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 :)

85. Little Dark Age

Chapter 85: Little Dark Age 24th December 1942

Christmas Eve.

The dawn of one of the most important days on the calendar, perhaps the most important, was not meant to be a day that James spent at work. The bank was closed as a rule, closing for the few days of Christmas despite the war continuing on. No one would visit the bank anyway over the Christmas days, families cooped together to enjoy as much of the festivities as was possible. The likelihood of Derry being bombed was almost nil, with London the only likely target of any serious bombing in the whole of Britain. The Luftwaffe already knew what the cost would be if they tried to conduct another campaign as they had done towards the start of the war. James could have even been called upon to defend the country, unlike during the Battle of Britain when he was in the Mediterranean. If they were to know that the best pilot in Britain, the best there had been and perhaps the best that there ever would be, was at home, it would make them think twice.

The very same pilot was no longer flying though, not unless he was to be called back to the front, which was unlikely. That was the curse of being the first born son of the King, who'd been captured after the night of his greatest triumph in Taranto. His father would not allow him back out to the front to fight, caring too greatly over his son's life, even if he was illegitimate. It made controlling his life much easier for Menzies and Smithers, though the two of them could not see into the mind of the young man. A mind that was beginning to crumble away as it constantly conjured up images of what was becoming a very troubled past. Fighting again would serve as a distraction, but if he was not killed during it, then James was only going to be adding to his mental stress once his service was finished.

That was what the trip to the bank was on Christmas Eve if he was to be honest; a chance to escape. Alternatively, he could have sat and stewed at the cottage for the day, with nothing to do other than attend Mass that evening. The more time that he left to focus on himself, the more likely it was that the ghosts of his past would come back to visit him. They'd not been back to torment him since a couple of nights earlier, when the children chanted the very words that he uttered to the soldiers that gunned them down. He could still hear their voices in his head when he went to sleep at night though, combining with the screams that he'd heard on more than one occasion as he tried to sleep. Mercifully, he began the day well rested after an interrupted slumber, a rare treat in an otherwise troubled existence.

It hadn't always been the plan, to go into work, but it superseded his other plan, which would have been foolish to say the least. Knowing how much Anna still adored him, he'd wondered whether visiting the Quinn household was possible, for a chance to see and talk to Erin. He couldn't though, not when he realised that it was abusing his privileges of being a mentor-like figure to Anna. She was worth more than being used as an excuse for him to see her sister. What's more, he knew that Lance was back in the city, spotting the lone ship that he knew to be the one that Clint served on, arriving at the docks. Michelle would most likely be full of the joys of spring at her fella's return, though he would not get to find out such details. Her likely happiness contented him though, for it was well deserved for them both.

There wasn't much work for him to do really, not in the sense of urgency, but having arrived at just after seven that morning, he was leaving no stone unturned. He couldn't really afford to when it wouldn't have been right to leave the work in such a mess upon their return to work proper. Ian and Tommy had finished all of their most important work the day before, with their new employee also ready to be shown the ropes when they returned. The second that he'd advertised that there was a position available within his team, a smartly dressed fifteen year old walked into the bank, wanting the job. Impressed with his tenacity, James immediately took on Danny, telling him not to worry about being paid apprentice wages. He would get an adult's wage, the Englishman so confident of his abilities. There was something about Danny that reminded him of himself, English accent aside. Ian and Tommy would see him right too, the most important detail of all.

Come three o'clock, he was all but done what he needed to do. He'd not eaten that lunchtime either, and while most would usually tire without the sustenance to keep them going, James thrived upon it. If anything it was a punishment to himself by denying his body something to eat, even if it was only a rationed lunch, making him worker harder so that he could finish earlier and therefore get himself something the food that he needed. Finally putting the last ledger that he'd worked on away, James took a look around the bank before he locked up. In between all the work he'd done, he also cleaned up a little too. The bank didn't look particularly unpresentable before, but after he'd cleaned it, all of the counters were a lot smarter. The air almost felt clearer in the building as well, which was always a positive.

He'd parked the Morgan around the rear side of the bank, positioned so that he could simply drive out onto the road, having reversed in during the morning. There were few vehicles on the road anyway thanks to the war, even fewer on Christmas Eve when there was no real reason to be out for a drive. Opening the door, he took a breath, taking in his surroundings one final time. It wasn't a particularly cold day, but there was talk of it being a White Christmas the next day. There was often exaggerated talk of snowfall, wishful thinking for many, but a lot of the time it didn't come to fruition. It didn't really bother James though, snow or no snow.

Glancing down quickly after having spent long enough basking in the joy of his surroundings, he looked down to find that his shoelaces were undone. Tutting to himself that he should have noticed it sooner, as he could have very easily fell over and hurt himself, with no one around to aid him, immediately he knelt down to tie them up. The chill in the ground penetrated the leg of his fine black trousers, attired for work as if it were a normal day, nipping at his knees. Tying knots was something of a specialty for him, having learnt how to tie just about every knot possible from a sailor aboard the HMS Illustrious. From a Fisherman's bend to a Hangman's knot, he knew them all. Those skills taught him a lot, but what they could not teach him to do, was zone out to focus open them as he did so. When he heard the voices in front of the car a couple of seconds later, he wished that those lessons did exist because he was desperately of being somewhere else.

"I've had a cracker day, Lance".

"Cracker… I can't believe that's a word. You really do have some funny ways of saying things, Erin".

Of course it would be her.

Them.

Not even on Christmas Eve could he escape from his troubles, not matter how much work he completed or he many knots that he tied. Hidden by the car door, they couldn't see him, but as he peered over the outstretched window, he could see them. Erin somehow hadn't spotted the car as they came to a stop, but with her back turned, she wouldn't have a chance either. Lance didn't seem to have noticed the car over her shoulder, but James supposed he wouldn't, given he was so focused on her. The burning fires of jealousy ran through his blood, the Englishman not bothering to stop them. He wasn't going to remain peering over the car window either though, realising how strange it looked if he were to be spotted. Retreating back into the bank wasn't an option when the back door was locked and opening it up would cause too much noise. Planted to the ground, he could have chuckled if it didn't give him away. Fate's cruel tendencies were going to ensure he had to listen to every word of what they were saying.

"It's good that yer… here… ye know". She became nervous, and so did the concealed James. "It's… it's nice for Christmas…".

"I'm glad to be here than…". He stopped, to point in the direction of the mouth of the Foyle. "… out there. Patrollin' is… kinda boring".

"Boring?" She replied, surprised. "Isn't it better that it's quiet… so yer not bein' shot at, like".

James wanted to answer, to tell her that a boring patrol was perhaps the most dangerous of all. When he'd flown aerial patrols over the coasts, guiding convoys of supplies into the southern harbours of England, the quiet nights were the ones he feared the most. At least if any enemy did appear, whether it was a submarine poking it's telescope up or a group of bombers arriving en masse, there was guaranteed action that could be seen. When the air was quiet, the seas too, it always made him uncomfortable. At any moment an enemy could appear out of thin air almost, that was how it felt, to throw disarray into an otherwise planned, controlled action. Lance, showing how poorly suited that he was to the job, did not think the same way.

"I like the not gettin' shot or not havin' an enemy to face…". He laughed, Erin joining him in laughter too. "It's just everyone gets pissed off because we ain't gettin' shot. I guess that will change though…".

"Yeah…". She sighed. "Do ye… do ye know where you'll be goin'?"

The American let out a breath that was mostly laughter, though a better knowing James could sense even from the distance away he was, that there was fear in that breath. Lance was an officer who would know what their plans were, though he wasn't supposed to tell anyone, especially not Erin. She wasn't a spy, but it was too much of a risk to pass on confidential information in case her brain did not comply with that sense of confidentiality. Fearing the future was entirely natural for any man, James himself having often worried about what would happen in the Med before they made it out to that theatre of the war. His fears were not for his own safety, but of David's and the rest of his men's. After all, they were his responsibility. Even though the American did not hold such a position of seniority, he already knew that he would only be thinking of himself. Only a few combined minutes in Lance's presence told James all that he needed to know.

"Africa… the action's nearly done I think but… we gotta get in there and wait… my guess is we'll be movin' on Greece or something".

Not shocked but if anything disappointed, James had to hold himself back from marching over to Lance to remind him of his duties. They might have come from different branches of their respective militaries but telling a civilian, confidential plans of where his ship would be heading, was a serious breach of protocol. Above all, James was infuriated by his nonchalant explanation to her. Throughout the course of his letters to Erin when he was away serving, he never once gave away such crucial information, yet Lance seemed to do it without any thought whatsoever. Hatred of the Yank may have already existed through his jealousy of him, yet it rose to inexplicable heights upon hearing what he'd told her.

"You… you've not got long left here then?"

There was some emotion to Erin's voice, James could hear it, though not as much as he thought there would be. It was a far cry from the day he announced that he would be leaving to sign up alongside David, when she'd stormed off in fits of tears. Those were, strangely, happier days, and he could not allow himself to focus upon them. As much as they were some of the greatest memories of his life, thinking about them only made him remember what he could not have. Which was what hearing her voice just a few feet away was doing too.

"No. A couple of months". Lance's turn to be dejected, he acted well to put on a falsely anguished look. "Have you thought anymore about what we talked about? You know with time running out… I… I wouldn't want us to miss our chance…".

Lance didn't want to miss his chance that was, still more than convinced to carry out his plans. The continuation of the scheme he had in place was now as much to do with not losing the bet, and therefore some pride, than it was ensuring that his bloodline continued. The news from back home that his two older brothers were still very much alive had been welcoming, and from what Lieutenant Baker told him about his sister, there was certainly going to be a child coming from that corner of the family the moment they returned home. A luckier crew might have been transferred to the Pacific, with the potential of a short stop home first where marriage and, hopefully, conception, could take place. Erin was merely a bet now, though she'd been long degraded from the status of human by him. He wasn't going to lose it.

Frowning to himself behind the opened car door, James wondered what their chance would be. If it was marriage, there was no way that he wouldn't have known. The two of them might have tried to conceal it but Erin wasn't exactly known for her subtlety. Michelle would have found out without question, and the moment she knew, the rest of the city would have known. With no right to wonder what it was anyway when he was an interloper in what was a private conversation, his mind couldn't help but wonder. The ridiculous thought that perhaps Lance was trying to get her to help in the removal of him from their lives, was quickly batted away. No other thoughts presented themselves though, which left him puzzled. He'd not thought to consider that the two were not yet intimately acquainted.

"I… I just…".

She panicked at the question. Panicked because she still wasn't ready for what Lance wanted, even if he was one of the sweetest people she knew. He was patient without question, otherwise he would not have waited for her to be comfortable for as long as he had done. The American Lieutenant was going to have to wait longer too, should he still wish to succeed in his wager with Reeves and Baker. He didn't have time though… which is why he knew as she struggled, that he was going to be frustrated.

"Tell me". The words were soft but no less of a demand. "Come on Erin, we ain't got all day".

His friendly demeanour, almost sniggering as he finished off, relaxed her more than she thought it might. She'd not confided in anyone other than her parents, who were there and knew the truth anyway, about her experiences of three years prior. Apart from James, of course, though talking to him would only leave her in tears. Little did she know that he was just a few feet away, and more than willing to let her open her heart to him.

"Lance… ye promise ye won't tell anyone. Ye can't!"

For a moment he paused. As he did so, a previously confused James, hidden out of sight, began to realise what she was about to tell him. The words that she was seconds way from uttering, would hurt him more than any bullet or stab wound, or lash of a whip had ever done. Tenfold. They should have been having that conversation but once again, the Englishman was left as an outsider, looking in on what should have been his.

"I promise". Lance finally answered, taking her hands in his, in what could have been called an affectionate way. "Just tell me".

"A… a few years ago when… when James left to fight I… I found out I was pregnant…".

James. The name that Lance hated to hear where Erin was concerned, the one man that could prove to be a barrier on his way to getting what he wanted. His blood boiled at hearing it, not that she could see his reaction, the American schooling his features well.

James. Nearly in touching distance from them. He was struggling to hold back the mix of sorrow and rage that was building up inside of him, in agony over the child that they'd lost together.

"I… I was so… happy for a couple of weeks… scared but… but happy. I was… I was goin' to be a Mammy and have a little me runnin' around…".

"What… what happened?" Lance enquired, internally already having drawn his own conclusion.

"My… well… I…".

She was crying silently, but James could tell. He was crying with her, although she would never know of his pain of hearing the story again.

"I lost the baby… I don't know what happened b-but… b-b.. but…". Beginning to sob, she removed her hands from Lance to wipe the tears away. "… I was… heartbroken. James was out fighting and I tried to tell him but… but he couldn't come home and I didn't want to write it in a letter…".

If he had his time again, James would have ignored the incident that befell the other squadron at his training base, allowing more senior officers to deal with the mess so that he could have gone home that first Christmas. Had he not been himself, the gallant gentleman that would never put himself first, then he would have found out the truth so much sooner. She'd have never been forced to have to detach herself from him mentally like she'd done upon his supposed death. Even then she'd held out hope for longer than he would ever know, only to finally put his passing behind her not that long before he returned home for good. His chance, his chance of the future that his dreams were made of was in the dust, all because he could not ignore his supposed duty to a country that would never know him for who he truly was. The dirty secret that did not get to live his life how he wished to.

"He wasn't there for you… was he?" Enquiring, pretending to be angered, Lance played her so well as she nodded back. "That bastard… you know, he probably knew".

It took every fibre in James' body to not rise up from behind the car, and charge at the Yank. If he'd have known she was pregnant, he never would have gone. That left him powerless to stop Lance's manipulation, that truly exposed him for what he was. Pushing every right button that would push Erin closer to him, he was utilising her upset as a weapon. She was more than justified to feel betrayed, the pilot feeling as if he'd betrayed her too, despite not being able to do anything about it at the time. Lance knew what he was doing, which was when it clicked to James properly, that what he wanted to know from her was whether she was ready to have sex with him… and have his child. The American Lieutenant was truly setting about stealing every part of the future from the banker, who would be left to look on again. If there was a despicable man amongst the two of them, it wasn't the Englishman that was knelt behind a car door, as an ever-increasing stream of tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Ye… ye think so?". A vulnerable, consequently gullible, Erin, uttered.

"Damn straight… that's why he went…". Prying away at a past he did not know, Lance was laughing manically inside. "If that was me… I wouldn't leave you… you know that".

"Aye….". She sniffled, allowing him to take her hands again. "Aye I do".

The sound of their lips pressing together, just about broke what was left of James' heart. Only a man as unlucky and as a tortured as he had been, would be forced to hear them kissing from afar. That was the sort of hand that fate dealt him on a regular basis, always taking far more from him than it ever gave back. In just over three years he'd gone from a chirpy young gentleman basking in the tender, young love he shared with Erin, to a man forced to talk to imaginary figures in his bedroom at night as his reality shattered around him. In that time, he'd lost his best friend and his mother, victims to a war that neither should have taken part in, if life was not so cruel. So many worthwhile, innocent people died around him in that time, suffering for merely getting themselves too close to him in some cases.

But worst of all, he lost Erin. Lost her to the man that she was now kissing on the other side of the window of his Morgan. A man who seemingly held no qualms about manipulating her in order to bend her to his will, rather than offer her the gentle love that James himself had done before the war began. He'd lost everything in losing her, because he'd lost the spirit and will that saw him through countless situations where his life was on the line.

"Here…". Lance handed her a handkerchief, to properly dry her eyes. "We best get goin'… I have to be back soon".

"Aye… sorry". She apologised to him as tears met cloth.

"Don't be… thank you for being honest with me".

His pleasantry was not sincere, though Erin was oblivious to it. She'd lost a child unexpectedly, the almost perfect spanner in the works for what he wanted, to win the bet and continue the Hamilton bloodline. She was supposed to be the vessel that carried his child to life, a child he would probably never meet when he would never return to Derry. The blonde ticked all the correct boxes for what he needed, Lance never at any point becoming emotionally attached to her where his feelings could grow. Far too ugly for him to be truly attracted to, he could have impregnated her and left without feeling any remorse. She would write to him to confirm that their child was born, and it would be a job done. Except learning of her past difficulties directly from her, suddenly he could not be so sure. Just because she'd lost one baby, didn't mean she would lose another, but with so little time he would most likely only have one shot. Lieutenant Lance Hamilton did not want to die childless, nor did he want to be three hundred bucks short. It left him in a quandary…

As the couple walked off hand in hand, James could finally move from his position behind the car door. His eyes were red by that time, though he quickly got into the Morgan and shut the door. In the confined space he was able to cry his eyes out, having spent a few bitter minutes listening to a conversation that he wished he'd never overheard.

It rather sealed it for him.

---

The truth was that his day was more pre-meditated than even James was willing to admit to himself at first. Not at least until he'd returned home after listening to Erin and Lance, which was the final nail in the coffin as far as he was concerned. He'd never be able to have her and while his mind was already made up for what he was going to do, hearing her open up to the evidently untrustworthy Yank made him accelerate the process. He was going to wait until the following day, in the morning once he'd seen the early hours of Christmas in, indulging the sight of her one last time as well as spending what little time was left with his family. The point of it all was rather reduced after what he'd heard that afternoon.

His last dinner at the cottage was nothing special, a last meal that was no different to any other meal throughout his tenure in Derry. Using the recipe that his Aunt gave to him, the Sheppard's Pie was not done at Deirdre's standards, though it didn't need to be. Replicating her work was almost impossible anyway, but of all of the meals in his life, it was the one that held the very least value. He could have been down to just a tin of canned fruit, and he'd have been satisfied. James' palate wasn't overly cultured anyway, much preferring the heartier delights of a large home cooked meal than anything too fancy. The local cuisine in Alexandria was something he avoided whilst stationed in Egypt, for that very reason.

If he wasn't the man that he was, then James could have left all of his plates out, but he did not. A great believer in leaving somewhere as it was found, apart from in the case of the Italian Fleet in Taranto, he wouldn't allow the place to become a mess just because he didn't need to tidy. Beyond his final meal that evening it was pointless to do too much cleaning, but the bare basics were still possible. Someone would have to live in the cottage one day, someone who he hoped would be able to create happy, peaceful memories, to rip away the ones of suffering he'd created since returning from the war. The cottage was once supposed to be the base for the rest of his future together with Erin, but it's purpose with that dream no longer available, was only to hurt him. They'd created memories there before fate took them away from each other, some of the best of his life yet they were also just as painful to remember as any session of torture he endured at Kurt's hands.

As soon as he'd finished with putting the plates away though, his final plan came into operation. He'd considered how it would be done ever since he collapsed to the floor of his bathroom a few nights earlier, wondering what the point of life was anymore. The conclusion came very swiftly, though he'd hidden those thoughts from everyone else in his life. It had only been a couple of days, but for two days he still attempted to convince himself that he could make something out of the life he had. He was after all, James Maguire, a man who was lauded by his squadron for his leadership abilities when he was still just a teenager. Brave, heroic… there was once a time that he above all, owned those titles, before knowing of the rather more important title that he truly held. The night of the Battle of Taranto might have been his greatest triumph, but it was the turning point of his life. From then on, he'd only been disappointed by what fate threw at him. As John-Paul O'Reilly predicted in his dying breaths, he would never be the same hero that he once was. The value that he once held was gone, he'd thought to himself and if he could not be of any value, then the decision was a straightforward one.

Staying gentlemanly, a strange kindness when all things were considered, he'd chosen against the use of his revolver. The weapon that killed Aisling just minutes before she would have killed him, would make too much of a mess. It wasn't right that whoever the unlucky soul was, most likely Charlene or his Aunt and Uncle, would have to discover his lifeless body in a pool of blood and gore. Having spent so long making the cottage his home, he was not prepared to redecorate it crimson for whoever the new owner would be. That was why he'd chosen to use the rope that he knew to reside in a box in the spare room. Less noise and less mess, there would not be such a scene of devastation when he was found.

To try not to talk himself out of what he was going to do, because he knew he would, the noose was already tied waiting. The tricks that he'd learned about knots were once again valuable to him, though in the worst way possible. Unlike for many criminals who would have the hangman prepare their noose for them, James could tie his own. Albert Pierrepoint could have Christmas off, not required to conduct the hanging when the Englishman could do the honours himself. Throughout dinner he'd glanced up at it dangling from the beam in the centre of the living room, just before it opened out into the kitchen. It was a taunt in many ways, to himself, though thanks to the ghosts of his past, he was more than accustomed to it.

Many would leave some form of note before they committed the act that he was about to, but the former pilot couldn't bring himself to do so. Pen and paper lay untouched on the kitchen table, the latter stained with the odd tear or two that he'd shed, realising he was living the last hours of his life. A life that had tormented him in more recent times, it was once a fulfilling existence that he could not help but cry over. When it came to expressing what he wished to say to those that he was leaving behind, James was unable to find the words. There was so much that he wanted to say, saying more to some than he did to others, but some of his words would only make them burden themselves with his memory. He didn't want to be a burden upon anyone upon his death, simply gliding off into the afterlife without causing too much fuss at all. After all, they'd all managed to cope with his death, to a degree, when they thought he'd been lost after Taranto. For nearly two years, those close to him experienced what it would be like to live, knowing he would not come home, with an additional year of living without him on top of that. They could live without him, that much was clear.

What not writing didn't do was stop him from thinking about those that would be affected by his actions. He'd known from the moment he decided to end his life that night, that he would have those thoughts, yet he knew he could fight through them too. One final act of defiance would be to defy the positive thoughts that he had of life, giving into the negative, melancholy ones that had invaded since he returned. There were more people than he really considered, when he thought about it. Family, friends, colleagues and even though he'd never met him, his father, the King, James' death would leave a black mark on their lives forever.

The first person he'd thought of was naturally, Erin, yet he hadn't dwelt on her when he knew there were other memories to get through. His family were next in line behind her, as they were amongst the most likely to find him there hanging, whenever they decided to go out to look for him. Being unable to be there for Michelle as she navigated her new life with Clint would be a devastating shame, when he could see that they were perfect for each other. Her fella would be going off to war, but even that night James had a good feeling that Clint would return. Loyalty was without question when it came to much maligned young American, who would see his cousin right no matter what happened for the rest of their lives. Their children would grow up with two parents that would love them dearly, fierce protectors if Michelle was anything to go by. As well as her, there was his Aunt and Uncle too. When they could have shown him the door and turned him away, that very first day when he arrived on their doorstep with a letter from his mother, they accepted him. An Englishman, in a city that resented any man with an accent such as his for even stepping foot on the soil, let alone staying to make it his home… they would have been well within their rights to say no. They'd done so much for him during his time there, that he felt a lack of gratitude on his own part for choosing the way out that he had. Sadly, they would never be able to understand why his life could continue no longer when they were not completely aware of how miserable it was in the first place.

Then there was those outside of the family, the friends that he'd made during his time in the city. The free-spirited Orla McCool, who from the moment he met her, James knew would become a firm friend and ally. Together with David, before his untimely death on the fateful night that he kept coming back to, they made an excellent couple. Marie, their gorgeous daughter, was the proof of it, a blessing for two young people who deserved such blessings. She might not have been the brightest light in all of Derry, but there was no doubting that she was one of the kindest, funniest people that one could ever meet. In David too, he'd held a best friend that he never thought he would have. Their pairing was legendary, both in combat and out of it, bouncing jokes off of each other even when James held a commission as an officer and the Irishman a mere serviceman. They never let such roles affect their friendship, which had always kept James a sane man at his lowest points until David was killed in action. Going with him to death that night, was the guilt that he felt over that death.

Guilt was also associated with his final memories of Clare Devlin too. She was a remarkable young woman in James' eyes, who was forced to live her life with a secret that would destroy her life if the public were ever to know it. Living under the roof of a strict, draconian father, she was unable to live the way in which she wished, loving openly as she wanted to do. The majority of the world was not ready for what she wanted, even if there were the isolated few like James who supported what she wished for. To deny love was to deny a basic human instinct in his mind, though he was not a man who cared for what the bible may have had to say against it. Although she might have been a nervous wreck for what seemed like the majority of the time, Clare was as dependable as they came. Without the problems that were already burdened upon her with her secret, he might have confided in her about the morose demise of his life, but ever the gentleman he'd stayed away. Removing Jamie was why he would take guilt with him though, removing the barrier that kept her Da at bay. The Englishman could do no more for her, only hoping that she could find a life that was at the very least peaceful, even if it was not what she would have wanted. They were going to be her battles to have in the future, a future that he would play no part in, despite having ensured her that he'd do everything he could to see that she was safe.

He'd miss the families of those friends too, perhaps Sean Devlin aside, as they were all valued friends to him from the moment he'd entered their lives. The English outsider accepted so warmly, he'd miss the friendly outlook of Orla's mother Sarah, though he could at least die knowing that she would be happy. In Shane, she'd found the man that she wished to see out her plentiful days with after so many years of searching. Acquainted with him for the least amount of time, James held a lot of respect for the clearly good-natured firefighter. The two of them were ready to start a journey of adventure once the war was complete, and he did not doubt that they would complete it. There was the long-suffering Geraldine too, who he felt very sorry for. A woman that was clearly living in fear of the man that she'd married and had a child with over twenty years earlier, James would miss her warm smile whenever it found him. She held a lot of time for him from seeing him act as such a gentleman throughout the city, likewise James having time for her when she'd not once treated him differently for being who he was. He would miss them… a lot… but their lives would be much better without him being on the periphery of them, that much he knew to be true.

The memories kept on coming, forcing him to sit back down on the chair that he'd carefully selected for the task at hand. He was also going to be leaving behind the Quinn's, not just Erin, but her parents and sister too. Mary and Gerry were an odd couple in a certain sense to him, her rigid authority contrasting against his much more relaxed demeanour. That hadn't stopped them from bringing up two beautiful, creative daughters that were a joy to behold in any light that they were shone in. They might not have been the wealthiest family going, but no amount of money could buy the family that they'd created as a couple, as well as the happiness that was attached to it. Managing what could be a chaotic household at times, between the two of them they'd done a fantastic job, before James ever considered how good they'd been to him. In their eyes, he was their future son in-law instead of Lance, especially when he'd brought out the happiness in their eldest before their relationship was ruined by the war. Little did he know that they did not blame him in the slightest for not being at Erin's side when she lost their child. He couldn't fault them for thinking that way as he assumed they would though, his failure to act as their daughter's guardian being unforgiveable.

Allowed to know Anna Quinn during his lifetime, a span of time in Derry that didn't even equate to a year if both of his stints were added together, one of the more positive notes he would pass on with was her. Far too smart for a girl of her age, always not just one step ahead of those around her but one hundred, she was destined for a life of great promise wherever it took her. Such a gifted young woman could be easily led astray, yet she was wise beyond her years as well as smart. How she channelled her amazing brain would be something she wouldn't have to worry about for some years, though he would not live to see it. If there was such a thing as an afterlife, though he did not expressively believe in it, he would hope to be able to watch down over her to see what she made of herself. He wouldn't be the only one too, although Joe would at least get to see a little more of her development before his time came. Despite how he treated Gerry, which James suspected was merely a front for the genuine affection he actually he held for the man who'd married his daughter, he would miss him too. Like Clare, Joe was dependable if a little rough around the edges. Hopefully the patriarch of the Quinn family would understand his choice, though his name would probably become mud to the man when it would hurt so many people.

It would have been wrong of him too, he knew as he sat there running a hand through his slicked back hair, to not think of Charlene before he went. An attractive young heiress, she was so much more, he knew, being one of the few that actually did. Pledging her life to the service of the British Government, relationship with a future King aside, she was almost a carbon copy of a young Kathy Maguire. James' mother proved herself to have an aptitude to Intelligence work when she was quite young too, though Charlene was a very different woman when it came to mindset. She'd always planned for what she wanted in life as opposed to Kathy who'd came into such a role, though that was down to the fact her father was a very influential man. Holding feelings for the Englishman that she'd barely been able to rein in at times, she'd become a stable friend even if there was nothing more between them. In another life they might have been something, but he could never commit himself when he did not feel as strongly for her as she felt for him. An ally that understood who he was, being just about the only person still breathing to have seen him at his darkest, he knew his death would devastate her for a time. Made too sternly to flake apart and abandon her duties though, like Anna, there was a glittering career awaiting the young blonde. With any luck, she would find herself a man to love in that time too.

Comparing her to his mother brought back her memory as well. That was the moment that the tears started to fall from the corners of his eyes again, James having managed to hold them at bay throughout the time he'd been thinking of the friends and family that he would never see again. Kathy was the reason that he was the man he'd become, up until the start of the war at least, raising him into the young English gentleman that the city of Derry knew. Until that very afternoon he was still able to conjure the mask built upon the foundations of her teachings to him at a young age, though it was smashed apart behind the door of his Morgan. Her lessons would not be seen again through him, the last legacy of one of Britain's greatest spies being lost by his death. The tears continued on when that thought flowed through his mind, and beyond too. As once he'd thought about his mother, his thoughts turned to his father.

King George the Sixth had only met James when he was barely a few hours old, though it never stopped the man who was a Prince at the time, from hearing of his son. If he was not the man he was, not born into the Royal Family, then he would have married Kathy without hesitation. James would have grown up safely with parents that loved him dearly, as a proper family, far away from the dangers of Intelligence work. The war might not have existed in that life, but then he would have never have likely gotten to know all of those he'd just finished thinking of in Derry. Although he wouldn't be able to express it publicly, from what the banker understood from the now Major Smithers, the King would be distraught at the death of his first born son. There was nothing that he could do for James though, nor could anyone do anything for him anymore when his mind was made up.

He would not make Christmas Day.

Yet before he passed on, one of those who'd already done so could not let him go without one last visit. One last reminder from his conscience, that he was not the man that he wanted to be and ultimately should have been.

Still sat on the chair, almost underneath the noose, James was left to huff out a strained laugh as Kurt appeared to him. There was no John-Paul… no Aisling… just the Nazi Doctor. Dressed in his full uniform in the vision that the Englishman's conscience conjured, he was somewhat smart. It was almost as if he'd made an effort to be at his best for what was a monumental occasion for Kurt. His final victory over the young man his mortal self tortured so brutally once upon a time.

"Here we are James… I never thought I would see you so weak".

Of course, the Dutchman was going to mock him. It almost wouldn't have been right if he turned up to see him to his grave and then treated him respect and decorum. Doctor Van Der Heijden simply did not know any other way, alive or not.

"You clearly do not know me well enough then…". James offered a feeble retort, far from the usual defiance he showed towards the Nazi. "Leave me… I will be dead soon enough and you will have won".

"James… I do not want you dead!" The ghost remarked. "No… No I want you to be alive… to be my killer… the ruler of the world if you would let yourself".

"Ruler of the world… what rubbish". The Englishman scoffed.

"You could be though James… you could be if you just let yourself take the next step on your journey. I have shown you the way".

His way was not one that James could reconcile with, not when it meant killing Erin. Even though the Nazi would succeed in forcing him to his own death, he would still lose because after months of trying, he'd not managed to get the former pilot to kill the woman that he loved. James held firm when it came to her, never backing down despite the vicious taunts and visions of her death that were thrown at him. At Sarah and Shane's wedding he'd came close to killing her, losing track of himself for a few bloodcurdling moments until he regained control. The price for ensuring her safety was going to be his own life, but it had never been a price that he was unwilling to pay. A price could not be placed upon true love.

"As you can see… I have made my choice".

"Yah…". He replied, stopping pacing for a moment to stand directly under the noose, right in front of the Englishman. "You have chosen weakness, James. A leader of the world, the great one… denying himself a chance of everything because of one dirty Irish whore".

"SHE IS NOT! HOW DARE YOU!"

Rising from his seat, James would never be able to stand by and listen to his Erin being degraded. The vision from his conscience stepped backwards as he flew into a stupor, eliciting the passion that the Nazi wanted to see from the man that he believed to be his killer. In defending her, the wee English fella was showing his final acts of defiance though, because his mind was already set. There would be no change of heart despite what the Doctor might have to say, even cementing the decision when he would not give in and listen to the demands that were being placed upon him. Lacking the temperament to take over control of the world, which was a fanciful idea at best when the logistical realities of such a task were enormous, James would not let Kurt have his way. He was still going to defend Erin though, no matter what the future could have held, even if it was just about the last thing that he would do.

"She has killed you, James". Kurt shook his head, starting to pace once more. "Without her in your life… look at the man that you could have become!"

"Without her, you might not have had the chance to hurt me! You cannot honestly tell me that you would have wanted to live your life without seeing me suffer!"

"I would have served you, loyally, James. Adolf may have been my friend but if you would have killed him… I would have been yours to command".

"He will get what he deserves…". Huffing, James took his turn to shake his head. "It's just a shame that I will not live to see it".

"Oh James… you disappoint me…".

He hoped that the disappointment alone would be enough to rid himself of the Nazi, but Kurt was not quite finished yet. All James wanted was for him to disappear, so that he could get on with the job of ending his own life that night before anyone else, mortal or not, attempted to stop him. Defying Kurt one last time by staying alive, at one time, would have been his only choice. A significant chapter of his life was staying alive to defy the expectations of those that tortured him, with such strength a valued asset at the time. Over the months that passed since though, what was once an asset turned into a liability when it was burnt through on a regular basis, just to see his survival. Rather simply, he'd ran out of willpower.

"I am happy to". Uttering a rare laugh, James allowed himself to smile for a moment.

"No… no you are not happy, James." An oddly considering tone emanated from Kurt. "If you were happy then you would not be about to hang yourself, would you? Think James… think of what you could achieve if you just forgot about her. Why not stop living your life in the shadow of what you used to have… kill the shadow James… let in the light…".

Philosophical statements of enlightenment were not monologues that James had ever associated with Doctor Van Der Heijden, but there he was on the receiving end of one. He wasn't naïve, he knew that it was deceptive kindness rather genuine affection, though it was still out of place when it came to Kurt. The light that he spoke of was darkness to James, despite the Nazi speaking somewhat of the truth before. A happy man would not be about to kill himself, Kurt was correct, James having been anything but happy from the moment he returned to Derry. There had been moments where he was contented, fleeting ones that only came so often. When they did, it was often because of the happiness of others being shown to him rather than his own. Staying true to himself until the very end, James would go out as a selfless young man. His death was to help others as much as it was to put himself out of the misery he was enduring. Derry would be free of the Englishman that they never asked for, Britain rid of its dirtiest secret without him ever becoming a problem.

"Go… Doctor… you are not wanted here…". Glumly, James sighed. "You have took so much away from me… can you at least me live my last moments in peace?"

"Did you let me live mine?"

"I…".

James had to stop, the memory of the Nazi's death washing over him. Kurt's exit from the world was brutal, ripped apart by the rageous young pilot who was out to avenge the deaths he'd witnessed, as well as make his own escape. He might not have been the only man to have lost loved ones that night, but Hans did not have the chance to take his anger out on anyone. Seeing the wooden spoon being driven down reminded the Englishman of how far separated he'd been from his normal personality that night. The dark side of himself that he rarely saw made one of its earliest appearances in the cold, death-filled basement of the compound just outside of Rome. The last moments of Kurt's life were violent and bloody, leaving James to believe that he was truly asking too much to be left to alone on the final journey of his own.

"I will go, James". Surprised, he shot his head up when Kurt agreed. "I suppose I have won, after all. I broke you eventually… it took me a lot longer and cost me my life but finally, you can no longer win. Such a waste over a woman like her…".

"You will never def-".

Disallowed the chance for one last statement of defiance against the Nazi Doctor, Kurt's image suddenly was no longer projected in front of him. The ghosts of his conscience were finished, completing the job that they set out to do. Either forcing him into killing Erin or making him realise that he could not go on through his life attempting to live as a gentleman, they'd forced James into the drastic action that he was taking. Once an unflappable, mentally strong young man, the man that Kurt left that night was not even a shadow of that man. He was the broken mirror that once stood proudly for all to see, the lonely spectre of the countryside with nothing left to live for. When he would not kill her, it left him with only choice in order to make them stop. If he was dead too, they could no longer hurt him.

For another minute he remained seated where he was, going over the last few details in his mind. Or procrastinating, as anyone else would have seen it. James presumed it was natural that he would try to stop himself despite taking every precaution against a change of mind, forced to weather out the storm of what positivity he had left. It wasn't a strong storm of heavy winds containing joy and love, feelings and emotions that were already over utilised since his return. The strain that the act he'd put on from the moment the rest of Derry came to know that he hadn't died that night in Taranto, was life ending. Going on as he had been not an option, and without any others left on the table that did not involve him being tortured by himself for the rest of his life, he was going to take the quicker way out.

Some would see him as a coward, a reasonable description that he agreed with, he thought to himself. Not many people held the time nor the patience to be able to understand the individual motives behind the act of one taking one's own life, viewing suicide through blinkered vision. The stock reason that anyone would come to was cowardice, the person committing the act lacking the strength of character to see themselves through the troubled times they were having. Previously, he would never have been accused of lacking strength, both physically and mentally, yet so very few could relate to what he'd suffered at the hands of the brutal Nazi that was Kurt Van Der Heijden. He'd watch the innocent die upon his word in front of him, seen a young Italian nurse lose her life to try to save his and watched his own mother ebb away as she did her upmost to protect him. He was not a coward, nor was he a saint. He was a survivor, who'd survived for far too much longer than he ever should have done.

The time was up, not that it hadn't already been for months. The cottage was in the best condition that it could have been, all things considered, his belongings all neatly condensed in their separate areas to make it easier for whoever it was whose task it would be to sort through them. The keys to both the property and the vehicle were neatly sat side by side on the kitchen table, alongside the model that his family had gifted to him for his birthday. A note would have looked better, he thought to himself as he took a final glance around the room, but it was far too late to put pen to paper to note down his thoughts. The McLaughlin brothers would find their jobs inherently more difficult after the festive period was over, but in visiting the bank that morning and leaving his work in the neatest state possible, James hoped in time they would forgive him. In another time, with a better hand of fate, he might have forgiven himself too.

Shuffling the chair closer to the noose that hung from the ceiling beam, the Englishman was almost shaking. It was a good job, he thought, that he hadn't chosen to use his revolver to end his own life. The manner in which his hands were shaking would not have been conducive for a quick death, and more likely or not would have seen him either miss or wound himself without it being fatal. With a noose around one's neck, it was hard to miss the target, though it was not impossible to suggest that one might not execute the hanging so cleanly. He'd checked it before sitting down to eat dinner, to make sure that did not happen, the knot being as tight and sturdy as he could manage. It was thick rope too, it had to be to hold his weight, James being the muscular young man that he was. Those muscles counted for nothing when his mind could not summon the same strength.

The chair in place, he dragged over the small table, that he'd waited the longest to deploy. The scene was not quite set without it, as he was just a little too short to be able to use the chair alone. He would stand on the table, placing himself into the already set noose. From there, it would be a case of swinging on the table from side to side before he was able to kick it away from underneath him, where he would then hang. The life would drain out of him in the darkness of his living room, and the darkness of the world around him. His tear-stained cheeks were cold that night, but James ignored them. Ready for what was to come without truly fearing the thought of death, a man that could have very easily died in a shower of glory as a pilot, was going out with a mere whimper.

With a deep breath, he raised his right foot onto the chair that he'd been sat on just a minute or so before. Lifting the rest of his weight with him as left foot joined right, there was no looking back for James. If he'd have talked himself out of hanging himself then he would have done so already, his mind clearer as he stood taller in the room. Hovering on the chair for a moment, he waited until he'd stopped crying, before making the next step. There was not the time for tears nor regrets, the Englishman already having analysed the later at depth for a couple of days. There were plenty that he was taking to his grave with him, too many for a young man who should have been allowed the right to be happy. Fate was taking that away though, taking the woman that he loved away from him to ensure that he could no longer see a purpose in his life. There was a purpose of course, everyone had one… he was just no longer able to break through the clouds of his conscience to see what that purpose was.

Creaking under him when he stepped onto it, the table felt the strain of his weight. There was muscle as well as conscience that increased said weight, though the table was unaware of the latter of the two forces. Arguably it was the conscience's mass that weighed the young man down more. James' great nemesis was himself, a final barrier that even the most gallant young Englishman out there could not climb over. He shouldn't have been having to be stood there on the end of a rope ready to end it all given his unique circumstances, and how much he was truly loved, but it appeared that his destiny was to go against the love around him. Love was partly what drove him up there that night though, and as he carefully placed his head into the knot, his final memories went to the person they were always going to.

Erin.

Taranto might have been the greatest triumph of his service life without question, but in life as a whole, she took the honours. The stunning blonde had been the only woman to ever make his heart race, to make him feel complete without them ever marrying. That'd been his dream, to one day have her by his side and call her his wife, which would have made him the proudest man alive. Perhaps there were more beautiful, smarter and less narcissistic women that he could have chosen to love, but none of them would ever measure up to the young Quinn. She was unique, and most of all, for a time, she was his. He didn't like to think of himself as a man that owned his partner, at the same time though unable to deny that there wasn't a time where either of them wouldn't have done anything for each other. Young love that was stolen away by war, their love was ultimately destroyed thanks to his absence and the child that was lost between. Both may have held out hope for much longer than they thought they could, but there was never going to be a way back from such hammer blows.

In one final act of cruelty against him, his mind and conscience combined to conjure up one final image. This time it wasn't a person but a scene, that looked to be taking place in the eerily familiar location of the back garden of the cottage. He was with Erin, of course he was, with four children running around them during some sort of game. Some of them carried his eyes and her hair, others the other way around. Most importantly, they were all laughing and smiling, a tight knit family just as they should have been. He could only laugh, a sad but knowing chuckle, because his conscience was showing him the dream that ironically had kept him alive in Italy. There was a sense of poeticism about it recurring again just before he passed on, to show him of the future that had been denied to not just him, but to them. A future that a racist, uncaring and despicable American Lieutenant was stealing, only to discard the moment he got what he wanted from Erin.

That was for her to sort in the future… her battles to have without him there by her side. She'd made it quite clear to him on the night of her birthday as to where they stood. She'd be devasted at his death, it wasn't egotistical to know that she would, but she would have a family that loved her, around her, supporting her as they had done when they thought he'd died alongside David two years earlier. He too had a family around him, the difference for James being that he did not wish to burden them with his struggles. Finished with it all, he was, there was only one destination left for him.

Illegitimate heir to the throne.

Son.

Nephew.

Cousin.

Friend.

Lover.

Hero.

James occupied many titles throughout out his life. Stood on the table with his head in the noose, he was just James Maguire. The former pilot and banker that ended his life on Christmas Eve, as the magic of the season inhibited those who allowed it.

The knot was tightened around him.

He'd given life everything he had… absolutely everything.

It was never quite enough.

Swaying to his sides, the table began to react to the movement, James' already shaking legs, shaking further as the table rocked. With just a little more force, it would keel over to the side by him.

There were just seconds of his life left.

Seconds left before the table fell away, to end his miserable suffering.

Three…

Two…

O-

Just enough time for a third foot to find itself on the table, steadying it to a stop immediately. The previously closed eyes of the Englishman shot open, wondering why the table stopped rocking, and who the foot belonged to that stopped him.

"No son… no… not like this".

Joe. Joe McCool.

He would not let James take his own life that night.

"Please Joe…". James' voice was pitifully weak. "T-Take your f-foot away. I…I am not worth the hassle".

"You must be jokin!" The Irishman snapped back quickly, foot staying just as firm. "I'm not takin' my foot off this table, till ye've took yer head out of that noose".

"Joe…".

"I mean it, James. This isn't the way!"

It wasn't the way out for any man, it should never have been, but through his tunnelled vision, James could not see any other way. Fate appeared to have been offering him a lifeline in sending Joe to stop him, but for once he was rejecting its kinder hand. Already having made peace with his death, the Englishman didn't wish to look back. The only way forward was for him to be left hanging there dead that night, both for him and for all of those that knew him. They'd no longer feel the burden that he thought he brought with him to their lives, allowing them to move on to a better future. His family wouldn't have to be known as 'those related to the wee English fella', free of the visualisations of what he stood for. Derry's invader, no longer roaming free. Joe wasn't going to allow him to go that easily though, nor would he allow any young man as gentlemanly and worthwhile as James to do so. He might not have been the obvious choice in who it would be to talk the fella down, but it was his duty.

"I can't…".

"Yes… ye can James…". Speaking again, Joe's tone was softer. "We can talk… I can help ye… but ye need to come down from there".

"Why does it matter!?" A tearful James cried out. "If I do not do this, I will never escape! I need a way out, Joe… I cannot live this life anymore!"

Cursing himself for not arriving sooner, Joe remained resolute without replying for another few moments. He should have known that James was taking the course of action that he was, should have realised far sooner than his lack of appearance at church. It was not the older man's finest hour, but it could have been worse if he'd have not acted upon his senses. So many people would have berated him if he'd have gotten to the Englishman too late, unable to prevent what he was trying to at that moment. The consequences of the young man's death were not lost on him, and not just the immediate consequences for the family and friends that were closest to him. However, he also knew he was at an impasse with James. Both were far too stubborn to move, which forced him into changing the topic away from what was going on.

"That's a fine suit ye have on there, James". He complimented.

"Th… Thank you…". A sniffling James seeped out a reply. "I… I wanted to look my best for…".

"Son, ye could have been in nothin' but ye briefs and ye'd have still looked smart… ye have that personality about ye… ye know".

"Wha… what do you mean?"

"That yer smart. Ye dress well, ye speak well… a proper gentleman. Not like that tool that calls himself my son in-law…".

"Which one?"

Snorting his laughter, it appeared to Joe that his distractions were helping. James' mind was not focused on his own suicide like it had been when the older man walked into the cottage, instead finding amusement in his treatment of Gerry… or Shane, as he'd enquired. Joe knew it would take a lot more to distract him, and ultimately talk him down from where he was, but if it took all night then it took all night. James' life was far too important for him to stand by and watch the young pilot throw it away. That was before he even took into account the devastating effect it would have on his own granddaughter.

"Shane's not so bad ye know…". Chuckling, Joe kept the mood light in an otherwise tense room. "But Gerry… Christ, I've seen better dressed circus performers than that Southern shite!"

"Does he not have one of my shirts?" A still distracted James questioned.

"Aye… and that's the only time he looks presentable! I don't know what my Mary ever saw in that man, I really don't! The tool hasn't even given ye yer shirt back!"

"I was not planning to ask for it back".

"I wouldn't have it back… probably smells of failure now that Gerry's been wearin' it!"

Both men laughed at the comment, which was nothing new for Joe when he loved to mock his son in-law. Perhaps because he could not see him, James was able to relax more, which he became aware of as the latest round of Gerry bashing came to an end. With his foot positioned behind the Englishman's separated legs, Joe could only look up to the back of his head, without quite being able to reach the rope. He didn't dare take his foot away either, in case James took his opportunity before he could grab the rope to stop him. The two were back to their state of stalemate, the distraction of castigating Gerry being one that could only last so long. Sighing, the older Irishman was trying to wrack his brains, pulling at the tie that he'd worn for church, desperate to think of anything that would help bring James down from where he was. Smartly, he shook away the thought of mentioning Erin, realising the amount of distress it would cause the young man. He wouldn't be the one to tip him over the edge.

"Thank you, Joe". James said sincerely. "But please, do not get cramp in your leg for my sake. Please, let me do this. You have my word I will allow you to leave… I will not make you witness this".

"And ye have my word that I'm not lettin' ye do this". Choosing not to shout, Joe was soft if anything. "Just come down from there, James. I'm not goin' to shout at ye… I just want ye to come down".

"I am sorry Joe, but I cannot change my mind now". He swallowed hard, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

"Of course ye can, James, ye jus-".

"JAMES!"

Interrupted, Joe looked over his shoulder to find that he was not the only member of the church congregation to have left much earlier than planned. James' own cousin must have noted his absence too, as stood there in one of her best dresses, Michelle wore a face of confusion and concern. Neither of the men had heard her enter, a rare occasion where she was able to deploy stealth, taking them both by surprise when she appeared behind them. What she saw upon entering the open plan living room shocked her. Erin's Granda was clearly there with his foot on the table behind her cousin, but only after she looked up specifically did she find that there was a noose around his neck. James' life was at the mercy of Joe's foot in a way, as if the older man removed it, then her cousin could very easily kill himself. Instantly, she'd called out his name, emotions flooding through her at once.

"Michelle… do not come any closer!" James commanded, voice cracking. "I will not…. I will not have you see me like this…".

"Like hell ye won't!"

Answering back, she rushed past Joe, dipping her head slightly to him as she went by. Silently, tears began rolling down her cheeks, and when she was finally able to look James in the eye, she found him to be crying too. It wasn't like her cousin to cry, not when he was usually unfazed by most of what life threw at him. That was what she, like just about everyone else thought, unfortunately being far from the truth. Once upon a time, James was the man that she thought he was, but that man was years in the past, replaced by a survivor that barely scraped by. Tortured, brutalised and mentally anguished, the man that was in front of her with his head in the noose was not the coveted young fella that everyone thought him to be. A broken man with nothing left to live for in his own opinion, it broke her heart to see him in the position he'd put himself in. That was why he'd told her not to look at him, giving her the option to leave before she witnessed something that she would never be able to forget. He was protecting her… a kind gentleman, right up until the end.

"James… don't do this… god don't do this!" Uncharacteristically, she was practically wailing. "Please… please don't…".

"Michelle…". He looked away, not focusing on her when it poleaxed his heart even more. "Please go… both of you. Everyone deserves much better than me… I am not worthy of your time… your friendship or your… your love".

"No James! No yer wrong! Yer a hero… yer… such a grand fella. P-P… P-Ple… P-Please… ye can't do this… please!"

The salvo of cries that she fired off in his direction wounded James, his resolution suddenly beginning to waver once more. From behind him, Joe could sense how uncomfortable that the young man was by the way he shuffled his feet ever so slightly. He might not have been able to get through to the Englishman, but Michelle was faring far better with her own attempt. Knowing that he needed to be the strongest in the room when the emotions of the scene had already taken over the other two, the Irishman held firm despite the pain that was beginning to flare up in his knee. Resting his outstretched leg was simply not an option though, not when he wanted to see James down from the noose, to ensure his survival. That was his mission, one which he would not fail.

"I… I love you t-too much…". James was stuttering as he addressed her. "… too much to hurt you like this. Please… please Michelle, just leave me be… allow me to move on in peace".

"I don't want ye to go!" Roaring tearfully, Michelle was not going anywhere. "Yer so loved James…. isn't he Joe? Ye… Ye have a lot of people who… who care about ye".

"She's right son… about the only time I'll admit, but she is, ye know. People think too much of ye to let us see ye go like this".

In his most soothing tone, it was Joe's turn to unnerve the previously decisive James. For a second time in as many minutes his faith in sticking to his plan was questioned, leaving him clinging onto the thought that he could go through with what he was doing. He wanted to still, unwilling to return to a life that was nothing but cruel to him, yet could not when the two of them were there in front of him, begging him not to. Going against everything he'd ever believed in or even at times preached himself, he would not hurt them by making them witness his death by hanging. Even when he'd seen just about everything in what had been a long and mostly fulfilling life, he would not put Joe through such a sight. If they were to leave then he knew he could continue and finish the job, but in Michelle Mallon and Joe McCool, James was coming up against some of the stubbornest of Derry's mules.

"This is… I…. I am not…". He struggled, for both breath and words. "I am nothing but a shame upon you all… you do not understand…".

"Why? Ye've done nothin'!" Michelle argued back. "I… I know… I… t-treated ye… like shite at first but yer… yer the best fuckin' cousin goin'! Yer cracker, James!"

"I haven't met many fellas as class as you are, James". Joe added. "And I know yer Aunt and Uncle think the world of ye. Orla too… and little Marie… yer a hero to her!"

"She deserves a better hero than me…".

Michelle and Joe would only see his attitude as defeatist, because they did not know the full story. Nobody other than the man himself was alive to know every little detail, Major Smithers and Charlene being the only two with any indication of the truth as to what happened. There was another spy who knew too, one that he did not know of, but even the three of them did not know what happened in France. The massacre was another detail left out too, one that did not shine kindly upon him. He'd thought that he could live with those truths, bury them underneath a life of happiness with the woman that he loved. James was wrong though, very, very much wrong and the only price that could be paid to alter his prior crimes, was his own death. They might have thought him to be a good, honest man but there was a side to him that was not for anyone else to see. He was no hero… he'd lost that title the moment he slit John-Paul's throat, just as his victim predicted seconds earlier.

"No, James… we all deserve you". Michelle spoke quietly, as he finally met her eyes. "Please… come down".

"What is the point?" A frustrated James sighed, tipping back towards going through with the act. "If I do not do this now, I will spend the rest of my life in misery. I… I know that you all appreciate me and I… I do not mean to hurt you by doing this but… but…".

"Erin… Ye can't be with my Erin… can ye?"

Broaching the most difficult subject of all with James, Joe ensured that he put a little extra pressure onto the table, concerned that James may try to end it just by hearing her name. Instead, it broke the dam of the young man's emotions that already contained multiple holes where water previously leaked, flooding him into a waterfall of sobs. It was another distraction though, and a crucial one, as Michelle stood up on the chair that James had used on his journey to the table. She wasn't standing toe to toe with him as such, but importantly she could reach the rope that was around his neck. For a moment she hesitated though, taking in the image of her emotionally destroyed cousin as he cried viciously into the night air.

"James…".

Whispering his name, it was her way of trying to gain permission to remove the noose around his neck. Consciously aware of their surroundings, where one wrong move could result in accidental disaster just as deliberate was trying to be avoided. In front of her, James' body was shaking, stuck in place thanks to Joe's foot still firmly being placed upon the table. The older man's muscles were burning, but he was old enough to know how to fight such pain. Endurance was key, although he knew it wouldn't last for much longer when Michelle was as close as she was to making sure that James could not succeed. The older man was doing a grand job of holding his own emotions at bay too, as he couldn't deny that he was not affected by what he'd seen that night. Always holding James in the highest of regards, hoping that one day he would marry Erin, emotion tugged at his heart when he saw what living without her love was doing to the young man.

He offered no resistance when Michelle's soft hands took hold of the rope around his neck, starting to lift it slowly above him. James was far too lost in his own misery that he would not fight her, deep down knowing that she was doing what was best for him. Fate brought her and Joe there to stop him, pushing him back onto the path of life when he'd spent the past two days walking in the valley of death. Christmas Eve was not going to be the date of his death, not when they were determined to show him how much he still had to give to life. Whatever happened though, Erin was not going to love him in the way in which he wanted. She was going to be on Lance's arm and not his, the reminder of which forced yet more tears out his eyes, running down his already tear stained cheeks.

Untying the knot from the beam above him, Michelle's own tears dropped onto his smart black shoes, as she reached upon on her tiptoes. She threw the rope away when it was loose.

Finally, James was safe again.

Ready for what she knew would happen next, his cousin held firm as he fell into her arms, almost screaming into her shoulder.

"I NEED HERRRRRRRR! I NEED HERRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Wrapping her arms around him, Michelle allowed herself to cry too whilst taking his full weight. James was a strong young man, but up on the table, she was stronger than him. Behind them, Joe could finally take his foot away, though he'd allowed it to linger for a moment longer than he could have, out of worry. The outsider in the room when the other two were cousins, he hung back, watching the scenes of a depressed James being held by her. The old Irishman never quite saw eye to eye with the young Mallon, but he was finding a newfound respect for her that night as she came to her cousin's aid.

"Come on James… let's… let's get ye t-to… to… the kitchen".

Slowly, the two of them descended, only loosening their contact on one and another as she stepped away first. As soon as James' feet were on the ground again, his knees almost buckled, but Joe was there with a helping hand when Michelle could not quite reach him. He was going to be looked after that night, whether it was what he really wanted or not. They now knew what his true desire was, not that it wasn't already quite obvious, but Erin was not his to love. It was going to be the two of them, very rarely friends but never true enemies, that would be left to talk him round. He could continue to live without her, he needed to for all their sake's. Convincing him was going to be the hardest task of either of their lives, and in his lifetime, Joe was not short on difficult experiences. The James that he saw in front of him, reminded him of himself, from days long ago…

They ended up almost carrying him into the kitchen, ice running through Michelle's veins when she stopped to think about it. Her instincts took her there that night, although she'd already seen Joe sneaking off out of church much earlier than he should have done. She waited a few minutes before following, and though hadn't quite caught sight of him throughout the journey, somehow knew where he was going. Why the older man took it upon himself to care was beyond her, but it didn't matter in the slightest at that point in time, not when his intervention saved her cousin. If he hadn't have got there when he did and left it to her to be the one to visit James alone, she wouldn't have been able to stop him. James' survival hinged upon seconds.

Sitting him down at the table, Michelle took the seat next to him, putting her arm around James' shoulder as he leant in towards her. His tears were going to soak her good dress, not that she cared. Her priority was to ensure that he took no further rash actions that night, at whatever the personal cost to herself was. As she was comforting him, Joe made them all a glass of water each, one that was sorely needed by James. The two of them were in need of hydration though, the scene they'd stumbled upon taking their breaths away, leaving them dry. He soon returned to the table, placing the glasses down in front of them whilst making his way around the table to sit opposite. In Michelle's arms, James counted the number of steps that it took Joe, a desperate attempt to refocus his otherwise unstable mind.

For another couple of minutes, none of them dared to speak. It wouldn't be for James to open the conversation anyway, not when he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't dead. After two days of knowing that he would live no longer beyond Christmas Eve, it was a shock to the system when he was in fact going to. As usual, the best laid plans were changed. Every precaution possible was taken by the Englishman to ensure that he did not back out from what he was going to do, yet still he hadn't been able to. It was another failure in a sense. He couldn't even manage to kill himself without it going wrong. There was a time when everything he seemed to turn his hand to, became something he excelled at, yet those days were further and further in the past. External factors outside of his control stopped his planned death that night, not that he was able to see it that way.

One of them had to say something though, and it was the oldest, wisest head in the room, that opened up first.

"James… I think we need to talk…".

"I am sorry!" Jolting his head up from Michelle's shoulder, the Englishman answered instantly. "I am so sorry, I… I…"

"Don't you apologise son… ye've nothin' to apologise for".

"What must you think of me!?" He looked away, shame beginning to take hold. "I should not be so weak, it is unbecoming".

"James!"

Taking over from where Joe started, Michelle shouted out his name to stop him from hurting himself even more. That was all that he appeared to do, he'd reflected upon it the day before; lacerated himself when life treated him so cruelly. The James Maguire that would find the positivity in everything was a man that was no longer around. At her shout he stopped though, turning his head back around to find her glowing red eyes. She was just as upset as he was, but he'd only just noticed how much he was hurting her. His conscience, so often his nemesis, was reminding him once more of the effect that he had on those who got close to him. If Kurt or any of the others appeared, it would not have been a surprise.

"I…".

"Son…". Joe's commanding tone took control once more. "We need to have a wee chat, so we do. And I know yer not' goin' to want to hear it but… we have to talk about my Erin".

"Joe, I… I cannot…". He struggled, once again breaking eye contact.

"I would take you into my family in a heartbeat, if I could, James…".

Catching the Englishman's full attention, James almost froze at those words. He'd nearly killed himself, citing his love for the man in front of him's granddaughter as the reason for why, yet the same man was willing to still accept him. Astounded, he fixed his eyes upon Joe's, though he still registered the gentle strokes that Michelle was applying to his arm. Little touches that were very much appreciated.

He allowed Joe to continue.

"From the moment I first met ye… after ye'd stopped makin' my daughters go all starry eyed…". Winking, a friendly wink, Joe amused both cousins for a brief second. "I had a good feelin' about ye, James. Ye shook hands well… ye spoke well… ye made Gerry look even uglier than he is, which is some feat, so it is! But I knew you were a good man from that first day and I could see ye straightaway by Erin's side. And then I saw the way that she looked at ye… and do ye know somethin', son? I saw her future whenever I saw her with you".

The memories that the older man stirred within the younger one were painful, even if they were some of his best. Joe spoke of the months before they became a couple, where he was quickly discovering that she meant a lot to him. James hadn't quite known he'd fallen in love with her at first, cherishing her friendships whilst he adjusted to the city that he'd moved to. He'd not been naïve when he made the journey, knowing that he could face resistance from the locals due to his accent. Englishmen were not so welcome in Derry. It was one of the last things Kathy had told her son before he started off on the journey across the Irish Sea. The memories of her friendship were just as important to him as those created once they'd admitted their feelings for each other.

Having paused for a moment, almost as if he knew what the memories would do to the Englishman, Joe once again pressed on.

"When the two of ye's were together, I… I thought Erin had her life sorted and I was so… so proud of her. But then this war came along and took ye away from her. She was so upset when ye went but ye should have seen her every time a letter turned up. I've never seen eyes light up like hers and Orla's when they heard from you and David, ye know".

"Our… our reactions were similar". James croaked out, hit by another memory.

"Aye, of course they would be. But that's the problem, isn't it? I don't want ye to take this the wrong way, James, because I don't think it's yer fault but… but ye've cared for my Erin too much, so ye have. Ye… ye've kept yerself alive because ye knew she would be here when ye came back, is that right?"

Nodding softly, James did not try to express himself in words when he knew they would not come out. A chill ran through his veins as he listened to Joe, who was spot on somehow without knowing the full story of what had happened to him. Erin was his motivation to survive, even if he did have other family and friends to come back to. He would do anything for those close to him, he knew it and they did too, but it was only for the blonde that he would go to the lengths he had done to not give in. No other man could have survived what he'd gone through without having such a determined motivation to counter the torture they were receiving. His love for her was so strong that it saw him through the rack, allowed him to take five hundred lashes in his stride and multiple burns across his body. As he thought of the later injuries, he could almost feel the swastika burning at his side.

"Everythin' ye've done's been for her, hasn't it?" Joe asked again, the same answer given. "But ye see, son, ye don't… ye do but… not in the same ye… ye don't love her anymore".

"I…". James went to shout.

"No, James. Listen to me". Joe stopped him quickly. "Ye've always loved and cared for my Erin, I know that, Michelle knows that… everyone in the whole of this feckin' city knows that. But it's not the same love anymore. Ye… ye made her not just someone that ye loved but someone that ye couldn't live without. She became water or… or oxygen, to ye. Ye can't ever make someone that important to ye… it's not good for you and… it's not fair on them".

"I… I didn't mean to…". He blubbered, barely able to contain the hatred he held against himself. "Oh good god… what have I done…".

"It's not wrong, what ye did…". Reassuring again, Joe was showing a side to himself that Michelle did not know existed. "… but ye have to make it right. Now I don't like this Yank bastard anymore than you or Michelle, here".

"Aye, Lance is a bigger prick than Gerry!"

Huffing out a laugh at her suggestion, James tried to cheer himself up by hearing Michelle lay into a man that he did not like nor trust. That did not take away the fact that it was that man who was able to spend his time, away from his ship, with the woman that he loved. Lance didn't love Erin like James did, whether the latter's love was natural or not. Across from him, in comparison, Joe raised an eyebrow at her thoughts. No one could be a bigger prick than Gerry, not even Lance.

"Erin loves him though, James and… and I know that's hard for ye to hear, but that's the truth, so it is". The Irishman's softness was replaced by a firm, if understanding, tone. "Ye can't keep thinkin' that ye need to live yer life for her. It's not right, James… ye can't ever make someone so important to ye that not havin' them around ye makes ye want to take yer own life. You don't love her for the fact that she's Erin anymore, James. Ye love because… because ye've told yerself that ye can't not love her".

Joe's words hit hard, but home truths always did. The Englishman hadn't seen his love for the Irishman's granddaughter in such light before, but he was one hundred percent correct. He would always love Erin properly, and in a moment of such sudden calm, he loved her properly. Yet those moments did not come around too often, even if he always thought of her. The young Quinn always being on his mind drove him to make her a pillar that he could not do without, offering him the strength he needed in Italy to be able to survive. When he'd returned, he was supposed to have ridded himself of such a mindset, but it hadn't ever truly gone away. The wiser, more experienced man of the two saw straight through his guise, accurately pinpointing his problem. When he'd returned to the foundations of his pillar, to find them crumbling around him, he hadn't been able to cope without her. Taking his own life meant that he wouldn't have to watch the pillar collapse in front of his very eyes. It was only then, the words bouncing around his head, that he realised that he didn't love her in the way he should anymore. Erin had become an unhealthy obsession… not a cherished soul mate. In following what the thought was the right path, he'd instead made her far too critical to his own need to live. That night, that stance was going to have to be silenced.

"You… you are right, Joe". He spoke with clarity, for the first time in hours. "I… I have treated her terribly… made her into something she cannot be. I… I just have not… I… I could not survive without the thought of her in Italy. I saw things and… and they… no, he did things to me… and if I did not have my future with Erin to think of, I'm not sure I… I would be here now".

"In Italy, that was the right thing to do, Son. I would have done the same if that was my Marie back in the day". The older man reached out, his hand being placed upon the younger's wrist. "But now, yer goin' to have to learn to live with her bein' with this… feckin' American eejit. You can't change the past James and ye can't change how she feels about him but… look at what ye could do with yer life. Yer a war hero!"

Sipping at his water as he listened to Joe, James almost spat it back out into the glass at a description that he kept hearing. Hero was not a word that he could be associated with, not after what he'd done throughout the war. If his early acts such as the day he and David took on a tank division alone over French soil could be considered such then his later escapades in the southern regions of the same country, blotted the copybook. It was not just what happened with Matthieu and Jeannine, a memory he still hadn't completely confronted despite the best efforts of his conscience, but what happened after too. The way in which he'd slit John-Paul's throat without hesitation… how he'd executed Aisling without second thought when the revolver was raised. He could not be allowed to be called a hero anymore… and that was before he'd even taken into account his role in the massacre, which predated all three of his other thoughts.

"I am not a hero". He glumly concluded. "Please, I… I do not wish for anyone to ever describe me as such again".

"Why not?" Michelle enquired, squeezing his shoulder as she did. "That's what ye are, James. Ye'll never be anythin' else to me".

Michelle's hopeful smile warmed his heart, but it was not enough to change his mind. They couldn't know every detail, no one could when it would make him just as much as a criminal as the Nazi's. However, they could be told enough to know he was not simply being modest.

"I did things to survive, Michelle… I have killed people". He stopped, looking her in the eye to find that she did not recoil, prompting him to continue. "I killed Doctor Van Der Heijden… I killed John-Paul O'Reilly… I killed Aisling. I have damaged so many people's lives and whenever I see John-Paul's parents, I thi-".

"Ye killed those people to survive, didn't ye, James". Joe once again was the source of the interruption.

"Aisling was a Nazi". He confirmed in a sigh, hearing Michelle gasp next to him as he looked at Joe. "John-Paul… he… he was going to turn me over to them. I could not… I could not go back not after… not again".

"Ye did what ye had to… it doesn't make ye any less of a hero. They were both bad people, so they were… if anythin', it makes ye even more of a hero, isn't that right, Michelle?"

"Absolutely! That bitch, Aisling! If I'd have known, I'd have killed her! Fuckin' Nazi scum, she got what she deserved with you killin' her James!"

He wasn't sure that he could ever see it that way, though it did not stop James offering his cousin a small smile when he glanced at her. She'd not stopped the contact with him throughout, returning to stroke his arm gently as he began to cool down. James was not one to complain about the pain that he was in, after five hundred lashes from Lieutenant Hartmann it was nothing, but his head was beginning to feel the effects of the minutes before. His cranium wasn't quite spinning as yet, although another sip of water was going to be required to make him feel a little better. His mind was a deserted place, having never expected to have to think beyond that night. In unexpected territory, it was going to take a while for him to adjust.

"What must Erin think of me…". He pondered, earning the despaired sigh of his cousin.

"I… I don't know what she thinks, James but I don't think she hates ye, if that's what ye think. It was… hard for Erin… I think it still is".

"She doesn't hate ye, James". Joe interjected, more convincingly than Michelle. "I don't think Erin could ever hate ye. Even after…".

The older man stopped, finding a face of horror staring back at him from James. Surely he couldn't have meant what he thought? James had confronted the topic before he'd climbed up onto the table in order to end his life, but as far as he knew, only her parents were aware of what happened outside of the two of them. She'd definitely not confined in her Granda, he was certain of it and neither had he. It wasn't out of the question that Mary or Gerry were the culprits of the information being leaked, however the latter would not confide in a man that openly showed his dislike of him on a regular basis. Unless Mary confided in her father, which he thought unlikely too if Erin requested that neither of them ever speak of it to anyone.

"After what?"

Oblivious to what they were both saying, Michelle was stumbling upon the secret of a friend, one that she should have never heard. The two men exchanged glances, the two of them trying to decide which of them would have the job of telling her. It was too late to make up a lie, their eyes told each other what their minds were already telling them. She was going to have to be told.

With a rush of newfound confidence, having only been at rock bottom a few minutes prior, James elected himself out of the two.

"I did not know when… when I left to fight but… but Erin… Erin was pregnant with our child". He bit back the tears, arching his head away. "But not long after she found out she… she lost the baby. I… I did not know until I… I came back".

Stopping out of necessity, James did nothing to hinder the flow of tears that started up again. Wincing, he thought of the child that never was, the happiness that he or she could have brought to his and Erin's lives.

"You knew?" Michelle questioned Joe, her voice barely above a murmur.

"I worked it out, so I did". Joe, sighing himself, focused on her when he replied. "These old eyes can see a lot more than ye realise, ye know".

Laughing lightly at his words for a second, the reality of the timeline of what happened hit her. Erin's Autumnal moods were suddenly a lot easier to explain, her trauma linked to the time of year which in turn left her with scars that would always be reopened as the leaves began to drop from the trees. There was logic to why she'd taken so long to get over James' apparent death too, as in little over a year she'd not only lost her fella but her child too. Instantly, Michelle felt awful.

"I… I was so horrible to her… I…".

"Don't you start gettin' yerself worked up either". The Irishman cut her off. "She hasn't held it against ye. Ye couldn't have known, Michelle".

"A… Aye… I suppose".

There was another pause, which was mostly Joe remaining silent until James regained his composure once more. The Englishman's safety was paramount to him, which was why he was not continuing on with a cavalier attitude. Confronting the memories of the past were always going to bring the young fella to tears, but Joe knew that he needed to face them. To be able to move past what he held with Erin, to ensure that he could live his life without ever feeling the need to take it like he had done that night, he had to learn. When he'd set off from church that night with slight concerns in his mind when James hadn't turned up, he'd not quite expected to be in the position that he was in. He was too long in the tooth to be shocked by it though, far too long.

"James…". Michelle spoke his name softly, moving her hand onto to his back where her fingers coasted over his suit jacket in a circular motion. "Are ye… how are ye… feelin'".

He took a moment, and a deep breath, before he replied.

"Foolish". Answering honestly, he looked into his cousin's eyes. "But… but do not worry, Michelle. I am not going to hurt myself any further this evening or… or in the future, if I can help it".

"Good. But yer not a fool, James. Yer a cracker cousin, that's what ye are... ye know, if ye forget the Englishness".

Cheekily bumping her shoulder into his, Michelle drew a laugh from him as well as Joe, whose respect for her grew yet again. The dark-haired young woman came within seconds of losing her cousin but rather than take the situation she found light heartedly as she normally would, she'd recognised it for how serious it was. Between the two of them, thanks to their differing mentalities and strategies, they'd talked James down that night. The challenge was going to be the future, most prominently where James' future resided within the city. He would always have the bank to go to as a job, but it was the rest of his life where direction was sorely needed. Although she did not know he would never return anyway, she was internally determined to make sure he did not enlist again with the Fleet Air Arm.

"Yer comin' to ours for dinner tomorrow. I'm not takin' no for an answer". She playfully demanded, watching him smile back at her.

"I would be honoured if you would still have me". He responded, a hint of the gentlemanly mask returning.

"If it were me, I wouldn't argue with her, son".

"Bit rude, Joe!?"

"It's not my fault yer a mouth".

Shaking her head, eyes rolling, Michelle conceded the point. In the past she would have argued back at the man opposite her with her own view that she was not, but he was right in a way. Given the right circumstances and the correct timing, she could be a bit of a mouth. Their exchange was lifting James' mood further too. Even if he'd already made assurances that he would not take any drastic action to end his own life that night, neither of his uninvited guests were prepared to leave him without making absolute certain. James' word was never normally doubted when he was the upstanding gentleman that he was, but after what they'd walked into, it was not quite the calm and reasoned young man they were used to seeing.

"Thank you".

It was James himself who started the conversation once more, eyes flickering between both Michelle and Joe. His words were honest and sincere, needing to be said.

"I… I could not see my value beyond… beyond Erin and you have both reminded me of it. As you said yourself, Joe, I cannot change the past but… but I can change my future. Positively".

"Aye, and ye'll always have me to talk to, so ye will".

"Me too". Adding to Joe's words, Michelle took her cousin's right hand in her left. "I'm goin' to need you, ye know James. I think Clint might be the fella I want to be with for the rest of my life and… and I'm goin' to make mistakes, so I am. With you there to help me and Clint though, I reckon we could work through those mistakes. What do ye say?"

"It would be a privilege to be able to assist you, Michelle. Clint too. You both deserve the happiness that you are trying to create together".

Wrapping her arms around him immediately, Michelle held her cousin tight to her. They were going to face the future together, her future as well as his, being stronger for it when they had each other to rely on. It was another scene that warmed Joe, whose own heart rate was only just back under control. He wasn't going to offer the same support to Michelle, she wouldn't want it from him anyway, but it was with James where his concerns remained. To help him out would be difficult without prying questions from his own family, but he wasn't going to leave the young man in any doubt that he would not be there if needed. After all, he'd faced difficult questions about his regular trips to Pump Street for a long time… he could handle the snide comments of his daughters, if they were to come.

"Now… if the two of you's don't mind…". Michelle spoke again, pulling away from her cousin. "I'm off for a wee tinkle, so I am, before I burst".

"Mouth…". Joe muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'. Don't you burst on us, ye can't make poor James here clean the place at this time because ye couldn't make the loo!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Standing up and saluting Joe, putting on her poshest accent that really wasn't that posh at all, Michelle left the older man shaking his head. Another time he would have reprimanded her for it, but it was not the time nor the place. As she walked off in the direction of the bathroom, James fiddled with the cufflinks of his shirt, breathing out another sigh. He still couldn't quite believe that he was alive, but it was a feeling that he was going to have to get used to. The two of them, Michelle especially, were making him feel loved and wanted. In his clouded vision where only his love for Erin mattered, he'd forgotten how important the love of those around him truly was.

"James, son". Joe broke the silence, the Englishman raising his head to meet the sound. "If ye ever want to talk about what happened… ye know, when ye were in Italy like… I'll listen, ye know. I've been there myself. I know how it feels".

"Thank you, Joe". He replied graciously. "Although I fear I am not ready to have any discussions about it yet".

"It doesn't have to be right away, James. But if ye want to talk… ye know where I am".

A man like Joe McCool didn't offer olive branches like that to just anyone, James knew. He never took him to be a man of great compassion, though he would never doubt that the man cared for those around him. There were similarities between the two despite their differing outlooks, another thought the younger man ruminated on for a moment. If Joe could fight his way through the troubles he'd faced during life, which were no doubt plentiful, then he could do so too. When there were so many people around him that needed him in their lives, loving him for his presence, then James could carry on. If Erin couldn't see the rest of her life with him, it didn't mean that he had to end his in order to escape. Great challenges would lay ahead, but he'd had the epiphany that he required.

His life could go on without her, as a dedicated servant to others. And perhaps, in time, they would become friends again.

"There is something else though, Joe…". Speaking up, James wanted to get it off his chest. "Why did you come here, tonight? I… I can understand why Michelle would be concerned and I am not ungrateful but… I do not understand your motive?"

Joe laughed dryly. He knew he wouldn't be able to get away without telling James, no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, it is my job after all".

"Your job?" Confused, James' brows furrowed.

"Let's just say that we have a mutual friend in Mr Smithers, so we do".

James' eyes went wide at the older man's comment, completely stunning him. Of all of the people he would have expected, Joe was not one at all. He was a man of great honour, that he was certain, but he'd never once gotten the hint that his honour ran even deeper than that.

"What do ye think I've been doin' up Pump Street?"

"I…".

The chance for James to ask further was taken away, hearing Michelle exiting the bathroom and knowing that the two could speak of what was said no further. She could not be drawn into the world of espionage, neither would allow it. If Joe was to be honest, as much as it was his obligation to ensure James' safety, there was more to his actions than just that. He hadn't lied when he'd told the young man that he thought highly of him, not pretending to do so in order to talk James out of what he was planning to do that night. He truly did believe him to be one of the best men he'd ever held the pleasure of knowing, retaining his own hope that before his time was up, that the Englishman would be part of his family. If he went to his grave having the banker looking out for the rest of his family, then he would go a very contented man indeed.

Joe knew he'd not only saved James' life that night but perhaps had saved Erin's future.