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 :)

83. Flowers

Chapter 83: Flowers 10th December 1942

Coastal patrol was not an entertaining task at all. Not when most of the ships that they'd arrived with were already out conducting other operations. For some reason the Lyman was kept back though, leaving the crew to suffer the ignominy of feeling as if they'd been forgotten about. They hadn't been of course, and if anything their crew was ending up far better trained rather than rushed into combat or convoy escort duty. The officers of the ship were more than aware of what the plans for the future were though and patrolling the coastline off Northern Ireland was not going to be their task for the rest of the war. That was the reason for why they were all up at five o'clock that morning, to hold a meeting with the Captain to discuss said plans.

Crammed into one room, the Captain relayed the details of their future to the officers, who listened intently. Many of them were just as bored as the men, which was no surprise when some of them were not the most patient. Plans were being made all of the time though, resources allocated and reallocated elsewhere to meet the demands of the war. America knew what it was getting itself into when it entered the war, though that didn't make it any easier to plan when there were so many possibilities that could spring up from nowhere. The Lyman was just another resource at their disposal, one which was going to be utilised sooner rather than later. The meeting lasted for a good hour or more, and as the men on duty woke for the day, they were unaware that the officers that commanded them were now in receipt of the information they all wanted to hear. For the sailors, that news would not yet be filtered down to them.

A few hours later, a number of the officers returned to the mess, mostly to eat, but discussion was rather inevitable. The Captain, as usual, did not enter such discussion as he kept to the bridge, performing his duties. Although there was the chance of running into a U-Boat or two in the Irish Sea, after over a week over patrolling, they'd not found anything of note. The closest they'd got to being anywhere near alert was an object that they found floating in the sea, which turned out to be nothing of interest anyway. There were no sightings of any periscopes nor were there any German battleships in the area. Bismarck might have been sunk but Tirpitz remained at large, though was undergoing an overhaul in port in Norway, not a danger to the ships patrolling the coastlines of Britain. Not until those repairs were conducted…

There was a treat for them too, as they'd received a delivery from another ship that morning. Letters from back home did not come that often, but when they did it was a treat for all of those that received one. The majority of the crew did receive letters, though some were left empty handed, having to watch friends and colleagues become enthused from hearing of what was happening back home. A sweetheart's letter could do wonders for a man's morale, something that James and David found out towards the start of the war when they were serving in England. Letters from Erin and Orla kept their spirits incredibly high. The blonde wouldn't be writing to Lance when he would return home to her after another week of patrol, which meant that he was one of the unlucky ones without a letter. His parents hadn't written to him and neither had his siblings, though his sister did write to Lieutenant Baker, who she was engaged to. It was the closest thing Lance had to hearing from back home, even if the vast majority of the letter was directed to his friend rather than him.

It made for a quiet mess as the officer's that were sat down in it, read their letters. With nothing to read, Lance instead put his feet up to rest, waiting to hear what the other officers present had to say for themselves about what their loved ones were telling them back home. Baker, Reeves and Lloyd were the other three men in the mess, and it was the latter that finished reading his letter first, though he did not come away happy. Quite the opposite.

"That bitch!"

When he'd only been reading the letter for approximately thirty seconds, it struck Lance that the news was not going to be positive. A conclusion was drawn in his mind immediately, as it was in the minds of Baker and Reeves, who were interrupted reading their own letters by the man's shout, which reverberated off the walls.

"What is it, Lloydy?" Reeves enquired, in a more serious tone to normal. "Yer woman spent all that money of your's".

"What fuckin' money!?" The man replied, still aggravated. "This aint' about money!"

"You sure as hell ain't happy about somethin'". Lance interjected.

"You're damn right I'm not!"

None of them wanted to say it, on the off chance it was not what they thought it was, but they were all thinking it. Lloyd often spoke of how in love he was with the woman he'd left back home, and how he saw their future together. Older than the two junior Lieutenant's, he thought he was set for the rest of his life, but it appeared to them that it was not the case. He wasn't going to be the first serving man to receive a letter of its kind, informing them that they wouldn't be going home to the sweetheart they'd left behind, when they'd shacked up with someone else. Especially when their men were serving so far away, it was hard for the women left behind to maintain such long-distance relationships. Those men not serving, were not going to pass up the invitation either.

"The bitch has left me!" He bellowed, throwing the letter to the floor. "We've been together SIX FUCKIN' YEARS… before this fuckin' war! SIX YEARS!"

In anger, Lloyd thumped the table that he was sitting at in frustration, raising the eyebrows of both Lance and Lieutenant Baker. The senior officer present, it was up to Reeves to calm the Lieutenant down, albeit offering support was rather outside of his job description as well as his personality. He was many things, but Lieutenant Commander Reeves was not soppy.

"Calm down Lloydy, no woman's worth gettin' this mad over!"

"SIX YEARS, REEVES! SIX! And the minute I go to fight in this god damn war, she's gone off with Jimmy fuckin' Preston!"

The Lieutenant Commander didn't know who Jimmy Preston was, nor should he, but it was clear that Lieutenant Lloyd was not fond of the man. He wouldn't be when he was the fella stealing his woman, leaving him powerless to do anything about it when he was on the other side of the Atlantic. Reeves himself had a woman back home, the same one who'd written to him, but he wouldn't have reacted in the same way if she left him. At least that is what he told himself, the reality being he would have probably acted in the exact same manner as his fellow officer. What he didn't see was the amused grin that showed upon Baker's face, which Lance did. He didn't understand why his best friend was grinning, but it was soon revealed to him by his chuckling companion.

"Jimmy Preston?" He snorted a laugh. "She left you for Jimmy Preston!?"

"Don't you fuckin' start…". Lloyd warned him, pointing a finger at him. "She left me for him… I thought I made that clear!"

"Jimmy Preston… the jockey from Lynchburg! Your woman left you for him! HA!"

Seeing the amusing side to the story that Lloyd could not, Baker broke out into a fit of laughter at his fellow officer. Concerned that there might be a brawl if Lloyd reacted angrily, Lance was getting ready to have to separate the two, but Reeves knew better. Whilst it did still annoy Lloyd that he was being mocked, this was their way as a group of getting over problems together. They would often mock each other, but there was no malice in it. To be able to laugh at such issues was quite important, because they would face sterner ones in combat where their personalities would be tested to breaking point. If they were snapping at losing a woman to an opportunist back home, they stood little chance for success against a live enemy.

"What's so damn funny?" A confused Lance asked. "Cut him a break, Johnny".

"Lancey boy's right for a change. Give him a couple of minutes at least, Johnny… and then we can all talk shit about him!"

"Jimmy Preston…".

"Don't!" Lloyd slammed his fist onto the table again, which only spurred Baker on more.

"Jimmy Preston is four foot fucking seven… he's a midget! My little cousin's taller than him and she's ten years old!"

Finally, they understood and the laughter flowed rather freely at Lieutenant Lloyd's expense. The woman he'd left back home, the one he thought he would one day marry, was now sharing sheets with a jockey, that Baker happened to know. The young Lieutenant was quite knowledgeable when it came to horses, and he knew the jockey going back years, consequently making it very much amusing for him to know that Lloyd was losing out to him. Reeves could barely contain himself, giggling away like a young child in the corner, without an ounce of sympathy for his fellow officer. Lance too was taken by waves of glee, leaving Lloyd to have to sit out the storm as they mocked his predicament.

"I'm glad y'all find this funny". He grumbled.

"What!?" Reeves shot at back him through his laughter. "I ain't gonna pat your damn shoulder and say I'm sorry for you. Your woman's ran off with a damn jockey, it's hilarious!"

"He ain't lyin'". Once again, Lance added fuel to the fire. "I… I can't believe. Your woman likes fuckin' midgets!"

His words brought another rip-roaring round of joy through the officer's mess, as Reeves and Baker were still struggling to contain themselves. Frustrated, Lloyd decided that he wasn't going to stick around despite not being that angry at his friends for mocking him. Getting himself a little bit of air after what he'd read was probably for the best anyway, to calm him down before returning to his duties. The last thing he wanted was for the men or the Captain to get wind of what was written in the letter, his trust already with his fellow officers when he knew they would say nothing. The three of them wanted to keep the joke private between themselves, mostly because of just how funny that it was.

Another couple of minutes of distracted laughter later, Reeves and Baker returned to their letters as Lance watched their body language from where he was sat away from them. Unlike Lloyd who was aggrieved by what he was reading, there seemed to be signs of positivity from the other two. It was Baker's letter that he was more concerned with, seeing as his sister was the one who wrote it. Their marriage was due to take place as soon as Baker could return home, with Lance in tow, a marriage that should have taken place before they left. Time was the enemy back then, and as the same element went on, the youngest of the Hamilton siblings was beginning to believe that he was going to have make sure it happened. If they went into combat then he would have to ensure he did everything that he could in order to keep Baker safe, so as to not break his sister's heart if he returned home without him.

"How's your woman then, Reevesy?" A bored Lance asked as the minutes continued to pass by. "She ain't left you to play pin the tail on the midget as well?"

"Ha! No, she ain't like Lloydy's girl… she's a good girl. She's well". The Lieutenant Commander explained, ending on a gentler note.

"You gettin' soft on us?"

"I ain't never gonna be soft on you, Lancey boy. You ain't got the brains for me to relax around you!"

Internally resenting being told he was not smart, Lance simply laughed off the remark to Reeves. He was a smart man in his own mind, though that was perhaps giving more credibility to him not being as smart, as only he thought it. A young man with grand plans in life he might not have been, but with the wealth of the Hamilton family behind him, then he could do anything with the brains that he had. If he was that stupid, he quickly thought to himself, he wouldn't have picked such a perfect target for his plans to ensure the Hamilton bloodline would continue. Erin Quinn proved that he was a clever individual in his own right, the perfect young woman to knock up and leave her fending for herself and the child, when he would want nothing to do with them after the deed was done. Reeves didn't know what he was talking about…

"She's said she can't wait to have me back home". Returning to his usual self, Reeves began to beam from ear to ear. "She misses me so much and thinks of me every night… and every day. I am one lucky son of a bitch, I tell you boys".

"I hope that bed of yours back home is ready… she'll be all over you by the sounds of that". Baker sniggered.

"Johnny Boy, that bed's seen a lot, I can tell you". A smirking Reeves chuckled.

"I didn't need to know that".

"Neither did I". Lance responded too.

Unwilling to read anymore of his letter from back home, and not needing to when the other two had heard enough, Reeves sealed it away to leave all the attention on Baker. His letter appeared to be considerably longer than the other two that were received, albeit Lloyd's was never going to be very long when the subject matter was taken into account. Heavily invested in what was said in the letter, Lance had not only moved to sit closer to his friend, but was also leaning in. There was a more than likely chance that Baker would allow him to read some of it anyway, but it didn't stop Lance's curiosity. He wanted to know that Christina, as well as the rest of his family, were safe and well.

"So?"

"So what, Lance?" Baker replied, having finished the letter, looking across to his friend. "The letter wasn't addressed to you".

"Come on Johnny, you know why! Is everyone alright?"

Pausing dramatically, Baker knew the power that held over his younger friend and was going to maximise it in order to heighten the tension. Lieutenant Commander Reeves could see it too, doing his best not to start laughing again when Baker was clearly stringing Lance along. The free-flowing banter of the officer's mess did not take any prisoners, and in the spotlight, it was Lance's turn to bear the brunt of the jokes. Usually somewhat unflappable, and very much hardened, he was starting to panic inside when his friend did not reply but just looked at him. The younger man couldn't read what his eyes were saying, unable to see that he was in fact being played for a laugh. When it came to his family, he didn't enjoy jokes being made, not when he relied upon them so heavily. His parents might have been strict raising him, yet oddly it made him more attached to them as well as all of his siblings. Lance prayed they were all healthy.

"They're all fine… even Alexander and Samuel".

Alexander and Samuel, his two older brothers, were serving the country too, albeit in a different theatre. They were out in the Pacific, part of the 27th Infantry Regiment, who were fighting in the Guadalcanal campaign as he was conducting coastal patrol. The difference between the two tasks was incredible, but they were all doing their part for their country. Alexander was a Major and Samuel a Captain, though they did not serve directly together. Out on the front lines, they were only just getting started in the campaign, having relieved the tired marines who'd fought out the original phases of it. The last letter they'd sent home each to their parents, confirmed that they were alive, a message passed onto Lance through Christina.

"Thank the Lord…". A sigh of relief breathed, Lance felt his shoulders ease, the weight of worry coming off them. "Has she said anything about how they're gettin' on?"

"'Course not, they can't tell her shit, you know that!" Baker almost reprimanded him. "They ain't dead Lance, that's the good thing".

"I bet they're seein' more action than we are". Grumbling, Reeves butted in. "I'm pleased for you though, Lancey boy, you can stop fucking worry about it now".

"I know… I know".

With his focus off of his family, knowing that they were all safe, Lance could divest all his energy into his plan. Before he did so though, he wanted to hear a little more from back home. As much as his conscience was settled by hearing that the family were all very much safe and well, he still wished to hear more. He'd never thought of himself as homesick before, but deep down within himself, there was an element of it to his demeanour. As the youngest, having the constant attentions of the family around him at all times, not a day went by where he was without his family. America's entry into the war changed that, changing him too. The day that he was able to return home to see them, with his serving brothers hopefully returning home too, would be a very special day indeed. There was a war to win and a woman to impregnate first though, before he could start to contemplate such a return to normality.

"Is Christina alright?" Lance enquired with Baker about his sister.

"She's fine". Nodding, Baker gave his most sincere answer of the day. "I think she wants this war to be over more than we do".

"She said that?"

"No but she sure does want our weddin' to happen, the moment the two of us are back home".

"The two of you? She don't need Lancey boy there?" A puzzled Reeves spoke up. "He ain't givin' her away, is he? Are you?"

That was not going to be Lance's role on the day, but he was a shoo in for the role of best man. It would feel strange, he knew, to be the best man when it was his sister getting married to the groom, but Lieutenant Baker didn't have too many viable candidates for the role other than Lance. When the roles would be reversed, when he managed to snare himself one of the many girls he admired back home, then Baker would be his best man too. He sometimes caught himself dreaming of the young women he'd left behind by signing up to fight, hoping that they hadn't found themselves husbands in the time that he'd been away. It also helped to wash away the thoughts of having to be around Erin for extended periods of time, who in comparison the girls back home, was an abomination in his eyes.

"I gotta have a best man, Reeves". Replying, Baker turned his head to the superior officer. "Can't be up there on my own at that damn altar".

Not for the first time that lunchtime, Reeves found himself smirking. He pointed the index finger of both his hands back at himself, self-advertising his own credentials to supersede Lance.

"Handsome… loyal… a good talker… I'm the perfect best man. You wanna keep everyone entertained, don't cha?"

"You gotta be fuckin' jokin, I ain't lettin' you loose as best man". A stunned Baker replied, taken aback completely.

"Why not? Those are all brilliant qualities".

"I know… but I can't leave you alone with the bridesmaids for two minutes, in case you fuck all of them! I can't be havin' you rollin' around with Christina's friends while we're waitin' to get married!"

Placing his hand over his heart, Reeves pretended to be heartbroken by the comment, whilst retaining a wry smile across his face. His curved lips matched those of Lance's, who was having far too much fun after the rather more dutiful start to the day that they'd had. Very much reassured that he would be the best man at the wedding when Reeves' case was falling rather flat, he was pleased too that Baker saw that he could place his trust in him. Their friendship may have stemmed from the Lieutenant being engaged to his sister, but without her in the equation, they were still quite good friends too. He didn't have too many other friends that he got one with that well, a true blessing for the young American.

"I would never… I'm faithful to my woman back home!"

"Faithful? We both knew you've been with at least three women here". Countering, Baker raised an eyebrow.

"That's different… she don't know about that".

"Different my ass!" Baker almost shouted. "Lance here is my best man and that's final. Unless he gets himself killed… then I might have to give you a chance, Reevesy".

"Hear that Lancey boy, you gotta watch yourself".

Death was a part of service, but Lance very much feared it like most men did. The truth about him, was that beneath the layer of the solid young gentleman that stalked the corridors of the ship, was a coward. Testing and training exercises, were one thing, but the heat of battle was going to be a very different fear for him to conquer. He might not have liked to have think it, but he would almost certainly cower under fire. It was another reason why he was not fit to be an officer; he wouldn't lead by example, he'd leave it to somebody else. They would all have to watch each other backs anyway though, especially when none of them expressively wished to die at the hands of the Nazi's or the Japanese.

"Anyway, we can't focus too much on our women back home…". Baker began to eulogise. "… but we can focus on Lance's little Miss Quinn problem".

Groaning as the other two snickered away, Lance knew that the conversation would work its way round to him eventually. His immediate issues were back on land at the docks they would be returning to, a situation that only ever seemed to grow in complexity and issues. If his own worries, as well as the bet he had with the other two present were not in existence, then he would have given up on his plan long ago. Unfortunately, such fate was not allowed to befall him, leaving him to have to deal with the situation in the way in which he was doing. There was more to the issue than just her though… a rather bigger problem for him to tackle, which his friends were well aware of.

"Just get it over with". He sighed.

"Hey, Lancey boy, we told you this was a bad idea!" Reeves bemoaned him. "Don't you get angry because you only just worked that out".

"I have it under control. She's mine now and… you know, I'm working on getting her into bed. It's just taking time!"

Erin's reluctance to move onto the next stage of their relationship infuriated him. Sometimes he wondered whether she was withholding something from him, but he did not know what. As far as he was aware, she was completely in love with him, with no chance of her having anyone else that she could perhaps be in a relationship with. When she'd confided in him that she wasn't ready to have sex with him, there was a strange amount of fear in her voice. Quite why a woman so young would be so afraid of physical relations was beyond him. He'd never met any young woman back home with such fears.

"What about the Englishman?" Baker asked about James, prompting Lance to scowl.

"That bastard ain't gettin' near her". He responded quickly. "If he thinks can muscle back in then he's gonna pay!"

"Lancey boy, he'd kick your ass!"

The lack of faith that Reeves showed was understandable, especially when Lance agreed with him. A fair fight between the two of them would only end one way, and it would not be in his favour. That was what his friends were for though; to even up his deficit against the Englishman, who could very well decimate him without them. Killing him was not something that they could do, not wishing to risk getting caught for it. Giving him a beating that he would not forget was well within their sphere though, and between the three of them, and perhaps Lloyd if they could rope him into assisting too, they could really do a number of the retired Vice Air Admiral.

"Not if you boys help me, remember. I think we gotta consider hurting that bastard".

"We?" Baker almost shrieked. "We said we'd help Lance, but that's if he threatens you properly. I ain't goin' picking a fight with that guy. He's fucking massive!"

"Johnny Boy's right, Lance. We gotta wait till he comes to us".

Waiting was not what he wanted to do. Waiting meant time, and time was one thing that they now all knew they were running out of. There was so little of it left for him, to be able to complete his plan with Erin, that James would have to be dealt with much sooner. If he was going to get in his way, and therefore hinder his chance of continuing on the family bloodline, which in turn left him in debt to Reeves, he would have to be removed. Without even knowing that he was dealing with one of the most well protected young men in the whole world, he was going to have an uphill struggle. His card was already marked by British Intelligence too, not that he knew of that either. The important thing for Lance, was speed.

"I ain't got that much time. I can't afford to take chances!"

"Relax, Lancey boy". Reeves tried to calm him, getting up from his seat to put a hand on the aggrieved man's shoulder. "February eighteenth, that's the day we're shippin' out. You have a couple of months and we ain't got another patrol until the last couple of days of the month. Make your damn move over Christmas!"

"That's worse. All her fucking family will be around then!"

"Then lose yer damn bet and abandon yer stupid fucking plan!" Baker roared. "God damn it, Lance, you have to do something!"

He was going to have do something, of that much he was certain, but what he did and when he did it was a matter of conjecture. James Maguire wasn't necessarily the only obstacle in his way, but he was the only one that Lance thought that he could deal with. Erin's mother was another barrier, but there were ways to counteract her if he could get the blonde alone. It was only James that he feared, only James that could truly finish him if they had to fight it out. To succeed with his dishonourable plans, he would have to continue with his dishonourable nature, and extended such unpleasantries to James.

What he didn't realise was that James was more of a danger to himself, than to anyone else…

---

It was almost as if they were in a nightmare when she walked in a few minutes earlier. There were only so many places that one expected to see Sister Michael, the Bank not being one of them. She didn't frequent it very often at all, not when there was little need for her to go her there for conversation. Whenever she did go, it was usually a very quick stop before she returned back to her home. The fear that she could instil in those that were in her school many years before was still a legendary trait, one which was no different for the McLaughlin's. Ian and Tommy would never admit to being scared of her, but there was an air to the nun that made them at the very least worried. She carried herself like a phantom in the night some days. That day was one of those days.

It was because of their boss, the city's favourite English son, that she was there. On her prior visit to the bank, when the two of them happened to not be there, she'd asked James if she could leave a donations box for the church. When there was barely any spare cash to go round amongst the general populace during wartime, it was unlikely to be filled but she would not be deterred. There were those from a wealthy background that were clients at the bank, who could most certainly afford to throw away a penny or two. Returning to see the progress, it was James who was absent, leaving her to speak to the McLaughlin's. When the takings were not to her liking, it was the two of them that she took out her frustrations on.

"This is quite poor, gentlemen". She noted, counting the little money in the box. "Do ye not encourage yer rich clients to give to the church?"

"It's… it's difficult, Sister Michael". Ian tried to explain. "No one can afford to give so much when they need the money to eat".

"Right… and those clients of yers that live in mansions in the country. They're struggling to eat, are they?"

They both sighed at her argument, which was fair without taking into account what little they could do about the problem that she was highlighting. The two of them would have loved to be in a position where they could just give money away, but the world was not fair in that sense. There was not a lot that either of them could do, unable to force their clients to part with the cash even if it was for a good cause. The church itself could have done with some work to it, though even Father Peter conceded that it wouldn't occur until after the war, if it even did at all. It wasn't as if the local community could pull together to complete the work either, as it would need a professional to tackle the job. That was before the lack of building supplies was even placed into the equation.

"I imagine a lot of the other nuns will be very disappointed…". The Sister continued, her disdain evident. "The church is desperate for money. It will make them very… upset… to know that the local bank are not doing all that they can to help".

"Sister we…". Tommy went to explain, before hesitating. "… we can't make people donate. It's against the point, surely, of… ye know… donation".

"Are you being smart with me, Mr McLaughlin?"

"No! Not at all!"

Tommy was a grown man, yet he still remained terrified of the nun, who was glaring at him. She was giving him a look to suggest that it was up to him to fix the problem otherwise she would be glaring at him a lot more. It wasn't as if she held any control over his life, but anyone who'd ever been to school when she was headmistress, found themselves to always be inferior to her when it came to power. Always holding dominion over those she'd watched over whilst they were being educated, she was a force to be reckoned with. Disrespecting her at one's own peril it would be, as it always had been. Well aware of the reactions that she could elicit from simply walking into a room, the nun always used it to her advantage. The McLaughlin's were certainly on the end of it, on what was a cold December day.

"What about you?" She turned on Jamie, who'd been sat quietly working away at his desk on the other side to the brothers. "Did ye encourage any of the wealthy clients to part with the money they didn't need?

"Don't look at me". He huffed back in return. "I'm not involved in any of this shite".

When Sister Michael was the only other member of the public present in the bank, they wouldn't reprimand him about his language. That didn't mean that Tommy and Ian were impressed by Jamie's response either though, far from it. Swearing in the presence of a nun was not something that they would encourage, especially when that nun was Sister Michael of all people. In truth, it was not the first time that their colleague rubbed them up the wrong way, and like Erin and Orla, they weren't entirely enamoured with him. When it came to his work they could have no complaints, but neither Tommy nor Ian could stand his constant praising of the Soviets. Some days he would try to convince them about how the ideals of Soviet society were fundamentally better than those of their own, leaving it to them to tell him to be quiet when they thought he was waffling on about nonsense. Neither brother could pull off the look that the Sister was giving the fella though.

"Ye don't want to do yer part for the community…". She thought aloud, moving slowly towards Jamie. "… I know your mother though, she's always been a staunch supporter of the church. Why aren't you?"

"Leave my Ma out of this!" An annoyed Jamie replied, drawing himself away from his work to enter battle with the nun. "I'm not interested in yer stupid collection. So wise up, Sister, and get lost!"

It was clear to see that he hadn't been a student under her during his childhood, as no one that ever went to school during her reign would ever dream of speaking to her in such a coarse manner. The lack of respect was evident, the young fella not caring that she was a nun nor a fearsome one at that. All that he saw in front of him was a member of the church pedalled out in order to fish for donations. None of them at the bank other than James would be able to afford to give any money, and nor would he force the hands of those that could either. If he was going to get the rich to part with their money, it would be for his own benefit and not that of the church.

"Yer mother would be very disappointed". She finished off with him, mentioning the fella's Ma again, to his annoyance.

Making a mental note to remind Jamie of his conduct later on, Ian shook his head in the fella's direction to make sure he understood the message. He didn't see it though, returning to his work as the Sister made her way back towards the McLaughlin's, having been able to get nothing out of Jamie. Her hopes to talk to the Englishman about the donations seemed to be dashed, the only one of the bank staff who wasn't present. It was the early afternoon on a Thursday, which left James little reason other than to be in and working. In the days where Mr Feeney ran the bank, he would often have an afternoon or two off, but the conditions were different then. He had a junior manager to watch over the place in James and there wasn't a war on. As the new manager of the Ulster Bank, James not only had to contend with the backdrop of war, but he had no junior manager either. Where he was, puzzled the nun, whose curiosity rather got the better of her.

"Where's Mr Maguire?" She almost snarled the question in Ian's direction. "Has the shepherd abandoned his flock?"

"N-No… Sister. He's… he's just havin' his lunch break, isn't that right, Tommy?"

"Aye. Absolutely". He responded quickly, smiling towards the Sister, who scowled back at him.

"It's a wee bit late for lunch, is it not?"

Sister Michael was not convinced by them, mostly because she remembered the signs of them lying. Both of them deployed a slightly nervous twitch whenever they were being economical with the truth, she remembered it well from her time as headmistress. Why they would find the need to lie for their boss, she did not know.

"He started late, so he did". Tommy filled her in quickly. "If ye wait, I'm sure he'll be finished in ten minutes…".

"I don't wait for Englishmen". A stern reply was returned to him.

"Right… then…".

"Goodbye gentlemen….". She began, before glancing over again to Jamie. "And you".

The young fella did not flinch at all at the lack of respect she showed to him, which only mirrored what he'd shown her. Ian could admit to jealousy when it came to the lack of fear that Jamie was showing towards the sister, a lack of fear that he could only dream of. She soon turned on her heel and rather stomped out, taking the donations box with her rather than leaving it behind to see if any more takings were made. The brothers looked at each other, taking a sigh of relief, glad that she was gone so they didn't have to feel as if they were at school again. She'd raised a very valid point though, as well as correctly guessing they were not being completely truthful. James should have been out there with them.

"Do ye think we should… ye know, check on him?" Tommy asked his brother.

"Aye".

Deciding not to involve Jamie, who probably didn't care less anyway, the two of them headed over to James' office door. When the bank was as quiet as it had been all day then they could afford to leave Jamie to man the front whilst they went to see what James was up to in his office. There wasn't really much that he could be doing, especially as he wasn't making much noise. It wasn't as if he'd managed to sneak a woman back there, although the brothers were aware that there would only ever be one for their boss, and she was unavailable. Down the road at the factory, Erin was sat on her stool daydreaming of a future that she wanted to have instead. She wasn't hiding in the Englishman's office, that was for sure.

Knock… Knock…

Knocking the door lightly, the two of them received no response at all. Tommy's knock was perhaps too soft, but it should have still been loud enough for James to hear them. He wasn't exactly deaf, not like Feeney who occasionally needed a real smack to be given to the door if he'd gone to sleep in there at lunchtime. The old bank manager could spend all day asleep if he wanted to now, though that was not always by choice. Ian had heard through friends that his health was deteriorating quite rapidly, with even the thought of him not seeing Christmas beginning to grow in the minds of those closest to him. He was a harsh taskmaster at times, but there were far worse bosses out there. Far worse.

Their current taskmaster was their priority though, and they needed to find out what was going on with him.

Knock! Knock!

"James". Ian whispered. "James, are you alright?"

When a further answer was not received, both brothers were beginning to become concerned. It wasn't like James at all to not answer them. He was a gentleman, who even at his absolute busiest would always have the time to at the very least be polite. When they thought about it further though, it wasn't the largest of surprises given how he'd turned up earlier that morning. They'd brushed off his appearance as he walked in, even if they did ask a rather obvious question upon seeing him, thinking nothing more of it when their boss seemed to return to his normal self during the morning. There was always a spring in his step as he commanded his employees, showing the qualities that made him a brilliant officer in the Fleet Air Arm firmly to all those who cared to watch.

Tommy wasn't keen on waiting any longer, pushing down onto the handle to open the door. He was only stopped from swinging it open by his brother's hand on his wrist, slowing him down. Ian was more cautious, concerned about what they might find when the door was opened. Doing so at much more of a reserved pace was for the better, in case what they found was not so pleasant at all. James didn't strike him to be that sort of man, but he'd been to war whereas they had not. He'd seen a lot more than they had.

"James…". Tommy whispered again as they entered the room. "James…".

"Shut it Tommy". Ian said from behind him.

The first brother stopped, with the second almost walking into the back at him. For Ian, his view blocked, the worries he already held were only growing. Something wasn't quite right, which was a problem for him when he couldn't see what it was to be able to make a judgement. Almost having to push Tommy out of the way, his heart rate was racing, heart almost jumping out of his chest with nerves. He was soon calmed though, because there was no such scene of devastation that he'd been initially worried to find when he walked in. There wasn't anything wrong with James as such, not in the way he expected.

He was fast asleep, head on the desk. So zoned out that he'd not heard the knocking nor the call of his own name. It wasn't what they were expecting in a good way, but that didn't mean that they were satisfied with how they'd found him either. James was always so full of life and zest, that finding him completely out of it on Thursday afternoon was quite the surprise indeed.

Moving forward lightly, the two were trying not to wake him, even though they would be doing so a moment later anyway. As much as James might have appeared to have needed the sleep, they needed him out the front, not tucked up in his office at the back. Every step the two took made them look up to check that he hadn't been woken from his slumber, each time hearing the soft snores of their boss, completely at peace. He'd taken his jacket off, his office surprisingly warm, the garment laying over the back of the chair in front of his desk. Next to where his head was resting on the desk, were a few ledgers neatly stacked on top of one and other, along with a lamp that he occasionally used when working late. They were almost all the way up to the edge of the desk when his head started to rise.

"I… Ian… Tommy… what…".

"Ye were asleep, James". Ian confirmed, the brothers having stopped on the other side of the desk. "Fast asleep, so ye were".

"Christ!" He replied, jumping out of his seat, and nearly falling over.

His head felt very woozy all of a sudden, the Englishman having to put a hand on his desk to steady himself. He'd gotten up far too quickly having been fast asleep, his body yet to process the change as he barely was able to stand. Ian and Tommy didn't rush over to help him, the space too tight for them to pile around him. They knew he wouldn't collapse completely, though neither of them could quite work out what was going to happen. Tommy thought to himself that his boss must have been in the deepest of sleeps to be unable to get to his senses quickly, and his eyes were also red from what must have been the heaviest of dozes.

"Take it easy, James". Commanding him, Ian became the boss for a moment. "Ye'll end up hitting ye head… what's wrong with ye".

"Good god…". James breathed out, taking his hand off the desk, feeling more assured again. "I… how long have I…".

"Fifteen minutes longer than ye should have…".

"Tommy!" His brother reprimanded. "It's fine, if ye needed it, James. Apart from Sister Michael, we've not had anyone else about".

Running a hand through his hair, he looked more stressed than rested. Horrified that he was so late in getting up, when he'd only intended to rest his eyes for a brief moment, James began to castigate himself internally. He was not supposed to be showing them that there was a problem, his burdens being his own to carry rather than anyone else's. Tommy and Ian might have proven to be good friends over time, but they weren't there to help him get over the issues he was having at night. Speaking to them about it was not only bad for him if they were to tell anyone else, but it showed significant weakness, a weakness that could not be allowed to fester. He'd seen off the ghosts of his past before, the reason why they were all ghosts, and he would do so again. He would…

"Right… right… is she alright?" Finally coming to his senses, he enquired about the nun.

"Moaning about the donations… so aye, nothing new". Tommy cheerily replied. "She had a wee bit of a barny with our Jamie though. He didn't handle it so well".

It wasn't the first time Jamie had caused a problem with someone, but James was stuck between a rock and a hard place when it came to dealing with him. Risking Clare's secret, not that Jamie knew it, he could not afford to have the fella stop seeing her when he did not have an alternative plan to help. He hadn't meant to placate Clare when he told her that he would do all that he could to help her, but like Michelle, Erin and Orla before him, he'd simply ran out of ideas. The diminutive blonde would have to either face up to the fact she could never live the life she wanted and get married, or run away, out of the reach of her Da. With the war still raging it was far more difficult to do the latter, making the former the more likely choice. Telling her that was another matter though, and as long as Jamie was on side, he could delay the choice for his friend. That didn't mean to say he wasn't keeping a close eye on his employee though, a lot closer than the employee realised.

"I'll… I'll have a talk to him, remind him of what is expected". James nodded, his sincerity appreciated by the brothers. "I can only apologise for my behaviour, I did no-".

"Stop worryin' about it, James. Ye didn't miss anything important and ye look like ye needed that sleep".

"If yer tired, yer tired". Tommy added. "Ian's right, no harm done, aye".

No harm might have been done, but James couldn't help but feel less honourable for his actions. They were of course right, that he hadn't done anything to bring his honour into disrepute, but typically he would not see it. Sleeping on the job was criminal as far as he was concerned. Throughout his time in the Fleet Air Arm, he became used to long days that sometimes turned into two days, always having fought off the need for sleep in the past. The routine of his life at the time demanded it though, whereas a couple of minutes of shut eye at the bank on a quiet Thursday was the ample time to catch up where he previously wouldn't have been able to. The war effort didn't hinge on fifteen minutes at the Ulster Bank in Derry.

"Ye remember what day it is don't ye?" Testing his boss' awareness, Tommy continued.

"The tenth… the tenth of December".

Nodding to confirm, Tommy was satisfied that his boss hadn't caught amnesia. It was a date that James could not forget, one he would never be able to. It was a special day, so much so that he already had the flowers ready to mark it. That was for later though…

"How's the hand, James?"

Referring to the bandages that were wrapped around the right hand of the bank manager, Ian showed significant concern about it. When he'd turned up in that state, a most unusual sight indeed, he didn't know what to think. His brain didn't engage and come up with multiple suggestions, because there were no dominant ones. James injuring himself was the only explanation, which was what he'd said in a hurry when he arrived for work earlier that morning. It wasn't like the boss to have the need for bandages, albeit he didn't know the extent of the injuries James suffered after being gunned down accidentally by the nervous young Italian soldier in Taranto. He was almost mummified then with the injuries that he'd received, his body still carrying the scars from the incident. The hand injury was a very new wound.

"Oh… yes… yes it is feeling much better". He confirmed shakily.

"How did ye manage it again?" Enquiring, Tommy's face was covered with a frown. "Some broken glass?"

"Yes, Tommy. I smashed a glass and was not very careful when I picked it back up. It appears I have become a clumsy fool".

"Aye… right…".

Ian's reply made it clear to James that he was unconvinced, with nothing more that the Englishman could do to convince him. It was not the exact truth at all, that was different, a scene from the night like so many others that plagued him. They just wouldn't leave him alone, the cut hand an offshoot of the pressure that he was under from his past. His battered conscience was screaming at him, but still James did not know what it wanted or in another light, perhaps what he wanted himself. Apart from Erin… he wanted her, but he could not have her. That was hidden from his colleagues though, and from anyone else who might have cared enough to help him. No matter how much he hid from the world, he could never escape them.

"Well, I should not lose anymore time". James announced to them, clearing the air. "Come on, we have work to do".

Organising his troops, James regained the control he'd lost under their questions. Tommy might have been persuaded easily enough, but Ian did not believe that his boss simply cut his hand on a bit of broken glass. He was smart, too smart to be that clumsy, even if he might have been tired at the time that the supposed incident took place. How the glass broke was a mystery to him as well, although it could be easily covered over as having dropped onto the floor. A different story altogether transpired the prior night though, the real reason for why James was needing to sleep at lunchtime. He hadn't managed a wink during the night, bar the couple of hours before he'd got up when he needed a drink. It was a drink that was required when he was so parched, yet at the same time one that he was regretting the next day.

They just would not leave him be.

And he remembered it well…

He knew they were behind him.

Knew that they were back again, to remind him of all of his failures.

The three musketeers they were, but there was nothing noble about any of them when they were torturing him almost every night. The frequency of their visits grew, even if they were not always completely potent. Kurt was always the lead instigator, but John-Paul and Aisling had their say too, sometimes even stronger than the deceased Nazi Doctor. The chills caught James immediately, feeling their eyes on the back of his neck without the need to turn. All three sets bore into him, his heart beginning an imperious gallop that he would not be able to stand, breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Shock was kicking in, even if he wasn't actually that shocked. It was the fear of what more they would show him or want him to do, that utterly terrified James.

He'd failed them when he did not kill Erin at her Aunt's wedding, when the opportunity was there. It was meant to be his destiny, but yet again James escaped the script that was set for him, undermining Kurt's master plan. The Nazi was trying to make him suffer from beyond the grave, the image of the man conjured up being just as vile and reptilian as he had been as a mortal. Desperately urging his killer to end the life of the young blonde that was holding him back, he reminded James of those failures relentlessly on every visit. The other two always joined in too, the main point of their continued visits. If they could break him, then they could change his mind… or he could change his own mind. They were conjured up by him of course, his own conscience attempting to argue that Erin should no longer be allowed to live.

"James…". Kurt spoke first, the usual routine beginning.

"Kurt". He spat back straight away, still not moving, instead taking another sip of his drink before speaking again. "Here we are again".

"We are, James. You still have not killed her". The Nazi replied, James able to hear him pacing around behind his back. "My killer who will not kill… it is not a good look".

Growling, James resented the title as he always did. He was no Nazi's killer, he was James Maguire, retired Vice Air Admiral of the Fleet Air Arm. He was mortal too, something that none of the others were that were present in the cottage that night. All he'd wanted was a glass of water, waking up from his initial sleep to find that he was as dry as a bone. Always hydrating well, it came as a surprise to him to feel so thirsty, but he thought he could counteract the problem with water. If he hadn't have raised himself from his bed then they would have probably come to haunt him anyway, but he couldn't be sure. He could never be sure when it came to the ghosts of his conscience, who did not play by the true rules of the world, because they were not of it.

"I have told you all before… I will not kill Erin. I love her".

"You love her still…". The Nazi mused. "I do not understand why you cannot see that she is your problem. Why hold out hope for her, when you have none?"

There was no answer to the question, not one that would satisfy them. If he truly asked himself then he had to wonder too, because there was no chance of Erin ever loving him again. Friendship was not out of the question, but he would never have her where he wanted her, by his side for the rest of his life. Lieutenant Hamilton was the man with that responsibility, though unbeknownst to James he did not plan on seeing through with it. Even with the American out of the way, it still would not be him that she would turn to. There would be another fella that came along that stole her eye, each man getting one chance to commit to standing by her side. Their time had passed, even if the feelings of what was a golden age in both of their lives, still remained… for her too. There was a still something there for them, locked away behind unsurmountable barriers. Forever.

"Ye can't answer, can ye?" John-Paul snarled at him, not that James knew. "She's got ye beaten James. The fuckin' hero, who can't even get over Erin fucking Quinn! Pathetic!"

"She's not worth it James!" Adding to the lacerations, Aisling practically bellowed. "Ugly… stupid… narcissistic… what do ye see in her!?"

"Answer them James!"

Kurt's demand was not going to be answered. They did not need to know what made her attractive to him. He loved Erin not for her looks, but because of how unique that she was to him. When they were together, he'd never felt such contentment before, as if she was a part of him rather than just his lover. There was more than just sex to their relationship, there was genuine friendship and similarities that drove their love further. If they were in a crowded room, their eyes would always meet, one being there for the other whenever the need arose. Complimenting each other, her creative mind against his gentlemanly image, anyone at the time could have remarked how they seemed built for each other. Aisling couldn't have been more wrong in what she was saying, malicious words designed to hurt him, that were miles from reality.

"She's worth more than any of you ever were or ever will be!" James huffed, taking another sip of water. "Just go. You cannot convince me, you fail every time! My life is miserable enough without the need for you all to make it worse!"

For a moment he heard nothing, no longer feeling their eyes upon him. Perhaps they'd truly understood the message, that there was no point in wasting their time on him when they'd never be able to break him. If they thought that he would give in and hurt Erin, they really didn't know the man that they were dealing with. Being without her alone was enough, the three of them able to see him suffer through the rest of his miserable days, however many of them he had left. A lifetime left without ever loving another woman as much as he loved her, that was his destiny rather than ending her life. It was the price he was paying for not being there when she needed him. One lost child condemned him to a miserable existence, and when the time came, a lonely end. There was only so much his close family could do to mend his broken heart.

They could not see it, but a lone tear streaked down his right cheek as he became lost in thought.

All three of them were there still though. As he felt the tear drop from his skin, he could sense the eyes on him again. Only this time he turned to face them, to confront his fears and his conscience head on rather than turning his back on the past. Any future that was possible, would have to start with vanquishing them first. It was one task too far, it was always going to be. They held far more cards than he did, seeing much more than he would ever be able to whilst he was live. Each ghost was born from his conscience… which they could see into.

"You will not kill her… but you will kill other innocents". Making the remark, the Nazi took a step forward. "We… we may not be innocent but there are two others that were. A man and a woman…".

"In the wrong place…". Aisling took over.

"At the wrong time…".

When John-Paul finished off their assault, a bomb dropped in the stomach of the wee English fella. It could have been David and his mother that they were speaking of, or perhaps Giovanna, but none of them fitted in with the rhetoric that his conscience constantly drummed into him. They were all friendly faces, unhostile to him. The metaphorical explosive went off when he realised who they did mean… and what they meant to him. It was a memory he could not revisit… would not revisit. To survive all the way back home, he'd had to adapt and compromise and on one occasion, to some extent, compromise his own morals. Doing all that for Erin, looking back without her at his side, only brought James a great deal of shame.

He had to stop them.

Stop himself.

"NO!"

"YES! YES JAMES!" A maniacal sounding Kurt screeched. "WHAT ABOUT THEM! They… they did not ask for you to kill them!"

"I DID NOT KI-".

"Aye ye did James! The great fuckin' little King, killin' the innocents to get home to what? Erin Quinn? That bitch doesn't even want ye… who does!?"

No one wanted him, that's what he was beginning to conclude himself. He was nothing more than a nuisance to his family and friends, a blight on their lives. Better people around him were forced to live with his presence, when they deserved to be enlightened by at least a gentleman of standards and class. The James Maguire of December nineteen forty two was no longer that man, his use for the world being rather redundant when he was no longer active in the Fleet Air Arm. The glass in his right hand was caught in a vice like grip, trapped like he was in a world that did not exist for him in the way that he wished. Like Clare, his avenues were quickly running out…

"Matthieu…".

He gripped the glass tighter.

"NO!"

"Jeannine…"

"NO! NO!"

Paralysed with trepidation and unrelenting anguish, James held onto the glass as if his life depended on it. They were two names of his past… two people he did not want to see. They were not dead… he hadn't killed them, he was sure of it. He still wasn't proud of what he had done, the acts he was forced into to stay under the radar, crucially out of reach of the Vichy French soldiers that patrolled that particular area. He should have never entered their land in the first place, forced to out of the desperation to seek shelter from the rain that battered southern France on that day. They just couldn't stay away from where he was hiding, getting themselves into the situation when they shouldn't have done. The same situation James promised himself he wouldn't conjure in his mind was being conjured there, the Englishman left powerless to stop it.

"Do you want to see them, James?" The Nazi asked him. "Can you look them in the eye and tell them their deaths were worth it? For Erin?"

"STOP! JUST STOP! I… I…".

"YER WEAK!" Roaring like a lion, John-Paul inched closer, Aisling to his side doing the same. "Too afraid to look back… to realise what ye've done!"

"NO!"

SMASHHHHHHHH!

The glass, like its owner, could not take any more pressure. It came apart in his hands, the glass burying itself into his skin to draw blood. He did not see that though, not at first, because he'd closed his eyes. When they opened again, James was not drawn to the crimson columns oozing out of the palm of his hand, but to the lack of ghosts that surrounded the room. The glass smashed, breaking their hold as well as his own. That was what they'd came for, to taunt not to completely finish him. Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden was in charge of them after all, and James' conscience provided the only image of the man that it knew. One of pure savagery.

It was then that he looked down at his hand, ripped apart by glass. The following seconds told him how much it hurt but it would never hurt as much as the constant pain that he'd been in since he returned to Derry. One of the heart, an ache that began the moment that he saw Lance stood next to Erin, his beloved taken by another man.

It was that, not the bloodied, glass filled hand, that kept him awake all night, sobbing into his soft pillow.

Living without her… just did not work…

The half hour or more's sleep he did manage at the bank was the best rest he'd gotten in weeks. James was keeping it together, but his hand showed the proof that beneath the distinguished armour as a gentleman and former officer, he held vulnerabilities. The chinks in the armour grew to gaping crevices, only covered because those on the mortal plain did not dare climb up the surrounding rocks. Just like David, like Giovanna, like his own mother Kathy, and others, those who got themselves far too close to him, did not live to see out their days for much longer. Then there was Kurt, John-Paul and Aisling. They suffered too because of him, getting too close with the worst intentions in their hearts and minds. Whether it was through light or darkness, those who chose to insert themselves into his journey, were battered out of the way.

Walking out to the front counter of the bank, another young man was poised to do the same, in order to escape the hell he was being paid to live through as Clare's supposed lover.

Jamie wanted out, unaware of the odds that were against him…

---

"I'm just sayin' Joe, I don't think it's rational".

The latest argument between Joe and Gerry was kicking off at the Quinn house. The former turned up around eight o'clock, proceeding to berate his son-in law for one thing after another. Once his original tirade was over, it should have been settled that there would be nothing more happening that night. No more arguments and certainly no more threats of death. Except it wasn't over, because Gerry decided to do something so foolish that Mary could barely look him in the eye after he'd done it. There were a number of things that were inadvisable to do around Joe, but to mention Maureen Malarkey's name was just about the worst crime possible. Proceeding to then tell him that his response that her name should never be mentioned in between the walls of a good house, was irrational, showed that Gerry clearly wasn't thinking straight. Mary wasn't going to come to his aid, leaving the two of them to battle it out.

"Not rational? You try bein' in the same room with that woman for ten minutes… then we can talk about rational!"

"I have been Joe… every week at church…". Gerry replied, with significant less enthusiasm.

"Don't get smart with me, boy!" He reprimanded him. "You know what I mean. I've lost too many good days in the company of that woman, and I won't have her name being spoken of here!"

Rolling his eyes, Gerry nodded lightly to accept that he wouldn't mention the name again. Although he understood why they didn't like Maureen, she'd been rude about the family on more than one occasion, he wasn't a man to hold grudges for lengthy periods of time. As far as the southerner was concerned, as long as they stayed away from her and she stayed away from them, it didn't really matter at all. Unfortunately, his sensible opinion was not one that Joe agreed with him on, nor Mary. She watched on from the kitchen, having not long put Anna to bed, tidying up the plates after she'd washed them up. Erin was home too, though she was up in her room, most likely writing or simply just resting. It had been a long day for her, especially when she was up earlier than normal like the rest of them, the day being as special as it was.

"Ye could always… forgive her?"

Gerry was doing himself no favours, leaving Mary wondering whether she should join in with her Da just to make him realise how ridiculous he was being. Maureen Malarkey was their greatest nemesis sans the Nazi's; forgiving her was out of the question. Those bridges were burnt years before and would not be rebuilt on his suggestion. Maureen didn't like him either, not that Gerry had any particular problem with her other than when she'd been rude about the family. The scowl that was on Joe's face was not one that he wanted to see again though, confirming to him that he was about to be blown away by anger once more.

"Forgive Maureen Malarkey!? Ye great eejit, what planet did ye wake up on this mornin'!?"

"The same one as you, Joe". Gerry sighed. "Look, I'm just sayin', that instead of resenting the woman, just let the past be the past. She's hardly started a world war now, has she?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if she advises Hitler!"

"Me neither!" Mary called out from the kitchen. "That woman's the devil's spawn, so she is!"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't ye think love?"

The glares that Gerry received in return were enough to scare any man, no matter how hard hearted they were. He was very much on the other end of that scale, immediately knowing that he'd overstepped the mark by questioning whether his wife was exaggerating or not. She was, he knew and just about anyone else knew, but it was not a democratic society in the Quinn household. If Joe and Mary thought something, generally it went. His father in-law didn't even live with them, and he held more sway in the house, such was Gerry's predicament. There were days when he wished for an ally, having once thought he did have one, other than Anna. When she was asleep getting ready for her final day of learning at school for the week, he was very much alone.

"Obviously not…". He concluded. "Anyway… any plans for tomorrow, Joe? They're sayin' the weather will be bad".

"And why would ye need to know that?" Snapping back, Joe was not going to leave him alone. "Ye followin' me around are ye!?"

"What? You know I go to work, Joe… when would I get the time to check what yer doin'… whatever it is that yer doin?".

"It's none of yer business, ye slack southern shi-".

Knock! Knock!

Saving Gerry from yet more abuse was the sound of the door being knocked. At first, he glanced over to Mary to check that it wasn't her creating the noise from the kitchen, even though it sounded more as if it had come from the front of the house. She looked back at him with a face of perplexation, indirectly confirming that she was not the cause of the noise they'd all heard. A visitor at that time of the night was most strange when there was no chance that it was Orla from next door, not when she was most likely asleep along with her Marie. Sarah, and perhaps even Shane after their marriage, would not bother to knock, knowing that they could simply just walk in. Michelle and Clare were also on the same terms, though if the latter was ever on her own, she always knocked out of courtesy. The dark-haired girl always led the way if they were together, the blonde hardly getting a word in let alone being able to apologise for a lack of manners.

Joe announced that he would answer the door, leaving Gerry to wander over to where his wife was stood, for the two of them to contemplate who it would be. They'd seen almost all of the rest of the family throughout the rest of the day anyway thanks to the occasion, which left a very short list of potential arrivals at the door that night. It could have been the cops, not that any of them were knowingly in trouble. Unlikely to be them though, there was a higher degree of likelihood that Joe's friend Jim from across the road would be at the door. He did have a habit of turning up at random times to talk to his friend, although he generally went to the house next door to do so. Seeing Joe walk over to the Quinn house was possible from across the road though, if he'd specifically sat and waited for him to do so. Gerry couldn't think of anyone else, but his wife did have an idea for another candidate. The fella that she was thinking of was not out of the question, even if he was quite possibly out of his mind for turning up. It could have been…

"James!"

Answering the door by almost pulling it off his hinges, Joe looked out to find the Englishman stood there in the near dark. He'd brought a torch with him, which illuminated his face somewhat, the only way to identify that it was actually him. Apart from the broad shoulders, some of the broadest in the whole of Derry. To the patriarch of the family, it too was a surprise that the retired pilot was the one stood in the doorway of the house that night. Slightly. He'd always suspected that at some point during that particular day, that he would see James, though he thought it more likely to be in the morning. It should have been in the morning, and would have been, if the young man wasn't the complete mess he was at the start of the day. Still knackered, his features did not show it, James looking as healthy and handsome as ever.

"Joe… are you well?" He enquired, getting a rare chance to talk to a man he respected greatly.

"I'm alright, so I am son. Fed up with this feckin' cold though…". Shivering as he spoke, Joe told no lies. "It's Baltic out here! How are ye only managing in that suit!?"

"I wish I could say that I am just fine and could barely feel it but… that would be a lie. I am not uncomfortable, I would point out".

"Rather you than me. What's with the…".

Pointing to the object in James' left hand, the uninjured one, Joe already knew the answer. If James tried to lie to him then he would certainly call him on it, although he vaguely remembered the Englishman once telling him he didn't enjoy lying. The older man could remember the same thing being said by the young man's mother, even if he'd heard the words long ago. Kathy detested lying so much she'd instilled the same virtues in her son, a remarkable trait for a woman who was a spy, that utilised deception almost every day in some capacity. Using his injured hand to tug at his suit jacket, James cleared his throat to prepare to answer Joe with the truth.

"I… I was wondering if Erin is here? If I could… talk to her?"

Eyeing him with suspicion as well as what resembled a knowing look, Joe dipped his head as a confirmation. There wasn't a lot that escaped his attention, a speciality of his, and thanks to what his daughter told him, he knew his granddaughter and the wee English fella were no longer on the best of terms. Not in comparison to the terms they'd parted on when he left to serve, a brave decision that he commended and understood, having done so himself during the last war. He'd been too old to fight then, if truth were told, but for Joe the decision was quite simple. The Germans were an enemy that threatened their security… if it meant fighting in the British Army then it meant fighting in the British Army. Britain's great triumphs were never possible without Ireland anyway…

"Ye sure yer alright, James?" Joe asked again, to the Englishman's surprise.

"Ye… Ye-yes… yes I am sure". An equally puzzled response was given. "Do I appear to not be?"

"No… ye just don't quite seem yerself".

Panicking about how close Joe was to realising that there was indeed a problem, James needed to cover his tracks quickly. Already exposed by the McLaughlin's at the bank, who he'd managed to fend off despite Ian's doubts about him, he was not about to allow Joe to do so too. Nobody was to know about his problems, about how weak he was when he could not even defeat the ghosts of his mind. He hadn't been himself for a long time, not the version of himself that he wanted to be. What he could say for certain was the exact day and location of when he really did not feel himself anymore. It could have been at any point during his captivity, yet he retained part of the man he wished he was all the way through that experience and France too, even if it was eroded during the journey, as he'd been reminded of the prior night.

The day he returned to Derry, in the garden of the Quinn house… that was the moment when he no longer was himself. No one else knew, though it was not to say that others did not suspect it to be the case. Love was a deadly poison that could run freely through the veins of the hurt, who would be transformed forever in some cases. It was beginning to look that way for James…

"I am tired, Joe". He chuckled, papering over the cracks. "This afternoon was surprisingly busy at the bank. Sister Michael came in, and then we had Father Peter in there…".

"Father Peter? What was that pious dose doin' at the bank, the man wouldn't know a shilling when he saw one!"

"He…". James coughed, clearing his throat as a tinge of red enflamed his cheeks. "He was helping Mrs McLelland with her finances".

The amorous adventures of the priest were well known throughout the city, even if few dared to speak of them. Both of them knew just as much, although James was only a recent convert to the belief after finally giving in when even Deirdre told him what she knew. Outrageous behaviour for a man of the cloth, especially in such a public setting, he was not the example that the church should have been setting. The key for the Father was that he held power over all of those within the church community around him. No one could speak too loudly in case they were silenced by those allied to him, allowing him to continue on with his ways. Mrs McLelland was one of many.

"Right…". Joe dryly moved on. "It's good to talk to ye James. It'd be good to more often ye know, smart fella like yerself. I get about as much intellect from Gerry as I would from a toilet door".

Swallowing his laughter, James did feel sorry for Erin's father, who was constantly under the verbal assaults of his father in-law. There'd been a time before the war, when he was together with Erin, that he once envisaged himself being in Gerry's shoes, and Gerry's in Joe's. There would be no repeat of the treatment suffered in that scenario, he'd thought at the time, which was certain when he was no longer with her. Sliding into the pit of despair that those thoughts brought him was not what the banker wanted though, not on a day that was supposed to be vibrant and special. He just wished he felt that vibrant… or special. Although according to his true birth certificate, he was never not going to be so.

"I'll get Erin for ye".

Winking at him, against the rule of local society, Joe saw how James' mood lifted instantly when he heard that he would call Erin down. It might not have rectified the general malaise that surrounded James, but it most certainly was a start. Quite clear for him to see was that the young man still loved his granddaughter, a far greater man than the one she was currently with too. Lance did not carry the same favour with him as James did, as James always had done from the very first few minutes of knowing him. Reliable young men with good hearts were not a given, leaving him astounded that Erin would choose the American over him when the Yank did not hold a single enviable quality.

"ERIN!"

"YES GRANDA!" She called back.

"GET YERSELF DOWN HERE!"

There was a momentary pause, which made James wonder whether or not he should even be there. His conscience fought against him for that too, albeit without the need to conjure up the ghosts of his past as support. The message that he was sending out by being there was not exactly one that she was going to approve of, based upon their last extended conversation. When she'd ran after him after he'd left her house, the two of them engaging in words that hurt them both considerably, what he was doing that night was almost the perfect example of what she did not want… but he was always going to be the gentleman James Maguire, despite the demons that haunted him telling him he could not be. Special days were to be marked properly in his mind.

Footsteps bounding down the stairs broke him out of his nervous, trance-like state, though he could not see her approaching as Joe was still in the way. His presence was only temporary though, as after a quick look back at the Englishman was complete, he removed himself as a barrier between them. There were more obstacles in their path than that though, but it was a path that was no longer occupied by two young lovers on the road to fulfilling their dream of spending their lives together. Blocked off, feelings would always be re-routed into a diversion around the memories that lay along the path.

When her Granda moved out of the way, Erin's heart almost stopped when she realised who was at the door. Hearing it from upstairs, she'd assumed, like her Da, that it was Jim from across the street. A small voice in the back of her head had wished for the man that it actually was, all day, finally being rewarded for its consistent patience. That voice was too tiny though, unable to fight against the weight of the past as well as messages that swirled around that told of love for an American. Messages that sounded more as if they were forced statements, then genuine, natural love that came from the heart…

"James…". His name rolled off of her tongue, into the freezing air of the night. "What's wrong with ye hand?"

Immediately Erin cursed herself. She wasn't meant to show care and affection for James, not after everything that had happened, but her conscience betrayed her. The small voice didn't need to become louder inside her; it was her default. The first thing that she noted about the fella that she once loved was that his hand was all bandaged up, her concerns spraying out from her mouth without a semblance of control. Lance came back from training with the crew once, sporting a cut hand that was covered in a bandage, and she'd not even noticed until he was going. Yet with James she was drawn to the injury, as if deep down, she just had to know what it was that caused the hand to require a bandage. To the fly on the wall, it could even to be considered a loving act.

"I cut it on some broken glass at the cottage…". He explained, breaking eye-contact with her for a moment. "… I was clumsy".

"It's… it's…". Awkwardly as she flapped, when his eyes returned to her, she looked away too. "It's not… like you… to be clumsy, I mean".

"No… no it is not".

The tension in the air could have been cut through with a knife there was so much of it. Unlike when they'd spoken after she chased him or as he fought off his own demons at Sarah's wedding, it was more awkward. On those occasions there was anger, once from her side and once from his, though how much control either were in on the respective occasions was debatable. This time there was no anger that surrounded them, neither was there that much else. There was something though, an unidentifiable substance that filled the space between them to leave both beginning to feel their cheeks heating up despite the weather. Neither would admit it aloud, but they were tingling inside as their eyes met again.

Erin didn't understand what her mind was doing to her, all sorts of feelings being dredged up from within that she could not express. She could express them of course, just not when he was stood there before her. How she'd managed to breach her own shields she did not know, scaling the walls that she thought she would be able to hide behind for as long as she was anywhere near him. He'd made her feel the same way before, back when there was no war and peace was very much still in place. That was when she'd fallen in love with him, the handsome English stranger that arrived upon Irish shores to whisk her off her feet. She couldn't fall again, would not let herself, not when she had Lance there for her. Kind, accepting and trustworthy, Lance…

James was the one to break through the tension. He was the only one of the two who was ever going to be able to.

"Happy Birthday, Erin".

The special occasion was her twenty second birthday, a day he would never be able to forgot, even if he tried. Engrained into his knowledge, it meant just as much to James as it did to her. It should have been a day that they spent together, had fate been so kind to them, Erin being able to relax as he treated her like his Queen. Prince to no one, a part of him spoke throughout the day of how he should not go to the Quinn house that night, that he should stay away from her to allow her to live her life. On the other hand, he could not allow himself to not mark the day for her with at least the smallest of tokens. That was why he held a bouquet of flowers, painstakingly picked out by himself, doing so for her. Birthdays were to be treated with reverence, and to James, Erin's birthday was almost sacred.

With the flowers thrust in front of her, for the second time, Erin was betrayed by her mind's immediate decision to revert to what was appearing to be her default. She accepted them without hesitation, almost snatching them out of his hands, but not without committing another fatal mistake too. For the briefest of seconds, the skin of her fingers touched his. Actual bodily contact between them that was initiated by accident, she tried desperately to ignore the way in which her heart began to beat faster in her chest. James's emotions mirrored hers, but he did not ignore them in the same way. He could not act on them, not there when her parents and grandfather were just a few feet behind her. The rush that he longed for her, the feeling of her skin on his… James was left to savour what he knew was going to be a rare moment thanks to the past that hung over them.

"I… they're…".

Lost for words, Erin could barely function. The flowers were all irises, neatly arranged in a formation around one lonely red rose that sat in between them. A rose amongst thorns almost, not that the irises were prickly. Leaning on her delusions of poetic grandeur, the rose could have even been an English rose to symbolise the man in front of her. James was amongst thorns in Derry, an odd fit in a city that should have resented him, driving him away from the very moment that the citizens laid eyes upon him. Somehow though, she made the connection to the rose that it represented them, not just him. The loneliness of being isolated from each other for so long, memories of pain still battering her mind from three years earlier. They were the lone rose in the bouquet of irises.

But she couldn't linger on such notions.

She loved Lance now… absolutely loved him. Loved him so much.

There was nothing strange about how she continually had to remind herself of that whenever she found herself around or thinking about James.

"They're beautiful". Speaking up, slightly hoarsely, her eyes flickered back to his.

"I am sorry that I have brought them to you so late in the day, but I was not able to do so this morning after my hand injury". He held the hand up, lightly huffing as he did. "Michelle told me about Lance being away and I… I thought you might appreciate the gift".

He knew the dangerous ground that he was walking, but when the American was not there to oppose him, it was worth the risk. The moment that he looked up at her again after speaking his name, he could see the panic and confusion that was settling across Erin's face. It threw her, him mentioning the Lieutenant. Almost jolting her back to reality, she remembered what Lance was to her properly as well as the volatile horizon that he was placing gently in front of her. James was not being aggressive in what he was doing, she knew that, yet she could also not show him what he wanted to see. There could not be cracks in her walls from his side, only from her own. Their time was over, long over and as much as she did appreciate his sentiment, lines were being blurred then traversed. Lines that could and should not have been.

"That's so… thoughtful of ye…". Once again, as she spoke, Erin disengaged eye contact with him. "I… I didn't expect ye to remember…".

"How could I forget?". He replied, scratching the back of his neck whilst looking everywhere but at her.

Tension was rising… rising fast. They could not act but both saw the trails of their own breath in the air and if they listened closely, would hear the beating of their own hearts. James would have given anything to close the gap between them, to capture her lips, never to let go again. All it was, was a pretty dream.

One dream that Erin could only shatter, no matter how much it truly hurt her.

"But… but I can't… take them James".

Suddenly, the flowers were thrust back towards him, along with all of the hope he'd began to build from the moment she spoke to him as if he existed again. The air changed too, as whilst it still nipped away at the exposed skin of those who were out in the night, the tense bubble around them burst. Sadness and sorrow, James' usual feelings when he was alone, charged into the space that their feelings towards each other previously occupied. That was normality though, having been that way since the very moment that Erin realised she'd lost their child, almost three years before he found that normality to be in operation. Her fault it would not be, not ever, but she was hurting him again.

"Erin…".

"I can't". She reiterated her stance, though her voice was unsteady. "I… know… know that ye mean well, James, I… I do. It's just… if I take these it… it looks as if…".

"As if you have accepted a birthday present from a friend?" He offered, interrupting as she struggled for words.

Erin sighed. Oh how she wished it was that simple, that it would be viewed as just a gift from a friend. Through her tunnelled vision of the memories of agonising days that were long in the past, James handing her flowers could not be trivialised in the way he suggested. If only life had not decided to ruin their future together, it could have been so different.

"I… I'm sorry James". Barely avoiding tears, she continued. "Yer… yer not… there's nothin'… I… I find it hard to… to see you as…".

"A friend?"

The most idealistic dreamer would have told himself that it was because she couldn't see him as anything else other than someone that she loved. Despite all of his nightmares, James remained a realist.

She nodded back to him, adjusting her feet, out of shame if nothing else.

"I… I can have ye here… around the family and… and I wouldn't want ye to… to…". She paused, before lowering her voice to a quiet tone. "… leave. I… I just don't think that I can be… friends… not after what happened".

"Erin, please… I am not asking for anything more. I would not when you are in love with another man, but can we not talk about the past? Can we not put it behind us?"

"I'm sorry, James… I don't think I can".

He knew that it was a likely outcome, but for a brief few moments he'd dared to dream that she might be able to move on. His words were not false, he would not try to force her away from Lance, but over time as a friend, the possibility to appeal to her more was there. If anything it would teach the American to always be on guard, forcing him into respecting her in the way in which she should have been. Hit with the hammer blow that was the most likely, James was fighting back the tears just as much as she was. Trying to look her in the eye, he found that he could not. At the same time she tried too, but they ended up looking in different directions, which rather summed up their future. Different paths, with different people, away from each other.

"I understand". He choked the words out. "Goodbye, Erin… enjoy the rest of your birthday".

Clutching the flowers close to his chest, along with the torch that he'd retrieved from his pocket, James rushed off into the night. There was no one to hear him cry out in the lanes that lead to his cottage, only the hedgehogs acting as an audience to his teary outburst. From the door of her home, Erin watched him leave with a tear trickling down her cheek too… and then another… and another. She knew she didn't have to cry when he was not meant to mean anything to her anymore, but it was no use. Drilling down to the depths of her conscience, would reveal to her the real reason as to why she was just as upset as he was, not that she would allow herself to visit that area. Exploring those feelings was just not possible not when it would likely lead to her falling again, which she was terrified of doing. After all, Lance was there to love her in James' place, a fact she reminded herself of for at least the third or fourth time that night.

She could only ignore the voice in her head that told her that she never had to remind herself that she loved James… when they were together, of course.

"You alright love?"

Frozen at her mother's words, Erin could barely move her hand to her cheek to clear her tears away. Loudly clearing her throat in the most unconvincing style, she took a step back from the door, shut it and turned around to face her Mammy.

"Aye… I'm fine". She hurriedly answered, making a move for the stairs.

"What did James want?" Mary quizzed her immediately, not allowing her to escape.

"He…". She came to a stop, with feet and mouth. "… he wanted to wish me a Happy Birthday".

"That was class of him".

"Ye… ye it was".

Mary knew enough about her daughter to know not to hold her up. Escaping to her bedroom allowed Erin the one place of sanctuary where she could cry without being hindered. She would cry that night too, she knew it from the very moment that James spoke Lance's name to her, to remind her of the present that she lived in where the American was her fella.

When Mary glanced into the kitchen, she found the dejected smiles of her husband and her father. They all knew that Erin would cry that night too… god knows how Mary could have done as well if she was not made as sternly as she was.

They could all see what James wanted, and what Erin needed. It was just a terrible shame that the unfair rigours of life did not allow for her to see it.

Destiny though, for one of them at least, was a lot closer than anyone quite realised…