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 :)

78. Battleground Cranium

Chapter 78: Battleground Cranium

The mild, pleasant weather that graced the skies of the North West over the weekend would never last for too much longer. It didn't last at all in fact, as by Monday morning, the rain returned and did so with a vengeance. The residents of the city were more than used to the soakings that they would receive because of the harsh Autumnal weather, but as September drew to a close, they were experiencing a heavier bout than usual. Even those who woke the earliest to get out to work were hit with appalling weather to make the journey in. Conditions were so poor that the RAF squadrons at the nearby Eglinton airbase decided to pause training for the morning, unwilling to risk some of the novice pilots with Spitfires in such conditions. They would have to train for poor weather at some point, but when many of them would be flying for the first time, it would have been an illogical idea to send them out.

For those not at work, the privileged lucky few who did not have to work nor volunteered to get themselves stuck in to help the war effort, activities were even more limited than usual. There were not so many of those people in and around Derry, excluding those too old or frail to be of assistance, but they would be stuck inside regardless. In the early morning there was also a dangerously low fog to contend with, that made visibility even more dangerous. Those who did not have to get out to work were having trouble getting up it was so gloomy, the thought of additional rest and the warmth of their covers almost being too much to resist. However, motivation was not lost on one person who did not have to travel to a conventional job but did still have work to do.

When nobody arrived in the city on Sunday, Charlene Kavanagh was aware that there would be agents coming to retrieve Aisling for questioning the next day. The small, freshly filled in mound in the woods at the far end of the Kavanagh Estate was what they would get, but with a report already filled in about what had happened, she was ready to cover over the true series of events from a few nights prior. She'd calmed down that night when they began digging, not finding the need to boss James around when it appeared he'd became fully aware of what he'd done. Rather chillingly to her, Charlene knew that she'd seen another side to the Englishman that perhaps no one else had done. He was more than capable of taking life without feeling anything for the victim. Aisling was a Nazi, and to some extent deserving of her punishment, but it was not the point of the matter. James could kill without second thought, and in his eyes, there was a lack of soul that was deeply troubling. Those details wouldn't make the report, leaving the young agent to shoulder her concerns by herself until a more appropriate opportunity arose to raise them.

Stood in her room, she looked over the grounds that were being soaked by the rainfall. As the leaves began to descend off of the trees, a dirty brown colour to them in comparison to the vibrant green of the spring and summer, the estate was tinged with a depressing layer of emptiness. A mansion with very few occupants, more servants than there were residents, there was a lack of life to the place at that time of the year. The summer sun masked over that life but taken away it showed the truth about the family more than anything. Charlene was an only child, the Colonel and his wife deciding not to have any further children when her birth nearly cost her mother her life. Far too afraid of what might happen if she was to fall pregnant again, they settled on just the one child. That was part of the problem in Charlene's mind as she looked over the estate, clutching at the necklace she wore around her neck, a small pendant inscribed with the insignia of her father's regiment, the Royal Irish Rifles.

It was up to her to add vibrancy back to the Kavanagh Estate… with children of her own.

Though still young and without any pressure from her parents to find someone, the thoughts at the back of her own mind niggled her all the time. She was going to have to settle down with someone at some point, balancing family life with her role for British Intelligence. Unlike Lieutenant Hamilton, who wished to breed to satisfy his own need for his bloodline to continue, she wanted to because she wished for the estate to have life again and… and because she wished to become a mother. Often mistakenly identified as a young woman with far too much money to care, there were gallons of love in Charlene's heart that needed to be channelled somewhere. Whenever she saw young mothers such as Orla and, more recently, Tara Martin, there was a pang of jealousy within her. Although she enjoyed her life, the role that she played in the war effort only bringing her pride, she longed to be them, with young life to care for.

After her tryst with the gardener ended and he'd moved away to another property of her father's, love became hard to come by for the young heiress. She was a very attractive young woman, so much so that Erin always used her as the barometer to judge her own beauty by yet she struggled to find the right man. Her background automatically narrowed the choices available, aware that she would have to marry another man with wealth even if her father was by no means an aristocrat. The Colonel admired all of the residents of the city, frequently coming to the need of those in dire financial straits, but he would not allow his daughter to marry someone of such low standing. They had their own reputation to keep in higher circles, and it simply would not do. That was what made James such a perfect match for her. A Vice Air Admiral, with unending wealth that no one would ever quite realise, her father would accept him in a heartbeat. She held feelings for him to, at the very least caring for him as a dear friend, though there was more to it than just that. He was not interested, to her dismay, letting her down gently upon his return to the city, his own affections lying with a woman that he could not have. That was life though, his friendship still treasured even when it would progress into nothing further.

Watching pigeons swooping down onto the grass, underneath the large oak trees that marked where the garden ended, and the woods began, Charlene sighed. Outside of what happened with Aisling, she'd been thinking about the young banker more than she should have the rest of the weekend. Although she was greatly troubled by the emotionless display he'd shown whilst executing the Nazi spy, the most troubling detail of all was why he'd done it. He might have tried to deny that he was unhappy, that he was perfectly pleased for the woman he held feelings for was happy with the man that effectively replaced him, the agent was left unconvinced. Taking it upon himself to kill Aisling for the threats she'd apparently made to Erin both in the past, and according to James, earlier that night in the present, it was clear he was in fact struggling to accept the change. No man in their right mind would justify murdering even a Nazi for their former lover who they insisted they were content with loving someone else. There was more to the gentlemanly armour that he wore, she knew for certain, but without anyone to confide in with those beliefs, they too would remain her burden alone.

Knock! Knock!

Swivelling around on the spot, she knew exactly who was at her bedroom door. Only one member of the house knocked twice to announce their presence.

"Come in Jefferies!"

The butler who'd taken an instant disliking to Erin when she'd shown up at the manor, over two years prior, opened the door, remaining at it rather than walking into her bedroom. He'd been with the family for so many years that Charlene had learnt to ignore his often stuck-up, hardnosed nature, realising that the man only meant well. He was grateful for being able to serve the family for so many years, the Colonel always ensuring he was well looked after too.

"There are some gentlemen here to see you, Miss Kavanagh". His perfect English, the poshest she'd seen from across the other side of the sea, rang quaintly into her ears. "I believe that one of them is your good friend, Captain Penrose".

On the occasions he'd stayed with the family before, Smithers always used the false name that he'd once given to James too. The false Captain of the Fleet Air Arm, the real Captain of the Intelligence Services, she was not expecting to see. Immediately, Charlene began to worry that perhaps her attempts to cover up Aisling's demise were not as concealed as she thought. Her whole career in the Intelligence Services could hinge on James' decision to shoot the Nazi dead, brought to an end by his delirious love for Erin Quinn. She lived by her job almost, enjoying the privileges that came with such a position as well as the knowledge that she was making a contribution to return their lives back to something near what was previously considered normal. If all that was to be taken away… What could she do? What would her father say? Would he turn his back on her for such failure?

"Are you quite alright, Miss?"

Jefferies, noticing the change in her facial expressions, pulled her out of her initial panicked thoughts. He was showing how much he cared by asking, an act of care that was not within his job description but was performed nonetheless.

"Yes… Yes I'm fine". Hesitantly she answered, Jefferies raising an eyebrow in return. "I… I shall greet them downstairs immediately".

"As you wish, Miss".

Waiting for her to exit her room, fidgeting with her hands just shy of her midriff, Jefferies closed the bedroom door and accompanied her on the journey. He stayed a few paces behind her deliberately, fully aware that it was not his place to become involved in any business concerning Charlene and the Captain. Jefferies had been employed for far too many years to not understand who the man was, or rather who he represented, never speaking of such knowledge when it was not his place to. He'd grown suspicious of the Colonel's meetings with other men such as the Captain at the door that morning, confirming to himself that there was espionage involved on one such occasion a long time in the past. Loyalty meant everything to Jefferies, and as long as his employers were safe within the grounds of their own home, he would say no more.

In some of her rather worn clothes that morning, an old blouse and a navy blue skirt that was a little too big for her if truth were to be told, Charlene made her way to the open door where she found Smithers stood with two other men behind him. To ensure safe passage to wherever they were going to take her, two agents were required in case Aisling became uncontrollable. Luckily for them, there would be no scenario in which that could occur when the young woman was buried a short distance away, totally lifeless. They were sheltering beneath the porch out of the infernal rain, which was still lashing down over the city and beyond. Smiling upon seeing his agent advancing towards him, Smithers knew his presence would cause alarm, but Charlene had nothing to worry about. He only wanted to make the trip because it meant not being in London for the day, a journey he grew tired of.

"Morning Captain". She put her on her poshest voice to greet him. "I can only apologise for the weather. Absolutely battering it down, has been for hours".

"Yes, it was rather a torrid journey here. Luckily these fine gentleman are both excellent drivers no matter what the conditions are. Copeland, Green, this is Miss Kavanagh… Miss Kavanagh, may I introduce Mr Copeland and Mr Green, a couple of our good friends from other pastures".

"Gentleman". She nodded to them, the two nodding back. "What brings you here Captain, I thought it would just be these two coming".

Smithers did not miss the clear nervousness in her voice, a worry that he could understand. Charlene was not experienced as an agent, the complete opposite to Kathy Maguire, one of the longest serving spies in service until her death earlier that year. She could cope with any instructions given through coded messages let alone face to face contact, being unfazed by most tasks. Even if she had been worried by an order, Kathy knew to bury such feelings to get on with the job at hand. At twenty-two years old, Charlene could never be expected to carry such confidence in what she was doing, especially during a war. She was a dedicated ally with a bright future ahead of her within the intelligence community though, and as such it did not fill the handler with any concerns about her aptitude for the job. At least not yet…

"I decided to make the journey for a change of scenery. And of course the opportunity to speak to yourself for a short while was one that could not be missed".

"Right… of course. Yes". Charlene's reply did not disguise her worries, nor did her fidgeting.

"Is everything alright Charlene, you do not appear yourself all of a sudden?"

Able to see that there was more to just his presence that was worrying her, Smithers was not going let the issue lie when she was clearly agitated. Cursing herself for being unable to use her skills to conceal the problem at hand, she was going to have to come clean to him when he was not going to be persuaded so easily. There was no point in disguising it any longer; Smithers was going to know that something was wrong when there was no prisoner to take back. Thinking of her own career again, Charlene was having to fight her emotions to be able to speak the truth to him. Although she only knew him as a kind man, a man in his position would have to be ruthless too.

"Can I speak to ye…". She regressed out of the posh accent, to her natural voice. "Ye know in private?"

"Well… yes, but…".

"Jefferies!" She called out for the butler, who was poised in anticipation at the bottom of the stairs. "Would you show these two gentleman through to the back and get them something to drink? Nothing too strong".

"Of course, Miss". He bowed to her, before looking to Copeland and Green. "Follow me please, gentlemen".

Giving them acknowledgement to say that they were free to follow the butler, the two men accompanied Jefferies through to the back with puzzled looks on their faces. Left alone with the Captain, Charlene was free to talk to him without worrying about what she could say in the presence of the two agents that had brought with him. Just as confused as the two men were, Smithers went to ask her what was wrong but was silenced by her showing him in too. Rather than joining the rest of them at the back of the house, he was shown into the front room that he knew well. Staying at the mansion more than once in the past, he remembered the majority of its layout without having to be shown. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Charlene let out a large sigh that only filled the handler with more trepidation. She made her way over to the sofa to sit down, but so concerned by her strange behaviour, he engaged with her before she could do so.

"What is going on Charlene…". He took a soft hold of her arm to stop her in her tracks. "Has Miss McVey escaped? I would have thought you would have informed me if that was the case?"

"No… no she's not escaped…".

"Is it your father? Is he not guarding her as we speak?"

"She's dead".

Charlene could only watch as the handler's eyes began to widen, learning the hard truth about what happened without any hassle. That was the easiest way for her to tell him, knowing that getting bogged down with the details would only cause her to hesitate even further. Aisling was dead, the real problem at hand being her lack of life after what happened a few nights earlier. Smithers was supposed to be taking her back for questioning, but he was not going to able to ask any questions to a corpse. The Captain was shocked to hear of such news, the reason for Charlene's jittery behaviour becoming rather obvious. The orders were clear in what she was supposed to do; bring the spy in for them to interrogate, nothing more. He wasn't a man to become angry yet could feel the tension rising from within when faced with hearing of the Nazi's death.

"Please tell me this is not some form of practical joke, Charlene".

"It's not!" She insisted, sighing again. "I've wrote ye a report about what happened. Ye… Ye best read it".

"Yes, I think I should do".

Leaving him for a moment, Charlene headed over to a desk on the other side of the room, whilst Smithers took up a position looking out down the driveway. The rain pummelled windows were a little blurry, but out of them he could see the car he'd arrived in also receiving a lashing from the showers. His mind wasn't on the car or the weather though, it was on what he was going to have to report to the Lieutenant Colonel. Menzies was eagerly awaiting news back in London, needing to know that the Nazi spy in Derry would no longer be an issue in James' life. To regulate the young man's existence, threats like her needed to be weeded out. That being said, he too wished to glean from the young woman, any information that could have been of use. There could have been other Nazi's that they were unaware of, given up under duress should they have to go to those extremes. Eliminating enemies on the home front was just as important as vanquishing the Nazi presence in the field of battle.

"Here…".

Turning his head to meet the noise, Smithers found a couple of pieces of paper being dangled in front of him. A handwritten report about the events of the prior Friday evening, Smithers almost did not want to know what happened, starting to think that perhaps it was not going to shine so kindly upon the man he was trying to protect. It was his gut feeling that told him so rather than Charlene's behaviour, which while strange, did not tell him that the young banker was involved. The truth was far from it, but the report did not contain the exact run of events. Charlene, assisted by James after they'd buried Aisling's body, wrote a fictious encounter that looked better on paper than the truth she was hiding.

Perusing the report on his own at first, Smithers took no notice of Charlene, who finally took her seat at the sofa behind him. He did walk round to join her, though did not take the seat, engrossed in the details that she'd put into the report. Nervously perched on the edge of the furniture, she could have done with a glass of water to bat back the clogged throat she now carried, full of her own worries. She was smart enough to write a report that would be passable for an event that never happened at all, details embellished, but Smithers was an equally smart man too. If he saw through it, believing that there was more to what happened than what she said, the heiress did not know what to say. Her father would be disappointed that she found herself in such a position, though he was busy with his own business in the city, not there to hear of the situation she'd gotten herself into. She'd never been happier to not have him there with her.

"That was… quite the evening…". Smithers could barely find the words himself. "I… I do not know what to say, Charlene".

"I… I was quite… shocked too". She replied, patting the seat next to her. "Ye might be better off sittin' down".

"Yes… Yes I think I might".

Sitting down next to her, Charlene shuffled over to accommodate him on the sofa. Her nerves only increased when he did so, though it suited her for him to be sat down if the truth did have to be told. Which it did, it needed to be when she was as concerned as she was for James, but quite how she supposed to tell him, was another matter entirely.

"Take me through this then… your plan was proceeding well?" Smithers began.

"Aye… James went to the party that she invited him to. He went with some of the colleagues from the Ulster bank which… which helped us I think. I reckon she didn't know at all what he was really there for". She replied, still fidgeting. "He… he managed to convince her to go back to his cottage for the night, where I was waiting as planned".

"They arrived on time?"

"A bit later than I thought they would but aye, they showed. I was ready for James to call me out and… and he did".

The deception was starting, the part of the report that deviated from the truth. Her hesitation perhaps showed the apprehension that she was feeling, but if Smithers saw it, he certainly did not say anything about it.

"He called you out and you advanced upon Miss McVey with your revolver drawn. And James had produced his at this point?" The Captain continued to question.

She dipped her head to confirm what was a lie.

"She was stunned… I really don't think she expected it at all. I guess James must have been very convincin' ye know, I think she… she thought she was goin' to have her way".

"But then when you went to arrest her, she grabbed the revolver?"

"She did. James must have panicked or… or just… I don't know but he wasn't goin' to let her shoot me or him. So he took the shot and… it was right between her eyes, so it was".

"A rather accurate shot for one made in what must have been a split second decision".

"He's a good shot at a short distance".

Sensing that the ruse was potentially up, Charlene was utilising every fibre in her body not to flake up completely. The report was good, better than most agents would have put together in an attempt to conceal the truth about an assignment going so far off script, but it was not going to be good enough. Smithers was no fool by any means, not that she ever thought he was. The agent himself might have had a lot of other responsibilities, including the wife and son she'd not had chance to enquire about, yet he could not be convinced by even the most detailed of false reports. Her fidgeting gave it away the most, but even though James was capable of incredible miracles, the shot he'd apparently pulled off at a second's notice was too good to fit such a story. She could not lie about where the bullet landed when he would want to see the body, Charlene in the end undone by bullet trajectory.

"Will you tell me what really happened?" He asked, doing so softly rather than shouting at her. "This report is beautifully written for an official record, but it is nowhere near the truth. Please just tell me what happened?"

Offering her a kind smile when he could have very easily shouted in her face about how foolish she'd been, Charlene's butterflies eased. It appeared that the Captain appreciated why she'd gone to the effort of producing a report packed full of lies, her attempt at trying to protect James from the consequences of his actions. The real James Maguire was not present that night, not the James that she thought she knew. He was not the James that Smithers knew that night either. Throughout her time involving herself in the Englishman's business, Charlene was still yet to work out why he was so important, though it did not matter when he was important to her too. Her friend, a good friend that she only wished to see live a peaceful life, not the evidently tormented one that he was living without objecting to it.

"James shot her dead… I… he… he never called me out… he just… shot her in the head".

"Good Lord…".

The truth hurt, smashing into Smithers so much that it prompted him to stand. Charlene was having trouble in fighting back the tears, worried for herself and for James when she was admitting to the Captain that he'd murdered the Nazi spy. The deviation from the original plan was a massive one, a fear being realised by the Captain that he'd put to Menzies quietly. He didn't know whether it was right to involve James in such business when Aisling had, from what James told him, informed the Nazi's of those he cared for back home. Although the gentlemanly nature of the young man might have papered over how he really felt about her betrayal, Smithers always wondered if he was perhaps capable of searching for revenge. It was a fool's game if there ever was one, but James' escape from Italy proved him able to kill to be able to survive. If the killer instinct was there, it could be used in more ways than one…

"I take it that the body has been buried?" The first question Smithers put to her, was not the one she was expecting.

"Aye… aye James helped me bury her and then we… we wrote the report together". She confirmed, her head hung in shame, voice quiet.

"All the evidence has been disposed of, I take it? A gun planted with the body?"

"My revolver. I let James keep his".

"And this evidence about her aim to kill him was found on her? This is not fabricated as well is it?"

"Does it look like my writing, Captain?" She countered, but with little power in her words. "She was goin' to lure him to bed and kill him there… we acted at the right time".

There was some solace that could be taken from the threat of Aisling being ended permanently, even more so when they'd underestimated her. When she intended to kill James for her Nazi masters, who realised whilst they could not use him as a bargaining chip, he was important enough to cause a significant problem on the home front if he were to die, she was an active problem until the night that could have cost them everything. They couldn't afford to leave such threats in the vicinity of the heir to the throne, nor could they ever underestimate them ever again. If anything, despite what truly happened, they were lucky that she was killed when she was, when she could have acted first and done the same to James. Pacing around in the Kavanagh's front room, that thought was thundering around inside the mind of Captain Smithers, unsettling Charlene who could only watch on as he tried to think about what to do. The past could not be changed, but what they did about it in the future needed to be thought out carefully. No death could go unnoticed, and Aisling's would not, not when her parents had already reported her as missing.

"What are we goin' to do, Captain?" She enquired, tone not too dissimilar to a cacking Clare Devlin. "If… If I have to, I'll take responsibility, I…".

"Charlene…". Smithers unsuccessfully tried to stop her whittling.

"I… I won't see James' future ruined when… when I should have stopped him. It's all my fault… it was my plan, I…".

"Charlene, we can start by having you stop worrying". Smithers returned to his seat as he interrupted her, taking her hand and squeezing it. "There was nothing that you could have done if James acted alone. I can tell that you did not know that he was going to shoot Miss McVey".

Her silence said everything. James gave no indication the prior Friday morning, when they finalised the plan to capture Aisling the same evening, that he was out looking for revenge upon her. It was only afterwards when he revealed her threats to Erin, that it became clear to Charlene that James never held any intention of allowing Aisling to live any longer than that night. Still, she was angered that she did not realise any sign earlier, remembering how insistent he'd been that morning that he take his revolver just in case. Like Smithers, she didn't think that the Nazi spy was a danger to anyone and didn't understand why he was so keen to have the weapon, but she did not stop the wee English fella either.

"James will be just fine". Smithers started, letting go of her hand but remaining in eye contact. "I will pass your report on to the Lieutenant Colonel and you can leave it in our hands. There will be no repercussions for either of you".

"But… but James murdered her…". A confused Charlene blurted out. "He… can't just… just walk away without anythin' done… or me. I know Aisling was a Nazi but… but she was still… ye know… Irish".

"She was a Nazi, that is all that we need to focus on and that is all that anyone will know. Yourself and James are far too important to waste upon the enemy".

Surprised yet again, Charlene really did not understand the lengths of which they were all going to in order to protect James. He might have held a record as a pilot that was extraordinary, but it could not be the real reason when he was retired from the Fleet Air Arm, upon their orders nonetheless, though she did not quite know the true reason. All of the reasons led back to one place though, a truth about the young man that she cared for, that the agent was not in receipt of. A truth that Smithers himself took a long time to learn, smiling when he could see a version of himself within her. He remembered how frustrating it was not to know why a seemingly average man was given such preferential treatment and could only sympathise with her when he would not tell her either. The secret could not extend to her when it was best left in the knowledge of the few.

"I get why ye want to protect me but… why are we doin' all this for James? It doesn't make any sense".

"Some things are best left unknown, Charlene. You do not need to worry about why we do what we do for James, you just have to follow the orders".

"But… but I do. He was… different".

Frowning, Smithers shifted in his seat when she whispered the last part at him. Charlene's emotions were already being thrown one way and then the other that morning as they sat together in her front room, yet there was a distinct lowering of tone that worried him more pressingly. James' life was under their control, it always would be, and if there were ever any concerns about him that needed to be investigated, it was his job to ensure that they were. Charlene's continued apprehension on the topic was disturbingly reminiscent of someone who was not withholding any worries whatsoever. There was something she knew that he didn't, which was about to not be the case when the young woman opened her mouth again.

"He… he looked… devoid… of ye know feelings and… and emotions. It was like he wasn't really there but… he…"

"He was".

"Aye he was. And he said he did it…".

She stopped herself before she could say it, too afraid of the dangers of what she was going to say. With complete sincerity, Charlene could say that she did not care for Erin Quinn in the slightest, but neither did she truly want to see her harmed. The blonde might have been stupid for not rekindling her love with the handsome, muscular Englishman, but it wasn't the vindication that was required to ruin her life. Smithers and Menzies were both unafraid to resort to grave means in order to remove any of the issues within James' life, Charlene remembering her own role in Jenny's death at the start of the war, her first major assignment with British Intelligence. However, Smithers once again squeezed her hand to encourage her to tell him everything. He held great admiration for her, a young woman with a fantastic future ahead of her, one which he was going to make sure was not ruined by a turn of events not of her doing.

She did not disappoint.

"He did it for Erin… he… he killed Aisling because she threatened Erin".

"Miss Quinn?" Smithers responded. "He only killed Miss McVey because she threatened Miss Quinn… I see".

"He's got it in his head that he has to protect her…". Charlene went on, the dam of her worries burst open all over the Captain, her cheeks becoming warmer. "… and I… I don't think he can cope wi-… without her".

"With all due respect, Charlene, it is not our duty to regulate his affections". He echoed the words of Lieutenant Colonel Menzies in return.

"Isn't it?" She questioned. "Captain, I'm worried he's goin' to keep acting like this if anyone says or does anything to upset or offend her. We can't keep coverin' up killings because James doesn't like what someone's said about Erin!"

A hand parted the strands of hair that lay atop Smithers' head, his right running all the way through to the back twice whilst he took in her very valid point. As she'd thought, great minds thinking alike, there was at least the excuse of Aisling working for the Nazi's that justified her death. The same could not be said for any other woman who might make a comment about Erin within his earshot, nor could they plant evidence for everyone who did not like the blonde. There would be a pile of bodies as high as the spire on the church roof if the banker killed anyone that spoke out against his beloved. Smithers raised similar concerns with Menzies but found himself in a position where the roles were very much reversed. Whether his superior officer cared at all about the romantic side of the young man's life, he could not be sure of, whereas he appreciated her worry that James was heading down a slippery slope. A legitimate heir to the throne could not get away with such crimes, let alone the illegitimate heir. Their orders from the absent Lieutenant Colonel were to not involve themselves in that part of his life, which was exactly the message he was going to have to put to her. Orders outweighed the fluttering of one's heart.

"I shall make note of your concerns about his mentality and report back to the Lieutenant Colonel…". He added another mistruth to the fire, enough to burn a city with what they had. "In the meantime, it would perhaps be best for you to monitor James and report back to me should his behaviour continue to concern you".

"Of course, Captain". Charlene replied, softening after a good few minutes of cacking. "Do ye want to… see… where we buried her".

With little choice other than to, Smithers could not say no to her suggestion. The tantalisingly terrible conditions made a trek out into the woods far from appealing, but the pair of them, along with the other two agents, would have to do it. Aisling's body could remain there as far as he was concerned, safely tucked away out of the eyeline of the rest of Derry, the Kavanagh's hopefully never coming under any suspicion. There was only one other person in the entire city outside of the mansion who knew that she was a spy for the British Government, and Emerald Two was an ally. They would not be made aware of the death through official channels though, despite it being their responsibility to monitor James as well, just as closely as Charlene did.

"Let us do so hastily…". Smithers replied as the two stood up together, before putting an arm out to block her from moving. "I do trust that your concern for James is out of only your professional duty to the country and not in the aid of… personal gains that you wish to make".

"Captain!"

She almost shouted, her hand going up to cover her mouth in embarrassment, cheeks burning upon realising that even Smithers could see her feelings for James. Working closely with the former pilot was only making it worse…

"It is highly understandable that you have formed an attachment with James". He replied firmly, but once again did not raise his voice. "He is a handsome young man with no wife and no significant other… but he is also part of your job, Charlene. You must understand that there has to be professional detachment between you for your orders to be fulfilled correctly. There cannot be anything more than that".

"There's not!" She tried to convince him, though Smithers' demeanour did not change. "But… but I understand. I'll keep an eye on him as ye said".

"Good. Now, let's see our deceased Nazi. I hope you have a shovel".

Laughing when it was hardly the right time for it, Charlene could not help herself. There was no lack of shovels on the property, that was for sure. Gathering Mr Copeland and Mr Green out of Jefferies' clutches, they made their way down the garden out to the place of rest that Aisling was given. Smithers would make sure to spin a yarn, with the help of his sources, that would see rumours about Aisling being a Nazi make their way out into the public. At the same time there would be a discussion, without the police knowing the full story, that would take place to ensure her family were told part of the truth. They would be informed of her role as a Nazi spy, interrogated themselves for any allegiances they might have to the vile enemy who controlled Europe, before being silently imprisoned for the remainder of the war. As far as they would know, she would be in prison too… only when the war was won would her death be announced to them.

That was the least of Smithers' worries though, because like Charlene, he was concerned about the welfare of the Englishman. The young man's love for the woman that was now in love with an American Lieutenant, was more potent than he realised.

He knew it would not be the last he heard of it…

---

"The parents, or the children… who goes to Poland?"

They were stood there waiting, waiting for their deaths if ever the looks on their faces said it. Innocent people, that's all they were, suffering at the hands of the Nazi's. Kurt was going to kill them, kill them all… and there was nothing that could be done. He was a butcher, a Nazi butcher with a penchant for inflicting the most sickening evil wherever he went. No life could not be taken, no expense was spared in his quest to spread the terror of their regime throughout Europe. The poor Italian jews stood in the train station were just numbers in the mind of the Doctor, who wished to exterminate the lot of them. Though he was going to spare some from what he said, the decision falling to his English prisoner of all people.

It was easy to manipulate the young man into doing what he wanted, when he held such an advantage over him. There was a woman back home, a young woman yet to marry his prisoner but the two were very much in love. Love was a weapon to Kurt, one that could be wielded to hold power over the fool who followed his heart along love's path. To be able to harm the woman in Ireland would be difficult, far too difficult to achieve successfully when their contact was not a fighting woman. The threat alone was enough for the young man to be forced into answer, for he could not dare take the risk that his lover would suffer because of him. The man's resilience did him credit but was going to be the breaking of him too. Kurt could only progress that way with him, knowing all too well that the potential betrayal that would occur when the Irishwoman who was his partner, would turn on him, leaving him susceptible. Quite what her motivations were other than a duty to Britain, he did not know, but Lyla Walsh was not going to stay by his side forever. If that really was her name…

Parents or children.

That was the choice.

"The adults…".

The Englishman clearly thought it better to leave children without their guides in life, rather than allow parents to watch their children die. Death needed to be dealt that day, the Jews deserving of it in Kurt's mind as well as the minds of all those who believed in the harshest Nazi rhetoric. Anguish was all that was written across the young man's face, anguish from knowing he'd just sentenced what he believed as innocent people to death. That was the problem with those who fought the Nazi's, the Doctor always thought; they didn't understand how culpable the Jews were in everything that was wrong with the world. One by one the parents fell to the gunfire, and the prisoner fell apart. Kurt could lie too, he'd always been adept at it… the parents were never going to Poland… they were going to die.

The beauty of it was that it was not over… not by any means. Kurt had to let the man he held captive know that it was he that was in charge of destiny, not anyone else. Only the Doctor could decide what happened to the prisoner and what happened around him. He was in charge, the wicked look of glee slapped across the man's face being one that could not be forgotten quickly. His prisoner continued to look aggrieved, there were even tears streaming from the man's glassy eyes as he looked back at his captor. He taunted him then, telling the young man that accidents happen as well as bringing a child forward who he would spare, the only survivor of the day, that could spread the word of the murderous English gentleman that was a killer of Jews. No ally at all.

"Tell the men to open the doors".

The prisoner asked why, the fool, why he would want the men to open the doors. The train was not going anywhere near home for the children, but Kurt was not going to tell him that. Doors needed to be opened for opportunities, Nazi opportunities, to be seized. A statement was to be made by massacring parents and children alike, word to be spread that in fact the slaughter was perpetuated by an Englishman loose within Italy. All of the resistance, the constant lying that the pilot told when asked why he was so important to his country. It would all be for nothing.

"NO!"

"Tell them to open the doors!"

"NO!"

"Türen öffnen!"
("Open the doors!")

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

THUMP! THUMP!

He'd sat up. Forced up by the weight of emotions that his mind poured into him, stirring his body to throw itself forward to stop the racing of his heart. The rhythm was almost deadly, beating out of the Englishman's chest as his eyes were jarred right open.

THUMP! THUMP!

THUMP! THUMP!

THUMP! THUMP!

Upright, James could barely catch his breath, that was taken away by the memories that were resonating in his head. He was there again that day, in the vale-like surroundings of the village train station, just a few miles away from the compound where he was held for so many months. Kurt was there again, the man who'd made his life a living hell in order to understand who the young man really was. It was only until after the Doctor's death that he even knew himself why there was such importance surrounding him, not knowing on that day why Britain wished to rescue him. It was a dream or more likely a nightmare, yet it was so vivid. The pure undiluted evil that showed across Kurt's face was too real… too familiar.

James didn't have nightmares, not like that, rendering him unsure of what to do. His heartrate needed to come down, the organ virtually out of the bedroom door by the manner in which it was thundering in his chest. Pulling back the covers to expose his naked torso to the air, sweat dripped off of him, cold fearful perspiration that only a nightmare such as the one he'd experienced could induce. The droplets of it could even be seen in the pitch black of the Derry night, with only the stars to provide any sort of light into his bedroom, through the unprotected window. Further down his body, the young banker could feel where his legs were almost enflamed, a sticky sensation from where the chilling sweat flowed out of his near shivering body. It was neither hot enough for him to sweat like he had done nor was it cold enough for him to shiver. On a mild night, there was only the raw memories of those he'd sentenced to death unwillingly that could leave a caring gentleman in such a state.

THUMP! THUMP!

THUMP! THUMP!

When his heart raced like the quickest of thoroughbreds across a straight mile, he could not just sit there, a sweaty mess, while his body tensed around him. Movement was required… he had to move, he couldn't be in his bed any longer. Swinging his legs around was usually an instantaneous process of reaction, but it was not when he tried to get off the bed on the right-hand side. Suddenly, legs that were usually compliant turned into giant rocks, that required all of the strength that his body could muster to be able to move them. The effort was crippling, his right hand was thrown out in an attempt to steady himself, but instead James only managed to knock everything atop his bedside table onto the floor. There were no smashes to accompany any of the objects falling, allowing his feet to remain uncut when they reached the floor. In the same vein, just raising himself to his feet was an extraordinarily difficult task compared to how it usually was, but he fought his way to a fully stood up position, heart still racing away.

THUMP! THUMP!

Remorse was not given, a merciless pace set by the pumping of the heart that he could even hear in his own ears. Water was what he needed, a glass of it to calm himself down. Taking a guess at the time, it could have only been a few hours until he would be sat in his office at the bank, but never before had a few hours seemed so far away. He was going to need to wash too before he went, to wash away the mixture of sweat from his body and shame from his mind. Before he went anywhere though, he needed to be able to get to his kitchen, which was going to be easier said than done. Walking like an infant taking his first few steps, the room was spinning around him in his vision, tinged with the sweat that poured off of his forehead. Staggering forward with his right foot first, it was no use, the Englishman plummeting forward to the floor with a yelp.

"ARGHHHH!"

Some luck was to be found, James not striking his head when he hit the floor. That was all the luck that he could consider he had though, when he was stumbling around in the dark like a drunk. A drunk at least knew their predicament, expecting to have to counter it in their stupor. James didn't know what was inflicting him other than a horrendous nightmare which was the excuse of a child not a man. He could not succumb to the terrors of the night when he'd managed to get through countless rounds of torture to keep on facing more. Being alone fighting his demons was nothing new to the wee English fella but there was something different about the midnight scenario he faced. Picking himself up was something that he was used to, once again having to do so in order to continue on to the kitchen, and the comforting taste of water on his lips.

THUMP! THUMP!

THUMP! THUMP!

Still beating out of his chest, his heart was not helping him at all, despite him coming out the victor of the battle between himself and his legs. Raising himself on his palms, removing himself from the floor where he'd landed, he was going to get to the kitchen, he was determined of it. So many different enemies reared their head during the war, so many tried to put him down when they thought he was a beaten, broken man. All of them were defeated eventually, some taking a lot longer than others but all of them finding themselves on the end of the same fate. He was not someone to take lightly but then his new enemy was aware of that. His latest adversary was the closest to him of all.

It was himself.

"Come on James!" He shouted at himself. "GET UP!"

Back onto his feet, he was far from steady, swaying around as if he were one of the drunks that he'd not long before been thinking of. His mind was not addled with alcoholic substance though, it was instead riddled by the memories of mass death that continued to stay with him months after the events of a February day in a remote village in Italy. His usually odourless bedroom smelt the same as the air did on that day, blood and death in the atmosphere, combining with the taste of tears that sat on his tongue. He wasn't crying in his bedroom, but the nightmare appeared to have induced the salty taste of droplets that he did shed on the day he was forced to relive. The murderer responsible for the deaths of one hundred or so innocent Jewish Italians. It was all that he really was since the start of the war, a poor excuse of a man compared to the one who left to do his duty for his country. James could only dream of being the same man again.

The kitchen must have been moved to miles away that night, the trip to the bedroom door feeling as if it was a mile on its own. James' legs started to work under his urgings, despite his heart still failing to comply with his requests to calm its relentless march. He was a serviceman himself, an officer but still trained, yet he was left trudging rather than marching out of his own bedroom. The door was not quite the nemesis it could have been if it followed suit of everything else around him, his arms not aching like he assumed they might when he pushed down on the handle. Out into the hallway, he lurched forwards towards the far wall, using the strength of his muscular arms to not fall into it, pivoting to move to the opening of the living room.

THUMP! THUMP!

Able to pick up speed despite having nothing to hold onto, which he no longer needed when his balance was slowly returning, it wasn't long before the banker found his way into the kitchen. Not quite shaking as much as he was when he'd woken, care was still taken when he opened one of his cupboards to retrieve a clean glass. Smashed glass stabbing him in the dark of the night was the last thing that he needed, especially when he would not light the room in any way. Knowing his luck there would be a German bomber overhead that would use the cottage as a way finder to bomb the city, which would only raise his guilt to further levels that he would not be able to deal with. Stood in his kitchen, sweat pouring out of him as he shook lightly, there was no guarantee he could survive whatever was going on in his body that night such was the pain he was experiencing.

Glass raised to his lips, the cool taste of water passing over them began to work immediately. There was proper breath available at the back of his throat, rather than the shallow, panicked breaths that he woke up to. Wiping his brow as he stood in front of the sink, he could see nothing out of the window even though his head was no longer spinning. It was too dark to see anything, neither could he hear anything. At least nothing that was truly out there in the night or in the room with him. He could still hear something though, a voice, his own voice… a whisper in the ears that rode through the empty night to pierce his soul. Another memory, another of the time that he needed to forget but could not.

"Türen öffnen!"
("Open the doors!")

"Türen öffnen!"
("Open the doors!")

It was James who gave the order for the doors to open. It was he who allowed the machine guns to have free shots at the fifty or so children opposite them. A murderer that was still alive when so many died under his instruction that day, he did not deserve to be stood in his kitchen. There were children with futures that were taken away by him that were buried in a pit, consigned to a history that would never know of the horror that took place that day. The SS Death Squad who killed all of them with their machine guns, would never reveal their part nor was Kurt alive to tell the story from his point of view. Only James and Hans remained in a position to do so, but both were broken men that lost everything to the war, everything that was important to them.

Hans was a killer. And so was James. Neither were good men, the latter beginning to come to terms with it more and more.

Heartrate back under control, brow swept of sweat where it began to gather once more, James decided to take a seat at the table in the kitchen to rest his legs. They were not as cumbersome as they were to him when he'd first managed to lumber himself out of bed, but they still ached, cramping pains that he presumed were caused by the amount of fluids he'd lost from his body through sweat. He'd refilled the glass of water before sitting down again too, ensuring that he could rehydrate himself properly. The issue of hydration was one he was always keen to root out, when it was no friend to a pilot in the air during combat. A dehydrated pilot was no ally to have, lips cracked, and mind not focused on the task at hand. He did not have any aerial duels to contend with, but he was fighting other battles instead, silent ones that the world could not see.

All that he could do was sit there for a few moments to collect himself, the need for sleep being something that he could not ignore. The water was cold enough to put against his bare chest, the natural cooling effect helping to ease his breathing once more. There were few things he hated more than the feeling of drying sweat upon his skin, though he would have to put up with it until he washed when he got up for good a few hours later. That was if he could return to sleep or rather whether he wanted to return to sleep. James did not want to be faced with the nightmare that woke him up, his brain's way of reminding him that he was nothing more than a murderous brute, that did not limit his killing to that day in Italy. He'd killed again and again afterwards, starting with Kurt and adding John-Paul and Aisling to that list too. There were others as well, the unfortunate few who'd tried to stop him as he made his way across France… but those memories were another nightmare that could creep up on him, the Englishman choosing not to focus upon them… and not for the first time. He had to do what was required to survive, where the lines of morality blurred more than he'd even told Smithers when he debriefed in Gibraltar.

The killer that Kurt wanted him to be. He wasn't just becoming that man, the south of France made him that man, though James knew he could outrun those demons. Or at least he hoped he could.

"John-Paul… you were right…". He vocalised thoughts he'd had before. "… I should have joined you up there. I am no hero… not anymore".

Vice Air Admiral James Maguire was not Lance-Corporal John Paul O'Reilly; he was no traitor. The two were more alike than the former would have wanted, though conceded the fact when it was becoming rather obvious. He'd done everything and continued to do everything for a love that did not exist for him anymore, which he knew but ultimately was struggling to accept. John-Paul was the same heroic military man that he was at one time, fighting bravely during the retreat to Dunkirk before having to escape the long way. On the way John-Paul fought, sold-out and shagged his way through France to be able to get to the Alps, but the middle of those techniques was too hard to ignore when he got there. The Germans and Vichy French alike were more than happy to pay him for his services, in return keeping him within their grasp whilst their dirty work was done for them.

"I should have died with you… but I fight on John-Paul…". He sighed, but with some defiance still in his voice. "I will not turn my back on my country… and those that I love… like you did".

He might have been alone at his cottage, but James was not alone in his life. There were so many people that cared for him, from so many different backgrounds, that he was always going to be looked after. The Intelligence Services would always watch over him, as would from a further distance, his father, King George the Sixth. An illegitimate son with no mother after her death at Kurt's hands, James did still have other members of his family to count on. Deirdre, Martin and Michelle were all delighted to have him back in their lives, which were enhanced by the gentlemanly presence that he still radiated. That man might have gone missing on occasions, the night he executed Aisling being one such, yet that change did not go unnoticed. Charlene cared for him too, and though they weren't there, the majority of the Quinn's, McCool's and Devlin's all thought the world of him, as well as his colleagues at the bank. Most of the women in the city would have loved to have been by his side as well if there was a chance.

All of them put together would combine into a spectacular group that could support him for the rest of his life.

But it would never be enough.

Erin didn't care him for anymore from what she'd showed him, not that he could blame her. When the love of his life required that very same element, he was nowhere to be seen, off fighting in a war that he chose to fight in rather than was forced to. The moral argument that his hand was forced meant nothing to her when she had to cope with the loss of their child, took by nature before it could be brought into the world, without the father of the child. He should have been there… not appealing his own conscience by going off to battle with the enemies of the country. Years later he was paying for not hesitating when war was breaking out on the continent.

It was only when he stopped thinking of her in his mind, that James realised he was crying again.

He loved her too much to let go.

---

A few days later…

The start of October only worsened the weather conditions, another weekend of grey, cold weather, topped off with drizzles of rain. It was hardly the most inspiring of settings at the best of times, even worse when in the middle of a war. A weekend at wartime offered little anyway, other than an escape from work for a couple of days before the inevitable slog continued on the Monday. Although that morning did manage to put on a reasonable show, no rain to speak of and even momentary glimpses of the sun before it disappeared beneath the clouds once more. Prompting more residents to get out and about, there were a lot of people around earlier in the day because of it.

However, by the late afternoon as the sun started to contemplate setting, the cold picked up and the clouds took back firm control once more. Everyone who lived in Derry was used to it, they had to be when most of the days of the year were like it, not that it made it any better. Jackets were required for those out at later hours, wrapped up warm for all eventualities. Down at the docks, dominated by the presence of warehouses and warships, sailors roamed around completing their duties with their own jackets on too, the Americans not wishing to catch cold whilst training. A few of the ships were out on exercises already, though there'd been a delay after a possible U-Boat sighting that caused a stir amongst the small convoy. If there was one lurking it soon made off, allowing them to continue to train out in the open water.

One ship that remained firmly moored in the docks, was the ship where both Lance and Clint served. Their ship would be conducting the same exercise in a second group a week or so later, a secret officially known only to the officers, though any reasonably smart sailor could work out that it would have been their turn. The Captain appeared to have become quite generous that weekend as a result, allowing his officers significant downtime to relax ahead of a busy week of planning and then executing said training. As such he was more than happy to allow guests onto the ship, where he was not usually, and those who wished to see the officers did not renege on the opportunity. Erin and Anna Quinn were two of those people.

Persuading her mother to allow Anna to accompany her on the ship was one of the most difficult conversations Erin had faced, but somehow she'd managed it. A large part of the success was owed to Gerry, who managed to keep his wife from shouting the roof off about how she did not trust the Americans at all. Mother and daughter still could not find any common ground about them, leaving the latter to grow more and more frustrated with the former when she would not reconsider her opinion. The continued hostility towards the Americans, and underhandly the comments she made about Lance, was only spurring Erin on even more. Her mother was so set against her being with the fella that she was going to spend as much time as she could with him, just to prove a point. Why her mother could not see that she loved the fella, who was a kind soul that looked out for her dearly, she simply could not fathom other than her Mammy's outdated views on those who came from across the pond. She'd accepted James and he was an Englishman, which was even worse than being an American for the majority of people. He was much more too, but the young Quinn did not dare contemplate those thoughts any further, unsure of where they might lead her.

Walking back after a whole afternoon aboard a warship, the first time properly for them both that they'd been aboard, the sisters were sauntering back through the streets as the light of the day began to fade away from them. Mary's instructions to Erin were to hold Anna's hand at all times whether they were on the ship or not, but they'd been ignored for most of the day. The moment they were out of the eyeline of the house, Erin let go of Anna's hand, telling her that she was old enough and smart enough to not need coddling. Unsurprised by her sister's demeanour, it was the Autumn after all, Anna did not question the action and would not tell her mother about it either. She was far too happy after what happened onboard the ship anyway, though it left her sister scowling by the time they'd come away. Erin hadn't said anything to her at all for the first part of the journey because of it, a stalemate that the younger sister was not going to allow much longer.

"Are ye alright, Erin?" She enquired. "Ye've been very quiet…".

"And why do ye think that is!?" Erin snapped. "Did ye really have to do all that!? Christ, it was embarrassin', so it was!"

"It's not my fault!" Anna protested, throwing her arms up in the air.

The six year old was correct, it wasn't her fault, but her older sister did not see it in the same way. Primarily, their trip was for Erin to see Lance, but for Lance and his fellow officers, it was Anna only that they wanted to see. Erin was insignificant to them all, not least the Lieutenant who was forced to show his acting skills for an extended number of hours in front of his friends. They were at least amused by it, though the two Ensigns were bemused that he was still pressing ahead with his quite ridiculous plan. Their own plan for the afternoon was games of poker with the apparently impressive Anna as a challenger, none of them heeding Lance's warning that he was not in fact joking when he said she could play well. His pocket still felt the force of losing to her back on land, not taking part himself when he was unwilling to accumulate such losses again. His friends and fellow officers dived right in though, the game unfolding from there.

"How much have you won!? Do ye not understand the concept of mercy Anna, sure ye must have costs those fellas a wee fortune! Why didn't ye stop!?" Erin continued to berate her about the game, pushing errant locks of hair from her eyes that were left dangling by the wind.

"They didn't want to stop". She shrugged in reply. "And it's their own fault for trying to cheat at the start, I saw what they were doin'!"

"Catch yourself on! As if grown men are going to cheat in a game of poker against a six year old! Yer good Anna, I won't deny that but not that good!"

"Then why did I find the deck was marked? They were cheatin!"

"No it was not!"

Erin might have liked to think that the deck was not marked, but it certainly was. Anna was no fool when it came to cards, having been taught by the best, Granda Joe, to recognise when such foul play was being used. The Americans dived in headfirst confusing Lance, who was unaware of the deck being marked by his friends, yet only doing so because they knew that the odds were in their favour. If she was that good then they would have to work as a team to beat her, Reeves, Baker, Lloyd and Hill all ganging up to ensure that Anna would not clean them out like she did Lance. Smart, very far above the average six year old's like her could not be beaten so easily though. The unsporting officers did not quite realise who they were coming up against when they tried to enhance their own chances of victory.

"That was why I used my cards, Erin… they were not going to play fair!" Anna continued to insist as they crossed an empty street.

"Alright… let's say I believe ye for a second… how did ye swap the cards?" A curious Erin glanced down to her little sister, frowning.

"When their Captain came in to talk to us, none of them were looking at the table when they were salutin'… so I took their cards and put them under my skirt, so I did".

Cunning as ever, the Yanks were no match for the brain of Anna Quinn. Erin couldn't help but feel proud of her sister, not daring to show it when she was meant to be angry with her for taking so much money off of them. The Captain arrived at an opportune moment that she could not have planned for, but Anna made the most of the interruption. It took them a couple of minutes after they'd started to work out that the marked deck was no longer on the table, but she'd placed the officers in an impossible situation. They could hardly ask about the card swap, or they'd reveal themselves to be trying to cheat. All they could do was watch their pockets become assaulted by the incredible aptitude for the game that Anna had. She only lost one game all afternoon, which in reality she'd allowed Lieutenant Commander Reeves to win because she felt sorry for them. She was more than happy to take their money though, despite how much it was hurting them from continuing to play against her. Many, many pounds fell before they did quit…

"Not a word of this to Mammy, ye hear?" Erin told her stoutly, watching her little sister nod back. "And yer givin' me some of that money too. It was hard work getting Mammy to let ye come with me so I've earnt it, so I have".

"Alright… I'll give ye a cut… twenty percent". Anna decided slowly.

"Twenty! More like fifty!

"Twenty five!"

"Thirty!"

"Twenty Seven!"

"Twenty eight!"

"Twenty eight it is then…".

Far more than what Anna wanted to part with, she would be left to calculate the winnings knowing that it would take Erin about an hour to do so. Percentages, and mathematics as a whole, really were not strong suits of the more creative mind of her older sister. More importantly it kept Erin quiet, which was for the best when it was the Autumn and at any moment, she could turn into an argumentative monster that did not understand the concept of backing down. The last thing that she wanted to do was cause a scene back home with her Mammy, that would get out of hand due to Erin's mood.

Home was closing in, just a couple of streets away, but little did Anna know that she was not going to come close to topping the scene her mother was about to create.

Inside the house, it was just Mary and Joe from the family, who'd came over from the house next door. Gerry was out, accompanying Orla and Marie to Ferguson Street, the two of them on a regular visit whilst he took Sarah a few things she'd requested from her sister. Her wedding was drawing closer, arranged quickly with Father Peter who'd managed to fit them in a few weeks down the line. Excitement was growing in the family at a wedding that Mary thought would never come when her sister struggled to find a man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Shane rescued the potential of such a day by his chaotic entrance into her life, the two colliding when Sarah stepped out into the road, knocking him off of his bike and breaking her leg in the process. An unconventional way of falling in love, it was almost the perfect way for a woman like Sarah. It just wouldn't be right if it hadn't happened like that.

The scene that she was about to create, was due to the presence of someone who was not a member of the family… at least not anymore. There was a time when he could have been considered part of the family, before the war when young love was blossoming during the bright summer of thirty-nine. After his initial return to the city after so long away, Mary was overdue a proper conversation with James outside of one about returning her wooden spoon to her. Erin being away from the house gave her a perfect chance to be able to have him round, having called in on him at the bank the day before to invite him over. Without saying the words exactly, she implied that Erin would not be there when he initially hesitated, prompting James to accept the invitation graciously. Joe then invited himself earlier in the day when he saw James arriving, but Mary didn't mind having her Da there when he could offer a lot to their talk.

They'd been talking for some time about various topics, mostly about James' experiences during the war. Joe didn't push him on the subject having understood how it felt to come away from conflict, inheriting even worse circumstances than the Englishman. Understandably, a curious and unassuming Mary wanted to know as much as she could from him. Reading about the heroic efforts of servicemen on the allied side on the radio and in the paper was delightful, but to hear it directly from one of those men was a blessing she would thank the Lord for at Sunday mass. An Irishwoman gushing over the heroism of English men was almost unheard of when the tensions between the countries were so high but that was the time that they lived in. It really was one like no other.

She hadn't meant to keep him for so long, but the conversation was stimulating, and James was more than happy to participate. Remaining careful with what he said about his experiences on the continent, specifically removing details such as the trip through France and his torture at Kurt's hands, he'd managed to relax. Having already spoken to Deirdre, Mary already knew of Kathy's death, doing her best to offer comfort to the young banker. Although she'd never quite come around to the idea of seeing eye to eye with Kathy again when she'd left her own family's reputation in tatters by her actions, the son she raised away from Derry was her redemption. From when she first saw James, Mary had a good feeling about the Englishman and he'd never truly disappointed her. Unlike Erin who could not see past the fact that he was not there when she needed him the most, Mary understood James' need to perform his duty. He could not be blamed for the loss of the child and neither could Erin, nature conspiring against them to ensure they would not become parents. Consequently, though her daughter might not have wanted to see him in her life, she was reluctant to kick him to the kerb so easily.

With Joe on seemingly fine form as well after he'd joined in with discussions, also offering his condolences to James for the death of his mother, there was a buzz to the Quinn house that often was not there. A feeling that was familiar to Mary, she'd last felt it when James and David were around the place before the start of the war. The vibrant energy of two young, respectful and charming men that were firmly part of the family thanks to their love for Erin and Orla respectively. Anna did brighten the house with her incredible smarts, as could Erin on a good day when she was smiling merrily, but thanks to the war it did not feel like it did before conflict broke out. With James back between the four walls, it was as if they were transported back in time to a peaceful period where young men were not signing up to fight and die for their country. That could never be though… not anymore after everything that happened.

But then the atmosphere disintegrated.

Not because Erin returned, she was not there just yet.

There was more than only her presence that could stir James out of the comfort zone he'd sank into in the Quinn's kitchen.

"Say, I don't suppose ye've heard anything about that Aisling girl…". Mary, out of the blue, put the question to the Englishman. "Some of the girls at work heard the family were all Nazi's like the Joyce's were but I can't say I believe them".

Surely she didn't know?

The first thought that popped into his head was that, immediately setting off the panic alarms inside him. They'd been so careful, both he and Charlene, and he knew she wouldn't have talked when she was a spy for Britain. He must have given it away somewhere but where eluded his initial thoughts. He'd spoke of Aisling to no one other than the spy, the lads at work having mentioned her apparent disappearance that week but not made any insinuations towards him about whether he knew anything more. Mary Quinn was though, without any grounding that he could think of. Uncontrollably his heart began to race, palms covered in sweat in just seconds, James' mask slipping completely. He had to recover, as Mary was not the sort of woman who missed such obvious signs of distress. A stroke of luck was handed to him though, from the usually unlikely source of her father who spoke up before James could.

"What's he goin' to know, Mary?" He questioned her question. "James is a banker not a copper. He won't know whether that girl is in prison or in the travellin' circus!"

"I regret I cannot shed any more light on the situation for you, Mary". James, sensing the need to speak quickly, did so. "It… It would be a shame to think that there would be those who support the enemy living under our very noses".

"Aye it would". She replied, without commenting on his prior state. "Still, if they are all Nazi's then prison's the best place for them. Horrible… horrible people!"

Prison was nowhere near where Aisling really was, but James was not going to be revealing her fate either. Her reputation around the city wasn't a particularly poor one before the rumours began, generally a well-liked young woman. Mary certainly didn't have any gripes with her, although she barely knew her nor the rest of her family well enough to comment. They operated in far higher social circles than the Quinn's or the McCool's. Blinking a little faster, James still wasn't completely calm after her name was mentioned but he was controlling himself enough to not fall under any suspicion. Mary didn't say anything about his behaviour, perhaps not noticing he thought, nor did she notice the beads of sweat that suddenly appeared on his forehead. The Quinn house was nowhere near warm enough for him to be sweating like that. Unable to put his hand to his head to soothe the pain that he was feeling, it was going to be another day where he was fighting himself. Sleep was already becoming a premium when he'd wake sweating in the night, drowning in images of the deeds he'd done in order to get back to Derry. The sacrifices that all counted for nothing when Erin was not by his side.

"Another young life out of the city…". Mary continued to mumble on. "Aisling, Jenny and then ye have David gone too… his brothers… Johnny Kells… that John-Paul fella…"

Innocently, Mary was setting James' conscience on fire with some of the names that she mentioned. Some of them he was not responsible for, nor could he hold any guilt over, though he would have done if he knew about why Jenny had to die. It wasn't just that there was a link to her father, she died because she held feelings for James and that link combined with her love for him was too deadly to be allowed to go on. He'd once explicitly told her that there was never going to be anything between them when she'd tried to mount him at Orla's wedding, but that message never got through to Jenny. Charlene didn't even know at the time that her own role in Jenny's death was for James, not trusted at that point to know. The memories of Aisling, her death still fresh in his mind, David and John-Paul, their deaths not, were the ones that were causing his discomfort to extend. Guilt was a complex creature that lived in the Englishman's conscience, a disease for the three names in question. David's death was at least not done in cold-blood, not that it made it any less painful for him when he felt responsible for it. But thinking of John-Paul only made old problems rear their ugly heads, especially when the man's parents still lived in the city, hoping for their son to return. Fidgeting with his hands in front of him, James did not know what to say… but Joe was there again to save him from having to.

"That's war Mary… people die". He commented. "But at least we have James here back safe".

"Aye we do". Mary smiled at him. "Ye know James, ye'll always be welc-".

Before she could finish, the front door dared to interrupt Mary, signalling the arrival home of her daughters. Immediately she glanced to James, who took a deep breath when he realised what was about to happen. Erin hadn't quite told her parents the word for word details of what she'd said to him at the graveyard a couple of weeks earlier, though they knew that it must have been a horrible discussion to have had. Mentioning James at all at home was becoming a taboo when Erin was in, only heightening Mary's suspicion that they'd parted on less than amicable terms. Her eldest no longer spoke of James in any terms of love or affection, though if Mary knew her daughter well enough, she knew that the feelings would still be in there. There was no way that she couldn't hold onto any feeling for him when the two were so deeply in love during their summer together… Mary's motherly instinct told her that much.

"We're home Mammy!" Erin shouted out, not aware of what she was about to walk in to find. "We've had a grand afternoon on the ship, so we have!"

"Aye I really enjoyed mys-".

Anna was the first to walk towards the kitchen, stopping when she realised who was there. Many children of her age would not understand how awkward of a situation it was, but she did perfectly. James was the best fella that she knew, her favourite fella not in her immediate family anyway, and on another day when Erin wasn't around, she would have dived into his arms telling him all about her day. He wouldn't want to hear about the day they spent aboard the American ship though, correctly deducing that James was hardly going to want to talk about Lance. Erin was not going to want to talk to the banker either, which was confirmed for Anna a second later as her sister filed in behind her to find him sat there with her Ma and Granda. It was not a scene that she was expecting to come home to and having only just about calmed down from telling Anna off for taking too much money from the sailors, her rage was still available on the boil. Seeing him was all it took for it to boil over.

"Havin' a wee tea party, are ye Mammy?" She sneered, holding nothing back.

"Erin… love… I… I didn't think ye'd be home yet…".

"I was just leaving". James announced, standing up, nearly sending the chair back into the cupboard behind it. "My apologies, I appear to have lost the track of time".

"Nonsense!" Mary raised her voice. "Sit yerself down James, we were still talkin'!"

He wished he could have sat down, but to do so would only incur Erin's wrath and push her even further away from him. Holding more credit to burn with Mary than he did her daughter, James proved his bravery once more by staying stood where he was. The facial expressions that both Mary and Joe pulled at him were ones of dismay when he did not take to his seat, though Joe briefly changed his look to one of understanding. Faced with quite the predicament, the Englishman's only course of action was to remove himself from a situation that was going to be volatile enough without him.

"I wholeheartedly apologise Mary, I must return home as I have some tasks around the house that must be done before I go to bed". He placed his hand on his heart to emphasise the point as he spoke. "I shall no doubt see you tomorrow at church. Goodbye to you too Joe… Anna… Erin".

Her name fell off of his tongue slickly, but uncomfortably. It did not fit the tone of how he wanted to speak to her, but it was the most appropriate one for the time. Flashing the smallest of smiles that he thought would be permissible to Anna, the Englishman decided to go through the living room to leave the house, rather than attempting to squeeze by the sisters in the doorway to the kitchen. He hoped Anna would understand why he appeared to brush off her presence, not done for any personal reasons towards her. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself to be around Erin when he would not dare force himself closer to her when his presence was not wanted, it was more that it was the most ideal choice for them not to have to talk. She didn't want him anywhere near her life, she'd made that quite clear already even if he could not shake the thought of that future from his mind. Then again, neither could she…

He'd not brought a jacket with him, quite foolishly considering the weather when he was on foot too, but it allowed the wee English fella to make a quick exit from the house. Back inside, Mary was raging, not with him but with Erin for ruining what was a perfectly palatable afternoon until she'd come back and set her furious eyes on the kitchen. Mary was in charge of the house, not her, something which her daughter needed to be sternly reminded of. Sensing the danger of what was about to happen, Anna scurried off to her room, though Joe was left stuck with only the back door for an exit. He decided to stay put though, just in case he was required to diplomatically renegotiate the terms of the lodging agreements should the argument go too far. However, before either of the older adults in the house could say anything, Erin decided to make her intentions quite clear.

"I can't believe you Mammy! We'll talk later!"

"Just who do ye th-… Erin! ERIN! YE GET YERSELF BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

She couldn't be stopped though, not when she was ready to give the other piece of her mind to James. Furious with the audacity that he showed to be in her house at the same time as her, the same house where she realised she'd lost their child… Erin could not comprehend what sort of a man he was. There was little more to be read into the cautionary words of staying away from her, yet her former fella appeared to have been unable to understand such a basic instruction. Destructive, Autumnal Erin was not going to let the issue rest until she'd calmed down and saw the wider picture. That was not the style of the attitude of the young woman that was forged in the pains of the child she'd been unable to carry to its full term three years earlier. James might have thought he was alone with his negative, depressing thoughts, but he quickly found his conscience to be in the sights of a weapon that would only lower his own view on the man he was.

"OI! OI!"

Stopping dead in his tracks, just as his hands reached the gate to the Quinn house, the curtains of nosy neighbours were pulled back for them to watch the dramatic soap opera unfold in front of them. None of them knew the plot but everyone in the city now knew that Erin Quinn was no longer with the scar-faced Englishman that was, in most people's eyes, too good for her anyway. Not his though… never his…

"Erin… please… I…".

"Don't talk James!" She shouted at him, getting right up close into his face. "Which part of stay away from me did ye not get in that thick English head of yers!"

"Erin…".

"Ach, don't Erin me! I told you not to come near me! My life is with Lance now… we… we had our chance and you…".

"We lost our child Erin". He interrupted her for a change, though softly without shouting. "I take responsibility for not being there for you, but I have a life to live too. I was under the impression you would not be back for another hour or more, if I would have known that you would be back earlier, I would have left".

She pouted for a moment, which James took as a positive for himself. It was very rare for Erin to doubt herself in an argument but there were glimpses of a young woman who could forgive beneath the armour. The tiny part of her conscience which screamed for her to reconcile and hold her future with James not Lance. In a flash it was gone though, the grief-addled, confused twenty one year old that was not interested in forgiveness, the spiteful Autumnal variant of a much loved blonde, returned in its place.

"Ye never should have accepted Mammy's offer in the first place…". She started again, but no longer in his face, nor shouting, her voice quiet if not calm. "I… I just want ye to stay away… please James. I can't… if I look at you then all I see is…".

"The man that abandoned you". He put it across bluntly, bludgeoning his already burning conscience.

"Ye.. N-… I…". She stumbled, words hitched at the back of her throat. "Just stay away! I can't do this…".

Erin turned away before she started crying, as did a crestfallen James, the two going their separate ways again when all he wanted them to do was walk off somewhere together. The life lost between them was going to consume the rest of his life, James knew, the price that was to be paid for not being there for her when she fell pregnant. The further they were drifting from each other, the more their pain only worsened, but coming together again was far too agonising to even think about from Erin's perspective, in contrast to James, who only wanted it for them.

The road forward was going to be tinged with darkness and suffering.

How much that either could take was going to be found out along the way…