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 :)

80. Birthday Boy

Chapter 80: Birthday Boy 11th October 1942

Twenty two years earlier, to the day in fact, the future of Britain was changed forever, when hardly anyone knew of it. Screaming in pain as she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Katherine Maguire was bearing the first born son of a man who would become King. At that time there was no way of knowing how or when the then Prince Albert would ascend to the throne, but the child born out of his relationship with her would always be watched. The child was both a blessing and a danger, but in the hands of a capable mother with a set of skills that the country would make use of years later, he was brought up well. Although his illegitimacy could have proven a problem, the way in which he was raised ensured that it would not be. Even when he found out the truth that he held claims to the throne, the pilot was not tempted to push on to take those claims further. James Maguire was more than happy to be himself.

The man that he was became something that was up for debate since his return, at least for himself that was. He was both a gentleman and a killer, trying to balance the two to be able to carry on a life that he never quite imagined that he would be living. Through the hours of torture where his body was beaten and abused by a Nazi brute, there was always the dream of a life together with Erin Quinn that saw him through the darkest hours. His love for her was used against him in that time, thanks to Aisling, but he always had the dream of coming home to her to keep him going. It did for all that time too, from flogging to branding, yet when he returned to Derry, she was no longer available to be by his side. She'd moved on… onto her American fella that the young Englishman couldn't help but be wary of. There was something about him… something not quite right.

Aware of how it looked if he raised such a grievance, outside of when he'd spoken to the American himself, he was left to look on from afar as his beloved went on without him. He'd seen her with him a couple of nights before, ending his Friday after work by walking home for some fresh air, only to spot them from afar. They hadn't seen him, or at least he thought they hadn't, mostly due to the fact that they were attached at the lips. He'd seen them though, hurting himself a little more in the process. Trying to let go of his love for her was asking the impossible of himself, but when he'd told her to move on as well as not being there for her when she needed him, James only found himself to blame. He still wanted to be able to look out for her and have her friendship, which also appeared to have vanished, just so that he could be there if ever she needed him. It made Friday night miserable, another one spent fighting back the tears for the life he could not have.

He was a gentleman with a stiff upper lip in public, no one knowing of the struggles that the young man was going through. It was not proper to open up emotionally in the way that he wished to, understanding that wider society would judge him for it if he were to be discovered. He might have been the heir to the throne that could get away with certain things that others would be punished for, but it didn't matter to the vultures that often would circle in a city such in Derry. The public did not know of his position, leaving the Englishman open to all sorts of verbal assaults if he did talk about the emotional stress he knew he felt. Admitting it to himself was a step in the right direction, he knew, but there were no more steps to take unless he wanted to run into trouble. His mother would have been the perfect person to have confided in, but she was long dead, killed by the very Nazi that made his life hell for so long.

The prior day, a Saturday, was one that went by slowly for him. With precious little to do at the weekend other than work around the house, a start was made on dusting over the cupboards. He wasn't immune to having to do some housekeeping himself, James not buying into the rhetoric that it was the job of a woman to do all of the work. When there was no woman to do said work for him, it left him with little choice either. In his ideal world where Erin lived with him, the two of them starting a family of their own, they would share the work out fairly between them, alternating the tasks when they felt it right. If she was pregnant then he would have done more, holding her close as he worked away, making sure that she was cared for. The chance for the pair of them to have a child together was seemingly over though; the scars from her ordeal alone would be enough to put her off, let alone them no longer being together. For a long time, he thought how fantastic a mother she would make but he would not dare tell her that now. She'd probably kill him if he did.

When the day was over, without a single visitor to the cottage or with James himself going out, there was little more for him to do other than go to bed. His reports from his days in the Fleet Air Arm were all read, memories relived, leaving him with a selection of books that did not entice him to want to get stuck into them. He did have a couple of crosswords to get his teeth into though, and for an hour or so in the candlelight, he tried his best to get through them. An elderly gentleman, not quite the words Michelle used to describe him, at church, kept saying that the Government were hiding messages in crosswords for spies, though James did not believe a word of it. Instead, he just worked through them the best that he could until he found that his eyes were no longer wishing to be open. Sleep soon took hold after that, but not before he'd put the candles out, well before the next day started. The midnight oil was not going to be burned, head snugly settled on pillow well before he climbed the next step on the age ladder.

He should have known, and the day before he had thought it, what happened next.

A peaceful night's sleep could not be guaranteed, not before such a landmark day in his own life.

"James…".

The whispers on the wind were beginning again, the ghostly sounds of a man that should have been dead, once again filing the room. He was becoming a part of the furniture on only his second visit, but he was a rather grotesque cabinet amongst others. On the first whisper, James did not rouse but his nose twitched slightly, his brain sending out an alert that he needed to wake though only a weak one. His soft snores were still sounding out around his bedroom, though they were fighting a losing battle against the lashing rain. He'd first noticed the showers whilst he was preparing his dinner, James having sat in the living room in front of the fire alone, watching the rain batter his windows as he listened to the radio. The same horrendous weather was still persisting outside, though it was doing little to really aggravate him whilst he was asleep. Until he became aware of it a few seconds later, when his name seeped out into the exceedingly tense air.

"James…".

Kurt was there again. He didn't even need to get up to know, but as soon as James was consciously aware that he was awake, he knew he was not alone. Doctor Van Der Heijden's presence was colder in death, as it should have been, the hairs on James' arm standing to attention like little soldiers themselves. To be scared of the Doctor was an admittance of defeat, though it was hard not to be when he was woken again in the middle of the night by the sound of the dead man's voice. Dead men did not speak normally, yet it was just his luck that his tormentor found a way to communicate from beyond the grave. Eyes opening as he turned over, James found the Doctor to be stood with his back against his wardrobe, just to the right of centre in the distance. On the opposite side to where he was stood previously, it was still far too close for the Englishman's liking.

"I was beginning to think you would not wake up, James…". He smirked, beginning his taunting. "It would have been disappointing if you had not…".

"I would have been happy to disappoint you, Doctor". James snarled, shaking his head in the hope the man might disappear.

"You cannot make me go away like that. It is very rude too… when I have come to talk to you again".

James couldn't care less whether it was rude or not, gentlemanly rules not applying when it came to ghosts or visions. What the Doctor even was, he still did not know, but with little other choice, he was going to have to engage with him again. Hopes of being rid of the man who made his life hell once upon a time, were well and truly dashed.

"What do you want!?" The mortal demanded to know. "Were you not satisfied enough after the last time?"

"James… I thought we were friends… you upset me".

The old, familiar mocking tone of the Nazi butcher never did sound any better when it flowed through the banker's ears. The ghost of the dead Nazi loved to taunt just as much as the man did when he was still alive, without the ability to cause any physical harm. Lieutenant Hartmann became tasked with the majority of the physical harming of the then prisoner, but Kurt was not averse to getting his hands dirty… or bloody. In death he could do no physical harm to James, which he agreed when it was put to him by the young man a few nights earlier, but he could still harm James without having to leave any scars upon his body. Not visible ones at least. There were other avenues that he could explore that would pain James just as much.

"I have thought of you as many things, Doctor, but never a friend". A dismissive James shook his head again, crossing his arms as he shifted slightly in bed. "You are a murderer".

"So are you… that makes our friendship even stronger!" He was almost childlike in reply, full of excitable wonder.

"I AM NOT! … I am not a killer".

"You are James… you are a killer. We both know that you are a killer…".

"I…"

"My killer. How many times do I have to tell you? Only a blind man would be unable to see how alike we really are".

There were so many differences between the two as men, and James was not going to stand by to be compared to a man who took pleasure in killing. There was no pleasure for him unlike Kurt, killing out of necessity rather than for the fun of it, a cause being needed to justify the act of taking a life away. He'd held such cause when he was in Fleet Air Arm, bombing enemy targets and inflicting death upon the Italians because they were prepared to deny him, and the rest of Britain, freedom within the Europe that their Nazi overlords were trying to create. The Doctor killed for a cause too, but one of evil that could not act as justification when so many innocent people suffered because of him. He might not have been alive in the bedroom in Derry that night, but his work still breathed thanks to the diligent efforts he'd made to ensure its long-term success. Jews and other undesirables went to their deaths because of what he'd done, young children having their life taken away simply for being born into that branch of faith or not fitting into the view of the new world that Hitler wished to create. James was not a man who could kill in that way… not an ounce of him was as callous as that.

"We are so different!" Angered, James stared down his opponent. "You cannot keep comparing us when you are not a man but a monster! I have humanity… decency!"

"Aisling saw that decency in her dying moments, did she not?"

"Do not talk to me about her again! She deserved to suffer for what she'd done… whether I pulled that trigger or another man!"

"And Erin Quinn? Does she not deserve death, too?"

"Never!"

"She is weak, James… her body is weak, it could not carry your child! She deserves to die for her weakness… it cost you so much… KILL HER!"

Kurt wanted her dead a few nights earlier, and still he wished for it a few nights on. The potent aroma of death clung to whatever he now was in that demise, wishing for the fate of others to be sealed by his malicious words. James was as resolute as ever when it came to his beloved, even if she had hurt him by revealing to him so coldly, the fate of their child. He did not think that at the forefront of his mind, but his conscience was digging it up from somewhere, egged on by the grinning face of the Nazi in front of him. Outside of his eyeline, James hadn't noticed that the Dutchman moved ever closer to him. He wasn't going to change his stance though, not under the pressure of any man, not least the Nazi. James loved her… he couldn't.

"No".

"You are only holding yourself back". Kurt continued to rattle on, though did not move any closer. "I would not want to be held back by a woman, if I were you".

"But you aren't me. And that's the end of it. I love her". James stated bluntly.

"She does not love you".

"I…".

She didn't love him, from what he'd seen, and that was something he couldn't call the ghost's bluff on. If he could then he would have done, but there was little he could do when she locked herself away from him. Their world of pain was not one that was shared, the two living with their own grief over each other individually. He would never harm her, ever, nor would he stand back and allow someone else to. Kurt's stance didn't change and neither did his. There might have been love lost between them, but he was too strong to allow it to become anything else. Jealousy did not suit him, even if he did feel it towards Lance, to a certain degree. The American was a thief; he'd stolen James' future, forcing the Englishman to watch his own path be walked on by another. If he had cause to harm anyone, it would be him.

"It would be easy to do James…". Kurt would not stop, watching how uncomfortable he was making the young man. "One night when she is walking alone, you could wait for her… kill her. One shot to the head… just like Aisling…"

"I said NO!"

"You fight James, I… admire that in you. But what are you fighting for?"

He was fighting for her, not that the answer would suffice for Kurt. No amount of acting would convince the deceased Doctor that the fight was one that was worthwhile. To that extent, Kurt once again was not wrong. Fighting for something that he could not have, nor would ever have the chance to have ever again from what he could see, he was playing the fool. Erin did not appear to be open to any sort of reconciliation, making a potential rekindling almost impossible. James knew there would have to be a miracle for it to happen, and though he was used to pulling off such feats, it was no Benghazi or Taranto. It was love, a more complex theatre where war could be waged, and lives could still be lost from the ruminations of the heart. It wasn't just a case of a bombing run that left a mark… it was an entire campaign. One he was fighting alone, for a life that was no longer his to lead.

"Why do you care? I killed you because I had no choice…". James once again remarked on the Doctor's fate. "I was not going to become your slave or Hitler's!"

"I care because you are a special young man James".

Friendly winks did not happen, not according to many women of a certain age in Derry. Winks could not be deemed as friendly when they were physical hints at something that could not be expressed so easily in words. Kurt offered what he would describe as a friendly wink to the Englishman, whatever he really was at least did, James left squirming. He'd seen a few friendly winks that went against popular belief, but when Kurt Van Der Heijden was the man behind the wink, there would never be anything less than nefarious about it. He'd thought that the Doctor didn't know who he really was, the man he'd been unable to find the identity of during his time on the mortal plain. Omniscient in death, he knew everything… even that. As he always had done, the Nazi kept a plan up his sleeve for as long as possible, knowing the right time to spring the trap, to demoralise his prisoner even further. James might not have been his prisoner anymore, but in the battle of minds, he was very much his inferior still.

"You know". The words came out quickly, disappointment and dissatisfaction evident in James' voice. "Of course, you know".

"I know everything now, James". Kurt laughed, pacing around the room. "Ah but of course, you did not! All those lashes you endured… and you were telling the truth!"

"I survived you… I think you will find it is I who holds the last laugh".

Deciding not to stay in bed any longer, James rose out of it, moving across to stand by the window, looking out into the darkness. Once again, he could make out almost nothing, but it allowed him to not have to directly look into the eyes of the dead when he spoke. There was a sickness in his stomach, there had been the time before, his mind awash will all kinds of thoughts. Quite what Kurt really was still plagued him, an answer waiting for him that he could not see nor wanted to. He must have been a ghost of some description, real enough but with a falseness to him that defined his lack of life. Although he was yet to prove it, he could probably travel through walls too. James didn't care about his powers though, he only wished for him not to be there. The man could not haunt him all of the time; he would go away eventually.

"You survived me for nothing!" After a few seconds, Kurt scalded him with his back turned. "For a woman that you cannot have! A woman who failed you!"

"I have life!" James turned around to face him, rage building again. "I have a chance at life that you do not!"

"You can't have her and you cannot be King!" The Nazi mocked his heritage, revealing in words what he'd already implied. "After everything you have done, you will fade away, James. No one will remember you when you could have been the most famous man in the entire world! You could have dethroned my good friend Adolf… I would have supported you!"

"Do not be ridiculous!"

"I would! I would have made you into the world's one true leader when I discovered your true identity. My service would have been yours, the entire world at your feet!"

Not set on power like the Nazi's were in their quest, James would never have been able to rule the world, he knew that without having to think too much. He may not have been immune to the way in which the sun never set on the British Empire, though that Empire was beginning to crumble, but he would never have wanted to be the man sat atop the summit of power. His father was, the power that was left being his, but that was not what Kurt was suggesting. The new world order that the Nazi's wished for would be controlled by him not Hitler, a world of brutality that would not reflect the man that he was. He was a killer, even if he did not wish to think it. He was not a sadist… not like the Doctor nor many of the Nazi's. More than anything, he wanted peace.

"Even in death you enlighten me with more of your stupidity. I am going to live my life the way I wish to live it, without the murder and brutality that you want to set up on the world. A peaceful, equal, society is what I want".

"How romantic…". Kurt scoffed, shaking his head. "Come James, you know the world is not such a perfect place".

"It is better without you in it".

The world most certainly was a better place without the torture, murder and cruelty that Kurt could bring to it, but he was still in James'. The Englishman could not enjoy a night's sleep, the night that led into his birthday no less, without the terror of a man coming to haunt him. That was the price for vanquishing his evil from the rest of humanity; it appeared to have tainted his own forever. The same man who haunted him also happened to be his mother's killer, memories of her flooding his mind too whenever he looked at the Nazi. Kathy's incredible life was cut short, far too soon than it should have ever been. The Doctor was a step too far, the one and only time she'd ever been truly caught out in her years as a spy, paying for it with her life. Having her there to help him defeat the demons that were so clearly invading his life, was a presence he missed dearly.

Returning to his bed, James watched as the Doctor returned to where he'd started, leaning against the wardrobe in the corner. The two remained silent for a few moments, James attempting to guess what the next move of the dead man would be. Kurt's lack of conversation was surprising when he was usually one to press home his advantage, leaving the banker to ponder whether he'd lost his touch somewhat in death. He still wasn't too sure of what the man was, but it wasn't helping his cause in thinking about it any further. His main aim was to make the man disappear again out of his mind so that he could go back to sleep, but that was a task easier said than done. There was no watertight way of making the Nazi disappear… it was a waiting game.

"Why are you really here?" James decided to ask a question that he'd asked on Kurt's prior visit, one which could have so many answers. "You are not just coming to socialise with me. There is a reason behind why you persist".

"I have come to wish you a Happy Birthday, if you must know". Kurt stroked his chin, chuckling away. "Why would I miss it? How could I?"

James never had to suffer through a birthday in the hands of a live Doctor Van Der Heijden, but fate would not allow him to escape the experience. In death, there were less ways available for Kurt to make the day miserable for him, but just his presence alone already cast darkness over what should have been a day of celebration. There was already darkness without him too, James spending a birthday for the first time knowing that both his mother was dead, and that Erin would not be with him. He'd never spent a birthday with her, whether it was his or hers, and he never would in the way that he wanted to. Regardless of the war that raged on around them, he would have treated her like a Queen on her birthday, pandering to her every whim if she wished. She would have no doubt made his day special too if they were together, treating him like the King he would never be in title. Without each other, those memories could not be created.

"You are wasting your time, Doctor". James turned over onto his side, avoiding the Nazi's eye again. "It is just another day for me".

"James… I worry for you". The tone that came from the Nazi was mocking once more. "You sound so defeated. Are you going to let Erin win without a fight!?"

"If you mention her name again…".

"What are you going to do, James? Kill me?"

The stupendous nature of the situation he found himself in was never clearer to James, as he lay on his side, staring at a blank wall. The man that mocked him was nothing more than a voice in his head, even if there was an embodiment of the dead man stood across the room from him. The habitual behaviour of Kurt was something that hadn't changed in death, the mocking slights that the man gave out without hesitation were still there from beyond the grave. He had the Englishman exactly where he wanted him, a position he'd placed James into many times before without success. It was guaranteed after he'd passed on, because the young man could not fight back. All he could do was get into bed and hope he went away. Kurt was not going to be deterred so easily.

"I have brought you a present, James". The Nazi announced, prompting James into propping himself back up, making eye-contact with him. "Another visitor".

Materialising through the bedroom door, there was another man in the room. Another dead man to be precise. There was only one man that it was going to be, though there was more than one other man that it could have been. Unlike Kurt, whose death brought him little regret other than what it made him become, which was perhaps the greatest regret of all, John-Paul's was one that he did not want to have to inflict. Turning traitor on him, as well as the country, James was left with little choice but to end the man's life. It shouldn't have gone that far, their lives very easily being led independently if he chose another route into Spain or if the Irishman did not sell himself out in order to survive. They would not have been friends in that life, but there would have been no need for the Derry native to die either.

"Happy Birthday, James". A saltier tone came from the Irishman, compared to the calmer ones of the Nazi. "Still the hero, are ye?"

"J… John-Paul". He stuttered. "I… I had no choice".

"The hero didn't have a choice but look at ye now!" The Irishman shouted. "Hidin' behind yer covers like a wain, in love with that frigid bitch who doesn't even want ye!"

Following a similar path to a delighted Kurt, who was still leaning back against the wardrobe, John-Paul accosted him about her too. He once kissed her on the cheek for mending his shirt, a kiss he'd always regretted when she appeared to have taken it as a sign that they were in love. How anyone could ever love her was beyond him. She was nothing like Ciara, the love he lost due to a combination of the war and, later, his own actions. He lost the barmaid too, Sofia, who would have taken Ciara's place had James not ended his life at the peak of the Dona, the summit where James' heroism appeared to have died. He could not say anything in return, wiping his brow as the sweat began to gather, unnerved by the new presence in the room.

"Pathetic James, that's what ye are! Still, yer lucky too".

"Why would he be lucky?" Kurt enquired with the Irishman that he now appeared to know. "He has no love in his life".

"Well… he doesn't have to put up with her shite poetry for a start".

Even the dead did not speak well of her poetry, adding to the mortal list of hatred towards Erin's work that only James appeared to have time for. To him, her ramblings were works of art that should have been championed not shunned, celebrated for how brilliant they truly were. There were no deep feelings on offer in her work, but her heart went into every line and to him, the words were music to his ears. No one else could stand it though, apart from an understanding Anna, and wherever he seemed to go, her poetry was mocked. Considering it to be an attack on his beloved, instinct kicked in for James, immediately going to defend her… showing to the two ghosts that invaded his room, as well as his mind, that he truly loved her for who she was.

"Erin's poetic works are outstanding! They are works of…".

He stopped.

Because they were gone.

John-Paul and Kurt went away just as quickly as the former arrived, leaving him perplexed even more than the first time. Clare wasn't there to interrupt him, to take his mind off what he'd seen, leaving the pilot alone with his thoughts. He was not a man who looked for deeper meaning, nor was he going to start to be, but logical explanations were running out as to why Kurt was there, more so with John-Paul now visiting too. His bedroom was being overran by the dead who looked very much alive, mocking his love for the woman that was no longer his. The weapon of love was being used to smite him and James could not stop himself from becoming injured by it every time. They were hurting him, to remind him that he was hurting himself. A self-flagellant of sorts.

One that would continue to do so.

Because he loved her too much to stop caring about her, finding the threats and taunts from beyond the grave to be baseless.

In the early hours of the morning of his birthday, he found himself crying again.

---

When he did finally get back to sleep, tears subsiding, the young Englishman almost slept a little too well. It was nearly eight o'clock by the time that he woke up, with a start when he realised the time, needing to be at the church in only just over an hour and a half, leaving himself little time for breakfast. Rushing around to prepare the measly slice of toast that would serve as his meal that morning, he was having to multitask, getting himself washed as well as choosing his attire for the day. It might have been his birthday, a very special occasion in the eyes of many, but that did not mean he had a particularly good suit ready to wear. Just the standard Navy blue one would do for the day, along with its matching tie. He looked very smart even if it wasn't quite his best.

At such speed, he worried he'd become clumsy and knock something over, but the fears were unfounded. Although it was a complete dash to be able to get there on time, James made it to church with five minutes to spare, though he did have to run some of the way when he decided to make the journey on foot. Still reluctant to use the car, despite having given in and done so on one occasion, the banker made the decision to tackle the trip on foot. There would be no luxury drive in the Morgan for his birthday; he would not allow himself to give into temptation that easily. When he arrived at church he was in luck as the Mallon's arrived at almost precisely the same time. Throwing herself at him to wish him a Happy Birthday, James had never seen Michelle quite as animated before but enjoyed viewing that side to her very much. She could be very emotionally caring when she wanted to be, the hardened exterior hiding a very soft interior. Martin and Deirdre were delighted to see him too, echoing the message that their daughter gave to their nephew, though that was the positivity ended for him.

Sunday morning mass was often an ordeal since his return, but even with his laissez-faire approach to his birthday, the occasion truly hit home for James after only a couple of minutes. Making the decision to stand with the family for a change, rather than on his own at the back, barely a couple of metres separated him from Erin. Both were positioned at the end of their rows, towards the centre of the aisle that ran down the middle of the church. The Quinn's and McCool's were already in their seats when they took up theirs, to the anger of the blonde who found him to be there to her right, when she'd told him to stay away from her. She would never explode at him during the middle of Mass, yet James couldn't help but feel that there was an argument brewing. He didn't want to have that argument with her when he was only trying to spend some of his birthday with his family, especially in the absence of her or his mother to celebrate the day with. His beloved would not see it that way though, with her narcissistic tendencies.

For the duration of Mass, she didn't say anything to him at all, not that the silence from her made it particularly comfortable for him. Throughout Father Peter's incredibly boring sermon, that appeared to go on for the best part of an hour even though it was actually less than ten minutes by the time he'd finished, James kept glancing towards her. The feelings that he knew were there were acting up, a cruel blow on his birthday when there was no chance of them being acted upon. As beautiful as ever, a tiny part of him hoped that Erin wore a particularly beautiful green dress just for him that morning. That would never be the truth of the matter after everything they'd been through, but a small part of him remained prone to believing in a world of dreams. Unwilling to live his life by those dreams, he did not allow them to become a reality, whilst continuing to glance over to the gorgeous young woman he was still besotted with. Outside of that alternate universe, sadly she did not glance back to look at him. It would have been too good to be true if it happened.

As they were walking out of the church, the inevitable occurred, outside of his control. Although they might not have been in a relationship anymore, the friendship between their families stretched back far too far for any animosity to be retained between the others. Finding each other in the crowd, they all came to a stop outside, though he purposefully hung back behind Michelle, almost hiding behind her. Desperately, he tried to make eye contact with Erin to attempt to get anything from her, but the effort was in vain. She was deliberately avoiding him it appeared, she too concealing herself behind her mother's back. The conversation mostly hinged around a cooking disaster that Mary experienced at the Quinn house, requiring Deirdre's advice to stop it from happening again. The far superior of the two in the culinary aspect, any tip or recipe from her was worth its weight in gold. James assumed that his birthday would not be remembered by any of them, forgetting that although he might have lost the love of one sister, he was still firmly seen as a hero by the other.

"Happy Birthday, James!"

Stood patiently, having waited for her mother to finish rattling on, Anna excitedly yelled the greeting before charging off towards him. Caught by surprise, James found he had little time to react before she was wrapped around his legs, head pressed into his right thigh. All he could do was chuckle softly, running a hand through her silky blonde hair as he held her close to him. It was the wrong sister to be holding in his arms on a day such as his birthday, but he would have to take what he could get. The fact that a six year old Anna even remembered that it was his birthday, brought him a copious amount of joy that he did not expect. She was a bright, adorable girl that he had all the time in the world for if it was necessary.

"Aye, Happy Birthday, son". Joe added too, nodding to him.

"Happy Birthday!"

In unison, the majority of the Quinn's and McCool's all wished him a Happy Birthday, as well as Clare, who'd suddenly arrived on Orla's left. Little Marie joined in with the rest of her family, acting confidently around the Englishman again when she was often quite shy. James was one of the heroes of the bedtime stories that her Mammy would tell her, making him quite legendary in her eyes. When there was significant truth behind the legend of the skies, one of the greatest pilots to have ever served the country, the tale was quite a wholesome one. Her Daddy and his English friend, they were her heroes. Sarah and Shane, who wasn't aware that it was his birthday until Anna said so, joined in as well, the partners that would soon be back at church for a big day of their own. The wedding was only a few weeks away, a slot in the schedule found for the two of them to tie the knot. Mary and Gerry equally retained their admiration for him too, the former having talked about the fella's birthday a couple of times the day before. She liked him a lot more than she did a certain American Lieutenant, whose birthday she did not know the date of.

Only one member of their group did not wish him a Happy Birthday, which came as no surprise to an increasingly deflated James. Erin said absolutely nothing as the rest of the family all wished him goodwill for the day, looking away to the other side of the church graveyard instead. There was nothing too interesting about rows of old headstones, but it was better for her to look at the resting places of the dead rather than at a man who she once thought was amongst them. His headstone was removed after Father Peter agreed with James that it made no sense for it to remain, not that she would ever forget where the grave was, having spent too much time sobbing in front of it. That was the Erin of old though; the new Erin would not admit to even thinking about James, let alone showing any affection. Lance was the man at her side now, though he was unable to come ashore for Mass, too busy conducting training exercises on the ship.

The conversation naturally came to an end after a few more minutes, the families all needing to get on with their Sundays anyway. Holding out hopes for as much as a quiet greeting from the woman he loved before she left, James' hopes fell on deaf ears. Continuing with her decision to block him out of her life completely, she did not utter a single word nor even look towards him. If the family were not all gathered around him, as well as other members of the church community, he could have burst out crying there and then. Still so madly in love with her, his conscience was sabred every time she ignored him, the pain of not being able to share that day or another other with her, ripping him apart piece by piece. All he wanted was for them to be at the very least friends again, so that they could talk to each other and create memories together as friends, or lovers, once more. It appeared that it was too much to ask.

"Will ye come back with us, James?" Martin asked him, breaking him out of his Erin-induced trance. "We have a couple of wee things for ye?"

"Please tell me you have not?" He enquired in return, brows furrowed. "I am not worthy of such a kind gesture".

"Wise up James, yer family!" Deirdre interjected, shaking her head.

"Aye, stop bein' a head melter. Yer comin' back with us!"

When Michelle Mallon made a demand to anyone, man or woman, it was normally best that the instruction was followed. Unable to say no to her nor his aunt and Uncle, he communicated to them that he would walk with them, falling into line with his cousin as they made their way back. Losing Erin was breaking him apart, but it would have been a lot worse without a repentant Michelle accepting him after her original hostility towards him before the war. At that time, he was the usurper in the family that she could not accept, the bastard son of her rebellious Aunt Kathy that brought nothing but shame to the family by having him there. Little did she know that she was walking next to the theoretical heir to the throne, if his illegitimacy was looked past, a King for a cousin. Knowing how wrong she'd been in the past, she was keen to make it up to him as much as she could, even if the gentlemanly James told her it was unnecessary. He'd forgiven every moment since he'd first arrived in Derry, completely understanding how she felt. One of the pillars of his ever more depressing life, she was one of the brighter sparks in a horizon that was encased in darkness.

On arrival at the Mallon house, he was ushered into the living room, Martin electing to keep him company for a few minutes. Deirdre went into the kitchen to get them all some tea, which was needed when it was quite chilly outside, windy too. The only blessing was the lack of rain which kept them from being drenched on their Sunday morning visit to the house of God, like they had been many times before. Michelle retreated up to her room after receiving permission from her parents, though assured both of them and James that she would return a few minutes later. A platter of teas made its way into the Mallon living room, James and Martin's faces both lighting up. You couldn't go wrong with a good cup of tea on an Autumnal morning such as the one they'd been out in just a few moments prior.

"Michelle!" Deirdre called up to her. "Are ye comin' or what!?"

"AYE!" The faint shout was heard in return.

With his back to the entrance of the living room, James did not see that Michelle did not return empty handed when she crept into the room. Stealth was never a skill she was particularly adept at, but she managed to be stealthy upon her arrival. When both Martin and Deirdre saw their daughter make her way into the room they smiled. A couple of days after he'd returned out of the blue, they'd been making plans to make his birthday a special day. The two of them were far too experienced and wise to not know that it would be a difficult day for him when Erin would most likely give him the cold shoulder. The two of them hoped that his relationship with her would go back to being the vibrant, blossoming story of love that it once was, but until that occurred, it would be their job as a family to give him all the love that he required. Treating him on his birthday was a touch of class.

"Michelle…".

"Ach no James, don't start being a gentleman on me now, ye hear?" She interrupted him from making comment, the Englishman conceding a nod. "Ye deserve this so ye do".

Reaching into her stringbag, she retrieved an item of clothing. Following her hand with his eyes, James caught sight of it the second it made its way out. A white, almost cream coloured shirt was passed over to him, his lips curving up as he took it into his hands. Made from fabric that cannot have been cheap, it was crafted beautifully, like the ones he'd see in the clothing shops of London as a child. He wasn't on Savile Row by any stretch of the imagination, but with the finely tailored shirt in front of him, he could have been forgiven for thinking that he was. The buttons were delicate but exquisite, the collar folding perfectly onto a white landscape of expense and with quality that was unmatched in any of the shirts he owned, some of them tailored by the best.

"This is…". A wonderous James could barely find the words. "You should not have gone to these lengths for me".

"Ach don't be ridiculous!" Michelle raised her voice in reply to him. "Yer me cousin, James… and me friend, sure I wasn't goin' to let ye go through yer birthday without gettin' ye somethin'".

"This must have been frightfully expensive. You must at least allow me to give you some of the money back, I cannot allow you to comprise your own finances…".

"It didn't cost that much. I made it myself".

Grinning, knowing that he would not have expected her to have been behind the manufacturing of the shirt, James was stunned as Michelle started to laugh. She'd gone to such lengths for him when it was so wholly unnecessary, and he felt so undeserving of any such gift. The vivid dreams still played their games at the back of his mind that morning, making him believe he was nothing more than a savage killer that should not have been treated with any kindness. Aisling and John-Paul's parents would no longer get to enjoy a birthday celebration with them each respectively, all thanks to him. Having taken so many lives since the start of the war, there was a feeling of guilt that accompanied his outlook when celebrating the day that marked the beginning of his own life. Immediately he went over to Michelle, wrapping her up in a hug that she reciprocated, handing the stringbag to her Da so that she could fold her arms around him.

"Thank you, Michelle". James stated firmly, though it was more of a mumble into her shoulder.

"I love ye James… even if ye insist on bein' English".

Snorting laughter at her statement, he pulled away from her laughing as she was too. Once upon a time her insult about his nationality would not have been so friendly, but those days were long behind them. He needed her to show him the love and affection that she was, in the same token that she needed his calm head in her life again. Like Clare was doing, she knew she would confide in him when the time was right about her relationship with Clint. To be able to advance without heading straight into the physical side of it, he would be able to help her think of ideas that would stop it from becoming boring. His birthday was not the ideal day for that, but there would be other days when the time was better, where she would not hesitate.

"There is somethin' else, James".

Martin's hand was in the stringbag when he turned to meet his eye, leaving the young man astounded. One gift, one incredibly meaningful and exquisite gift, was already far too much for him to accept. Another one was going to leave him lost for words other than to repeat that they shouldn't have been going to such expense for him, whether he was a member of the family or not. Deirdre's grinning face told him that it was going to be another present with value, joy radiating off of her like he'd never seen before. Dawning on him at the back of his mind was the thought that his mother would be smiling if she could see the family together celebrating his birthday. There'd been so many times in the past where it was just the two of them, not that he minded at the time, without any of the family being in contact. The only travesty was that the two experiences would never be amalgamated into one following her death.

What Martin then produced shocked him more than the shirt that Michelle made for him. The cottage was full of little ornaments here and there, though a lot of them were added by Charlene whilst he was off fighting in the war. His Aunt and Uncle had decided that there needed to be another, one of a higher sentimental value to him than any of the ones already in the cottage were. Michelle spent a great deal of personal time manufacturing the shirt to such a high quality, whereas Martin spent a lot of time trying to procure the present they were giving him. His friends were helpful to a point, though ultimately, he'd had to go outside of the city to be able to get it. An old man out in the country held the skills that were required to make such a delicate ornament, far beyond his own level. A small statue of sorts, it commemorated something that James knew all too well.

"A… A Swordfish…". He could barely believe it. "Martin… I…".

Truly lost for words at the lavish gift that his Uncle handed over to him, memories of the past came flooding back to James. The days that he spent in the air, flying for his country alongside David, the aircraft that carried them into the fabulous days of achievement looked pristine as a small ornament. The detail on the model was incredible, James finding that it was almost as if a real Swordfish was shrunk. There was no expense spared on capturing even the most intricate parts of the cockpit, with even a little machine gun added at the back. His friend was the operator of the gun on many occasions, protecting them by pouring fire upon any enemy that tried to get too close. Quite incredible the model was, he was even beginning to choke up before he caught himself from doing so, stiffening.

"I hope it's not too shite…". Martin joked. "The poor old bugger who made it must have been about ninety!"

"With age comes wisdom… it is perfect. I… I don't know what to say".

"Ye don't need to say anything, James". Deirdre hummed, moving towards him to hold his free hand. "Yer our family and we love ya. It's nothin' compared to what ye did fighting those Nazi's for us to be free… we still owe ya".

Nobody owed him anything when it came to what he'd done in the war, not just because of the questionable acts of morality he'd committed during his escape and after it. It was a duty to sign up and fight for Britain, one which he would have had no choice with if he'd have still been in London when the war broke out. In Northern Ireland instead, he could choose to fight or stay at home, a choice that held only one answer at the time. They would never owe him for choosing to leave Derry to protect their future freedoms, no one would ever owe him for killing Doctor Van Der Heijden either. He was left with a debt to Erin for leaving though, one which he found himself unable to repay, mostly because she would not let him. Damage was done when it came to her, the choice at the time being one that came with regret years on after the loss of their child.

"You do not owe me for anything, Deirdre". He huffed out, but with a smile. "I could not ask for a better family".

"We do owe ya, ye eejit!" Michelle joked. "Yer a war hero!"

To the naked eye the statement was not untrue, his file at the Admiralty reflecting the career of a young man that was far more capable and talented than any other pilot they'd seen. The Royal Air Force had many a talented pilot within its ranks too, but none of them could hold a candle to the now Vice Air Admiral James Maguire. He'd performed with great valour and fortitude across multiple assignments, including the Taranto raid that cost him his friendship with David as well as his freedom for far longer than he ever wanted it to. Unfortunately, the war did not stay kind to him after being shot down, and with the deaths on his conscience continuing to remind him that he was far from the perfect servant to Britain that he should have been, he did not agree with his cousin's statement. He was no hero.

"I do not think that is a fair description of me…".

"Take the compliment, James". Martin sniggered. "Stop being so damn modest for once!"

Compelled to follow his uncle's instruction, he laughed lightly to himself, finding them all beginning to chuckle along with him as he did. His family were so important to him, more than ever after Kathy's passing, and if it meant honouring them by accepting their praise of him then he would do so. The deep flaws of his conscience did not need to be explored by them, James unwilling to drag them into his mire of pain. It was not proper for a man to speak of his demons openly, not right that he should become emotionally incapable of keeping a stiff upper lip. He was supposed to be able to carry on with his life without showing any such weakness, even if the weakness was there and he could not deny it to himself. Life would have to go on, without the woman that he loved in it and with a mind that was constantly reminding him of the deaths he'd perpetuated.

"Thank you… all of you… this…". He stopped, clearing his clogged-up throat. "You have spoilt me far too much and I cannot thank you enough".

The model found a temporary home on the side table in the Mallon's living room, needing to do so as the four of them came together into an embrace. There was so much love between them that morning, a family banding around one of its members to celebrate a birthday properly. Deirdre was yet to tell James that she'd managed to make him a cake too, another surprise that was waiting later on as well as the lunch that she would do for him. Feeling more appreciated than he'd perhaps ever done in his entire life, James felt himself melting into their arms as they were locked together in a hug. Briefly catching irises with his cousin, the two shared a smile within the huddle that signified just how strong their bond now was. He'd only been back just over a month, but in that time they'd become far closer than he could have ever imagined, and he was grateful for it. Michelle was by no means perfect, but he would not have swapped her for anyone as a cousin. He loved her dearly, and would support her whenever she needed him, he knew without having to think too hard about it.

"I hope I'm gettin' hugged like this next week when it's my birthday!"

Michelle's sudden argument left Martin and James in stitches as they pulled apart. Deirdre less so… she was taking a sterner approach to the matter.

"Don't push it now, Michelle".

Although she probably should have been offended, she couldn't help but join in the laughter either. Conversation soon picked back up again, with joy bouncing off the walls for the next few hours, James unexpectedly finding a vast amount of happiness in comparison to the travails of the middle of the night. Any tears in the daylight were ones of laughter as opposed to the ones of pain and terror in the darker hours.

Tears that would come again when his conscience still was unsettled.

He needed her.

---

While the merriment flowed in the Mallon household, there was a rather bleak, dismal atmosphere at the Quinn's. There were no problems to speak of as such, but if the two homes were to be compared, then there was a clear winner when it came to which was the better place to be. Granted, they were not celebrating a birthday in the Quinn house, yet that shouldn't have stood in the way of any fun taking place. Instead, nobody was speaking whatsoever.

The walk home from church was where Gerry first detected that there was a problem. Normally there would be vast amounts of conversation, but oddly the majority of it was between him and Joe. It was mostly a one-sided chat mind, Joe deciding to play a game of picking as many faults as he could with his son in-law, from the state of his shirt to how well he'd managed to shave that morning. Quite why Joe was taking such an interest in his facial hair, Gerry did not know, though he also valued his life highly enough not to question it. Mary did not come to his aid nor tell her Da off, the first sign to him that something was up. Bearing the brunt of Joe's wrath the whole of the way home, he also didn't hear a peep out of Erin either. When her Granda went too far, it wasn't unknown for her to become involved, yet she also did not stop him at his worst. Something was wrong.

Anna was talkative, although being the smartest of them all, she stayed out of the way of her Granda to avoid catching a tongue lashing from him. When they separated at the roadside, outside of their homes, she told her Daddy how much that she loved him, her way of saying sorry for not coming to his aid as well as letting him know that she was alright. She too knew that there was a problem, though unlike her father, Anna already knew what the problem was, or thought she did. Whether she was right or not was not a fact that she was ready to discover, not when she would most likely cause an almighty row in the process. To annoy both her Mammy and her sister at the same time would have been as bad as doing so to her Granda. Only Gerry was in a position to brave such an extreme, but he needed to know what was wrong first.

After an hour or so of coming home, Erin and Anna were back in their rooms, and Mary was finally downstairs with him. His wife was going to be where he started to understand whatever the problem was, deciding it was easier to raise the subject with her than with his eldest daughter. Although there was clearly more to it, her Autumnal moods were once again creating problems at home. A couple of nights that week she'd come home without saying anything to her family, going straight to bed after dinner with nothing more than a thank you. They stood at her door on both of those nights, listening to her sobbing for the child she'd lost three years earlier. If anything, it was worse than ever, because the grief over the child was smothered with the grief of losing James too before. With the Englishman proving to be alive, she was left solely with the lost child on her mind, and it was hurting her even more.

"Love…". He whispered to her as he sidled up next to her in the kitchen. "… are ye alright?"

Leaving the question as a fairly ambiguous one, he thought it to the be the most successful way of getting her to open up to him. Mary wasn't always one for coming out with the full details straight away, not when it came to arguments at least, so he would have to coax it out of her. Luckily, he'd spent the happiest years of his life being able to understand the woman that he loved as much as he did on their first day together, so many years ago. He was not a strict authoritarian like Sean Devlin was, taking the time to be able to comfort his wife rather than beat the truth out of her like Clare's Da would do to her Ma. If there was going to be any domestic violence in their house, it would most likely be the other way round.

"Aye…". She sighed, very unconvincingly.

"Mary…".

Sighing again, she wasn't going to be allowed to get away from him that easily. When Gerry knew that there was something up with one of his loved ones then he was not going to let the matter go unresolved. Although he was yet to realise what the problem was, he was very much aware that there was one that needed to be sorted out. A man who could understand the feelings of those around him more than most men of his age could, there were worse people for his wife to open up to. It was one of the reasons why she was so keen to marry him, other than believing him to be an absolute ride at the time. She didn't tell her Da that though… it would have sent him not only over the edge, but over the edge of the edge of the edge.

"It's Erin…".

That much he could have guessed without knowing the full extent of the issue, when the two of them were acting so strangely. He'd not seen or heard them having words that morning, but they could have done so when he was distracted at any point. Two stubborn women that never enjoyed backing down, only doing so when there was little other choice, they were far too alike for compromises to be reached between them. His role as peacemaker in the house increased in workload during the Autumn with Erin's moods, even though Mary tried to be more understanding than usual. They both knew how difficult a time it was for her when it was the same time of the year that she lost her and James' child, the season forever linked in her mind with death and heartbreak. Mary could only give so much rope though, with which Erin was already hanging herself with in her mother's mind.

"What's happened?" He enquired further. "Ye've not been arguin' have ye?"

"No… for once we haven't…". She replied, looking out of the window rather than at him.

"Then what's she done?"

"It's what she hasn't done that's the problem, Gerry!"

They were barely speaking above whispers anyway, making her exclamation little more than a muffled shout. However, the passion within the statement made it very clear that whatever Erin hadn't done, was really eating away at her. As far as he knew, she hadn't failed to complete any of the chores that she performed around the house, doing the washing up the night before without needing to be reminded, as well as cleaning her room when requested. There was nothing more that sprang to mind when it came to tasks that she'd failed to complete, which suggested to him that it was something far more specific and perhaps outside of the house. Only then did the light bulb in his brain flicker on, but before he could speak his mind, she confirmed the thought for him anyway, having turned around to face him.

"She didn't say Happy Birthday to poor James… didn't even say anythin' to the fella! Shockin', so it is!"

Speaking of an issue that was far more delicate than his wife might have wanted to believe, Gerry could understand why she was upset. In his wife's eyes, James was still the young man that left to fight the Nazi's with her wooden spoon, the handsome gentleman that was in love with their daughter. He still was that man, though it was only Charlene Kavanagh who'd seen the true extent of him thus far upon his return, witnessing the other side of him too. Gerry was not a naïve man despite what seemed to be popular opinion, started by none other than his father in-law. James was not the same man, even if there were elements of the man he was before that he tried to portray. War changed men no matter how much conflict they'd seen, the strain of it taking its toll on even the hardiest of individuals. James was no different to any other man in that regard. What Mary couldn't see was that the new man that returned was a different entity altogether, one that their daughter was no longer in a relationship with. That honour now fell to Lance.

"Ah… I see". Gerry answered carefully. "Have ye said anything to her?"

"No! I got out of bed on the right side this mornin', Gerry!"

"Technically it was the left side, actually…".

On the end of a vicious, vicious scowl from his wife, Gerry would have to think twice before deploying humour in an attempt to calm her down. An ill-timed attempt at a joke, he was correct, but Mary didn't need to hear it. She was far too busy getting herself worked up over Erin's insolence to have it pointed out that she would have been having a bad day if she got out on the right side. Coughing softly for a moment to recover himself, he engaged her again in his attempts to pacify her, keeping his voice low to avoid Erin hearing anything from her room upstairs. They were not the thickest of walls in the Quinn house, Joe once remarking that Gerry was thicker than them… to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"So why are ye so upset, love. If ye've not argued, I mean?"

"Why do ye think!?" She snapped at him in a whisper, wagging a finger in his face too. "That fella deserves some respect and she's not showin' him any!"

"Mary, I know you think a lot of him…".

"Aye, I do! He's a grand fella, so he is, and I'm not havin' her ignorin' him like that!"

Blinkered into seeing the situation between the two young former lovers in the way that she wanted to see it, Mary did not account for how difficult it was for her daughter to be around him. For her, there was a rather simple solution to the problem. The American needed to be taken out of the equation, for Erin to see that there was only one fella worthy of being on her arm and it was the Englishman. They might have lost their child together, but it didn't mean they had to lose each other in the process. Moving on as a couple should have been the plan, though she had to concede that her eldest did have every right to move on independently when she didn't know that he was alive. Upon his reappearance though, she should have told Lance where to go immediately. Instead, she'd broken the poor pilot, who was devoted to her. Although her and Gerry were not aware of the exact words said between them at the graveyard a month earlier, they knew enough to know it was far from amicable.

"We have to be fair to Erin, love, ye know she struggles with how she feels about… ye know". Gerry tried to be diplomatic. "She has to find her way forward following her heart not yer's".

"But she's making the wrong choice, Gerry!" Mary argued.

He was going to have to risk his life in replying, but he needed his wife to understand. Mary could not try to control their daughter's life anymore. That was not their duty.

"For you, she might be… but not for her".

Turning away with fury in her eyes, Mary could have strangled him if she didn't take a deep breath. The truth hurt a lot more than she wanted to admit, aware that he was right and that, as rare as it was, she was wrong. It wasn't her right to dictate Erin's future when her daughter was already the wrong side of twenty, able to make her own choices as well as dealing with the consequences of her actions. Her disapproval of Lance and the Americans in general was not something that she could shake, but it appeared that was where Erin saw her future. The Lieutenant was not James, he was a tenth of the man that she approved of so endearingly. Her approval was not going to be enough, the lost child of three years prior dictating proceedings years on.

"I'm sorry, love, I really am, but it is what it is. If Erin wants to be with Lance, then we'll have to warm to the fella…".

"I am not warmin' to that… weasel!" Angrily retorting, Mary risked breaking the whispers they were performing. "He's trouble, Gerry. I can feel it in me bones!"

"Ye can't say that about the fella, we barely know him".

"He is, Gerry… they all are! These Americans have brought nothin' but trouble with them since they got here! They're bad craic, I'm tellin ye!"

"Now come on Mary, there might be a few bad apples in the barrel, but that doesn't make them all rotten".

Harnessing an old phrase and manipulating it to fit the conversation that he was in, Gerry was quite proud of himself as opposed to his wife who was seriously contemplating thumping him. One bad apple always made the barrel rotten in her mind, and Lance was one of just many bad apples in a filthy barrel. They might have been there to help put an end to the Nazi's, but their training was going on for far too long. Local women who'd fell to their charms on the very first night of their arrival and took little care in having any precautions ready, were soon to be expecting children from their trysts. The community around them in Derry predictably shunned them, families even abandoning daughter's when they could not deal with the shame of their pregnancies. Some of the sailors were willing to stand by the women they'd impregnated, though most of the women's fathers were not in agreement with having them there. The British soldiers stationed there, as bad as they were, were not so dishonourable.

"I won't have it, Gerry! I won't let her make this mistake!" Starting to tear up, Mary remained defiant.

"If she loves him, it isn't a mistake, Mary. We'll just have to learn to live with it".

"Over my dead body, we will!" She really wasn't backing down without a fight. "Wise up, Gerry! We can't allow this!"

Any further attempt to convince her otherwise would have been futile, leading him to abandon his attempts to do so. He'd already achieved the primary aim of finding out just what was wrong with his wife, and every story had two sides. His wife would come around eventually, he was sure of it. It was going to take a lot more effort on his part, but he would be able to convince her. Persistence was the key to success, and he could be persistent when he wanted to be, doing so quietly at the right moments when he could achieve success. Loud and brash was not his method, the complete opposite of his father in-law. It was more like his own parents' methods, a mother and father he missed so very much at times.

"Why don't ye go for a wee walk... take Anna with ye". He suggested after a minute. "Maybe a wee bit of air might help ye calm down".

"Calm down! Don't ye te-".

"Mary, I mean it. Take Anna for a walk and calm down".

Gerry Quinn was not a man who spoke in such blunt terms towards his wife so often, but he was not completely hen-pecked. Mary needed to be told to calm down, and if he couldn't tell her calmly, he would have to order her about instead. Baulking at a tone she rarely heard from her husband, Mary knew well enough to not argue the point any further. If her Da heard Gerry then there would have been a bloodbath, Joe thankfully busy at the house next door with Orla and Marie.

"ANNA! COME HERE!"

Shouting up to her daughter in a manner that suggested that her youngest was in trouble, Anna came bounding down the stairs to find out what she'd done. Most children in the same situation wouldn't have moved but so sure that she'd been nothing but good all morning, she was curious to see what the problem was. If there was anyone that should have been shouted at it was Erin for not wishing James a Happy Birthday, the smart wain having deduced a long time before her Da what the problem was between her older sister and her mother. She thought it was rude too, and though she was not quite aware of the complexities of the relationship between her sister and the banker, equally she knew well enough to not castigate Erin for it. The emotional battlefield was not one she was equipped for despite all of her smarts.

"Yes Mammy!" She exclaimed, hiding some of the nerves with excitement.

"We're goin' on a wee walk. Get yer coat".

Looking over her Mammy's shoulder in the hallway, she could see her Da nodding to her that everything was alright. Their mutual understanding already brought them both to know that they were aware that something was wrong at home, and Anna could tell that sending them away was his way of fixing the problem. It would leave him alone in the house with Erin, allowing her sister to be able to speak her mind without having their Mammy there to disagree with her. A fair environment where both sides could be listened to and understood was required, not the sort that would be available if Mary was still in the house. She would be there to keep her Mammy company, without mentioning anything back home, an instruction she could read from one look at her Da. Gerry was so incredibly proud of her, always.

With Anna grabbing her coat, Gerry gave his wife a quick peck on the lips, finding gentle eyes looking back at him when he glanced up. Mary was already calming down, and like Anna, realised what he was doing. As much as she wanted to shake Erin to release the affections she held for the American, for her to stand on for good, it would do more harm than it would in achieving anything. She'd already made various attempts to get her to change her mind, and all she'd done was push her daughter further away. It was her husband's turn to talk to their eldest about her future, though it was clear to her that he would allow the American into the family if it was what Erin wanted. Acceptance really did look to be the only way.

Seen on their way by a thankful Gerry, Mary and Anna went off on their walk with a smile on the face of the latter. By the time they got home, both hoped to come back to a better atmosphere than they'd left. Leaving him clear to be able to talk to Erin, Gerry took a moment to think of what he was going to say, for what was going to be a very delicate exchange of words. Autumnal Erin was a different creature than to her normal self, far more self-loathing yet also a lot more aggressive. She'd forced her mother to tears in the past with her comments in the Autumn, as well as nearly driving Michelle into hitting her on more than one occasion. The last thing he wanted to do was isolate her even further from them as parents, which Mary was already doing far too much than she should have been.

Once the stairs were traversed, he listened out, hoping not to hear any crying. On those nights where they stood outside her room, listening to her sobbing away about her lost child, his heart always caved in a wee bit more. A father never wished to hear his daughter cry, not even the draconian Sean could bear to listen to his Clare upset. There wasn't so much as a peep out of Erin that he could hear as he approached her room, a good sign that she was at least not wallowing in her own grief. When she was left alone in her room a lot of the time she would begin to write, though not as much as before the war when there was less ink to go around than before. Reading became the other source of entertainment in its place, Erin having plenty of books that she could enjoy if she so wished.

The door was left ajar slightly, but rather than barging in, he decided to call out to her first to check if she did not mind him entering.

"Erin love… can I come in?"

For a couple of seconds there was no answer, much to his concern. It was a long way down from her window to the ground outside, but it was not impossible with some sort of rope. She'd never attempted to make her way out of the room that way before, nor would it make sense when Orla would almost certainly see her from next door. What he didn't realise was that she was contemplating whether or not she wanted to talk, worried that her mother might be there with him. After those brief seconds where her Mammy's voice did not fill the air after his, the answer came.

"Aye… ye can Daddy".

Uttering a sigh of relief, he made his way into her room, with a soft smile ready to greet her with. Sat at her desk where it appeared she had been writing, all around her were screwed up bits of paper, an absolute waste by the looks of it. They were fortunate enough to have a large supply of paper thanks to Erin's writing habits, as well as some that was smuggled across the border that Joe handed over, much to his annoyance. Why a man of his age was getting himself caught up in the illegal procurement of goods, he did not know, but there was no way he'd get found out to be either. Joe was far too smart to allow any harm to come to himself or the rest of his family, even Gerry himself. He wouldn't hurt his Mary by doing so, though he wouldn't have minded seeing the son in-law he was not fond of, being behind steel bars.

"That's… that's a lot of paper there on the floor, Erin?" Asking gently, he hoped to not start off on the wrong foot.

"Well… I… It's… ye know Daddy, when yer writin' a masterpiece, ye don't always get it right first time!"

"I'm not angry with ye love…". He tried to calm her, though could have laughed at her description of her work being a masterpiece. "I know ye need time with these things".

Rapidly blinking at her Da, Erin offered him a smile, his calming method proving to be the right one to deploy. The more comfortable that she was, the more he would be able to pry from her, and if it was absolute necessary, he would weather the storm of one of her poems. Like most of the world, from Nazi's to even the dead, he was not enamoured with his daughter's works, having to lie to her to tell her how good they were. He'd been through pain before, emotional and physical, and listening to her poetic ramblings was right up there with some of the most agonising pain he'd been through. He could never question her efforts on doing what she loved, but he, like everyone else, could question her ability. There was no ability.

"Where's Mammy?" She asked him. "And what did she want with Anna?"

"They've gone for a wee walk". He told her, before deciding to add to his statement with honesty. "Yer Mammy was upset and needed some fresh air".

The look on Erin's face told him everything. She could pretend all that she wanted, and she probably would, but she knew exactly why her mother was upset. Mary couldn't seem to let go of James being in their lives, raising her daughter's defiance to remain with Lance, who she loved. A feeling that she was unaware, was not mutual… not in the slightest.

"Oh… was she?"

"Erin…". He looked at her, eyebrow raised. "I think ye know she was… and I think ye know, why".

His tone might have remained soft, but Gerry was not going to be soft in handling the matter. He'd shown a more commanding side to Mary when he'd listened to her side of the argument, so he would do the same to his eldest. As he predicted, she was going to try to deny that she knew what it was about, foolish in doing so, though he understood why. It would anger her to have both parents against her decision to explore a relationship with the American, a man that was there for her when she needed him unlike James who hadn't been. Expecting her to explode back at him for being so firm, he was ready for a long session of diplomatically working her over if required, but he was going to get an answer one way or another.

"I…".

Instead of berating him in reply, she was lost for the right words. Her Da was not an argumentative man like her mother, and it took a lot to anger him, which made it far more difficult to approach such a topic… especially when there was another worry on her mind that she'd not yet confided in anyone about, friends or family.

"I understand, Erin, I mean it".

Surprised, her eyes widened, her brain stopping her quest to find a reply to instead stare back at her Da. He'd perched on the side of her bed, offering her a seat next to him so that they could talk. Her shock might have taken control of her facial expressions, but it hadn't the rest of her, finding herself accepting the seat next to him without any hesitation. A lot of fathers wouldn't dream of having such heartfelt conversations with their daughter's, but Gerry was different to the norm. He couldn't care less about how he was expected to act as a husband and a father, writing his own script to keep his family contented. When the end result was for everyone to be happy, then the means really did not matter. She sat down awkwardly next to him, only then prompting him to continue with what he needed to say.

"James coming back was not something any of us expected and… and we should have done more to help ye tell him about…". He swallowed hard, reminded of the day itself. "… about the child. We shouldn't have let ye do it alone, it was wrong and I'm sorry, Erin. We let ye down as parents".

"But… but I wanted to… to do it alone". She said quietly, emotion taking hold of her.

"I know ye did, love. That doesn't mean it was the right thing to do though, does it? Look what it's done since… ye can't go on like this".

Gerry was right, he knew he was and so did she, but Erin couldn't just concede. She most certainly could have handled telling James about the child she'd failed to carry to term for them better, but then he'd left her alone to deal with the pregnancy and subsequent loss. In her own mind, he wasn't allowed to have the luxury of being told with people around them, not when he'd abandoned her. There had to be justice for his selfishness of three years prior, where fighting the Nazi's appealed more to him than staying by her side. He had a choice that day, just like she did on the day in the graveyard; for relations between them, they both chose the wrong option.

"He needs to know what it's like!" She finally did rear up, proving her Da right again. "Why should I be kind to him when he wasn't there for me!"

"Erin…".

"NO! He didn't love me enough and… and then…".

"Erin!" He raised his voice, against his wishes. "You can't blame James for your child being lost. That was no one's fault, not his… not yers".

"It… It!"

Fit to burst, she was only stopped by another trick that found its way out of Gerry's sleeve. Throwing his arms around her, it was another move that paid off. Anger quickly turned to heartache, to despair and above all, grief. Held together in her father's arms, Erin could afford to fall apart when he was there to catch her. He always would be there to catch her, he loved her too much to ever be able to let go. Controlling her life was not his prerogative but he was not going to stand by while she said things that, deep down, she did not mean. Mary might have induced such reactions from her without being able to see through her bluster, but he was far too understanding to be unable to.

"I'M SORRY, DADDY!" She wailed. "I… IT… IT HURTS! I… I…"

"I know, Erin, love…". He whispered into her ear, stroking her luscious blonde hair. "Just let it out… tell me… I'm here to listen".

He was reassuring where his wife was not. It wasn't that Mary did not care for her daughter, far from it, she just could not see the right way forward when it came to dealing with the delicate matters of both past and future. That was what Gerry was for though. A voice of reason and an ear without judgement.

"I… I'm struggling, Daddy". She admitted, the two still embracing. "I… I just look at… J-…J-James and I… I see that day. It makes me… makes me r-rr… re… remember the pain and how… ashamed I was. I still am".

Pulling away a short distance, he cupped her cheeks with his hands, waiting for her to open her watery eyes to look back at him.

"Ye've nothin' to be ashamed of, Erin. No one thinks ye should be ashamed of yerself… I don't, yer Ma doesn't and…". He paused, reluctant to say what was on his mind, but knowing he had to. "Neither does James".

"He… he said that?" She tearfully enquired, lacking venom when her Da expected it.

"No, I haven't spoken to him about it… but he's a good man, Erin. I know he wasn't there… and I know how that made ye feel but… don't hurt him for the sake of it. He won't be ashamed of you, Erin… he'll be ashamed of himself for not bein' there and now not being able to do anythin' about it".

Risking a reaction when he strayed dangerously close towards the territory that her Ma often waded into when Lance was ever mentioned, Gerry hoped she did not misunderstand what he was trying to say. Although he did hold some reservations about the American, he was prepared to accept the fella if he made Erin happy. He too would have rather it been James, having thought that from the moment he first saw his daughter look at the Englishman, but was tactful enough not to say anything to her unlike Mary who would not hold back. He didn't know just how much of an understatement he was making about James though, who was more than just ashamed of himself. The young man was completely devastated, on a road of psychological destruction that he was suffering alone.

"I… I can't let him do anythin', Daddy". She sniffled, as he took hold of her trembling hands. "I… I have Lance now and I… I love him".

"Please Erin, don't think for one minute I'm tellin' ye to finish up with Lance. I know ye like the fella… I'm not goin' to stop ye bein' with him if he makes ye happy. But that doesn't mean ye can't be civil to James now, does it? Ye could have wished him a Happy Birthday, couldn't ye?"

Erin hated conceding, whether it was to her Ma or Dad, but painfully he was right. James was yet to be anything but civil with her, even treating her with respect after she showed a lack of it when revealing the loss of their child so coolly to him. He was a gentleman, a gentleman she'd once given her heart to willingly when there was peace in the world, without the backdrop of the brutal war that raged on around them. If they were going to co-exist in the same city, within the same circle of friends and family, then it was she who was going to have to build bridges, not him. For the first time in a long time, she dared to admit to herself that there was clarity in her mind over James. She didn't hate him… if anything it was the opposite. Quite possibly, deep down in the depths of a battered conscience, she still loved him… fiercely… but she loved Lance a lot more. She had to tell herself to be sure though…

"I… I should have… but I can't now… it's… it's too embarassin'!" She cried, wiping her eyes with a hand she took out from her Da's grasp.

"I'm not askin ye to, love… I just want ye to not ignore him again. Say hello to him… ask him how he is… ye don't even have to be friends again but ye can be decent. I'd expect that from ye at the least".

"I… I will". She put her hand over his once more. "Thank ye, Daddy… I love ye".

Taking her turn to throw her arms around him, Gerry laughed a little, perhaps even sniffling slightly. He'd achieved what his wife could not, understanding his daughter's plight whilst calmly reminding her of her upbringing. Being decent to others was a principle that he'd instilled in her from a very young age, with her Granda being a constant reminder of what being nasty to others was like. Whether Joe hated him as much as he let on, Gerry did not know, but he would not have Erin treat James with the same lack of respect. The only crime that the young Englishman had committed in his eyes was no real crime at all; he'd given up everything to fight for the very future he lost when he left. A tragic story with no positive outcome no matter how it was approached, fate played a cruel hand three years earlier, but the southerner was not about to let it dictate the rest of his daughter's life.

Finally, a line in the sand was drawn.

Still though, he was not satisfied, and not because of his eldest's attitude towards James. There was more on her mind, he could sense it. Already able to coax her true feelings out for them to work around, he was going to use the advantage while he had it. If it meant that the atmosphere at the Quinn house would be lifted, then he was prepared to continue to listen. Working out what was on her mind should have been difficult but her facial expressions gave the game away earlier in their conversation. He did not miss the subtle change in expression when he mentioned Lance, and whether or not the American made her happy. Clearly, she was encountering a problem with him too.

"Lance does make ye happy, doesn't he?"

The face she pulled after his question, only strengthened his correct guess. Since officially entering into a relationship with the Lieutenant, positive comments were all they heard from her. There was never any talk of an argument or a disagreement of opinion, the two seemingly enjoying a relationship that did not seem to hold too much stress. If she hadn't been telling the truth, he could appreciate why when Mary was so dead set against him, but when his wife was not there, it allowed Erin to be honest. If there were any worries that she held about the American, he needed to know what they were to be able to guide her, and if necessary, protect her. He didn't completely trust the Yanks either…

"I… how did ye… I…". She stuttered in disbelief. "I… I'm not sure… I… I'm not sure it's… appropriate… for… for you".

"How do you mean?"

He really shouldn't have asked, as he was about to find out, but continuing to pry, Gerry wasn't backing off. Erin was no longer crying, but she was going beetroot red in the face when he continued to stare at her, urging her to speak her mind. It had been on her mind for a couple of days, since she'd last spoken to Lance before he was off on his training exercises. She wouldn't see him again for a few weeks, not until just before Sarah and Shane's wedding, as he would be out at sea conducting further exercises. It wouldn't be that long until he left from what she'd gathered from him, but that was not what was on her mind, though she had thought about it. No, it was more… private, than that.

"He… oh god this is mortifyin'!" She shouted.

"Erin…".

"He… he wants us to…". She stopped to dip her voice. "To have sex".

He should have known…

Closing his eyes, Gerry found himself immediately regretting prying, just as she knew he would when she told him. He was more than happy to give her advice on her life and try to see if she was safe with Lance, but his advice did not stretch that far. Straight away, he could see why she thought it was not an appropriate topic for her to discuss with him, though also understanding why it wouldn't be with her Mammy either. When Mary hated the fella, she was hardly going to encourage her daughter into having relations with him.

"I shouldn't have said anythin'". Erin moaned, as she got to her feet. "Yer… yer embarrassed about Mammy talking about knickers for god's sake!".

"I am not!" He half-heartedly protested, getting to his feet to. "I will go and get a pair of yer mother's knickers, if I have to prove it!"

Awkward. He'd made it even more awkward when it really, really did not need to be. Sex and any matters of the bedroom, were not his strong point at all.

"I'd rather ye didn't". Erin snorted.

"Yes… that is… understandable". He slowly replied, moving on swiftly. "Are ye… worried, because of what happened before?"

The crux of another matter of her heart, once again came back to the same starting point. The child that she lost three years earlier, on a cold November night. She'd not had sex since the last time with James, too afraid to even think about it for a long time. Orla's habits may have forced her into contemplation about it, but only since getting into a relationship with Lance, did it come to the forefront of her mind. Terrified of experiencing another loss again, though pregnancy was not guaranteed if she did comply with his wishes, Erin was incredibly hesitant. Michelle, whose sexual drive was something of a legend in the city, was managing to hold a steady relationship without consummation, so why couldn't she?

"I… I don't think I'm ready, Daddy… I… I just don't want to… to get pregnant again and…".

"Ye can't say that will happen again, love". He took her hand and squeezed it. "But I can understand why ye don't want to commit yerself… ye need to be ready first".

"What if… what if Lance… what if he doesn't want me anymore b-b… b-because I won't… ye know. I don't want to lose him!" She began to sniffle in response.

"If he loves ye as much as he says he does, he'll understand. He won't force ye into anythin' ye don't want to do". Gerry gave her his honest opinion, without blushing. "If I was in the same position with yer Ma, I'd wait for her".

Her Da was right of course. Lance, loving her as much as she knew that he did, would always wait for her. He was that kind of fella, kind, honest and with a heart of gold for everyone, no matter who they were. Why her Mammy couldn't see past the flag that he represented, and her bizarre hatred of all the Yanks, was a mystery, but it wasn't stopping her from loving him. He was such a good, decent fella that would show her the respect she deserved. It made him the fourth fella in her life that she really cared for, her Da and Granda a given when they were family. And James too… because she still did care for him, without understanding why and just how powerfully that she did.

It was Lance where her future was though, Lance who would wait for her to be ready before they took their relationship any further.

Yet both she and her Da were so wrong.

Should he have to, Lance was more than willing to force her to get what he wanted.