithers, who'd brought it with him to Gibraltar. According to the Captain, his house was looked after while he was away by one of their operatives, though he declined to say who they were when James asked. Somehow, he had the feeling he'd get to know who they were anyway when Smithers unsubtly revealed he would always be watched over, but those thoughts were for another day, buried along with his thoughts about Erin. They were buried not out of a reason of importance, but because he didn't know how to confront what he'd found properly. Not yet. The image of her holding another man's hand was still too raw in his mind. He needed to let it sink in to react to it properly. His primary thought instead, was what food he would find at the cottage to make a meal with. Cooking a meal of his own would be a challenge in itself when a proper meal was denied to him for so long, and even when it was not, he was never the one to make it.

When he'd left the Quinn's, Michelle attempted to pursue her cousin, but her father stopped her. Angered by his interference, she wanted to shout at him when her own guilt weighed heavily on her once more about how she'd treated him during the few months he'd been in Derry three years before. However, along with assistance from Deirdre, Martin successfully made sure that his daughter knew that there was a time and a place for such reconciliation. James needed to be able to settle into his new life once more before he could revisit the hardships of the past. Both parents knew their nephew would be suffering from seeing Erin with Lance, who they'd both only met earlier that afternoon but joined Mary and Clare in having severe doubts about him. There was something about the Yank that wasn't right, and it wasn't just his accent. Regardless of him though, James would need time to work out what he was going to do with himself without Michelle begging for forgiveness from him. Above all, it was their duty to look after their nephew in the absence of his mother. They would see him first, that night, without Michelle.

Erin's love for him might have changed, but Deirdre and Martin's had not.

---

James was not the only man returning home after significant time away. Well, not quite home and for not quite as long, but it had been some time since Captain Robert Smithers' feet were on English soil. He'd never really travelled before the war, barely leaving his home in the country in Kent apart from when he made the trip to London to see his superior. He wasn't naturally adventurous either which did not help when it came to getting out more, but the trip to Gibraltar opened his eyes in a way. Being out in the warm air of the Med as opposed to the cooler shores back home, an experience of life that was far different to the normal he was used to, made him want to travel more. As a member of the Intelligence Services, he could hardly just go away when he wanted to unless it was to conduct his work, but if he could take his family with him on a longer assignment, then it would be almost perfect. The sun would do Mrs Smithers the world of good, he knew, especially when she frequently complained about how cold the house could get in the winter. She wouldn't moan like that in Gibraltar, that was for sure.

Returning on a different vessel, that docked at Southampton rather than Derry, a car waited for him in order to take him back to London. He'd informed Lieutenant Colonel Menzies before he'd left Gibraltar, that he would be returning on the same day as dispatching James home, with some of the most crucial documents in Britain within his possession for the journey home. With those documents in his personal belongings, it meant isolating himself from the vast majority of the rest of the crew of the ship in order to remain a secretive presence. Unlike James who could speak freely with the Captain of his ship, and even dine with him, Smithers stayed well away from others. If anyone were to discover the contents in his possession, scandal could so easily erupt. Should they have ran into any enemy that they could not defeat, he was also under the strict orders to make sure the documents reached the bottom of the ocean if all else was lost. The Nazi's could not be allowed the information when they least expected it; they'd had their chance and failed.

The trip to London was pleasant when he did not have to drive, admiring the scenery when he could, but also taking note of the growing hardship on his fellow countrymen and women. Some villages that they went through were more like ghost towns, unusual on a warm Saturday afternoon when there should have at least been children out playing in the street. Instead, in some places, there was an empty void where the joyous laughter of the youth of the day should have brightened the summer air. A strange darkness, not from the weather, but from the lack of life, existed throughout those desolate places. Those out in the country might not have suffered so greatly from the bombing raids that those in cities had done, yet still faced the effects of the economic hardships of the time. For a country running solely on the spirit of its people at certain times, there was no soul to be found to assist in those villages.

Back in the city by the early afternoon, Smithers noted how London didn't appear to have changed vastly since he'd left it. There were more buildings that were suffering from damage, though not all were because of the bombing raids, not directly at least. The poverty in certain areas, along with the lives lost of those who may have been living there, left certain buildings derelict. However, he chose not to focus on the negative, morale-sapping sights of the city, to focus on the more important ones. There were people out in the streets in London, some children too, not all having been evacuated due to their parents wishes. There was an atmosphere to the city still that some of the countryside did not have, lives continuing on despite the reality that the Nazi's were only miles off the south coast in certain places. As the car slowly trundled along in front of Westminster Abbey, which saw some damage the year before thanks to German bombs, a warm familiarity settled over him that replaced the warmth of the air from Gibraltar. Although Smithers might have enjoyed the change of scenery, wanting to get out more to experience new places, he could not help but feel at home in London, the closer he got towards the office of his superior officer.

Thanking the driver, who he'd been able to make pleasant conversation with for the majority of the journey, Smithers made his way down to the basement where he was to be expected. Without knowing of a time that he would return by before he left Gibraltar, Menzies knew to expect him at any time after Midday. Arriving earlier than he thought he would, for a moment the Captain wondered if anyone would even be in the basement of the building, that was until he saw a coat hanging on a peg at the bottom of the stairs. The coat didn't belong to the Lieutenant Colonel, but it did belong his secretary Lotty, which all but ensured that the superior of the two was present that afternoon. She was filing away some papers as he made his way over to her desk, footsteps growing louder and forcing her to turn around. With a large grin on her face for a man that she knew well, the secretary made him feel welcome.

"Captain!" She exclaimed far more excitedly than she should have. "Lieutenant Colonel Menzies told me to expect you. You look well".

Smiling at her back, Smithers admired her greatly. She was younger than he was but by no means did her age prevent her from lacking wisdom. Far from it, even when she could not be allowed to know the majority of what was discussed in those offices, her calm, reassuring presence could often help both of them to think. When her father was the decorated hero that his superior officer spoke of so highly, it did not surprise the Captain to find that she was so eager to do her duty. It ran in the blood of the family after all, making her far more dedicated than some of those who worked for the Intelligence Services. Men such as Kim Philby or Anthony Blunt, though their affiliations were not known to many, not any of them at least. Lotty could be trusted though; she would not betray her country like they'd done.

"I think the warm summer climate of Gibraltar has brought a stronger colour to my skin…". He joked, rolling his sleeve up to stroke his almost golden arm. "You look well yourself. Has the summer been kind to you?"

"Hardly". She snorted. "I have been working very hard in your absence, I would have you know. A young lady such as myself does not have time to enjoy the sun".

"It must be natural beauty then". He complimented her.

"Captain Smithers! You should know better than to say such things".

The two's friendship was so strong that they could joke about such matters, without it appearing as if he was being unfaithful to his wife. Lotty was a highly attractive young woman, a fact that could not be denied, but the Captain was older and married to the woman he loved dearly. For any young man, men like the one he'd released back to Derry just a week before, she would have been perfect. James was in his thoughts for some of the journey home too, thoughts which were partly made up of guilt when he'd known in advance through Emerald Two, who'd intermittently kept a watch on Erin, that she'd moved on from the Englishman. It was the day after the debriefing, the day in between it and the two of them returning to mainland Britain, that a general report came through from the agent. After spending months, via Charlene, keeping Erin safe for the young man upon what should have been his return after Taranto, a moral voice within the Captain told him to go to the young man's rooms to tell him. However, it simply was not his place to be the one to tell the pilot. His warning of changes back home was enough.

"I should take you to the Lieutenant Colonel now. He will be delighted to see you back so early this afternoon".

Following her lead and the sound of clacking heels under the ground, he walked the short distance across to the Lieutenant Colonel's office with her. There was no real need for her to show him to the door when he'd been there so many times before, but he decided not to stop her either. There was no harm in her doing so.

Knocking on the door, there was a wait of a couple of seconds before the Lieutenant Colonel beckoned her through to see him. He would often wait for a couple of moments before replying, needing to cover any documents to ensure that she did not view the contents. Even though they both might have trusted her not to say anything, there was knowledge that she did not need to know at all. Whether they trusted her or not, some British secrets were simply too important to be shared freely with even the most valued allies.

"Lieutenant-Colonel, you have a visitor". She spoke softly, offering him a gracious smile.

Looking to the space next to her as Lotty leant back onto the door, Captain Smithers stepped forward with an equally large smile upon his face when greeted by the sight of his superior officer. Menzies might have been a man who was more used to mixing in circles far higher than the Captain's, but the two were friends as well as colleagues. He'd missed the whit and knowledge of his superior whilst he was stationed in Gibraltar, often worrying that his own decisions made in the territory, would not be ones that Menzies approved of. The Lieutenant Colonel had placed all his trust in the man to bring James home safely after all, which was no easy task. Menzies missed him too though, Smithers being one of his most trusted handlers ever since the war began. Their interactions were minimal before the war began. Three years on, Smithers was at the highest pinnacle of respect he could achieve with the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Captain Smithers…". He rose from his chair. "It is most pleasing to see that you have arrived home safely".

The two shook hands, a firm shake to emphasise how glad they each were that they were back in the same room together. Stood awkwardly in the corner, Lotty eyed the two of them fondly as they greeted each other for the first time in some time, the two having previously been left to converse without seeing each other. She'd watched Smithers' progression throughout the war, warming to his presence the more that she saw him. He was clearly just as dedicated as she was in serving the country, going to great lengths from what she could see, in order to please. Success was everything for both of them, despite the vast difference between filing reports and managing the life of the secret firstborn child of the King of England. Both were important, though the later was just a little more so than the former.

"Would you like some tea, Lieutenant-Colonel?" She enquired, breaking their reunion.

"No, no. I shall endeavour not to keep the Captain for too long". Menzies replied gleefully. "That will be all, thank you Lotty".

Nodding respectfully to the two men, she returned to her filing, the primary task of hers that afternoon. When the door was shut, the two of them could allow themselves to make discussion on the matters that were important, such as the paperwork Smithers brought back with him. All of the most important of his documents were in a briefcase that was in his hand, the driver who'd brought him guarding the rest of his belongings back at the car ahead of his journey home. Placing the briefcase down by the side of the desk, he reached into it to retrieve the documents that were thankfully all complete and intact. His glistening career would have been over in seconds if he'd managed to lose them…

"I find it highly irregular in having to admit this, but I have rather missed our meetings, Captain. They were not always the most morale lifting, but your company has been missed, I must say".

"Thank you, Sir". Smithers lightly chuckled to himself, proud to be held in such high esteem. "Your countenance was missed too, Sir. Although I would not have wished some of the hot nights that I suffered sleeping in a hammock, on you".

"A hammock? What happened to the room that you were billeted in?"

"The room lacked one vital component, Sir…".

Menzies looked back at him dumbfounded, wondering what the problem was. Although he hadn't personally chosen the room for his officer to billeted in, he'd asked the staff at the Admiralty in Gibraltar to make sure it was a good room. What Smithers received in return was far from satisfactory, as he was about to discover.

"It lacked a window, Sir".

Outraged within a half second at how his Captain was treated, he also couldn't believe why Smithers hadn't made him aware during their correspondences to each other. The Captain wasn't bothered at all though, not at the time nor in front of him as they took their seats in the Lieutenant Colonel's office, finding it highly amusing. In a location of such warm climate for large parts of the year like Gibraltar, quite why anyone would make a bedroom and not put a window in the room was completely beyond him. It was so ridiculous that it was hilarious, and when presented with the option of a hammock in the gardens outside, he'd taken it without a second thought. Despite what he was there for, the grounds and the building were guarded and patrolled regularly, leaving him safe in the knowledge that he could spend nights out under the stars.

"I can only apologise, Smithers. It was not my intention to make you so uncomfortable". Menzies tried to remain professional, even when his Captain was not.

"On the contrary, Sir, it was an experience that I am better for. Perhaps one day I could return to Gibraltar… I actually found my time there to be welcoming rather than off-putting".

"Who knows where this war might take us, Smithers. We always have to watch what our Spanish neighbours are doing around the edges of our Gibraltar. One day there could be an assignment for you there".

"I would not hesitate to accept, Sir".

Small talk wasn't something that the two did a lot of, not when they were so busy with controlling all aspects of the now Vice Air Admiral Maguire's life, as well as the other duties that Menzies involved himself in. The enigma project was still ongoing, the Lieutenant-Colonel continuing to send reports to the Prime Minister on a daily basis to update him on the progress that was being made. There were other plans that he was working on too, ones involving other agents rather than Smithers. As important as those plans were to the war effort, they were left in the hands and minds of other capable men and women, the Captain being required for a much more important task when it came to James. Although the young man was safely back home in Derry, away from the physical reach of the Nazi's, their work was far from over. Until the day that James died, the Intelligence Services would always be involved in his life.

Moving on from their light-hearted conversations, the real business was there to be discussed, and it would be without any further delay.

"How is our young Prince…". Menzies used James' official but at the same time unofficial title. "I trust he will have returned safely".

"I do not believe that the Kriegsmarine are aware of him, and even if they are, they would have needed to send Tirpitz to have any hope of capturing him. Their U-Boats do not carry the same menace as they once did". Smithers replied.

"He is away from Hitler's grasp, that is the most important aim that has been achieved alongside preserving his life in my eyes".

Without Smithers to accompany him, it fell upon Menzies to deliver the news to the King alongside the Prime Minister. Mostly, communication about the King's son was done through Churchill without Menzies ever speaking to the King. A high honour to be asked to the Palace to converse with His Majesty, he was not overly surprised when the news was promising. Churchill was left to tell the man about his death, then also alone told him about the first failed rescue attempt. Some of the King's advisors and other ministers argued that he should not have been told of such failure, but both the PM and Smithers thought it best not to keep any information out of the King's grasp. If His Majesty ever found that they were withholding the truth about his son's whereabouts from him then their standing with him would plummet. Hardened by many years of service he might have been, but Menzies could see the clear affection that the King held for the young pilot who was his son, from watching him moved to tears when told that James was safely in British hands once more. He could never acknowledge his son openly, but behind closed doors he could love him without question. No one could advise his heart.

"He has signed the document, Sir".

Taking out the most vital one of all of the ones in his possession that day, Smithers was finally glad to have the burden taken away from him. The signature of the twenty one year old man upon it was of historical significance, a history that would be lost to the archives of the British Intelligence Services for eternity if possible. For at least another few generations, the story of the heroic pilot who was the illegitimate son of King George the Sixth, could never be told. By that time the archives may have been destroyed anyway, which would leave James lost to history. The best possible outcome for all was what it was. He'd signed to signal that he was prepared to allow his life to be just another amongst billions. Holding a rightful claim to the throne, he would decline to ever take it. Elizabeth would be the next reigning monarch upon her father's death or abdication. Not James.

"Thank the good Lord, Captain. I regret what may have become of him should he have declined to. I do not think the King would be forgiving if we'd have proceeded with that course of action".

"Thankfully we do not need to, Sir". Smithers responded, sighing. "I can count myself as feeling relieved as well. I have grown to quite like the young man after everything that we have been through with him".

"So have I". Menzies nodded, breaking out into a mumbled laugh. "He has most likely taken some years off of my life, but that young man is incredible. A quintessentially British miracle, if I say so myself, Captain!"

Frowning slightly, Smithers didn't quite know how to define a British miracle. James certainly was a miracle of a young man though, one who constantly defied both orders and odds, to be able to achieve results. Whether it was his incredible dogfighting abilities when cornered by experienced German fighter pilots or his ability to withstand the torture that Doctor Van Der Heijden plied him with, he simply excelled at everything. He was a member of the Intelligence Services who was only meant to watch over the young man yet could not help but be mesmerised by his abilities. Any unit, whether it was the Army, Navy, Air Force or the Home Guard, would be improved vastly by the presence of James Maguire. His lineage that told of tales of heroism in years long gone by, was simply eclipsed by the realities of what he achieved during their time. If anything, he was more the mythical legend of Arthur than the image of his father.

"His debriefing was very…". After continuing with their meeting, for a moment Smithers paused to find the correct description. "… sombre, Sir. I still feel there are details that he has not given us, but I do not think we have any right to press them from him further".

To make a decision was tough for Menzies, who needed to think of their duty to the country. Although on the surface, James could not be seen to receive any different treatment to any others, if word spread around the general public that he was involved in any sort of incident during his time in captivity, then they would be fighting a losing battle. By finding out beforehand, they eliminated that threat unless the young man was not honest with them. James hadn't quite been, leaving out what happened at the train station out of the fear of confronting it in front of friendly faces. He didn't want them to know that he was present during the killings of innocents that he'd inadvertently been responsible for when he followed Kurt's instructions. At the same time, they were months on from the incident without any word having reached British ears, whether public or private. They could not harass the son of the King without good reason, to which dredging up the past could not qualify.

"I think we have enough from him, Smithers. Can I see your report?"

The report that the Captain crafted was one that he was proud of, especially when it was required to be completed so quickly. Trying to summarise James' life from the night of his apparent death in Taranto, to the day he stepped foot in Gibraltar could have been done in one word; exhilarating. Unfortunately for Smithers, Menzies did require a substantial amount more than that in the report, but having listened to James carefully, all of the important details were mentioned. From Kathy's death to the Doctor's, along with the long road of freedom that the young man travelled from Italy to Spain, a portfolio was available for the Lieutenant Colonel. For nearly ten minutes there was silence as Menzies diligently went through everything in the report to ensure that he was satisfied that they would need to take no further action when it came to the events James described. The killing of John-Paul O'Reilly would have been a very contentious issue if he hadn't been the son of the King, but Royal privilege was what it was.

"He has seen a great deal, Smithers". Finally, Menzies was the one to speak again. "I think it validates the decision to retire him from active combat".

"Those were my thoughts too, Sir. The Fleet Air Arm will suffer without his leadership, but they are yet to crumble in two years without his presence. I am sure they will cope". Smithers offered his thoughts, removing an errant eyelash from his eye as he did so.

"Yes, I am sure that they will also. That does not mean that the country cannot benefit from James in another capacity…".

Properly frowning out of sincere confusion this time, Smithers lost the thread of his superior officer's thoughts. Promoted to Vice Air Admiral, James was retired from all duties, even the ceremonial ones that a man of his rank might have to perform if he was at home. He wasn't going to be asked to host dinner parties nor was he going to be asked for his advice on any military operations. The young man's job for life would be at the Ulster Bank in Derry, advising on interest rates as opposed to bombing raids. There was no other job in the military for him upon being released from his duty, an act that even his father, King George, agreed with. He did not want to see his son's life risked again for the sake of a few attacks on the Italians or the Germans. Menzies made up for his occasional lack of understanding with a sharp, cunning edge, though. He'd made plans that the King approved of, but not plans that involved any branches of the military as such.

"I am sorry, Sir, I… I do not quite understand what you are implying?" Stumped, he asked.

"Well Captain, your report tells me that James is firmly aware of our little problem in Derry". Menzies began to reply, Smithers immediately understanding. "She knows that he will have returned and knows that he is wanted by her Nazi masters. James' experience in combat may help us to bring her to justice".

"With all due respect, sir, I do not think that James would agree to becoming an assassin for us. My impression was that he was tired of death".

"I do suspect that he is, Captain. Yet while she remains at large, there is a threat to his life that we must contain or perhaps eliminate. I merely believe that he could be of use to us in bringing her out into the open".

"To involve him would be a risk, even with an adequate plan". Smithers noted. "Are you sure that it is wise, Sir?"

"Do not worry, Smithers. It is a plan which I think James will agree to".

Intrigued by the details of such a plan, Smithers was the happy recipient of information from an equally willing Lieutenant Colonel Menzies. It should have already made sense to him, Smithers knew, that the plan would appeal to the young man after all of the actions taken against him by the Nazi spy in Derry. A gentleman at heart, he would want her to be made to face her crimes when she was deserving of having to face such scrutiny. Although Northern Ireland might not have been the ideal place to find loyalty to Britain, there were as a sense that those on the other side of the sea were the lesser of two evils. It was not British bombers that killed so many, including Shane's first wife, in Belfast. That was the work of the Nazi's that the spy in Derry worked for. Whipping up a lynch mob to deal with the spy could have been done too, though it was decided against by Menzies, who thought it best to allow a more… personal… plan to be conducted. The King thought it right too that his son should be the man leading the search for justice, as long as he wished to follow through with the honour. If not, there were others who could take his place.

"At least we will have Miss Kavanagh and our other friend to watch over him, whether he accepts this responsibility or not". Smithers mused. "Did you leave her instructions, Sir?"

"Yes Captain, Miss Kavanagh will make contact with James tomorrow. I thought I would allow him one night at home to settle in". Menzies replied, standing up as he did so, an action mirrored by the Captain.

"I do regret that I did not inform him about…".

"Smithers!" His superior interrupted him strongly. "We cannot involve ourselves in his private affairs. We already know that Miss Quinn is not a Nazi nor is she a danger to him. It is not our responsibility to keep them together".

"Yes… yes of course, Sir".

Unable to escape his dejection at keeping the truth from James, guilt remained, bubbling away beneath the calm demeanour of the now bearded Captain. Condemning another man to find that the love of his life was no longer his to hold, weighed heavily on him when he would return home to a loving wife and beautiful young son that evening. Apart from the poetry they'd been given when investigating her, works of literature that one would not even subject their bottom to in a toilet paper shortage, Erin Quinn appeared to be a bright, attractive young woman that looked at peace when with the young pilot. If he'd have told James before returning home that she'd found another man to be with, then he could have at least spared what he knew must have been or would be, a tragic tale of lost love. Menzies was correct though, so he could not smite his superior. It was not their responsibility.

"I will not keep you any longer, Captain Smithers". Menzies' tone changed when he spoke again, far more upbeat than previously. "I spoke to your wife yesterday and she awaits your return. Now come on man, you have your own James to see".

"Sir, I must entrust you with the knowledge that I do not think I will ever forgive my wife for choosing his name". Smithers joked, bending down to pick up his briefcase. "Though I shall never forget it, even during my senile years".

"Indeed, you shall not. But please, take a couple of weeks away… be with your family. I will manage James alone".

During wartime, Smithers would not expect such kindness from the Lieutenant Colonel yet found himself as a recipient anyway. The sensible, duty-bound Captain within him screamed at him to question why he should take time away when he was needed, but it was crushed into a miniscule squeak by the drowning bass of the family man who'd been away from home for too long. It was an offer he simply could not refuse.

The time would pass quickly though, he knew as much. His return was timed perfectly to, in time to oversee James dealing with the Nazi spy should he wish to.

For the Englishman, even when on home soil, trouble was never too far away anymore…

---

He wasn't dead.

James… James wasn't dead.

He was supposed to be dead but yet somehow was still alive.

It was all just a wee bit too much for the mind of Erin Quinn to process all at once. She'd not been able to utter a single word to the fella that once meant everything to her when he was stood in the back garden of her house. All she could do was watch and try to understand whether she was still in bed having a dream or whether reality was really that cruel. The latter became the obvious answer very quickly when the dream appeared to go on and on, hurtling through the bounds of a nightmare to become a very real situation that she found herself in.

James wasn't dead.

Throughout her life, Erin thought that the world would often work against her, but it was proven properly that afternoon. Only in the cruellest scenario would James return into her life just days after finally convincing herself that she could move on with another fella. Of course he'd come back over a week later, with his battle wounds on show to make her feel disgusted with herself. She didn't love him anymore, she loved Lance, though the more she felt the need to tell herself, the less of a fact it seemed to become. She wouldn't think about love though, not at all with the Englishman when Lance was her fella now. Admirably in her mind, he'd stayed holding her hand for the entire time that the pilot was present, squeezing it to show his support when she needed it the most.

As the former love of her life walked away, nearly chased by Michelle until she was stopped by her parents, Erin's mind was awash with thoughts of what to do. For so long she'd developed a plan of what she would do if James turned out to be alive after all, but when her mind went to dig the plans back up, she found them to be forgotten. For some weeks she'd not thought about what she would do if he returned, to her detriment as the clouds began to cover over the skies of Derry. A warm afternoon anyway, her cheeks burned from the additional warmth of the thoughts running through her mind. There was so much that needed to be said between the two, though the way that she would elocute herself changed significantly. There could no longer be the talks together that she'd for so long desired, not when she was with Lance. Talking to James was still possible but… it would not be the same.

"Are you feelin' alright, Erin?" Lance enquired, finally let going of her hand as he turned her round to face him. "Do you need to go inside?"

"No… no I… I don't… I… I need to sit…".

Lance Hamilton's plan to exploit her for her body was a callous one, and it was why, he assumed, he was being made to work hard to achieve his aims. Without any warning, though he telegraphed what was about to happen anyway, she fell towards him. With so many thoughts rushing through her mind all at once, relief being the primary one, not that it would be acknowledged, Erin's legs began to feel the strain of carrying her conscience. Fainting, she collapsed into the arms of the American, who was getting a lot more than he bargained for that day. Deciding to spend the few hours of leave from the ship that he was allowed with her, was already annoyed enough when his own plans would not advance, but James' return threw the almightiest of spanners in the works.

There were a few worried glances, not least from Mary, as her eldest daughter's body simply failed to withstand the return of the young Englishman. Seeing her in Lance' arms was not the scene that her mother wanted, Mary far preferring it to have been James holding her there. Reminded again why she admired him so greatly upon his return, where he'd even remembered to bring her spoon back to her, the gulf between the two was visualised. Lance was a man born in a place where society was different to Derry, attitudes that he was being born into being ones that he could not help. Yet he'd had years to not follow the same path as those older than him in the family, but still walked along it blindly. James on the other hand was a young man steeped in mystery to an extent, a much further extent than she would ever know. However, he was the perfect gentleman that loved those around him immensely, without airing a sense of prestige around others. The Yank was the strutting peacock compared to James' roaring lion.

Quietly, without wanting to be confronted with any questions from Erin's mother, Lance found assistance in the shape of Joe, who helped move Erin back into the Anderson shelter. For a couple of minutes she appeared to be totally zoned out from the world, severely concerning her Granda, who tried to keep a brave face on for the rest of the family. They didn't need to waste the time of Doctors and Nurses, for what was a fainting incident. She came around after a minute or so, opening her eyes to find those of her Granda and her American fella, peering towards her. Blinking away the tears that formed in the corners of her eyes, Erin could only put the thoughts of her gallant hero to one side to listen to what they needed to say. Her former gallant hero that was. James was not hers anymore, not after the decision she'd made to move on.

"Are you alright, Erin?" Joe was the first to question, a soft sound rolling out from his gravelly lungs. "I think we lost ye there for a minute".

"A… Aye Granda… I… I'm fine". She replied, incredibly unconvincingly.

"I'll go and get ye a glass of water and let yer Ma know yer fine. She'll be worried about ye, collapsin' like that".

"Y… ye… thanks Granda".

Nodding to recognise her gratitude, Joe turned on his heel and left the shelter, albeit with the door open. For once, it was not done out of the worry that funny business might take place, but instead done so that she would not burn up with the heat after the fainting. Staying by her side, despite wishing to be anywhere else but with her in the shelter that afternoon, Lance put on his best act in trying to care for her. A pantomime if there ever was one, he was beginning to wonder in the back of his mind, whether she was worth the effort. There were other women in Northern Ireland who would no doubt give their bodies to him, but there were none that he'd met that fit all of the unattractive qualities that Erin did. He'd not even been properly introduced to the full onslaught of her poetry, making that impression without falling into slumber.

"I… I'm sorry, Lance. I… I shouldn't have just fallen like that…".

"You are in shock, Erin, I understand. It must be difficult for you when he just walks in like that". Lance replied calmly, taking a seat opposite her.

"It is. I… I don't know what to say or…". She continued to panic, wringing her hands as she sat up.

"For me, you have nothing to say. I think James needs to be the one talk Erin, not you".

She knew that Lance was right; it was the English fella who needed to be the one to speak up first. After all, she'd done her job during the war, staying in Derry to work in the factory in order to provide garments to servicemen on the frontlines. James' job was to fight as a pilot, but he'd only done so for around fourteen months before his apparent death. He needed to explain to her why he wasn't dead like she'd been told that he was by the staff officer that came to visit on a day that no one in the family would forget. David hadn't come back with him to make Orla the delighted wife that she was before the war neither, making it all the more odd that James could just turn up unannounced a couple of years later. The most juvenile of her initial thoughts pointed towards an imposter that was trying to swindle his money, somehow finding out about its existence. She'd never seen a penny of it and therefore couldn't help, not that anyone would be able to discover its wealth when the Crown's coffers were involved.

"Why is he back?" Erin thought aloud, putting her head into hands. "He should be dead… they told us he was dead but… but he's not… why Lance? Why would he just come back?"

The question was far too deep for the Yank to give an answer too, though he did care about giving one despite his otherwise uncaring demeanour. There were reasons for it of course, albeit ones that would not be aired in Erin's presence when it would work against him. His own plans may have been put onto hold for the afternoon earlier in the day, a niggling suspicion was already making him believe that the delay would last longer. Even he could understand how the return of a previously thought of deceased loved one would make a person feel, although he did not necessarily agree with what might be suggested in the aftermath. When it came to time at least, giving someone time to deal with the shock of such a return, he certainly wasn't pleased.

"I guess… I guess it is his home". Lance offered, remembering what he'd been told about James. "I suppose this city is all he has. Does he not have anywhere else to go in England?"

"No…". She shook her head. "His Ma… well, no one really knows where she is, ye see. Michelle and her parents are all he has left of his family, I think".

"He has no old man that he could live with? One of the boys back home just lives with his Pa after his Mom died".

If there was one thing, regardless of the emotional haze that she was in, that Erin could admit to knowing nothing about then it was the paternal side of James' family. Prying the information from him before the war never occurred to her, especially when Michelle had already given her the family history ten times over before he'd even set foot in Derry. Not even Deirdre was aware of who the father of her sister's child was, not when there was a point in time when every eligible bachelor in Derry was waiting for a try with Kathy Maguire. She'd assumed it would have been the same in Belfast when she moved, though unbeknownst to Deirdre, the time her sister apparently spent in the city, was time spent instead in England. Michelle always believed that her Aunt Kathy became pregnant thanks to some fella she must have slept with in Belfast and that James' Da could be found there somewhere, if he was still alive. Little did they know they'd all heard his father speak on many occasions…

"I don't think he ever knew his Da. But I… I don't want to talk about James".

That was the answer that he wanted to hear, knowing how much the Englishman once meant to her. His own aims could still be achieved further down the line, and to hear her not wanting to dwell on his return, was music to Lance's ears. They could talk about something else instead, not just the two of them, and he did have something that he wanted to bring up. It was more due to the pressure of his fellow officers than anything after he'd admitted to suffering heavy losses, but they all still wished to play Anna in a game of cards. The loud, foul-mouthed Lieutenant Commander Reeves even suggested that they play without cheating, just to truly see how good she was. Lance warned them against doing so if they were to ever play her, as they would suffer just as much as him if they met her on equal terms. Their own bullish attitudes would prevent them from listening to him, that much was obvious when they continued to persist in making him ask Erin, and more importantly, her mother, for permission to take Anna aboard.

"My friends in the officer's mess have been askin' about Anna again…". He began with a softness in his voice, hoping to ease the mood in the room. "I can't say I have ever seen a group of men so desperate to lose their money".

"Aye, they will as well. Anna's not gettin' any worse anytime soon". Erin joked, Lance's plan working.

"Do you think that your mother would… you know… let me take her on board? You can come too… I… I promise they won't curse at her or upset her".

They certainly wouldn't upset her, not when Anna would be smarter than all of the Yanks in the room put together. A card game against a group of naïve American officers would be a play to her, an opera of amusement for a young girl who was so talented. Any girl of such an age that could terrify the formidable Sister Michael into almost hiding from her whenever she spotted her in the distance during school hours, could not be made to cry from a few nasty words from a group of angered sailors. To Erin, it would be a fantastic idea as she would be able to meet Lance's friends as well as watch on as her sister lightened their pockets. The rest of the officers already knew about the blonde though, an image of an ungodly, stone-turning, stomach-churning, Medusa-esque figure that was so incredibly ugly that no man in their right mind would want to be with her. The general consensus between them that, upon hearing of his plan at least, Lance was not of sound mind made sense for why he'd chosen her.

"I'll have to talk to her…". Erin sighed, though was glad of returning to the flow of a normal conversation. "She's not always…".

"Pleasant?" He snorted, earning himself a slight side-eye.

"Watch it, that's my Ma yer talkin' about!" She playfully rebuked him. "No she's just not that open to change that's all. She likes things done her way".

Coming from a home where it was the father that ruled with the same manner as Erin's mother did, Lance's opinion of Mary continued to lower. He was aware that she didn't like him, assuming that it was down to him being American and hoping it was not because she realised what he was up to. Some of the other members of her family appeared to be somewhat distrusting of him too, though her father and grandfather didn't show their opinions as much as Mary did. She wasn't one to hold back when she wanted someone to know what she thought of them, behaviour which Lance always knew as unbecoming in a woman. Erin might have been a worse kisser than a pig in his eyes, but her mother was the prize cow on the family farm. He hated when she looked at it him as if he were the devil rather than a human being. Strongly willed women were not women that he approved of.

"I would appreciate it if you would, for my sake. Those goddamn bastards won't stop asking me about it!" Chuckling, he turned a wide grin on her.

"They won't thank ye after, I tell ye!" She almost shouted. "Thank you, Lance. I needed ye then to calm me down. I don't know what I'd have done without you".

Sensing an opportunity to reaffirm his position in her affections, Lance moved over to her side of the shelter, taking her hands in his as he leant forward. Their lips were soon pressed against each other firmly, Erin humming as she eased into a kiss, Lance squeezing her hands at the same time. To any onlooker, to which they unknowingly did have one, it would have appeared to have been a kiss that oozed passion, the meeting of hearts between two young lovers in a world torn apart by war. Erin was instead a victim like so many others during the conflict, though not in the way in which she realised. She'd found herself a victim before when she thought James was lost, but upon his return, that aura could no longer exist around her. Her victimisation instead came from being the chosen subject of the plan of Lieutenant Lance Hamilton, a far worse fate than the one she thought she'd been experiencing.

The loud clearing of a male's throat ceased their kissing, though they did not break apart in shock. Erin tried to, worried about who was watching them even though everyone in the family knew that they were together, but he would not let her. He knew she was worried that it was James… not anyone else. Joe was instead the man at the door of the shelter, returning with the glass of water that he'd gone to fetch for her.

His interruption was not one that particularly annoyed them, their moment having been achieved. For Lance especially, it was important because James returning to Derry also made things more difficult for him. The Englishman was undeniably handsome, and in fainting, Erin might have been experiencing confusion but also the explosion of a longing pain in the heart. He was no fool, not at all. James was a threat to his plans, a larger threat than anyone else that he'd encountered so far. If the pilot thought he could come back and take Erin off of him, then he was sorely mistaken. She was going to have the American's child and he would make sure of it.

If that meant having to remove James…

Lance was prepared to have to do what was required.

---

A good walk to stretch the legs was exactly what James needed, after a long trip on the ship home along with a fairly restful period in Gibraltar. He'd not stretched his legs properly in some time, especially not in the inviting air of home. The walk to the Quinn household might have given him that but he was so lost in his own mind that he'd failed to enjoy it properly. The same mind now generated thoughts that he did not approve of, walking and enjoying the sights of Derry being the only tonic he could think of. It wasn't as if he'd came across a total devastation the moment he walked into their back garden, far from it. Everything was fine. Erin was fine. She'd moved on and that was totally the right thing for her to do. He was happy that she was happy with the American she'd chosen to be with. It was totally fine.

The totally fine James still walked briskly as though he wasn't alright, even when he was constantly telling himself that he was. Although there were evident changes, a lot of the city did appear to be more or less the same as to how he remembered it. The walk back from their house to his own cottage was one so engrained in his memory that he did not have to think about it twice, despite being absent from those roads for years. For a Saturday afternoon it was fairly quiet, though he waved to a couple of old ladies who appeared to recognise him despite the scar. It was most odd that an Englishman could find such acceptance, but he was by no means the ordinary man that came over from the other side of the Irish Sea. As a city, Derry was fortunate to have one of England's most favoured sons, rather more literally than they realised. Erin was once fortunate to have him too but she was happy, and to James that was fine. Totally fine.

Smithers briefly explained to him in Gibraltar that they'd taken care of the cottage whilst he'd been away, instructing it to be maintained by a local contact. Intrigued to meet the contact to be able to thank them for ensuring that he did not come home to a cob-webbed filled, empty mess, he'd pondered on the journey home, just who it could be. There was a strong chance he didn't know them anyway, as although most of the city knew about him, he didn't know that many of the residents that well. It certainly wasn't anyone from his family, or Erin's, or Clare's for that matter, none of them being optimal agents of espionage. Between them, the girls were four of the most unsuited people alive in the world to conduct espionage. There wasn't an ounce of ability between the lot of them. His car was also maintained, though the Captain was slightly coy on the details when the pilot asked him further. Although it didn't particularly matter; he hadn't needed it.

When he finally reached the cottage, the truth behind Smithers' statement was very much apparent. It was as if he hadn't left, it looked so similar to how it did the last time he'd seen it three years earlier. On the driveway was his Morgan Roadster, looking as smart as ever, perhaps even with a new lick of paint if his eyes did not deceive him. He took a deep breath once he got there, another weight falling off of his shoulders, officially home at last. Upon leaving the cottage three years prior, he hoped to have been back in by that Christmas, not spending the festive season alone either. Erin would be spending her Christmas with Lance now, but James could only be pleased for her. She'd moved on exactly how he'd asked her too. There was nothing wrong about what she'd done at all, it was totally fine.

Dinner was his biggest challenge of the evening, but open unlocking the front door of cottage and strolling on through to the kitchen, James found his worries to be groundless. The heir to the throne could hardly be left without the rations that he needed, the King simply would not have it if he were to find out that James wasn't cared for. There was such a range despite the rationing, that James immediately started to worry that once again he was being treated differently. He didn't want to have additional rations in comparison with everyone else, not when he was no better man than any other. It was only upon finding his ration book, not having held one previously when he was out in the Med, that he could rest in the knowledge that at least that aspect of his life would remain normal. Learning the truth meant that many things would never be the same again, but not when it came to rationing.

Thanks to the upbringing that Kathy gave to her son, as well as his plentiful practice of living with nothing during his escape across southern France, James could almost make a meal out of anything. Not allowing himself to bow to extravagance when there were such possibilities with the food that was left for him, he instead made himself a simple stew for the first meal back of his return to Northern Ireland. Lunch didn't happen earlier that day when he was busy trying to get off the ship and over to the Quinn's, allowing him to devour his plate with consummate ease that evening, watching the sun set over the fields that surrounded the cottage. Left in splendid isolation, he was reminded of the times he spent to himself as a prisoner, in both Taranto and Rome, though with a smile on his face. The long days that dragged on for eternity, the mornings when he would wake and question whether he'd see Derry again. Those days were gone.

Isolation only lasted so long in a city such as the one he'd made his home in, a fact that James became reacquainted with only ten minutes or so after finishing up in the kitchen. He'd not heard the knocking at first from where he was inside his bathroom but did so when the door was knocked for a second time as he was exiting. The hopeful voice in his mind wanted it to be Erin at the door, without her fella, with the wish to talk to him, but that was just hope. She wasn't going to be coming to his door when Lance was there to comfort her, a man that he would have to thank for opening his heart to Erin. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for, the Englishman knew without having to think too hard, for she'd moved on when many doubted that she would. Most important of all, she'd done the right thing and it was totally fine.

Rather than the blonde who'd once stolen his heart being at the door, it was instead the most logical pairing that would turn up. His Aunt and Uncle promised Michelle, unbeknownst to him, that they would visit the young man that evening, a promise which was kept. They weren't people to be out in the dark along country roads, but it didn't matter when they needed to do their job as his relatives. Kathy's life, perhaps lifestyle or work, Deirdre did not know, might have meant they were given James to put up with, yet getting to know him much better meant either of them would have been proud to call him son. As such, they would treat him like a son and when their son's return was both unexpected and painful, it fell upon their shoulders to check up on him.

"Aunt Deirdre… Uncle Martin… I… I wasn't expecting you…". He almost shyly addressed them, laughing softly. "Come in, please".

The two of them offered him a smile in return as they were invited inside, Deirdre leading the way with Martin right behind her. Walking into his cottage for the first time in years, though it was shorter for Martin when he'd raided James' wardrobe for clothes with Gerry one day, they were transported back to a happier time. His front room was a reminder of what life was like before the war, even though they'd not made any changes to their own home during that time. For Deirdre especially, the front room, dominated by the fireplace, breathed a soothing, calming peace that was sorely lacking elsewhere. Not even church could offer such a sanctuary from the world, despite being designed to do so.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" The young man enquired, searching them visually for answers.

"No yer alright James…". Deirdre answered, answering for Martin too. "We won't be stayin' too long ye know. We just wanted to check in on ye and see how ye really are".

"Oh". He replied, somewhat taken aback. "Yes… yes of course".

Deirdre and Martin took the sofa for themselves, leaving James to stroll over to his armchair, sitting down with his back to the front door. He'd not long made himself a cup of tea which was left by the side of the fire, kept warm by the ever-increasing heat from the flames he'd made sure to stoke when he'd returned earlier that day. It was clear that whoever was looking after the cottage was always keeping the fire in good use, making James wonder whether someone had slept there in that time too. The fire would only ever need to be on in the evenings, which indicated to him that someone was coming over later in the day to check up on the place.

Opening a conversation with his Aunt and Uncle should have been second nature to James, yet even with all their respect and love for him, he didn't know what to say. He wanted to say so much about himself but was bound to secrecy thanks to the agreement he'd signed with the Intelligence Services. Disclosure about who he was or what he'd done could not happen, not even to either of them. With relatives like them though, conversation did not have to be solely driven by him, ensuring that there would be no silence to make the evening awkward. Martin was the first of the three of them to speak up, doing so with a spring in his voice. James couldn't begin to understand just how pleased the man sat across from him was to be able to look over him again. Meeting many a man in his life, friend or foe, none compared to his nephew. The dashing gentleman that he still saw in front of him, even if beneath the surface that image was skewed and unkind to the man forced to live with it.

"I can't believe yer alive, James!" Martin couldn't help but laugh. "What sort of miracle have you done to get back here? When we heard about you and David…".

"We would need days to go over what happened Martin". James also chuckled when he replied, seeing the amusing side to his mortality. "I wish I could have brought David home with me but… I cannot weave a miracle to make him return to the earth".

"Aye. He was a good man".

"Yes. Yes he was… one of the best if I say so myself".

Another large part of the best parts of his life in Derry, his best friend, was also missing. Regardless of whether he'd returned two months after what happened in Taranto or two years, he knew it would be difficult without him. The time in captivity was almost a blessing in disguise in one sense though, allowing the Englishman to grieve openly for his friend with so many hours to spend on nothing else. The time to grieve him properly meant that no tears escaped the young man when he met Orla's eyes, and though Marie talking about David might have made his heart flutter in memory of the man, he'd stayed resolute. David wouldn't have wanted him to be miserable, thinking about the glorious days of friendship they'd shared before the war. He'd want him to be happy, living life without such worry and guilt, completely unnecessary emotional baggage that should have been buried in Italy. Buried it was, along with David, the honour falling to the soil of a nation on the wrong side of the war where it was often so humiliated.

"Where have ye been all this time? Did the Germans get ye… the pesky wee bastards…".

Martin's line of questioning very quickly tipped over to a land of details where James was aware he would have to be careful, his word given to never speak of certain things again. As a promise to himself, made on a warm afternoon on the rock while he waited to return home, he vowed never to speak of the massacre to anyone, not even the Intelligence Services. The men, women and children that died that day, did so on his command, even if it was one that was accidental. A burden like the one any decent individual would carry away from an incident such as that, was one that should not be shared. Punishment in another form, only James needed to know about the innocent Jews that were killed to prove a point to him that day in Italy, the glowing green Italian countryside tinged with the crimson red tide of genocide.

"I was captured yes…". James confirmed, sighing. "Italians and Germans made sure to introduce themselves to me in that time. I was most grateful to be able to escape".

"How did ye?" Deirdre chimed in, watching him frown. "Ye know, how did ye escape? It can't have been easy when ye mustn't have known where ye were?"

"My captors rather foolishly decided to tell me where I was being held. They aided me without ever realising so".

Grinning at her nephew, Deirdre couldn't help but succumb to a feeling of pride for him. Kathy might have let her down as a sister many years before, when she'd ruined the reputation of the family for a long time, with even some to that day still distrusting of her and the rest of them, but that was in the past. Their parents went to their graves living with that shame, but in time, thanks to the son that she'd raised, Kathy redeemed herself in her sister's eyes. With an English accent and gentlemanly mannerisms that could be understood to be that of a wealthy noble, she should have held feelings of pure hatred when she looked at him. After only a short time of knowing him though, back in the summer three years earlier, she knew she would never be able to do so. The perfect gentleman who cared for all those that were deserving of his love was instead the young man that she saw, the one she wished she could call son. A world that gave her Michelle and James as children though, would have almost been too good to be true, Deirdre knew. She did not wrap herself up in such romantic fantasy though, far too grounded for such nonsense.

Her grin would not last long though.

James could not let her leave without hearing one fact, even if he was not going to be completely truthful with the story behind it.

"Mum helped me too".

Airing Kathy's involvement, James' instinctive reaction was to shut his eyes for a moment, before glancing over to his Aunt once again. Martin was instantly stunned by the revelation, though rapidly brought himself back under control when he remembered the letter Kathy had supposedly written to confirm that she was a Swiss noblewoman. The very same letter that Captain Smithers forged himself, that even he could see was complete rubbish at the time, telling that to his wife and nephew when they consulted his opinion. When James' irises met Deirdre's, he didn't know whether the haze that he found was his own tears forming or hers reflecting back at him. Kathy wasn't with her son in the room that evening, a lacking presence that told a story that only held an unsatisfactory ending.

"She's…".

Known for her strength, a toughness often personified in her comments, Deirdre Mallon was breaking apart at hearing the news she was assuming in her own mind. The assumptions were correct, not that there was any solace to be found for her in being able to correctly predict her sister's death. James, struggling himself, could only look on and confirm that those thoughts were correct, leaving Martin to comfort his wife while he too adopted a solemn look. Kathy might have caused many problems for his wife over the years, as well as to him through association, but he would never have wished death upon her. If anything, like Deirdre, he would have rather she returned so that they could clear the air with her and let her know that she was truly forgiven for her actions years ago.

"She… she died a hero…". James swallowed hard, just about succeeding in his quest not to sob openly. "Gave her life for mine so that I could be free. I… I do not know how she ended up finding me, but I can only be thankful to fate for allowing us to meet one final time".

"Oh Kathy…" Deirdre sniffled into Martin's shoulder. "Why did she have to get herself mixed up with them sorts… why…".

"I do not think I will ever know". He lied to her, his heart burning from the mistruth. "All I can do is remember her for being the best mother I could have ever asked for. I am never going to stop doing her proud".

He didn't hold too much longer where he was, the Englishman rushing across to join his Aunt and Uncle in an embrace. Deirdre could count all the times on one hand where she'd openly sobbed about something, too hardened usually to have the time for tears. There was an element of guilt creeping onto her conscience almost immediately, regretful that she'd never quite found the time to properly reconcile with Kathy. Sure they'd exchanged letters on occasion and there was no ill will when they'd met at a family funeral, the only time James had ever seen his family from Derry before the day he arrived over three years earlier. It was no proper sit down though, no lengthy discussion about how she'd long made peace with her sister for ruining their family reputation so long ago. Sadly, that opportunity was gone.

Five minutes passed by as the three of them stayed where they were. Surprised by James' ability to hold himself together, Martin found yet more to be proud of him for when he stood so firmly. He didn't know of the torture that his nephew went through at the hands of Kurt, nor did he know of how much resolve was required to survive the journey over the Spanish border… nor did he need to. Showing courage in abundance when faced with speaking about the death of his own mother, an act he'd been forced to witness with his hands literally and metaphorically tied, the young man was so much stronger than even his muscular figure suggested. In days to come he hoped that James might reveal more about his time away on the continent, though he would not push him to do so. Lacking experience of combat himself didn't matter; he knew men in James' position would need time to confront what they'd gone through.

As promised, the couple didn't stay too long at all. Parking any further discussion for another time, Deirdre only spoke to thank James for telling her about Kathy despite the lack of closure she felt from hearing of her sister's death. The only blessing that she could be thankful for and would be at church the following morning when she prayed to the Lord, was that James was there with her at the time. Kathy hadn't died alone, perhaps the greatest of all Deirdre's fears for the lifestyle she thought her sister led. The reality was so far from what she thought to be true, that it was truly stunning. However, because of who she was, and to some extent who she'd been, the true Katherine Maguire could only be remembered properly by her son.

Escorting his Aunt and Uncle to the door, James briefly lost himself in thoughts of how pleased he was to be able to tell them about his mother so quickly. She wouldn't have wanted him to keep her death a secret from her sister, though he knew she would understand his embellishment of the details. Her involvement with Kurt did not need to be passed onto her sister, nor did the manner in which he'd killed her. In another life they would have been able to embrace each other one final time as sisters before she'd passed, but in a world torn asunder by conflict and suffering, their story was just another melancholy one amongst millions.

"James…".

Turning around suddenly, with Deirdre a few feet ahead and out of earshot, Martin almost whispered at him, catching James off guard when he was lost in thought.

"About Erin…".

"I am happy for her". He held his hands, having quickly recovered hearing her name. "She deserves to be happy with the man she loves".

On another night when he wasn't worrying about getting his already upset wife home, Martin would have argued with his nephew about the young Quinn, but not that night. James was already under enough emotional stress talking about his mother; a second lost loved one did not need to be on the menu. He might not have lost Erin to death like he had done his mother, but Lieutenant Hamilton moved in to deny him his future with her. Martin couldn't see how the wee English fella could be pleased for her when he'd fallen so deeply in love with Erin during their summer together, peering through the gentlemanly act that James was putting on. James didn't think he was putting an act on himself though, almost reading his Uncle's thoughts to tell himself once again that he was delighted for Erin. It was totally fine that she was with Lance rather than him. Totally fine.

Except…

Except it wasn't.

It was not totally fine at all.

Taking until he was settling down for the night to realise it, it was seeing the photograph he'd loyally kept of the two of them throughout his imprisonment, that finally wore down his impressive front. For hours he'd kept the emotions at bay, but they were definitely there and when the dam broke, it flooded the poor young Englishman.

Everything he'd done… every time he'd ignored the pain of torture or the visions of dying children in his mind… each act of defiance against those who dared to oppose him…

It was for her. It was to be with her… to spend the rest of his life referring to Erin as his wife and, if fate allowed it, the mother of his children.

All of it… was for nothing.

James lost her.

And with it, that night, his composure.

Sliding down the side of his large, ironically king-sized bed, the photograph tumbled out of his hands on a flaking descent to the carpeted floor below. The same hands were now covering his face, the recipient of muffled sobs that could have easily been mistaken for screams, should his hands have been taken away. The grounding of his life, the carpet of three years' worth of paused dreams and overdue hopes, was ripped out from underneath him with more savagery than the darkest days of Doctor Van Der Heijden could have produced. Like Lieutenant Hartmann, he'd come back to find his whole life broken apart.

The women of both men's lives were taken from them… though Hans did at least have the closure of knowing there was nothing he could do.

James was already contemplating a life having to watch on as the American lived out his dream.

He was not the only citizen of Derry crying that night though.

Because Erin was too.

Lance was long gone, returning to his ship to report for duty as was required, and when her head finally hit the pillow that night, she burst out into silent, agonising tears. The man she'd loved so much for the best summer of her life, the best time of her life without any question, was supposed to have been dead… yet there he was that afternoon, a scar now adorning his face, stood before her again just days after she'd moved on.

She was being mocked by fate… or God… or someone.

Erin cried because she did not know what she was supposed to do. Telling herself that she loved Lance now repeatedly only masked the real truth but alongside that truth came a cost, one which would have been paid even if James had returned as he was supposed to, the hero of Taranto, two years prior. They needed to talk but now… now it was worse because she could not even hide behind their love when it no longer existed as a combined force.

They cried together, yet apart, for the hand they'd been dealt.

And for a future, as a couple, taken away.