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 :)

84. No Escape

Chapter 84: No Escape 21st December 1942

"Not again…".

Ian's sigh reflected what both his brother and his boss were thinking. They were often left to think that way, with it being James' responsibility to tackle the issue that they were all growling about. He'd been as diplomatic as he could be around Jamie, without treading on eggshells that could not be trodden on from his point of view, but even the patient Englishman was at the end of his tether. When he'd employed the young Irishman, he thought that he was getting a competent worker that he could leave to it as he dealt with the more high-profile clients of the bank. Whilst his technical ability was not questioned, Jamie's attitude to dealing with some of the clients of the bank was not acceptable. Snapping at them when they asked the most basic questions that they held every right to ask, it was not the conduct that was expected of him.

"He's treating that poor old woman like shite…". Ian grumbled to his brother. "She only wants a wee bit of information".

"It's about time James did somethin' about it… he can't go on like this!"

James didn't mean to pry upon their conversation, but the moment that he did, he realised that they were spot on. He'd tried not to pay much attention to what Jamie was doing, wanting to be able to have the correct trust in his employee to conduct himself appropriately. The manner in which he was speaking to the older lady did not sit well with him though, leaving him in a position where it would have been a failure of his own responsibilities to not intervene. He was always going to intervene that day though, a plan already formed for a few days. Lunchtime was meant to be the designated time, and though it wasn't that far away from being that time of the day, it still was earlier than planned. After his time in the Fleet Air Arm, he was used to having to change plans, making a compromise more than manageable. When he'd not been visited by the demons that haunted him the prior night either, he felt spritelier than he often had done since returning to the city, giving him the energy to be able to do his job.

Rising from his seat at the back, behind the others, the movement caught the eye of both Ian and Tommy, who were very much pleased by it.

"Finally…". The latter spoke first.

"Aye… well I hope this time he's sterner with him". Ian added.

"Maybe he'll tell him not to come back… I'm sure James could find someone else to start after Christmas, like".

The festive period was in swing already, with just a few days left until the big day itself. They'd seen somewhat of an increase in activity during the prior week, the locals getting in before Christmas began to sort out their finances. For many there was very little to sort, but for those lucky enough to have some savings, they were ensuring that they were very much saved. Affording special gifts was almost impossible for most, although the greatest gift that they all had was being alive and, somewhat, free. There were families in France, under the full grip of their Nazi invaders, that were not allowed such luxuries. For Ian and Tommy, the best present would be a new colleague to replace Jamie.

"I'd rather have no one if he can't…". Tommy mused once more. "Sure, thin air can't start an argument with an old lady…".

"Aye but we'll have too much to do, Tommy". His brother fairly pointed out. "I don't want to spend any more time here than we do already".

"Aye…I suppose yer right. We best see what happens anyway".

Although he'd walked over towards Jamie, James was waiting for the right moment to stop his conversation with the old lady. She'd spotted the manager approaching which appeared to relax her, but the boss was going to wait until his employee finished speaking, before confronting him on the matter. Once again, he found he could not criticise the fella's technical knowledge when it came to job as he listened in, but Jamie simply did not put himself across well to the clients. The poor old lady only wanted some information and advice, not the sort of questions that should have led to the employee being quite frankly rude to her in return. When he appeared to pause for breath, the Englishman found that he could not hear any more.

"Mrs Simpson, isn't it?" James spoke, finding Jamie's head bolting round to his presence. "Perhaps Ian over here could assist you?"

"That would be grand… thank ye. Yer a kind man for an Englishman".

Trying hard not to bask too much in the warmth of the compliment, James simply smiled and nodded his acceptance to it. He'd spoken to her before, remembering the name somehow when that particular conversation occurred before the war, at a time when he was a junior manager. From what he'd seen of her, she was a kind old lady who did not deserve the treatment she was getting from a member of his staff. Annoyed that his superior interrupted him trying to get rid of the pesky old hag, that was what he thought she was in his mind, Jamie was left glaring at James' back. He wouldn't dare glare at him if the two faced, more than happy to show an expressionless look when the boss did eventually return to talk to him. He had no idea of what was about to happen, as opposed to James, who knew exactly where the day was going.

"Is there a problem?"

Asking a rather obvious question, it was even more obvious to James that Jamie's conduct was not good enough. The McLaughlin's already thought the same, with plentiful evidence to back it up with, the bank manager joining them in their thoughts. The plan he'd already concocted remained valid for the task at hand, not that it made it much easier. If he'd have only chosen one of the other candidates that he'd interviewed, then he probably wouldn't have gotten into the same mess. Then again, he might not have been able to convince any of them to act as Clare's lover. Her situation made him reprimanding Jamie a much harder task than it should have been, though it had to be secondary to the one at the bank. As much as Clare's life was important to James, he could not have Jamie carrying on the way that he was. Annoying the living daylights out of Sister Michael was one thing, but to continue to be rude to other clients, especially the elderly, was a step too far for James' liking.

"No". Lying, which he hated to do, James set the wheels in motion. "I am going out for a drive at lunchtime and I need to have a talk to you. I need you to take an earlier lunch and come with me, if you do not mind?"

"Doesn't bother me… what do ye want to talk about?"

"We will discuss it in the car". Calmly and professionally, James answered. "I will just speak to Tommy and let him know we are going out. You can wait by the car, if you like?"

"Alright…".

Trooping out of the rear door of the bank, Jamie went around to the Morgan, to wait for his boss. Tommy watched him leave, no longer focused on his work but what was going to happen that lunchtime. Although he was helping the poor unfortunate Mrs Simpson, Ian too was keeping an ear open, aware that the two of them would be left to hold the fort at the bank whilst James dealt with their Jamie problem. He hadn't confided in them as to what he was going to say, which left it intriguing. Once Mrs Simpson was sorted, there being no other clients present in the bank that lunchtime, both knew they would be drawn into speculating what might happen. In a strange way, they were looking forward to it.

With Tommy debriefed on their lunchtime plans, James made for the rear door of the bank himself. That was until he was called back by his employee, who'd risen to his feet, moving away from the front counter so that they could talk privately. He asked his boss whether or not he could have a word with Jamie about something that wasn't work related, practically whispering it into James' ear. Clare, Erin and Orla were not the only residents of the city who were forced to suffer through his monologues about the Soviet Union, the McLaughlin's growing tired of hearing how Jamie thought that their way of life was superior. The brothers could put up with a lot of things but hearing how the Russians had it so much better than them was not something they could stand. For a start, they were firmly against the Soviet way of life, much like many were, not believing that it was as good as it was made out to be. Tommy hoped that James would be able to convince their fellow employee, to stop muttering on about such nonsense.

Setting off on their journey, James already knew the route he would be taking, right down to the last detail. The plan was meticulous, though it was always going to be when it was done a few days in advance. When he'd took Jamie aside the last time, later on in the afternoon after Sister Michael's visit, before his rash trip to the Quinn house, he'd only very lightly took him down a peg or two. Jamie saw him coming that day, dangling the fact that he could reveal he was paying him to act as Clare's lover to not only the McLaughlin's, but to the rest of the city. The scandal that he would start was far greater than he realised, but the Irishman didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he held an advantage over his boss, which gave him plenty of credit. What he didn't realise was that James was not a man that anyone could ever hold in their debt.

Driving down the winding country lanes, James was wasting fuel if anything. When there was so little of it to go around it was quite selfish, but he was always going to be supplied because of who he was. A regular bank manager acting in the same manner would not be allowed to continue without being reprimanded, but there were no other bank managers in Britain who happened to be the first born son of the King. In that regard, as well as many others, James was alone. There was no talking to be had at all during the first few minutes of the drive, the two enjoying the peace of a crisp winter's day before the inevitable chat. Jamie didn't have to say anything anyway when he was the guest on the journey, waiting for James to initiate proceedings. As soon as they rounded a particularly sharp bend outside of the city, he did so.

"Do you have plans for Christmas?" He began, tackling a lighter subject.

"Not really. I'm not that bothered about it". Jamie glumly replied. "How about you? With yer cousin and family or what?"

"They have invited me to spend some time with them… but…". James paused, sighing slightly. "I think I will only stay for a short while. I would not want to be a burden upon them".

Nodding, Jamie was only doing so out of politeness, not really that bothered about what his boss would be doing over Christmas. He wasn't really that keen on the festive period that much, not being particularly religious despite a Catholic upbringing. He was similar to James in that regard, going to church without ever really believing in what he was doing there. His boss didn't appear to be that bothered that he only answered with a nod, James continuing the drive, allowing for another minute of silence before taking up the conversation again. The small talk wasn't going to last, not when there were problems were to discuss.

"I suppose you are wondering why I have asked you to come with me?" The Englishman enquired.

"Not really". Jamie replied sharply. "The eejit brothers don't like somethin' I've done again, I bet… or do ye need me to marry Clare?"

The subject of Clare was one that James knew was unavoidable, but he wanted to sort out the problems at work first. Jamie's attitude towards their clientele was going to have to change, though James was left to sigh at his correct guess that Ian and Tommy were involved. The complaint might not have been directly made to him by them, but when he heard what they said, he could not simply let the problem go. His employee was going to be dealt with anyway that lunchtime, their comments merely hastening the process. It might have even been too soon, he thought, but if it was then he could always resort to other tactics. There was flexibility within his plan for that lunchtime, there had to be, not least when he wasn't sure how the young Irishman would react.

"Jamie, we both know you are very capable at your job, and I cannot fault your work". Starting with a compliment, James' diplomatic head was fully on.

"Aye… I know". Slightly smugly, he huffed. "So what's the problem then? If I'm as good as ye say I am, what do ye want from me?"

"I know we have spoken about this before…".

"Ach not again!"

"Jamie, let me finish please". James commanded, a voice of authority that cleared the air. "I cannot have you speak to the people that use our bank in the way that you do. You have to be more open to them".

It wasn't the first time they'd had the conversation, which was annoying the man sat in the passenger seat. He'd make it quite clear to his boss during the first time they'd spoke about his conduct, that he did not think he was out of line. When James pushed further on that occasion, he'd dangled the Clare card in front of him, leaving James to have to back off. He was doing his boss a meaningful favour by acting as her lover, for reasons he still couldn't fathom. The young woman's father seemed to think they were going to be married after the last time he'd been to the Devlin house, a thought that almost made him wretch. There was no possible scenario in which he would marry the small blonde, who he held no attraction to in the slightest.

"Is this about that old woman?" Jamie groaned. "She was wastin' my time, James! If she can't understand what I was tellin' her, she's better off dead!"

"That is hardly the way to treat the elderly is it?" The Englishman retorted, pausing as he navigated another sharp bend. "You should not take death so lightly".

"Easy for you to say".

"I beg your pardon?"

For the first time, Jamie baulked slightly when James responded. With the heightened sense of passive aggressiveness within the car, he took stock of what he was going to say. Doubting that his boss would ever respond physically, he thought he could almost say what he wanted but if James suddenly stopped the car, he wasn't so confident he would be able to put up a fight if it became physical. The former pilot was a lot more muscular than him, although he was that much of a gentleman then it would be a surprise if they came to blows. Still, he did have a job to think about to. As much as the elderly did frustrate him when they couldn't understand what he was trying to tell them or couldn't hear him, he did enjoy his job. His competence at it made it appeal to him more, testing him without pushing him too far. Losing it was not on his agenda for that lunchtime.

"Ye've been to war". He explained himself.

"I can say with the upmost certainty that regardless of the war, I would not have wished death upon an elderly lady who merely needs more of our assistance that most".

Knowing that James held the better point, Jamie decided not to respond. It would have been foolish to try to argue with James, especially when he could easily outtalk him as well as outfight him. It annoyed Jamie to a certain degree, but he still had the ammunition available to ensure that he would keep his job. Bringing up Clare was not something he particularly wanted to do but he would if it became necessary. However, before he could get another word in, it was James who decided to speak, once again dominating the atmosphere of the car, showing his natural ability to command. Difficult conversation were ones that he was not foreign to, and acting upon Tommy's wishes, he was about to take the difficulty to a higher level.

"There is more…".

Stealing a quick side glance at his employee, James saw the disgruntled look upon his face. To say that Jamie was unhappy was an understatement; he was basically seething. The Englishman wasn't going to take the argument too far when he needed to keep an eye on the road, but he was going to make sure that he got his point across.

"It has been brought to my attention that you have been…". He stopped, trying to find the right words. "… forcing a certain ideology across".

"Those two fuckin' bastards!" He erupted, bellowing. "Can't keep their mouths shut for five minutes!"

"You have to understand that those views are not shared by everyone, and Ian and Tommy do not appreciate you telling them that they are wrong to hold other opinions".

Jamie's love for the Soviets was no secret to James, not when the brothers complained about it, and he heard it from time to time. He certainly didn't share his employee's views that the Soviet's system was far greater than the one they lived in. Unlike Erin who was not well read on the topic and therefore did not know the ins and outs, her former fella did his research. Conducting an ideological debate in the Morgan was not James' intention, but he was prepared should it come down to that. In many ways he was giving Jamie a chance of repentance if they did enter such discourse, because he would have most likely been able to convince him to abandon those views, despite them being held so strongly.

"What's everyone's problem with the Soviets! They're our allies!" Moaning, Jamie was deeply unsettled at being hounded about his views.

"I am not disputing their convictions to end the threats of the Nazi's". Offering a friendlier answer, James began to expand his point. "But every society has it's pitfalls and if Ian and Tommy are dissuaded by those pitfalls then you should not try to force your views upon them".

"But they're talkin' shite! It's all lies about the Soviets!"

"I am sure there are elements about their culture that are highly exaggerated…".

"Like Ian tellin' me that the Red Army's goin' round shootin' Polish people without good reason? They wouldn't do that!"

The lower decks of the HMS Illustrious were a good place to hear of such gossip too, which was why James knew what Ian was talking about it. He'd not heard that particular conversation between his employees, but during his time aboard Illustrious, he knew of what was said about the Russians. The lads on the ship spoke about what they'd heard, that the Russians executed hundreds of Polish officers for reasons that no one understood other than that they were their prisoners. The aims of the Soviet Union were somewhat mysterious to many when it came to what would happen after the war, though the rumours onboard the aircraft carrier at the time suggested another war might be in the offing with them once the Nazi's were dealt with. The Englishman could never prove that they did to his employee, but his own experience could be put to use instead.

"Do you not think it possible for humans to commit such atrocities?"

"Well…". Flummoxed for the second time, Jamie became hesitant. "… I don't know… do you?"

Talking about the subject at hand was not going to be easy for James, but it was what he needed to do. Educating his employee was about all he had left to convince him that perhaps the Soviets were not the heroes that he thought them to be. Although his story was not about them as such, it could be applied the same way. The truth that neither of them knew was that they really were killing the innocents, but so were the allies as well as the Nazi's. Civilians with no desire to fight were just as likely to be casualties to the war machines that rolled around Europe as the soldiers that fought the land battles, the sailors that scrapped at sea and the pilots who flew against each other in the air. Britain offered the hope a peaceful freedom that neither the Nazi nor the Soviets could truly promise. It was Jamie's last chance to see it that way.

"When I was in Italy, I watched a massacre unfold in front of my very eyes…". He started to recall the tale, refusing to dwell on the sounds of screaming children when they assaulted his mind. "Men… women… children… the Nazi's did not care, they just murdered them where they stood. Gunned them down because they were Jewish and did not fit into their vision for the world. The point is, Jamie, it did not matter what flag they represented… it showed just how evil humanity can be when directed a certain way. Do not be surprised if the stories of Soviet massacres turn out to be true… they happen".

When he should have been visibly shocked to hear such a tale, Jamie instead remained stoic. He wasn't going to allow his boss to blindside him with a war story that only told of how evil the Nazi's could be. His beloved Soviets were not such menaces to the world, instead promoting a system that he could support instead of what he believed was the false democracy of Britain, and far better than American capitalism. The Yanks were almost their enemy to him, even if in military terms they were an ally. He would never be able to live under the Americans, unable to accept the Capitalism that they stood behind.

"It didn't happen". He growled. "But aye, if ye want me to shut up about it around those two eejits then I will".

"Thank you, Jamie". Surprised that Jamie would concede, James looked at him with a warm smile. "I appreciate your understanding".

"But it comes at a price…".

The price was exactly what James feared, especially when he knew he did not need to ask to find out what the cost was going to be. From the moment he'd agreed to act as Clare's fella, only the thought of receiving money for the task kept him to his agreement. The additional money helped, the Irishman able to look after his family with the extra cash that he was earning, but he could not keep putting himself through it. Clare wasn't a horrible woman by any means, he just was not attracted to her in the slightest, making it extremely difficult to pretend that he loved her. A bank clerk as opposed to a trained actor, the straw that broke the camel's back was how he had to spend time with her friends as well. Although she didn't like him, the only one he considered alright was Orla. He'd been aware for a long time about Michelle's big mouth; having to listen to it somewhat regularly drove him up the wall. And Erin… Jamie wasn't sure he'd met someone he hated as much as he hated her. She was an unattractive, talentless, gobshite in his opinion, ironically one shared with the man that she was apparently in love with. They'd missed a chance to be acquainted, as Lance would have certainly seen him as a friend…

"Perhaps we could discuss that price on the way back". Quickly intervening, James wanted it to be on his terms. "I have to make a stop first".

"A stop?"

"Yes, my cottage is just up on the right here. I took some files home with me on Friday and I forgot to bring them back this morning… and I need them this afternoon. You can stay in the car, I will only be a moment".

"Right".

Allowed time to perfect the demands that he was going to make, Jamie couldn't quite believe his luck. He could see how agitated his boss had become, very clearly disliking the fact that his little scheme was being brought to an end. He would have to find someone else to play the perfect lover for his friend, or even better, do it himself, the Irishman thought to himself. When he was the consummate gentleman that most thought him to be, including his employee, then James would never be able to string her along. Besides, everyone in the city knew that the banker only had eyes for one woman, who did not have eyes for him anymore. Already well aware that his temporary plan to placate Clare's father was coming to an end, the Englishman knew he needed to tie up a loose end. Smart and cunning as ever, James was always one step ahead of the rude young man that he'd employed.

Exiting the vehicle, he took a deep breath, starting the short walk to the front door. Producing his front door key to make it appear as if the door was locked, it was just for show in reality. From the very moment he'd left the house that morning, he knew that it would be occupied when he returned. It was far earlier than he was supposed to, but he already knew that it was not too early when he saw the other car parked just out of view, in the grassy fields that bordered his cottage. Jamie could not see it from the passenger seat, therefore obscuring a clue that would have been very much helpful to him. If he'd have seen the vehicle, the plan would have been scuppered. Opening the door falsely as planned, James found the faces he expected to be waiting.

On another trip to Northern Ireland, the newly appointed Major Smithers was not overly surprised to find that James had returned a little earlier than planned. He and his men were ready well beforehand anyway, practising what they were about to put into motion. Copeland, Green, Steele and Bickerstaff were all poised and waiting to act in the best interests of their country, as the Major rather candidly described it. Ever since James reported to Charlene that he was concerned about Jamie spreading Soviet philosophy throughout the city, the Intelligence Services monitored him. After Aisling's death, the former pilot held great reluctance about becoming involved in any missions for them. His involvement was paramount for their operation to be successful, however, and when Smithers approached him with a plan, he could hardly refuse. The illegitimate heir to the throne even tweaked the execution of it, making it more his plan than Smithers'. He was the bait being used to lure Jamie, and his job was done. They would handle the rest.

"Smithers". He addressed the Major.

"James". The Major replied, before turning to his men. "You know what to do, gentlemen. I will meet you back at the Kavanagh Estate shortly".

The four of them headed out of the door, to catch a bewildered Jamie by surprise. Supporting the Soviets may not have been a crime when they were allies, but his views were too extreme for them not to act. The last thing that Britain needed was communism, in the minds of the Intelligence Services, and whilst Russia was an ally to defeat the Nazi's, it was not an ideological friend. Northern Ireland was already too volatile for their liking, as proven by how they'd acted to cut off any potential spread of Nazi's beliefs throughout the local community. Smithers enjoyed it no more than he'd enjoyed ordering the death of Jenny Joyce as well as being somewhat culpable in Aisling's demise, even if it was James' instinct alone that cost the young woman her life. The Englishman was silent as the two stood opposite each other, waiting to hear the sounds of struggling that they knew they would.

"OI! WHO ARE YE! JAMES! JAMES!"

"KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT PADDY!" One of the men shouted at him. "GET OUT!"

The barging, bumping and scraping that they could hear from their position inside the house told them that Jamie was putting up a fight, one that was for his life, though he was outnumbered. The four men very quickly took him into their custody, not that it stopped him from screaming for his boss who'd evidently betrayed him. Trying to isolate himself from the sounds was an impossible task, leaving James to have to hear what he knew would be more weight being added to his conscience.

"NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! JAMES! YOU FUCKIN' ENGLISH BASTARD!"

"JAMESSSSSSSSSS!"

"AAAARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

As they led him further and further away, the screams either stopped or began to subside. When neither of the two inside the cottage could hear him anymore, they both breathed out, James doing so more heavily than the Major. Although he knew it would be more ammunition for the ghosts that refused to leave him alone, it hadn't stopped him from completing the task. His country needed him to be able to ensure that Jamie did not spread Soviet ideology, and when the country came calling, James could not refuse. It needed him to be back out on the front line too, to fight in the air and finish the Luftwaffe off for good, but if it couldn't have him there then the least he could do was protect its interests on the home front.

"The woods?" He asked Smithers.

"Yes". Confirming, the Major sighed. "We should make our way to the Kavanagh's".

The two dutifully driven men made their way out to the Morgan immediately, setting off on the relatively short trip over to the Kavanagh mansion. When he could not stay, needing to return to the bank, James was only going to drop Smithers off. Returning to the bank without Jamie would be highly suspicious, but the cover story was already in place as part of their plan. As far as Ian and Tommy would know, Jamie took the decision to leave the bank with immediate effect, asking that James pick up his possessions from work and return them to him at his home rather than returning at all. It still wouldn't be enough for most but knowing how much Ian and Tommy wanted shot of their young countryman, the Englishman knew it would be enough for them.

The problem for James was what to do with Clare. In turning his employee over to the Intelligence Services, he was destroying the walls built around Clare's secret. It was up to him to find the solution, or risk one of his best friends being forced into a situation that he'd helped to create by being more loyal to the country than to her.

He complied with Major Smithers out of a sense of duty, the same sense that made him sign up in the first place alongside David, to fight for their futures.

Somehow though, one way or another, James knew it would be his last action in the name of King and Country…

---

By the time that the evening rolled around, and the duties of the Intelligence Services were long dealt with, the temperature dropped significantly. It was December, so it was to be expected, but the icy blasts did not set well with any of the girls as they made their way home from work. Working all the way through until eight o'clock, they were all quite knackered and when being freezing cold was added to the mix, it did not help their moods. Orla was typically nonchalant about the whole thing, although she was a little quieter than usual given the chilly air. She was probably going to fall asleep the minute she got to Ferguson Street, where she was staying overnight with Marie to allow Sarah and Shane some time with them as a family. Joe was left all alone at the McCool house because of it, unfazed as he was heading out anyway, prompting the rumours of his journey being made to Pump Street at breakfast that morning.

Rumours were a specialist subject for Michelle Mallon, who was more than happy to spread them around her friends to make for interesting conversation. The four of them walked home together every day, used to her stories, yet they never seemed to grow old or repetitive. Granted, there were many stories that turned out to be complete rubbish, details embellished, and deductions made that were totally false. However, from time to time, one of the ludicrous tales that she offered would turn out to be completely true, stunning them all. Endorsing Michelle as correct wasn't always the smartest thing to do though, boosting her ego to uncontrollable levels. Out in the cold of a Monday night before Christmas, it was the last thing on their minds when she started her latest fanatical offering.

"I'm tellin' ye girls, that Lucy who works down the road… she's got five nipples!"

A stunned silence followed, although Erin was hardly too shocked. Michelle made the same argument during the early hours of their shift that day, promising to go out at lunchtime to find proof of her theory. There really was no need for her to go out and find proof of it, not when it was absolutely ridiculous, but she was determined to have her point respected. Why she'd even decided to tell them all was a mystery in the first place, but it was easier not to ask with Michelle.

"That's a lot of nipples…". Orla mused, slightly confused by her friend's statement.

"Too right Orla!" Michelle excitedly replied. "It's dead weird, aye? I mean I know people have… ye know… birthmarks and shite but five nipples… it's mental!"

Orla might have been convinced by Michelle's story, but it was fair to say that neither Erin nor Clare were quite as captivated by it. Knowing how much of a pinch of salt was often needed when it came to their friend's stories, the two gave each other knowing looks. Clare really wasn't interested in talking about a woman with five nipples anyway, the thought even bringing a slight tinge of red to her cheeks. It hadn't been the best week or so for the young Devlin, not when it came to hiding the truth of her affections from her Da. Jamie did his part as he was paid to do, but it was a separate incident that left her struggling. The house on their street that had been unoccupied for some time, that Sean thought would stay that way until the end of the war, suddenly housed a family. One of the two children of the house was older, around their age, a beautiful young woman that she instantly took a shine too. The fact that she could see her room from her own room was proving to be quite the distraction…

"So what about this 'evidence', ye went for at lunch?" Erin enquired with her dark-haired friend. "What did ye do, go and count them yerself?"

"Ha! Good one Erin… classy…". Michelle huffed, rolling her eyes. "No, I found out from her fella".

"Michelle ye didn't!?"

"Wise up, Clare, ye know I'm committed to Clint! Anyway, when I say I found out… I mean I overheard him talkin' about it to his mate".

Frowning in the torchlight that shone between them, both Erin and Clare were mystified, as Orla continued to be somewhat oblivious to the details. Expecting her to have gone down the road to the other factory where Lucy worked, they were surprised that she instead decided to target her fella. Michelle was hardly a spy, not in comparison to the actual spy Charlene, not that they knew, yet her ability to find out such detail was quite spectacular. What stopped her from ever turning her work into a career in espionage, therefore following in her Aunt's footsteps, was her incredible lack of subtly. She'd never be able to go undercover because she'd never be able to keep her mouth shut for long enough.

"Eavesdroppin'… that sounds about right".

"Alright calm down, Erin, no one saw". Rounding on her quickly, Michelle was determined to convince them. "Her fella was tellin' his mate how he's really strugglin' to look at her and not find it… ye know…".

"Funny?" Orla offered.

"Sad?" Clare made her offering too.

"Disturbin'… that was what he said".

Struggling to even contemplate believing her friend, Erin wanted to throw her hands into the air and moan about how little she thought of the tale. It was definitely one of Michelle's stories that she would file under the unlikely to be true, although the woman's fella saying it was disturbing did indicate that there was perhaps some truth to it. Living with such a bodily defect must have been incredibly tough for her if it was true, the blonde knowing and understanding how it felt to live with a body that disappointed her. Feeling the tears beginning to well up beneath her eyes, Erin quickly distracted herself with other thoughts, a temporary measure. A temporary measure because she would never be able to forget the child that she lost three years earlier.

"I feel sorry for him to be honest…".

"What makes ye say that, Michelle?" Clare, fidgeting, quickly pounced on her statement. "It's not his body with the extra nipples, is it… if this is not just made up…".

"OI! It's not, Clare, I'm being serious!" She once again defended her story. "I just can't imagine how hard it is for him with all those nipples to rub".

The collective sighs of Erin and Clare sent Michelle into hysterics, especially when she knew that would be the exact reaction from them. Neither of them were adventurous enough to joke about such things but it wasn't going to stop her from going on. Her story did at least distract them from just how cold it was actually getting. The paths were beginning to freeze over, which did not bode well for Clare who was well known for her clumsiness. She tripped over curbs and fell down muddy banks as if they were daily routines. As they came to the end of the road they were on, it was time for them to part ways too. Michelle and Clare would be heading off in one direction, Orla in another, leaving Erin to make the rest of the journey back to the Quinn house alone. She certainly wasn't scared about that…

"Right then… I'll see you girls in the mornin'". Erin announced to them. "Sleep well".

"Sleep well? Since when did ye ever tell us to sleep well?" Michelle unexpectedly argued.

"Ach come on Michelle, she was just being polite".

Mediating for her friends, though they were far from starting a complete argument, Clare decided she didn't want to have to hear them dispute Erin's kind words. Muttering something under her breath, the dark-haired girl appeared to accept defeat, trudging off with the smaller blonde who waved her goodbyes to the other two. Orla, torch in hand with a face that almost looked ready for battle, marched off towards Ferguson Street without saying a word, leaving Erin stood alone with only her own torchlight for company. Her stomach appeared to have become a battleground for her nerves, a grumble being heard from within. To anyone passing it could have been a rumble of hunger, but she knew better than that. It was one of fear. The quicker she started, the quicker she got home though, which was why she moved off without allowing her mind to play any tricks upon her.

Cutting through the night, she would be home before long, to a dinner that would be welcome. The amount of work at the factory had decreased quite notably that day, which the girls all put down to it being Christmas. December had been a mostly busy month up until then, which Michelle had fairly pointed out one day to be an act to help them by management. If they got the bulk of the orders out before Christmas, then they could almost relax during the last week. Fresh uniforms were beginning to be produced more, mostly due to what most saw as the probable invasion of France in the not-too-distant future. Many men would die in the shirts that they were making, which was a thought that crossed all of their minds at some point. That was the sacrifice necessary to defeat the Nazi's, none of them too naïve, not even Orla, to understand that fact.

Alone with her thoughts, the eldest daughter of the Quinn household couldn't help but fall back into a familiar routine of where those thoughts were directed when she was alone. They should have been directed at Lance, her American Lieutenant that she loved. He was returning to the city the following day, coastal patrols completed until their next scheduled patrol a week later. Erin was going to ensure that she was at the docks to meet him when he returned, although if he was late, she would not be able to stay, his time of arrival set for during her lunch break. Yet she never thought about him when she was alone. It was another man that her mind forced into thinking of, much more of a gentleman than the vile Yank. James, the fella she was once loved… she could never quite shake him from her mind. His appearance on her birthday only made it worse, especially on the night itself, where she cried herself to sleep after having had to force him away. She just couldn't… she didn't know and… it was the easiest way.

Her parents decided not to question her on the exchange in the end, though only after Gerry demanded that Mary did not. Acting on the concerns that any mother would have, she wanted to be able to guide her daughter back to a path of happiness, hating to see her upset. Mary's method would have only done more harm, which Gerry knew, as it would have involved removing Lance from her life completely. The more that they tried to control her life, the more that she would push back. Knowing how highly his wife regarded James, an assessment that he did not disagree with, the southerner was doing what was best for them both, even if Mary could not see it. The only way that James could return to their daughter's side was patience, though even he was underestimating how much it was going to take.

Sticking in Erin's mind the most, a thought she'd been unable to shake ever since seeing it, was the hand injury that he sustained. She wasn't meant to care, it wasn't her problem to have, not anymore, yet she couldn't tear herself away from it. It was most unlike James to be clumsy, his own explanation being short without really being that convincing to her. Although the thought burned her, enflaming her cheeks, she knew him too well and knew he was not telling the truth. He didn't really have a tell but with the Englishman, it was all in the eyes. When she looked into the eyes that once sent her heart racing, still did though she would not admit it, Erin found a great despair that was out of place. The injury he'd sustained to his hand was merely the sign of something else, feelings that her former fella was trying to hide. On more than one occasion during the weekend that had just passed, she forced herself to not go over to his cottage to check up on him. If Lance found out that she'd been there, it would ruin their relationship, a risk too great when she did not want to hurt his feelings. Not seeing James since though, it left her wondering whether he was truly alright.

Soon though, her focus returned to herself. Rather soon than she wanted it to, because she was not yet home and suddenly there was a rather large problem on her hands. Or in her hands. The torch that she was using to see, suddenly stopped working. In the darkness with a good distance of the journey still to go, her prior stomach rumble appeared to have substance. The breath in the back of her throat was stolen, a panic attack beginning. It wasn't as simple as her fearing the dark, it was more the thought of being alone in the darkness, unsure of how to trace her way back home without falling or hurting herself, that terrified Erin. If only Lance was there by her side to steady her feet. Or James. Perhaps James even more than Lance…

No! NO!

Once again she was left to have to convince herself, even as she experienced an almighty cack attack, that she was in love with the American. Of course she was… he was her fella…

"A wee bit lost in the dark there are ye".

"JESUS!"

Erin screamed, not just from the voice but from the light that suddenly sprang up to her side, illuminating a ghostly looking figure. In the light of day, she would have probably held a similar reaction to the person in question who'd somehow managed to sneak up alongside her, as she like many, held a deep-seated fear of the woman. Seeing her face shining in the thin torchlight only made her more fearsome, a fact long realised by the nun.

Sister Michael was her saviour. And the reason why she almost needed a fresh pair of knickers.

"Not quite, but yer along the right lines, Erin". She replied, dead-pan as usual. "What on earth are ye doin' out here in the dark?"

"I… I was walkin' back from work and… my… my torch went out…".

"Typical". Sister Michael shook her head. "I don't think you can go five minutes without gettin' yerself into some sort of bother".

Wise was one way to describe Sister Michael, her words proving that wisdom. Not just Erin, but all of her friends too, seemed to attract trouble of some kind. Throughout their time under her jurisdiction at school, they were never too far away from causing some sort of a scene. She could have been stricter on them at the time, making them pay for what they did, but there was always a sense of entertainment that could be found from the four of them. Whether it was Erin's abhorrent poetic offerings, Michelle's attempts at being as rebellious to the norm as possible, Orla's distracted comments or Clare's cack attacks, they were good value when they were children. That approach still appeared to have left them all quite fearful of her, vindicating the decision she'd made years earlier.

"It looks like I'll have to walk ye back home then…". The nun sighed, before dropping her voice. "… just my luck".

"Ach no… there's no need Sister, I'll… I'll be fine".

"Wise up Erin, I think we both know that ye won't. Now, ye best keep a good pace because I am not catching frostbite because you can't get yerself a decent torch!"

Stern as ever, the nun was not prepared to take no for an answer. Knowing from her time at school that it was pointless to argue the full course with Sister Michael, Erin nodded after a moment. Company for the trip home was most welcome, though she would have rather had one of her friends with her than the sister. To say it was going to be awkward was an understatement. As far as the young Quinn was aware, neither of them had a lot in common. Sister Michael certainly wasn't going to be interested in hearing any of her poetry and by the same token, she did not wish to spend the time talking about the church. However, when weighed against the alternative of walking alone in the darkness where she could very easily injure herself, it was preferrable.

Falling into line next to the nun, the two set off briskly. Sister Michael did not mince her words; she was setting a fairly infernal pace that some would have had trouble keeping up with. When it was as cold as it was that night, it was the appropriate speed to ensure that they were not out in the cold for much longer. Staying silent when she really did not know how to start a conversation with the universally feared nun, it was left to Sister Michael to lead. Remaining silent herself would have been more preferrable, but the two were going to be walking for too long for nothing to be said at all. What made it even more awkward for the woman of the cloth, was the topic she was going to have to discuss. When it came to Erin, there wasn't much else to ask.

"So… how's yer American friend?"

For half a second, Erin wondered whether she'd heard the nun correctly. It wasn't exactly a secret to the city that she was with an American fella, as most of the American fellas were trouble and gossip tended to spread where they were concerned. So far, the Sister hadn't heard any troublesome words about him, not that it didn't mean he wasn't trouble. She'd seen him a couple of times with Erin, out in the city, drawing her own conclusion that happened to fall in line with a lot of others. There was something not quite right about the Yank. Her business to become involved in Erin's love life, it was not, but when there was nothing else interesting about the blonde, it was all that she could ask.

"He… he's… well… I think". She answered nervously. "He… he comes back… tomorrow".

"Tomorrow? Are ye sure? These Yanks have a funny habit when it comes to lyin'…".

"I'm sure!"

Shutting the Sister down, Erin wasn't prepared to listen to another older woman go on about how much of a problem the Americans were. Listening to her Mammy harping on about them, and Lance in particular, was bad enough without Sister Michael pouring her fuel onto the fire. When she so often had to remind herself that she even loved the fella, Erin didn't want to think about why she defended him so stoutly. The main reason that she could not fathom, yet consciously knew, was her desire to prove her mother wrong. Mary's consistent inability to see the good in Lance had infuriated her so much, that she was more driven to stay with him just to put her mother in her place. It wasn't exactly true love, but if it meant her Mammy didn't win, Erin was satisfied.

"I didn't mean yer friend, Erin. I meant the rest of the Yanks… I've had a lot of young women confide in me…".

"Oh… I… see…".

The latest weapon in the nun's arsenal appeared to be telepathy, as she'd almost read Erin's mind to assess her thoughts, it appeared. Expanding upon her statement to ensure that the younger woman knew she was not being critical to her fella, the Sister knew how to be diplomatic, even if she preferred not to be. Erin could appreciate what the nun was talking about too; the pregnant women that were left with bastards, to fend for themselves when both the American fathers and their own families, turned their backs upon them. Those women often turned to a woman like Sister Michael for help, and if truth were to be told, she'd helped far too many young women start new lives when they shouldn't have been forced to.

"Ye seem to have got one of the better ones then. A rare good man in a bad bunch". The Sister continued.

"Aye… he's a grand fella… Lance". Still scared, Erin's answers remained nervy.

"It must be awkward though, mustn't it?"

"Wha-… what do ye mean, Sister?"

The look that Erin received when she asked the question, told her everything. Words didn't need to express what the Sister thought of her trying to pretend she did not know what she was saying. If any words would have been uttered, they would have almost certainly been 'catch yourself on'.

"James is a good man too. You are a lucky young woman, Erin… to have all these grand men around ye. Too lucky, perhaps…".

"I'm not around, James!" Quick to clarify, Erin could feel her cheeks reddening. "I… I mean we… we just… well we're not…".

"Ye don't share a bed with him anymore?"

Completely flabbergasted at the Sister's words, Erin almost keeled over. The cheeks that were reddening must have been completely beetroot, though in the torchlight it was not quite as easy to tell, to her complete and utter relief. The strict policy of no sex before marriage was one that she abandoned very quickly with James when they were together years earlier, something she could not admit to Sister Michael. A catholic nun who was a devoted servant of the Lord, would judge her as significantly more inferior if she were to discover that their relationship went further than it should have before they were together in union. Next to her though, the Sister groaned loudly when she knew what was about to happen.

"We never…".

"Yer a poor liar, Erin Quinn". Brutally interrupting her, the nun was not going to listen to her grovelling. "Just because I'm a nun, it doesn't mean I'm immune to what the younger generations get up to behind their parents backs. Sex before marriage is a ridiculous rule anyway…".

"What!?" Erin shot back, rather more aggressively than she meant to. "What do ye mean… yer…".

"If two people love each then quite frankly, I don't think it matters whether they have rings on their fingers before they… ye know. BUT… I don't expect to find out the rest of the city know my opinion on that… if we understand each other?"

"Well for the right price…".

Devilishly, Erin dared to hint at blackmailing the nun, feeling a rush of power for around two to three seconds before she found reality staring back at her. Reality coming in the shape of a nun that looked about ready to murder her if she decided to bring up the blackmail again. Erin might not have always held the highest levels of common sense, but her common sense was correctly telling her to not say anything more to Sister Michael, if she wished to make it home alive. With no plans to leave the mortal plain, she thought better of it.

"Or not".

"Mhm".

Rather sourly stopping their talk, for another couple of minutes they cut through the cold night side by side, not saying a word. The pace that Sister Michael was setting slowed a little as they started to travel uphill, as her knees could not manage the strain any further. There was not another soul about that night, not around them anyway, the citizens of Derry mostly tucked up in the warmth of their homes, fires on to add warmth to houses. Some decided to put up Christmas trees, emphasising that it was the festive season, which was one that brought out the joy in the world. The world in which they were living, which was at war, featured so little joy, but within the communities that made up the planet, individual happiness could still be sought if families pulled together.

Erin happened to be focusing upon a tree she spotted through an open set of curtains when Sister Michael spoke up again, ruining the moment of peace.

"So… I suppose if yer not too bothered about James being back, ye must be planning to marry this American fella… Lance was it?"

"Lance… aye…". Blindsided, Erin was panicking but confirmed his name anyway. "And I… well… I…".

"There are a few women yer age gettin' married to their Yank sweethearts…". The Sister continued. "… my Lord, do I hate that phrase… anyway, I just thought that if ye've no problem around the wee English fella then ye must want to marry Lance before he goes off to fight".

Of all of the people to have rocked her thoughts with the ticking time bomb that was marriage, Sister Michael was very low on the list. Erin's primary worries were about moving onto having sex with Lance, not even having considered that she might marry him. Put onto the spot by the fearful nun, the answer to the question was not certain. Marrying Lance would most likely mean moving away to America, leaving behind her family and friends for a new life where she would have no family and friends around her. No James, either… not that it mattered, obviously. Looking into her heart, she could not honestly say that she would want to marry Lance, if it meant leaving the city that she called home.

"I… we… we've not really… talked… about that". Lying to cover herself, Erin did not make any eye contact with the Sister.

"Ye'll need to decide sooner rather than later, Erin". Sister Michael warned. "Ye don't want to make the same mistake ye did with James".

At the Sister's words, she did make eye contact, with eyes of thunder meeting the calmer waters of the otherwise terror-inducing nun. Opening her mouth to make her point, Erin only just managed to stop herself, when an important memory came into her head. It was the nun who came to her aid one night, when she was stood at James' graveside crying her eyes out, to tell her that she could not continue on crying for the love that she'd lost. The Sister was trying to remind of that night, she knew, posing the thought of whether she could live through such a trauma again if she was married to Lance and waiting for his return. Fate was placing her on the same path as it had done at the beginning of the war, only this time she was in receipt of much more time than she had been previously. Unbeknownst to her, she didn't have anything to worry about when it came to marriage. Lance would never marry her, even if she was the last woman alive on Earth.

Fathoming a response to the nun, a young woman who prided herself on her ability to find words, found herself sorely lacking. Luckily for her, the Sister wasn't finished with what she needed to say.

"Look, Erin, I'll be honest with ye… I couldn't really care for the lot of ye… the amount of trouble that ye've caused me for years…".

"Right…".

Frowning, she wasn't sure if the nun's statement was entirely the truth but allowed her to continue anyway out of sheer curiosity if nothing else.

"But take my advice. If ye want to marry this American fella then that's yer choice… but before ye do… remember that yer goin' to spend the rest of yer life with this fella. Ye'll be the mother of his children… till death do you's part. Don't make yer decision without askin' yerself if ye can really see that ye'll go to yer death as that man's wife".

Sister Michael was not known to be outwardly philosophical, but her guidance was legendary to those who received it. She'd resolved a whole host of situations during her time as not only the head mistress and a nun, but as simply an adult that lived in the city. Although she may not have wished to acknowledge it, her advice had saved lives when those at their lowest turned to her. Beneath her hardened exterior was a woman with a heart that was golden, who cared for those who were worth caring and made sure that those who were too much trouble, received what they deserved. As much as Erin Quinn did drive her to despair at times, like the rest of her friends, Sister Michael couldn't help but have a wee soft spot for them. They were different to every other child she'd educated, unique in their own spectacular way that made them stand out from the crowd. She cared for them just as much as their mothers did.

"I… I'll think about it". Erin, so uncertain in what to say, responded with her own brand of diplomacy.

"Good". The nun replied quickly. "Now, let's get you home before we start to freeze. It'd be a shame if I had to eat ye to survive…".

With one final alarming comment to drive fear into Erin, as well as ensuring that there would be total silence for the final couple of hundred metres of their journey, Sister Michael retained her fearful presence.

She was leaving Erin with a lot to ponder…

---

The day was drawing to a close, thankfully.

It had been a long, stressful day for James Maguire, who'd played more than one role during it. A banker, a servant to the country and ultimately a friend, he'd wore so many different hats, he didn't have too many left to put on. Stood in his bathroom shaving, he could only look back and reflect on a day that was never going to be easy, not after what he'd had to do.

When he returned to the bank that afternoon, his gamble paid off completely. At first, the bank being deserted and their full attention being diverted to James, Ian and Tommy were incredibly suspicious when he returned without Jamie. The latter even joked that he wondered whether the Englishman had killed him, to which James calmly denied. He'd just about as good as done though, even if he wasn't responsible for any killing blow. Although they were taking Jamie into the woods when he was dragged away, he wasn't quite sure whether it was to his death or whether they were going to give him a beating that he would never forget. Either way, he wasn't going to be returning to his life in the city, that much was certain. The McLaughlin's remained inquisitive for a good couple of minutes, but their boss put up a reasonable defence until their focus was taken away by a couple of clients entering the bank.

Searching for a new employee was going to be one of the tasks that defined the coming weeks. With Jamie dealt with, an inconvenient but wholly necessary duty for the country, he was going to have to find a replacement. Attracting candidates could be difficult, he'd already thought, when the news that the public would hear about Jamie was not going to be positive. A similar spread of rumours would take place to confirm that he was an enemy of the people, taken off the streets like Jenny and Aisling had supposedly been, to spend the rest of the war in prison. The bank clerk's role would be seen as cursed when the public discovered that he was no longer around, but the Englishman was determined to find someone. The wishful thought that he could employ Erin for the job ran through James' mind, but ultimately he knew it would be too good to be true.

Christmas might have been just a couple of days away, but the events of the day left the Englishman feeling as far away from festive as he could possibly be. They'd not bothered putting up a tree at the bank, mostly because the McLaughlin's were too busy and when asked, Jamie had said he couldn't be bothered too either. He'd also not put one up at the cottage, his home not reflecting the fact that it was the season to be jolly. In his life, there was so little to be jolly about that it really didn't matter to James. He wasn't going to go to the efforts of making the place reflect the happiness of the season, when he would be anything but. He'd held dreams with Erin, as well as a promise, that they would wake up in each other's arms to spend a Christmas together. For the fourth Christmas in succession, that promise could not be fulfilled. She wouldn't be spending it wrapped up in Lance's arms, most likely, a small victory that did not detract from just how painful it was to live through another Christmas without her at his side.

As well as the offer from his own family, which he'd still not fully answered, that evening he'd received another offer for Christmas Day. The telephone that Charlene had installed at the cottage did not see that much use, not when there were so few people that he could call in the city, but she was one of them and had called as he was eating his dinner. Her call was a short one, the blonde respecting the fact that he did not wish for his meal to get cold, but it was long enough to invite him over for drinks at the mansion in the evening on Christmas Day. Her feelings for him had cooled, James noticing it himself, safely ensconcing him within the realm that was friendship between them. She was a valuable friend to have, a member of the Intelligence Services whose loyalty could not be questioned. Provisionally, he agreed to the drinks, more than willing to spend some of Christmas Day with a close friend that he could always count on.

Friends were what kept James going a lot of the time, along with his family, but his demons were a constant reminder that he was not the same man he once was. Doing a fine job of ignoring his own thoughts for the majority of the afternoon and evening following what had happened that lunchtime, he'd ran out of distractions by the time that he started shaving in his bathroom, around nine o'clock. Shaving by candlelight became something of a routine in itself for him, a chore that did not take very long when he was always well groomed. It was rare for James to ever let his facial grow out of control, the only time it had really done so being during the months where he traversed southern France. At the time, there was nothing he could do about it without having to steal a razor and a mirror, easier said than done. As he shaved at the cottage though, the guilt about what he'd done began to prod away at him. He always knew it would, despite convincing himself that it was his duty to inform the Intelligence Services about Jamie's potentially harmful spreading of Soviet ideology.

Major Smithers' reluctance to confirm to James whether or not that they would kill Jamie there and then, made it worse for the former pilot. At least if he knew they'd killed him then he would be able to reflect on the truth of a final outcome, which he could not as he stood in his bathroom. It wasn't really his place to know when he was not a member of the Intelligence Services, nor did he need to know his now former employee's fate. He was the illegitimate heir to the throne though and when he was assisting his country with ensuring the spread of communist philosophy did not occur, Smithers could have given him closure. As the Major himself put it on the journey back to the Kavanagh mansion, the danger was as great to James as it was to the country. He'd gone to the efforts of removing his employee without being told what his destiny was to be. The truth that he did not know was that Smithers did not tell him as to not burden him with the information, yet in doing so the Major accidentally made the situation worse for a fragile James.

After all of his own worries though, nothing compared to the worry that the banker now held for Clare. Removing Jamie from working at the bank was not ideal, but he could be replaced and for a short time, he and the McLaughlin's could cover the work that needed doing. Replacing the young Irishman as Clare's pretend fella was not such a simple venture. He most likely would have wanted out anyway, the price that he would have negotiated on the journey back to the bank being his co-operation and improved conduct at the bank for no longer having to be at the diminutive blonde's side. James didn't have another plan for his friend, accidentally placating her in the past, at that particular time being sincere that he would help to find her a way out. Society was against her though, leaving the alternatives to be the same ones that Michelle offered when she was out of ideas. Clare would either have to give in and marry a fella, burying her persuasions in favour of survival or run away until she was far enough out of her Da's reach. Neither were beneficial for the young woman, but it was all that was left. She would never be able to have what she wanted, not in the time and place they were in, with the vipers that surrounded her at every turn.

Intense guilt crept up on James, as it always did. It was because of him that she was going to have to confront her fears once again, only this time without a way around her father's demands. Sean Devlin was a strict authoritarian who was not to be fooled, though at heart he only wanted the best for his daughter. He'd been patient with her, surprisingly patient if an outsider looked in, though that was mostly due to the incredible efforts of her friends to delay his ire. Michelle, Erin, Orla and James all did their best to help her escape the life her Da had planned for her, without ever gaining long term success. The path of destiny was finally reaching a crossroads that Clare could not escape from and whatever direction she chose, the Englishman would always feel guilty that he did not do more. Sighing loudly in his bathroom, it was another layer to add to his increasingly melancholy outlook on life.

It was after that sigh, that he knew that once again, he was not alone.

The task of shaving was all but complete at that point, but he was not going to get out of the bathroom without another confrontation with his conscience. It was his fault, he knew it of course, triggering the ghosts of his past by reflecting upon yet more lives that were affected because of his presence within them. Kurt, John-Paul and Aisling were all there again, watching the shirtless Englishman finish up, without saying a word. He'd grown used to their presence that much that he could often ignore them for a short time, before being able to confront them on his terms. They'd not visited him the night before that, though the Friday and Saturday night's that had just passed did see them appear, to taunt him about how he weak he was for not killing Erin when the chance arose. His stance remained unchanged, but they remained equally undeterred.

The chilled air nipped away at his exposed back and chest, though the icy rush of blood throughout his body was far colder, especially around his heart. Razor finished with, slowly he turned around to face up to the ghosts of his past, with a defeated, dejected look on his face. The defiance that saw him survive the mortal Kurt Van Der Heijden was in short supply, his record against his own conscience being one without significant victory. The only victory he could possibly count was that they hadn't broken him, not yet at least. Despite all of their malicious attacks, he was still alive whereas they were not. His life was just about all he had left, a life that he was mostly unsatisfied with, when a certain young woman was not there by his side to experience it with him.

"Do you really have nothing better to do?" He began, huffing. "Can you not remind someone else of their failures?"

"Ach, yer not pleased to see us, James". Aisling enquired with a hint of a mocking tone evident. "That's not very gentlemanly of ye".

"Forgive me, Aisling, I was not aware I was in the presence of anyone worthy of my respect".

Stinging the ghost with a vicious retort, for a moment he seemed to have scored a victory when there was total silence once more. His resistance might have been weakening after every visit, but whenever James made a stand, he did it with effort and grace. At such a young age he'd shown an extraordinarily high pain threshold to survive both the mental and physical torture that Kurt put him through in Italy, and that ability to suffer through as a survivor, did not leave him. Facing up to an enemy far greater than the Nazi's, his instincts told him to battle through what they were throwing at him, to be able to come out a better man. That enemy was not as easy to dispatch though, for it was himself.

"James… James… James…". In his familiar style, Kurt began to pace around in front of him as he spoke. "You've killed another one! My killer is back!"

Triumphantly, Kurt seemed to have confirmed to James what Smithers would not. Turning Jamie over to the Intelligence Services sent the young Irishman to his death according to the long-deceased Nazi, another human being that positioned themselves to close to the Englishman, following the fate of those before him. James was the sun, with those that got themselves to close to him becoming Icarus-like figures in what was not a mythical tale but one of reality. His own mother, David, Giovanna, the three ghosts before him… they'd all flown far too close to that sun, melting their wax wings in the process. Yet with Jamie, like with the three before him, the guilt was not such a heavy burden when he could hide behind the barrier of duty. He'd acted in the interests of the many rather than the few, a difficult, though completely necessary action.

"I did not kill him… if I had done, then why is he not with you?" Eventually, he replied with a question.

"You did not but…". Kurt stated, stopping to laugh maniacally before continuing. "Your country… you should have seen what they did to him…".

"That is something I do not wish to see". James retorted, albeit lying to do so. "Nor do I wish to see anyone of you, so if we are done here…".

Making his way to the door of the bathroom, he knew that he could simply walk through their phantom presences, but his body was betraying him. As soon as he moved forward, he felt himself naturally pulling to a stop, hindered too by their movement towards the door. His conscience was not going to allow him to escape to the sanctuary of beneath his covers, forcing him to undergo another major introspection into his conscience. Suffering again because of his loyalty to his country, they were ready to pick him apart. If he would not kill Erin Quinn, then they were going to make him feel weak and worthless, as punishment for his failure.

"Yer quick to leave, English…". In a despicably gravelly tone, John-Paul took his turn at addressing James. "Can't face the past again?"

"No John-Paul, I just do not wish to spend another night in your torturous company". He answered back, using up more of his dwindling defiance.

"Kill her James… kill her and we'll disappear".

The three of them were still going to make an effort, or rather his conscience was, to make him see that all of his problems were down to Erin. If he was a cynic who abandoned the love in his heart then he would have to agree that she was part of the reason that he'd become so morose when the mask of his gentlemanly nature slipped. He'd not been the same since he returned, a landslide of love being held back within without the correct woman there for him to be able to show his love to. She was gone forever from what he could see, her path veering towards the arms of an American Lieutenant instead of him, the English retired Vice Air Admiral. He might have outranked Lance in a service sense, but in the ranks of Erin's affections, it appeared that only Lance held a commission. He'd been stripped of his when he was not there by her side, the pain of losing their child being her burden to carry alone without him.

None of it changed how he felt for her though. James was going to go to his grave loving Erin Quinn, and he'd be damned if anyone thought he would send her to hers.

"Never. Just admit your defeat… I will not kill her!"

"Perhaps we will have to…". Kurt took over from the Irishman, glaring at James menacingly. "… but that does not mean we have to go, does it?"

Narrowing his eyes at the deceased Nazi, James did not want to ask what he meant. It would have been a waste of words when he was going to be shown anyway, especially if the wide grins on the faces of Aisling and John-Paul were anything to go by. Whenever they could not get through to him by trying to force him into ending Erin's life, they always instead turned to his past. They'd done so the night he'd cut his hand open, putting such intense fear into his veins that he managed to destroy the glass by holding it so tightly. With no glass in sight, he would not be forced to suffer such an injury again if they were to revisit what happened in France. A small mercy in reality, because there were memories of that time, that he simply did not want to see again.

"That's a nice mark there…". Aisling commented, pointing to a part of his body. "… how did ye get it?"

Failing to understand for a half second, James looked down, only to then very quickly realise what she meant. The swastika that Kurt forced his mother to brand him with, would be one that he carried around with him for the rest of his life. If he was to ever find another woman than Erin to love, or even Erin herself, then he was not sure how he would explain such a symbol. James Maguire could never describe himself as a Nazi, yet his body carried what many would see as proof of the opposite. It was why the mortal Kurt gave him the mark in the first place; to ensure that he would never forget what happened or who he belonged to. With Kurt dead, the former pilot should have been set free from the bond, but his conscience's conjured up image of the Doctor, told of another story.

"Tell her, James". The Nazi insisted softly. "Tell her who you belong to… tell you who's killer that you are!"

"I am not your killer!" He snapped back, clenching his fists. "You forced my mother into doing it! I AM NO NAZI!"

"That is not what your body says, James. You are the property of my Nazi empire… and when the rest of your precious city find out… you will have to kill again".

Swallowing hard, Kurt forced through thoughts into the Englishman's mind, that vastly unsettled him. Should news spread that he carried a swastika on his side, an imprint of loyalty burned into him, then he would face an uprising against him. All of those that were by his side, except Charlene who was contractually obliged, would no longer defend him and in all likelihood would turn against him. The city that accepted him would once again be reminded that he was an Englishman, which would render any chance of James being able to explain why he carried the mark, as impossible. It was yet another reminder, that as long as he stagnated with the life he was currently living, he would never escape the past.

"They'll kill ye, James". John-Paul chuckled. "Not such a hero now, are ye?"

"John-Paul is correct. You should have listened to him James and died up there in the mountains… no one will see you as a hero, when they see the flag of my empire on your body".

"I am not a Nazi… not like you, Kurt". Once again, James tried to defy, but the energy in his voice was beginning to drain. "I continue to live and you do not. No one will ever have to know about this brand that you have given me… ever!"

Once again, silence raised his confidence. Silencing Kurt Van Der Heijden when he was alive was no easy task, but he'd managed to do so to the deceased version of the Doctor. Straight away though, James knew that the second bout of quiet since they'd confronted him that evening was building up to something far worse. His eyes flickered between each ghost of his conscience, and each one's lips began to curve up in front of him. They were ready to torment him again, he could see the terror in their ghostly eyes, waiting to be unleashed upon him. James' breathing became rapid, his heart thundering as he tried to prepare himself for whatever it was that they were going to throw at him. If he could handle it that was…

"What!?" He called out, unable to take the silence any longer after another minute. "What do you want from me!?"

"Oh James…". Kurt replied instantly. "You already know… but as you wish not to kill her… then let us introduce you to those who know you for what you are".

"NO!"

The memories of France were coming back to haunt him again, only this time the ghosts of his conscience were not going to simply chant their names. Matthieu and Jeanine were going to appear by their sides, making it a group of five that were out to torment him. He'd not killed them, he knew he hadn't, the two of them being alive when he left them, even if they were not completely conscious. What he'd done at their home was… was not the man that he was but they'd left him with no choice. His mindset at the time only had one goal in mind; returning home to Derry, to live the rest of his life with Erin as his wife. They'd accidentally threatened that plan, leaving him little choice but to act despite there being no malicious intentions on their part. How they'd ended up dead he did not know but somehow, because of him, they were no longer alive.

"I did not kill them!" He argued his point to the ghosts, who all looked back at him bemused. "Ma… Matthieu and… and Jeanine… I did not kill them!"

The smile that appeared across Kurt's lips, was a smile he hoped to never see again. He knew the smile all too well, having seen it so many times when he was the Nazi's prisoner on the outskirts of Rome. He had another card in mind…

"Maybe you did kill them, maybe you did not… but it is not Matthieu and Jeanine, that know you for what you are".

"I…".

"They did not know you as a member of my Nazi empire". Barely able to contain the laughter, Kurt drove home blow after blow. "But today you have already spoken of a number of people that did know".

He'd not held any conversations with anyone who might have known, not least a group of people that knew about the brand on his body. Barely anyone knew about it anyway, and there were no groups of people who would have known him to be a Nazi, when he'd never acted as one. The only person he'd spoken with at length with that day was Jamie and…

Then… then he realised.

It was only in the space of a couple of seconds, but suddenly he knew. The amused looks on the faces of Kurt, John-Paul and Aisling all confirmed it for him.

The massacre… the massacre that Kurt perpetuated, in order to teach him a lesson as well as deal with what the Nazi's saw as the Jewish problem. When he'd attempted to throw Jamie one final lifeline, he'd spoken of what Kurt forced him into, without telling the young Irishman the exact series of events that took place. He'd always found it an easier memory to revisit than what happened in France, though that was because he'd not known what was to come that day in Italy. He could not be blamed for the deaths of the innocents, the guilt and shame of the incident lying with the now deceased Doctor. Except Kurt was not willing to let him think that way.

"I did not kill them!"

"Türen öffnen!" Kurt replied in German, with the very phrase that sent the children to their deaths.
("Open the doors!")

"NO!"

"YES! You said that, James! I did not tell my men to open the doors… you did! It was because of you that those children died! And all they saw was another Nazi, giving out the orders! MY KILLER! They know for what you are!"

"NO! YOU KILLED THEM!" James roared back, tears in his eyes. "I AM NOT A BARBARIC MONSTER LIKE YOU!"

Pain and rage sailed around James' bloodstream like ships caught in a storm, his emotions shot, pulled from pillar to post. Utilising the Englishman's distress to his advantage, the Nazi settled his voice down to a soothing tone, which only hurt James more. Complete control of the room was Kurt's not his, another battle of the mind that he'd decisively lost. Against the great nemesis that was himself, he simply could not win.

"That is not what they saw".

Lifting his arm up to the window of the cottage's bathroom, the Nazi was showing James his past again. John-Paul and Aisling were already out of the way, but the two of them watched on too, almost able to hear the smashing and crackling of James' heart, as it broke apart within his chest. Shaking where he stood, James' eyes followed the Nazi's hand until it stopped, pointing out exactly what he feared to find was going to be out in his garden. Glowing orbs of light were appearing by the second, some large and some small, all of them barely recognisable at first, until they materialised in full. All of them carried the wounds that they'd received on that very day, some of the children missing limbs from where the machine gun bullets literally tore them off. One by one they all appeared, one hundred or so ghosts of his past that were there to remind him that, even it was not his intention, it was on his words that all of them perished. He chose the children over the adults… and he told the guards to open the train doors…

"I… I did not…". Brought to tears as he spoke, James' legs threatened to give way. "You… you did this…".

"No James… you did this. Your orders killed these people… you did not just witness a massacre". Kurt stopped, moving forward to lean in and whisper to the Englishman. "… you ordered it".

"NO! No… you… I…"

"Look at your body James… even your skin knows it to be true".

Glancing down, tears dropping to the floor as he did, James understood the otherwise bizarre statement immediately. If he wasn't in such a state, he would have recognised that what was happening was not scientifically possible. What was happening across his bare torso was simply impossible. He was not thinking rationally though, not when he was being reminded that it was upon his words that the massacre of innocent Jews took place. His body was suddenly not covered by just one Nazi brand but multiple… multiple swastika's appearing on his body at different angles, mostly small but some of varying sizes. He did not need to count them to work out how many there were going to be; one for each civilian killed that day, to remind him of just how many deaths were on his conscience and how they went to their graves seeing him. As a Nazi… Kurt's Nazi killer.

Desperately, he tried to scrape away the marks with his hands, clawing at them across his chest. What little nails he had dug into his skin, at some places so hard that even a little blood was drawn. His chest was becoming redder and redder, not that he could quite see the extent in the near dark of the bathroom, having shaved in the candlelight which was now behind him. The marks would not just go away though, not when they were not real, fabrications of a conscience that was working against him. There was no escape from his past, not according to himself. He was facing yet more torture, with it being once again led by Kurt, albeit through an image that the Englishman was manifesting of the dead Nazi. The James Maguire that the city of Derry knew… was a very different man in the bathroom that night.

Turning, he rushed back to the sink, nearly ripping the handle of the tap off in his desperation to acquire water to throw upon his chest. The Swastikas were almost glowing, some still being added as he stood there, finding the only spots left on the skin of his torso that were otherwise unoccupied. Applying the water to his skin, he tried to drown out the noise that was growing around him, to focus on ridding himself of the additional brands upon his body.

He could not give in and listen to the chanting. If he did, then there was no way out for him that night at all… it would have been over.

Stopping outside his window, the deceased children gathered in front of their deceased parents. The adults stayed silent, leaving the chants to their offspring. All fifty or so of them were chanting the same phrase that ordered their deaths, in German, a language that their mortal selves did not know. They were chanting to James, the same words that he inadvertently ordered their deaths with.

"Türen öffnen! Türen öffnen!"

Ignoring the chants again, James desperately splashed water against his skin, but it was making no difference. He was sobbing as he did so, adding further water to his chest from his own tears, which made no difference either. The symbol of the Nazi's demonised him into being seen as one of them, when he was anything but. All he wanted was a life with the woman he loved. His destiny appeared to be far different though, a horizon of suffering that was never ending, with happiness just a mere word amongst millions of others.

"Türen öffnen! Türen öffnen!"

The children were chanting for him to open the doors, but all around him, James was closing them. Some doors were closed for him, Erin herself shutting one in his face when she handed the flowers he'd picked out for her back to him. Unable to accept an innocent gift, she seemed unable to accept him in the way in which he wanted to. As his thoughts turned to her, he stopped trying to wipe the symbols off of his body, transfixed by just having her in his mind. It was only there where he could ever see himself with her, but those dreams were becoming ever more distant from reality. He should have never left to fight the war, the greatest mistake of his life on a personal level. Britain may have benefitted from it greatly, but the country could be damned when he'd sacrificed everything for it. If he hadn't gone, David would be alive, his mother too. He may have been a father, the child not lost in another timeline where he'd stayed by Erin's side. At the very least even if the child's loss could not be avoided, they would have had each other to cope with the pain. The gentleman James could not stand back and not defend their freedoms though. In defending those freedoms, he'd lost all hope of a future upon his return to the city. At that thought, his sobs grew louder.

Sobbing so loudly for a few seconds, it was only when he stopped to breathe that James realised that the chanting had ended. Pivoting quickly on the spot, he found the room, as well as the windows, to be empty. Not only were the massacred children gone, but their parents too, along with Kurt, John-Paul and Aisling. His conscience was done for the night, the damage inflicted upon the Englishman being more than enough. Realising that he was alone, James let out a deep breath that he'd been holding in for minutes, just as his heart began to beat at a sensible rate, it's rapid drumming coming to a thankful end. The swastika's that covered his body were suddenly gone to, vanishing as the children had.

Breath released, he collapsed to his knees, bringing his hands up to cover his face. Holding no emotion back as he cried into them, the once gallant officer of the Fleet Air Arm was a broken mess, with no one there to fix him. He had his family and Charlene, and all of those that he considered friends that would help him, but it would never, ever be enough. James required something more, a loving touch that would make him forget the past, to move onto a prosperous future. There was only one person in the whole world that could put every piece of him back together, to mend the young man that was considered a hero in so many eyes, but crucially not through his own. He couldn't have her though, not anymore. Lance Hamilton was the man with that honour, but the American Lieutenant would not show her true love like the Englishman would.

She was never coming back to him. Erin would not love him again.

Weeping into the night air with that knowledge flowing through his mind, James was the left to think about a monumental decision.

Was there any point in living anymore?