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 :)

87. Farewell old friend

Chapter 87: Farewell old friend

The devastation that came about that night at the Devlin household, soon spread. The moment that the cops turned up in the street, rumours continued on throughout the city, eventually hitting the Quinn and McCool houses. Without another thought for anyone around them when the slightly confused message that there'd been a serious incident involving their friend reached them, Erin and Orla dropped everything. From the message that they were given, it appeared that Michelle, along with James, were the first on scene, and it was to them that the two headed. Marie was left in Joe's care, but the patriarch of the family knew not to question either granddaughter's motives where their friend was concerned. Gerry and Mary joined them out in the night too, concerned for both Geraldine and, to a much lesser extent, Sean. Anna was left in Joe's care and he immediately put her to use looking after Marie, when Charlene's inevitable visit occurred. She'd heard the news just as quickly, dropping into the McCool house to inform him that she would handle any repercussions that James might face for being at the scene. The cops wouldn't be questioning him more than they needed too, that was for sure…

When they arrived together, ahead of Mary and Gerry as well as Martin, Deirdre and Sarah who'd all walked out to investigate, they were met with a teary Michelle. So heartbroken at what she'd seen from within the Devlin household, she couldn't find the words to be able to explain what happened, leaving it to her cousin. Looking up to James with expectant eyes, Erin and Orla's worlds were soon completely shattered by what he had to say. He hated to be the one to do it, to make either of them cry, but he was strong enough to withstand their pierced cries that suddenly filled the night sky. The rest of the adults were soon around them to comfort them, Orla immediately seeking her mother's shoulder to cry on. They were there at the scene for over an hour before any of them dared to move off, after the bodies were taken away once the crime scene had been processed. James and Michelle stayed longer, to pass on all the information that they could to the cops before being allowed to return home. He offered to stay at the Mallon's house with her that night if she wanted him to, and as grateful as she was, the young woman just wished to be left alone. His own heart hurt for her, leaving James with the determination to do something in return.

For a brief few moments when he returned to the cottage in the early hours of the morning, his conscience tried to spark thoughts of blame upon himself. James of days earlier would have given in and thought so too, but he knew he could never have prevented what had happened. Although removing Jamie from the picture ultimately sped up the process, there was always a danger that Sean would have harmed Clare if she let slip her secret. The weight of the guilt would never quite be zero, as he knew he could have done something more, but James chose not to focus upon it in hindsight. His friends and family needed him to be strong in the days following the deaths at the Devlin's, and that was exactly what he was. A rock for them all to lean on if they needed him, he was finally able to put to use his connections in order to get what he wanted. Or rather the money that was his thanks to those connections.

Immediately heading for the church the following morning, he caught Father Peter at a quiet moment when there was not another soul about. The Father had been tidying up in his back office when the Englishman walked in, and when there was no one else around, the man of the cloth was utterly terrified. James didn't wear an expression of joy, which would have been difficult given what had happened, though the Priest didn't draw that conclusion at first. Chalky, nervous breaths gathered in the back of his throat when the young man first spoke to him. His worries were born out of the fear that Michelle may have disclosed their encounter to her cousin, who would be furious with him for stepping out of line. Knowing that James was a good-natured young man made no difference to the situation for the Priest. He had a lot more muscle and may well have ignored the collar that he wore in order to teach him a lesson.

Thankfully for him, James was only there to discuss the plans for the funeral. The Devlin's did have other family members in the country, but Sean had burnt so many bridges with the rest of his family that none of them would likely turn up. Taking it upon himself to organise a swift, but graceful funeral for all three of them, he'd taken a substantial amount of money with him to ensure that it could be held at the earliest convenience. Partially through his worries that James might deliver him a savage beating and partially because the money on offer was far too good to resist, Father Peter accepted without question, moving other plans of his own out of the way to have the funeral conducted within a few days. It wasn't the usual turn around, but neither was it usual for him to receive what was in effect a bribe in order for the ceremony to proceed sharply.

That was why on the first day of the New Year of nineteen forty three, a large congregation gathered at the church for the funerals of three souls taken from the world too soon. Or at least two. There was no such official confirmation from the police as to what they'd pieced together to explain what happened that night, but there were enough rumours for it to be clear that Sean Devlin killed his wife and daughter. James never mentioned the note to any of them other than Michelle, though it was through her that Erin and Orla found out about it. He didn't want to out of principle; the evidence was part of the investigation, not something that he should be disclosing. Michelle perhaps shouldn't have done so either, but she couldn't keep the truth away from the rest of their group. As much as it went against his rule-abiding sense, James could understand her reasoning. He wouldn't have wanted to have been left out either. As such, it meant that there were plenty of mourners who were more than happy to turn their backs when Sean's coffin was carried in for the service. Once holding a previously high standing within the church, in death his name meant mud.

Father Peter's service went on for nearly two hours in the end, though that was due to the fact that all of the girls wanted to say a word about Clare each. Quite how all three of them managed to find their words was a mystery to nearly everyone in the church, though James always knew that Orla would find strength. She was the most composed of the three, even if Clare's death was not lost on her like a lot of life was at times. She wasn't going to get to see her friend again, which hurt her dearly. Michelle's own speech was perhaps the most touching of all, one that left few dry eyes in what was a packed house. Colm even had tears in his eyes, the magnitude of her words striking him. In no uncertain terms, the young Mallon made it clear how important Clare had been to her during her life, using the odd anecdote or two to emphasise the point. The now deceased young woman often balanced out her friend's antics with her generally better behaviour. With that balancing act no longer available, it was going to change the way in which she acted without doubt.

Erin took her turn to speak last, watched all the while by the fella that she'd once loved. Still did, if she would dare to be honest to herself. He was never going to allow her to feel as if she was alone up there on the altar speaking to the congregation. It wasn't so much of a stare that James was giving her, for there was no malice nor annoyance to it. What he was doing instead was radiating confidence for her to latch onto, to be able to steady herself as she spoke words she never thought she would have to. Like Michelle before her, she recounted how much of an impact Clare had on her life, how much of an influence that she truly was. Every word that she uttered, every stutter that turned to a little cry as she spoke, hurt James a lot from where he was sat a couple of rows back. He didn't wish to see Erin upset ever, regardless of what they held between them, though hid his own anguish well to be able to focus open her. It went without saying, for him at least, that she would always have his undivided attention if she wanted it.

When the service concluded, there was the matter of committing the coffins to the ground in the plots outside. The already dug graves were filled one by one, starting with Sean's, though the words spoken by the Priest for his were quick and done with little emotion. Even though they'd been close and he did have flaws of his own, the Father could not condone what the man did to his family that night. He was after all, burying a murder, a fact that the congregation were wholly aware of. The long-suffering wife of the abusive husband and father, the words that were said for Geraldine were much kinder as well as those said for Clare as her coffin was lowered. There was a sympathetic tone to the man's voice as he oversaw proceedings, towards both those that were reeling from their deaths and to the two deceased women themselves. They'd not always enjoyed the happiest of lives thanks to the man that they lived with, death coming as little solace other than to end their suffering at his hands.

The majority of the crowds had dispersed, leaving the three girls holding hands by Clare's graveside alone after ten minutes. Many others came and went around them to say their goodbyes, some to Geraldine as well as Clare. None to Sean though. Other than when the Father did his duties as he committed the man's body to the ground, not one other member of the community paid their respects to him. Respect for Sean Devlin, simply did not exist anymore. Huddling together as a group, Michelle, Erin and Orla were grasping each other tightly, trying to cover the gaping hole that Clare left in their lives. Their group had been through so much together, from the joys of their school days to Orla's pregnancy and the loss of David, and for a time, James. Losing one member of the group threatened to break it. If that crack was to occur though, it would be in the future, because at that moment in time as they stood huddled together on the wintery morning that opened the year, they needed each other more than anything else.

"I… Is… is this it?"

Erin's question was not really one that needed to be answered by either of her friends. That was it, where Clare was concerned at least. They'd watched her body be lowered into the ground in a coffin, the last chapter of the tragedy of a novel that was her life. Ultimately, that life derailed in the most abysmal of circumstances after fighting against the tide for so long. Shatteringly for their hearts, their friend could not keep her secret and Michelle safe, without sacrificing her own life. The tide became a flood of Sean's anger, to which she became a victim who died in a terror-like state, plummeting to the floor. There really was nothing left.

"I still can't believe she's… she's gone…". A tame Michelle whimpered. "She didn't deserve this… she deserved to be happy… more than any of us".

"Our Clare was so brave". Erin sucked in air as stuttered breaths escaped from her. "I wanted to… to have her in my life forever… and now I can't".

"Me too…". Michelle replied, pulling Erin in closer to her.

"I'll miss her".

The sound of a dejected Orla, who'd somehow fought back the tears since they'd moved outside, would have been enough to break the hardest of hearts. So full of life and zest normally, it was as if all of her energy had been stolen from her. Her words hurt her friends even more too, Erin especially as she burst into further floods of tears that she didn't even knew she had left. They'd all exhausted their reserves of emotion since the night the scene at the Devlin house was found. How they had anything left between them, let alone each, was far beyond the blonde. One thing that could be guaranteed though, was that they would never be left completely alone in their grief.

Hearing footsteps behind them, all three them expected it to be either Gerry, Martin or Joe, ready to pull them away so that they did not stay out there in the cold all day. The nip in the air was dourly bitter, penetrating the outer layers of the coats that every person stood out there was wearing. One whose coat was big and welcoming though, was in fact the person approaching from behind them, treading carefully.

"Sister Michael". Orla called out to her quietly. "Sure we won't be a minute if they want to fill these in…".

Agreeing with her without saying the words, the three of them all glanced between each other before taking a final look at the open grave. A few errant flakes of snow began to fall as they paused for a moment, all of them including the Sister looking up into the sky. Behind the clouds that dominated the skyline, the sun was almost winking at them through a gap, as if it were Clare herself giving them the nod to continue on with their lives. None of them could hold out any further, Orla included, sobs beginning as it truly did hit them for the first time, not that similar feelings of heartbreak had not. They were going to live the rest of their lives with Clare Devlin not being a part of them. Sensing the distress of the young women she once held responsibility over, the nun couldn't help but show her lighter side.

"Come here… all of ye".

There was not another soul anywhere near them, though it wouldn't have mattered in the state that they were in. The three young women practically fell into the arms of a woman that they all still feared, who was showing them that she understood their loss. When she'd heard of the deaths of the Devlin's, especially Clare, Sister Michael shed tears of her own from within the walls of her home. Nobody else could see her there, the only place that she could express such emotion when everyone in the community expected her to keep up her hardened, authoritarian image. Struggling to hold off watery eyes out in the cold air of that January morning, she would have to blame the snow being in them if she was challenged. One young woman's death was always going to cause devastation to those around her, yet with Clare, the reach of it seemed to be deeper than anyone could have thought. It was not a lie to suggest there may have nearly been one thousand worshippers at the church that morning, some brave souls standing out in the cold to hear what was said inside.

"Why Clare, Sister?" A grief stricken Orla looked up to her, with a look akin to that of a puppy. "Why does God always take people I love away".

To that, the Sister did not have an answer. A nun should have been strict upon a young woman who dared to question the Lord's intentions, but that was not the woman who she was. She may have kept up appearances in order to maintain her power over those that she taught, though it was not the real woman that terrified the young children of Derry. For those who could slip beneath those shields, the three girls in her arms frequently being able to despite it being against her better judgement, there was a heart of gold that waited. She was a fine judge of character too, knowing who needed her care and more importantly, the people who were deserving of it. She would not shout at Orla for wondering why God took away everyone she cared about… it wasn't as if she hadn't asked herself the same question before.

"We cannot know the Lord's intentions, Orla". She spoke softly to the young mother. "All we can do is think of those that we have lost and carry on living for them".

"Clare… s-sh… s-should be here". Michelle blubbered. "She… she shouldn't be up with God in heaven… she should be here with us… with me…".

Reserving Michelle a smile that was softer than she could ever remember pulling, Sister Michael felt every sinew of the dark-haired young woman's grief. They were a perfect duo of sorts, one that caused her plenty of trouble during their school days, nonetheless. Seeing Michelle around without the diminutive blonde by her side, was almost not right.

"Without sounding too righteous…". The Sister stopped, clearing her throat. "… she'll always be with ye in yer heart, Michelle. You just keep bein' yerself, and ye'll always do Clare proud".

Resisting the urge to make one of her usual off the cuff, slightly snide remarks, the Sister opted to continue to hold the girls close to her instead. If anyone was to come upon her comforting them, she did not care at all. The three of them needed her, the nun temporarily filling the Clare sized void within their ranks. Nobody would ever be able to replace the value she brought to their group, but if she could at least make them realise that they would always have others around them who cared about them, then it was enough for a wise old owl such as herself.

"Right… let's be gettin' you's back inside". She announced to them, Michelle humming immediately. "I've heard they'd added some brandy to the tea…".

"Well… when ye put it like that…".

"Aye…".

Between Michelle's sniggered reply and Orla's agreement, there was a brief underlying whisper of laughter. Such a noise was not normally heard at a graveside, yet they'd managed to break through their own clouds of upset to find momentary joy. The two that replied were more than happy to go with the Sister, back into the warmth where a customised cup of tea waited for them. All three of them left her arms, but she did not immediately turn when it became clear that Erin was not quite as keen to join them. Frowning at the blonde, the nun's expressions demanded an answer that was given after a couple of seconds further of what looked to be contemplation. She was frozen solid, but she still wanted another minute before the men returned with shovels to fill the graves in.

"I'll catch ye up… can ye give me one minute?"

Nodding wistfully, the Sister put her arm around the shoulders of the other two girls to lead them back inside. Not a word passed between them as they made their way to the front of the church, and into the hall. Left alone out in the cold, the pain from such a temperature beginning to be felt in her ears, Erin didn't quite know why she wanted the moment alone. They'd grieved mostly as a group since her passing, apart from at night when they all cried themselves into a slumber for the friend they'd lost. Small voices in her head were often trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to get her to go off of the script she'd previously set herself. As the clock struck quarter to twelve, the snow beginning to increase in intensity as she stood there, the small voices won.

"Oh Clare… why did he do this to ye…". Whispering with a croak in her voice, she turned dagger-like eyes upon Sean's grave. "Why couldn't he have loved ye and… and accepted ye…".

In as many words, without saying it exactly, Michelle's description of what was written in the dead man's note told her why Clare had died. She must have been forced into revealing the truth of her persuasions to him, during what must have been an agonising few minutes of her life. Clare wasn't built for such conversations, not when she was so nervous all of the time. Let alone would she have been ready for what his response was, though they would never truly be able to understand what happened that night when he'd taken his own life after it.

"I... I need ye, Clare… I… I'm not sure I… I can go without ye…".

Ceasing for a moment to a sniffle, in her outstretched hand Erin caught a snowflake that quickly melted at her touch. With no gloves on her hands, she could barely feel her fingers, not that she cared.

"I wanted to be there when ye… ye found yer happiness… and… wanted ye there for… wh-wh… wh-when I got married to La…". She paused. "When I got married… ye know".

Overburdened by the weight of feelings she was experiencing, Erin couldn't go on for much longer without cracking. She'd always dreamt of a wedding where Clare would be right there with her, in the front row when she looked down at her beaming face. Hopefully by then the world would have taken a step forward to accept those like her who did not find love in the way that the church taught it. So much potential was taken away when she crashed through the banister at the top of her stairs, the potential for success and freedom in her own life as well as the copious amount of exuberance she could have brought to her friends lives. A life without Clare in it was almost unthinkable, yet it was the reality that the three of them were dealing with.

"I am sorry".

A new voice entered her consciousness, from over her left shoulder. A new presence to offer her their condolences

Erin hadn't heard the gentle, almost thin ice treading footsteps behind her, the owner of said steps hoping he hadn't startled her when she was lost in thought. There should have been a very different male voice beside her that day, but he didn't know about Clare's death when he was out in the open sea, patrolling the coasts with the rest of the crew of the Lyman, Michelle's Clint included. Lance wouldn't have been much of a help to her anyway, though she remained blissfully unaware of how little he truly cared about her feelings. The Yank wouldn't care less if Clare was dead or alive; she wasn't the object of his plans, nor did he have the time to spare to think about how it would affect the woman he was pretending to love. Her death did nothing to help nor hinder the wager between friends…

The words belonged to another young man, the very same man who'd spent the entire of her eulogy for her friend, with his gaze fixed upon her. She could feel the courage emanating from him, drifting through the air into her lungs. That courage drove her on to finish the speech she'd prepared to remember her friend, even allowing her to deviate from it to add what felt like more of a personal touch. He was like that though, James, he always had been. They might not have been a couple anymore, but she knew she was deluding herself whenever she told herself that he probably did not care for her after all she'd said to him. Mostly after a conversation they'd held just a few graves down from where they were stood, no less. The Englishman should have resented her like any other man would. Even when she was blinkered by her gung-ho narcissism, she would have understood if he'd have chosen to stay away. No, not James… James was there for her. Just like he always had been if she were to reflect any further upon their shared past, without trying to fabricate a truth that simply was not there.

Exactly where he wanted to be, James was by Erin's side.

"For your loss…". He added to his earlier comment, stopping just behind her.

Straining herself not to reply instantly when her mind practically yearned for her to, Erin managed a nod whilst stopping the words that were on the tip of her tongue. She would still say them… they were an obligation, almost, but not before taking a deep breath to control the battlefield of emotions that were flaring up inside her. Some were not appropriate for the time nor place, though she could have just easily blamed the cold for why her cheeks were getting pinker by the second.

"Thank ye… J… J-James". She shivered his name through chattering teeth. "She… she was one of the best friends I've ever had".

"She was a delightful person". He mused himself, though she still did not turn around to look at him. "I only wish I could have known her better".

"Aye…".

Their conversation would look awkward from afar, as if James was talking at her shoulder rather than to her directly. He didn't mind though, for Erin was giving him the chance to be able to hold such a conversation, an act he wasn't sure of when he'd first walked over to her. He'd been watching from a distance as the girls grieved together, not wishing to join them even though Michelle would have most likely wanted it. He hadn't felt that it was his place to do so when they needed the time to be together. It almost certainly wasn't his place to be out in the snow shower trying to offer comfort to her. Except, he couldn't just stand by idly when he realised that she was going to be alone, sobbing over Clare's death. He just couldn't…

"Was… was this what it was like… like it was for you, when ye lost David?"

Their breaths both caught at the exact moment, though still she did not turn to him. The feeling of his gaze upon her was enough for Erin, albeit not enough to warm her hands. In the brief few seconds that she waited for his response, she applied the gloves that were in her pockets. It was almost a distraction for her in a way, so that she could attempt to regain her focus after he'd walked over to her, back into her life in a way. James didn't seem to understand the sheer force that his personality contained. In her mind, that's what she thought, anyway. There couldn't have been any other reason as to why she needed distracting from him.

"I… I do not know". When he did eventually speak, withheld emotion evident, he was brutally honest. "I nearly died that night too… after he… perished, in my arms. I had not had the time to grieve properly when one of the Italian soldiers opened fire upon me".

"Oh…". Stunned, Erin immediately was overcome with guilt. "I… I'm sorry, James, I didn't… I didn't know ye were...".

"There is no need for you to apologise, Erin". He interrupted her. "You did not know. By the time I recovered, I rather accepted that I would not see him again. I still think of him though. Quite a lot actually".

The retired pilot left out the part about David appearing to him as a manifestation of his conscience. Erin didn't need to hear that. After all, he was telling her the truth too. There were so many times where he'd longed to have his best friend by his side, missing not only the camaraderie that they shared but also his wisdom. The girls would be missing Clare in much the same way. A small consolation it might have been, but they at least hadn't had to watch her die in front of them like he'd done with David. For their sakes, James was glad for the mercy that fate showed them.

"I'm… I'm fed up of… h-havin' to… to deal with losing people. I just want it to end!"

Her admission was raw and exposed, far from how she'd ever imagined she would open up. To James to, was where she was opening up. Once upon a time, then it would have been him without question that she'd turn to. Not now though. He should not have been the man stood there listening to her express how much the losses in her life affected her. Closely intertwined with those losses was the Englishman himself. She'd had to deal with his loss for nearly two years before he returned alive, as well as the loss of their child a year before that. Although she was nowhere near the frontline of the conflict, the war had brought nothing but heaps of misery to the young Quinn's life. Peace, stability and love, all appeared to be too much for her to ask for.

"That is the time that we live in, Erin". He sighed, looking down at his feet. "That is why we all have to look out for each other. As friends".

As the words fell from his mouth, she slowly began to turn, snowflakes catching on the bridge of her nose as she pivoted. There may have been heavy snowfall around them, but she did not take it into account, far too busy in practically meditating upon his words. He'd always been one for verbal diplomacy in a sense, because he always found the right words for the right situations. She didn't have to think too hard to know that Lance was not so coy in similar scenarios, often offering a very basic and unconsidered answer. Unless it was an answer to manipulate her of course. Those answers he was perfect at without her truly realising it. The Englishman was right though; her friends, all of them, were going to be required to help her to process her grief for Clare. Not just Michelle and Orla.

"A… Aye… friends". Tentatively she replied, entering a staring match with the ground as well.

"When I say friends, I mean every friend you have. Even those that perhaps you are not so close to… those who you went to school with, for example".

"Yeah…".

There it was again. The tension. Little gap was left between them when she turned around, Erin feeling James' breath on her forehead, only just managing to hold her gaze from reverting upward. Recognising the atmosphere was not something she could do, though it wasn't because she didn't understand it. Far from it. Those small voices in her head that forced her to stay out in the now driving snow, were the same ones that spoke for him whenever they found themselves speaking to each other. A part of her conscience was still advocating for the man now stood before her, over the one that it should have been. Seeking comfort in the American Lieutenant was meant to be what she did, but he wasn't there to offer her the support she needed. Growing louder, the voices were going beyond the decibel levels that they should have, sparking thoughts that were inappropriate for the setting. Her brain was practically short circuiting because of how close she was to him.

"Erin, I…".

Stopping almost as quickly as he started, James looked at her just as she looked at him. For a moment there was just the two of their gazes. Gazes that respectively, sent their consciences into overdrive. Neither was willing to bridge those thoughts though. They couldn't, not when she was already taken for. James wasn't the sort of man who would capitalise on a clearly vulnerable Erin either. Lance might not have been there to stop him if he so wished, a scandalous thought that he could not deny had passed through his mind. However, he was too much of a gentleman to not realise what it would look like. Using Clare's death and Lance's absence to his advantage in order to work his way into her affections, he would not.

That didn't mean he couldn't extend whatever they now were, a little further. To more than just the odd civil conversation.

"I would like to think that perhaps, if you would allow me… that you would let us be friends again. I do not want you to thi-".

"Yes!"

He did not have to wait for her answer, Erin interrupting his calm explanation in ecstasy. The two of them shared a common goal where their friendship was concerned. They couldn't change the past, nor would he try to manufacture a future for them if she extended the palm of friendship to him, but there was no need for their hostility to continue. Both being valuable friends to each other when they understood one another so well, it made no sense for them not to be available to each other at their times of need. The banker cared so much for her and for the first time properly, at the front of her mind rather than the back, Erin admitted the same to herself internally. She cared about the wee English fella that was stood in front of her, one who she needed more than ever to help to process her grief.

Understanding Erin so well, his arms were out wide waiting for her to fall into.

His shoulder became her new home for a couple of minutes, a warm foundation from where she could scream her cries for the old friend that she'd been forced to say farewell to, well before her time. Errant droplets of water spilled from the corners of his eyes too as they stood there, out in what was quickly becoming a blizzard. Heart beating rapidly inside his chest with Erin in his arms again, where he'd believed for so long that she belonged, it was not in the circumstances that he wanted. It shouldn't have taken the diminutive blonde's death to force them closer to each other again and it pained him to have to admit that without it, they may never have reached such a stage. Life could have continued on as it was, to the culmination of her probable marriage to Lance, leaving him to watch on from afar as the American lived out his dreams. James didn't know whether to be grateful or not for the chance, but he knew what he needed to be for her going forward. A solid, steady presence that she could depend on more than anyone else. He could do that. He was already doing that as he gently stroked her back, warm hands offering soft paws to keep her stable.

"Sshhh…". Bringing his mouth down close to her ear, his voice was soft, little above a murmur. "You are safe, Erin. This is going to be tough but… you have me… whenever you need me".

"T-Th… Th-Th… Thank ye… James".

Her response was stuttered, but her equally pounding heart was resolute behind those words. Broad, English shoulders were exactly what she needed, an added bonus when she could nestle into the warmth of his muscular chest. Initial thoughts could often betray one's true conscience, which if hers were anything to go by, was correct. She could not say it, did not dare even think any further on it but… in James' arms, she felt more at home than she had done for a long time. Since before the war… since…

The additional thoughts would be betrayal. Fighting nature, the small voices within that were at least moderate, if not loud voices, she did not dare move or say anything further. Erin only just about registered when they began to walk back towards the front entrance of the church, too entranced by the position she'd found herself in. Gone were the thoughts of her deceased friend, at least momentarily. The flush to her cheeks along with James' presence at her side would have been a sign to anyone watching that something had changed between them, to those who knew at least part of their situation beforehand.

Few words were said between them, but both deep down knew what was staring them in the face.

They were friends though, nothing more.

Friends who were going to help each other to overcome the death of Clare Devlin, to move on with their lives after her untimely passing.

Heightened levels of grief did not last forever though. After then, neither knew what they would be…

---

Weeks later

Twenty-three days on from nearly ending his own life, James was a very different man. Partly out of necessity in order to comfort those around him, he was beginning to feel like the man that left Derry at the start of the war, to sign up to fight the Nazi's. The newly found purpose in his life went beyond that of just being there for his friends though, finding new joy in his work too. Proving himself correct with a decision he'd made when he thought he would not be alive to see the outcome, hiring Danny at the bank was quite the masterstroke. Ian and Tommy sat back and watched as the young man, fifteen with a couple of months still until his sixteenth birthday, made the job his own. Where Jamie was tough, and almost closed to the clients of the bank, Danny was open, though still firm for his age. Some would not have respected a fella so young to be able to command such respect and confidence, but the proof was in the pudding as such. He was a mini-James, the man himself having called it and the brothers having done so too after a few days. Their accents might have been different, but both conducted themselves in such a similar manner that their resemblance was uncanny.

Having such a dedicated employee with the correct people skills as well as technical knowledge, seemed to drive James on even more. The McLaughlin's weren't thick, but neither were interested in taking some of the workload off of their boss's hands. Danny was more than happy to shoulder some of James' lower-level responsibilities though, even talking to the more high-profile clients of the bank without the Englishman to watch over him. They'd both arrived with very little expectation on their shoulders, another similarity that the McLaughlin's couldn't help but notice, turning their opening weeks into successes in eerily identical ways. An increase in efficiency allowed for James' spirits to lift, providing him once more with a distraction from the less desirable parts of his life, where it had failed to for some time.

Relations, of the strictly friendly type only, with Erin, were the main source of his newfound burst of life. She'd started to visit the bank again at lunchtime, as she had done during the first few months of his stay when they were acting in the same capacity. Except this time, she wasn't limited to a Friday out of the need to do the banking for the factory. Every single day since the first day she returned to work after Christmas, she came to see him, to be able to talk to him. A couple of times the other girls came with her too, all three of them leaning upon him for the support that they all required. His office would often be the scene of raucous laughter during lunch hours, leaving his three employees frowning. The McLaughlin's only did it so that Danny wouldn't feel as if he was acting oddly from being surprised by it, as deep down they knew how important it was for their boss. The two of them could remember the young love they'd watched when Erin visited him before, at a time where the world was not in a state of total war. They knew better than to question James' intentions with her, but if he told them that he was only trying to act as her friend, they would have laughed in his face.

Apparently, it was not a secret that James wanted more.

He'd hoped to see her that Saturday, putting the idea across to her earlier that week only to be met with near silence. The only purpose of their meeting would be for him to check how she was coping, rather than anything more forward. As much as it pained him, he really could only limit himself to being nothing more than just a good friend with her best interests at heart. Which for all intends and purpose, he was. It was just beneath the surface where his true thoughts and feelings resided, that he could not bear it. Although his love for her may not have been as suffocating as he'd made it to be before Christmas, powerful love that existed ever since he'd left her side years earlier, he could never not hold affection for her in some shape or form. The Englishman would always love the beautiful young blonde. It was impossible for him not to.

The complication in that love was the reason for the silence.

Friday afternoon saw the return of Lance, as well as Clint, from their latest stretch of coastal patrol. He should have remembered the date anyway, seeing as Michelle had been going on about it for a couple of weeks but it slipped his mind when he'd gone to ask Erin about her plans. When she did finally respond to him, she tripped over her words like a nervous child in front of a scalding teacher. There was a hint of the lately departed Clare to her. James, gentlemanly as ever, was furious with himself that she felt as if she had to become so unsure around him. The Yank might have been returning and when she told him that was why they couldn't catch up at the weekend over a cup of tea, he understood. Yet somehow, as much as he tried to tell himself that his thoughts were fanciful, he couldn't ignore that it felt as if it was not what she wanted to do. That meeting with him, most likely at the cottage, would have been her preferred choice that weekend. Out of a duty to the fella that she was meant to be with, Erin chose Lance's company over that of the Englishman.

Not out of love.

However, as one door closed on him, he was prepared to unlock one of his own. As that week in particular progressed, though the thoughts had already crept up on him during the week before, he was feeling more and more ready to have the discussion with Joe that the older man offered. On Christmas Eve night as he was comforted by the man alongside Michelle, Joe made sure that he knew he would be ready to listen when the time was right. Both of them were survivors of wars that took away for them a lot more than what was given in return. They knew what it meant to lose someone close to them because of factors that were out of their control and the impact that such losses had. That was why he made his way to the McCool household the previous evening, to ask Joe to meet him in the harbour the next morning. He'd acquiesced, agreeing with the time of half past nine that the Englishman suggested along with the idea to meet up.

To the precise minute, the two met at the bench set a little way back from the railway tracks and water. There was plenty of work being conducted around them despite it being a Saturday, including a tired Gerry who'd been slaving away since before six. Noise wasn't so much of a problem though, even if there was plenty of it coming from the other side of the harbour, near to the water. There were a huddle of Americans organising something with some of the local men from one of the warehouses. From their position they couldn't see exactly who the Yanks were, especially as the men had their backs to them. Lance was one of them though. And he'd seen James…

"Are ye well, son?" Joe enquired first, easing them into whatever conversation they might have. "Charlene said ye were but… ye can never be too sure".

"Do I detect that you have visited Pump Street recently, Joe?" Smirking, James found the older man shaking his head in return.

"I hate to think what my Mary or Sarah for that matter, might think, if they saw her comin' out of that house with me. Still, it's provided me with some grand cover, so it has".

"Are you not afraid that they might one day knock on the door?"

"Absolutely not! They wouldn't dare… they might see somethin' that they wouldn't want to".

Chuckling at Joe's whit, James was immediately relaxed. To say he was tense was an understatement; his legs almost stopped him from making it on time. Deliberately, he'd set out earlier than he should have done knowing that he would subconsciously try to stop himself from going to talk to Joe. Although it was he who'd initiated the meeting between them that morning after finding confidence to be able to think that he could speak about what he wanted to, there was still part of him that screamed at him not to. Much of his time in captivity, as well as on the run as he tried to escape back into allied hands, was documented by Major Smithers, but not everything. There was one story in particular that he needed to get off his chest to someone, that even his conscience hadn't quite held enough power to conjure a vision of.

"So…".

"Yes. Quite".

For a brief moment neither man quite knew what to say after the initial pleasantries. Unlike on the night where Joe saved his life, it was going to be the Englishman who had to lead their conversation. Joe could have told him stories from his own past, of the war that he'd fought in around twenty-five years earlier. It wouldn't have been productive to do so though, as it wasn't Joe's stories that needed to be understood. His stories did, and for those, he was the only author and narrator available.

"I… I have not told anyone this… not even Major Smithers". James admitted as a start, wringing his hands. "I trust I have your… discretion".

"Trustin' yer secrets with a spy… ye do live dangerously, so ye do, James".

"A spy on the right side, nonetheless".

Dipping his head, Joe encouraged the man next to him to continue on. The roles were reversed once upon a time, with oddly enough it being Gerry sat where he was, Joe sat in the banker's place. If anyone was to discover what was said between him and his son-in law all those years before, they would not be able to understand why he treated the Southerner so harshly. At the time, he was a man spiralling out of control with only Gerry to stop him from doing something regrettable. To a certain extent, he owed Gerry his life.

"You know, Joe… I have been able to put a lot of what happened to me in the past recently… even before… well… for a long time I think I have accepted the course of certain events".

"That's grand, James. Progress, that's what it is". Joe replied.

"Loosely speaking, I suppose it is. It is just… there are a couple of things that I just… cannot seem to put past me".

"Aye… I know how that feels son. Seein' somethin' that ye can't unsee… doing somethin' that ye can't go back and fix…".

"Yes… that's… exactly how it is".

Somehow, the older man was able to read him with pinpoint accuracy. Wisdom and experience were on Joe's side, but even with those fine attributes there was still a lot more to the story. Condensing it into simple thoughts and feelings though, it was as if he could see the exact emotions that it stirred within the man sat to his right. James didn't say anything for almost a minute, composing himself. The minute was what Joe knew what he needed though, leaving him to stew as he sat and admired the day. Bright blue skies were present over the often rainy city, birds moving from tree to tree as the cogs of industry ticked over all around them. The familiar smell of a busy harbour filled nostrils all around, a fishy, salty combination rolled into one.

"It was in France". Beginning with a start, James should have caught him off guard, but Joe was ready as always. "I… I had gotten oven the border and… and for days I was… surviving. Well. I saw not a soul and not a soul saw me".

"But it didn't last?"

"No. I can remember how hot it was that day, I cannot think of a day hotter that I can remember. The sun was… evil, beating down mercilessly… so mercilessly. Somewhere between Mont… Montpellier and… and Perpignan, I am sure that was where I was".

He took a moment, running a hand through his familiarly slicked back hair. With a shuddered sigh, James continued.

"There was a barn… isolated from anywhere else and I… I thought I could seek shelter there out of the sun for a couple of hours. Get myself some sleep and… and then walk at night".

"And did ye?" Joe asked, met with a frown. "Get some sleep, I mean".

"For a while… and then…". The Englishman stopped, sighing deeply once more. "Then I was woken. The… the barn doors were opened and I… I didn't have an alternative route of escape. No back window… no window above in the hayloft either… I was scuppered, Joe… nowhere to go".

Memories were flooding back to him quickly, ones that were buried more firmly than even the massacre. What happened in Italy might have been more harrowing, a lot more death involved than the story that he was telling Joe. There though, he was not in control of the outcome; Kurt was. In France, destiny was in his hands and his alone. He'd chosen the outcome by backing himself into the corner he was in, in that barn. It was what he did to escape that was what he hadn't told anyone… what he hadn't wished to until the courage finally came to him throughout the prior week.

"What did ye do? If ye couldn't go anywhere, could ye not hide?" Joe asked softly, head fully turned to the younger man.

"If I would have moved, they would have heard me". Reflectingly glumly, he swallowed hard. "I… I was sleeping in the hay at the back and… it soon became apparent to me that they would be joining me".

"Joinin' ye?"

For a second, there was a blush to his cheeks and even a slight giggle. It wasn't really the tale for laughter though, and the laughter soon dissipated from within him.

"I do believe I interrupted a pair of young lovers who… who were going for a roll in the hay on a warm summer's day…".

"Christ! Typical French… shaggin' in a barn in the middle of the summer… they've no respect, so they've not". Joe mumbled, going off on a tangent for a moment. "Sorry son, carry on".

He could have perhaps carried on his amusement at Joe's words, but James remained stoic and serious. At the time, it all went rapidly downhill from there…

"They took their time, but when they started to approach my position, they were clearly… quite well entangled. There was hardly a scrap of clothing left between them…". Going back on himself, James did huff out a small laugh. "… so you can imagine their surprise when I rose out of the hay with a gun pointed at them".

"I bet she wailed like a banshee…".

"More or less. I do not think I will ever see any man or woman reclothe themselves so quickly ever again". He recounted, as Joe let out a chuckle of his own. "I… I do not speak any French you see, Joe… which was always going to make negotiations….".

"A feckin' pain in the arse?"

"For want of a better phrase, yes. I just…".

Then he stopped. Which was what he hadn't done on that day in the barn. Brain churning, heart racing, all of the decisions he'd taken were in the spur of the moment. A very delicately poised moment that weighed on his conscience ever since, when the decisions were ones he would not have taken with more time to think.

"I just did not expect things to deteriorate so quickly…".

---

Flashback… Southern France, Late Spring/Early Summer 1942…

"HANDS UP!"

James allowed them to regain their modesty, but that was all he was going to allow. They couldn't have anything else, he couldn't risk it. They'd interrupted him just as much as he'd interrupted them. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could stop him from returning home to Derry to marry Erin Quinn. To raise a family with her. The two unlucky lovers stumbled across a man who was fighting for absolutely everything.

"ENGLISH!?" He demanded, barely able to recognise the sound of his own voice. "ANGLAIS!?"

His complete lack of grasp of the French language was counting against him. It was almost the worst possible situation that he could have been in, the exact thought that was running through his mind at that moment with the gun trained upon the two. He couldn't exactly barter with anyone in France unless they spoke either English or German. German speakers in that area of France were a rarity, which left his openly hope residing with his mother tongue. There were very few Frenchmen and women who knew how to speak it in the countryside, a truly rural area that he'd walked into on his quest to reach the almost mythical border with Spain.

"Oui…". The man shakily answered. "Y-Y… Y-yes?"

"Stay here! Understood?" James commanded, the man looking utterly bemused. "You… stay here! I… go… you do not tell anyone!"

A second later, the man began to speak, replying in his native tongue when fear got the better of him in front of the burly Englishman stood in the hay. James couldn't understand a word of what the man was saying, but he did not focus upon the drivel-laden reply in a language that he could not understand. What he saw instead was what the woman, his lover, was doing. The brunette, now fully clothed unlike a couple of minutes before where her bare skin was exposed to the air of her surrounds, was edging back behind the man. She didn't realise that he'd noticed at first, instead whispering something to her lover who continued to ramble. As sharp as ever, he realised exactly what she was doing. Only then, when she dared to take a glance over the shoulder of the Frenchman, did she see that their captor realised what she was going to do.

So she bolted.

"MADAME! MADAME GET BACK HERE!"

Her lover clearly wasn't as brave as she was, as his distraction appeared to be genuine when there were tears rolling down his eyes. He snapped out of those tears when he could hear her screaming, making a dash for help from the village that was another few hundred metres down the road, hidden in the distant trees.

"ALLEZ JEANNINE!"
("Go Jeannine!")

Foolhardily attempting to block James' path, the unnamed Frenchman stood little chance. Not when the Englishman had everything to lose by allowing his lover to escape, to warn them of the man that was in their barn, who to her must have been some sort of escaped prisoner of war. Far from the man that he'd been back home when he was the consummate gentleman and gentle lover that warmed Erin's heart, in his rage he used the butt of the weapon on the man. Striking him across the forehead, the blow sent the Frenchman to the hard ground of the barn, hitting his head on the wooden partition as his body slumped.

Hearing her screams growing more distant, James did not stay to check on the man's condition.

Jeannine was running as fast as she could, already calling out for her mother and father to help her. They would be furious to learn that she was at the barn with Matthieu again, long suspecting their trysts, though that fury would be tempered if they learnt of an Englishman on the loose around their village. Painstakingly for her though, for every stride that she took, James managed at least two or three more. He was rapid, and she knew it, from the very first moment she took a look over her shoulder to see him advancing out of the barn with haste. Her Matthieu must have done everything that he could to defend her, perhaps even giving his life to save hers in what would have been the ultimate act of love had it been the case.

She screamed again, this time the names of her parents not falling from her lips.

That scream was of pure terror.

As was the next, just after looking over her shoulder to see that James was only metres away from her despite her lengthy head start.

Footsteps closed…

Closer…

And closer…

Another scream was ripped from her lungs. It did not stop the man chasing her.

He was even closer…

Closer…

Clo-…

Wailing out another scream, the bloodcurdling shriek was stolen from her lungs as James tackled her to the ground, driving her into the long grass not far from a gate that led onto the gravelly lane that tracked back towards the village. He hated having to do what he was doing, never having contemplated such violence towards a woman before, but the poor Frenchwoman left him with no choice. He wasn't going to sacrifice everything that he'd done in order to get home, for one young woman who was prepared to turn him in. They'd most likely kill him anyway after what he'd done to Doctor Van Der Heijden.

Erin. He was doing it for her… for them. Their glorious future together.

Desperately, Jeannine wriggled beneath him to attempt to pull him away from her, but it was to no avail. Lashing out, she tried to claw at his eyes, but far too quick-thinking and strong for her, his knees settled over her hands after a moment, having forced them down with his own hands. Straddling her midriff, he'd already cut off any competent use of her legs for her to defend herself with, leaving just her mouth as a problem when her hands were covered. She still screamed, now more for her life than to alert anyone to his presence. James wasn't going to kill her, not even in his heightened state of anxious anger would he even think of it. But he did have to silence her… which left him with one option.

"NON MONSIEUR! NON!"

Her voice was trembling just as much as his hands were when he reached forward. Pupils of pure terror reflected back at him when he looked directly at her, dark red streaks blazing across her eyeballs behind glassy tears.

Slowly, his hands reached for her neck…

---

"Ye… strangled her?"

Joe tried to make it sound like he was not shocked by the revelation, but when it was James who said it, he couldn't help but not be aghast somewhat. The look of shame that was written across the Englishman's face, that was now covered by hands to cushion the tears falling from his eyes, told him everything. Clearly, it wasn't what he ever wanted to do, but in the heat of the moment, he'd only seen one way out of his predicament. A more reasoned decision might have seen him let her go, for him to run away from the village through the other fields, with the hope of escaping as long as they did not have hounds that could hunt him down. The James of that torturously hot summer's day, was a man that the real young heir to the throne was trying to forget.

"I… I thought if… if I could make her drift into… into unconsciousness… th-that it would… it would buy me the time I needed to make my escape".

"But…".

"She… was unconscious… at least I was certain of it when I took my hands away". Swallowing hard again, James looked up to the sky, wincing. "I… I carried her back to the barn and put her down next to him".

"And then ye left them there, I take it?" Asking, Joe found his answer in a nod. "And yer sure she was alive not… ye know…".

"Now I am not so sure, Joe". Guiltily, he looked the Irishman dead on. "I keep thinking what if… what if I was not as restrained as I thought? What if I killed her!? What if I killed him!?"

His own conscience was the precursor for the one and off thoughts he'd processed through his mind about Matthieu and Jeannine. One of the nights that he'd been accosted by the ghosts of his past, Kurt insinuated that they'd died because of him. Although he couldn't exactly trust such words when they'd come from nothing more than an apparition of his fears, he hadn't been able to shake the thought that perhaps he did kill them that day. Victims of his overwhelming desire to return home to the woman that he loved. If he'd have known what he knew months later when he returned, he might have let the Frenchwoman turn him in...

"Don't James…".

"I cannot help myself, Joe. I should not be allowed to walk as a free man if I kil-".

"NO!"

The shout that the older of the two produced was almost biblical, certainly raising the eyebrows of a few of the dock workers nearby. Beneath the initial bellow, even in his haze of darkened emotions, James could hear the pain in Joe's voice. The next words that he uttered, were going to come directly from his heart.

"Don't ye dare start thinkin' about the what if's and whether what ye did was right. I've seen good men lose their minds doin' the same!"

"I… I did not rea-".

"Ye just can't, ye hear me son!?" Cutting him off, Joe's facial expression did nothing to conceal evident inner pain. "I've already seen one person I care about lo-… lose… lose everythin', because they couldn't see past it".

Suddenly, the air shifted along with their roles. They may well have met up so that James could pour his feelings out to the older man, but it was the turn of the younger one to listen when it seemed Joe had a story to tell. He didn't outwardly demand the story from him; Joe hadn't from him despite it being easy to do so. The former pilot didn't need to prod or prompt him. Joe did not require such assistance for what he was going to say.

"Do ye think my brother Colm's always been a boring fella?" He enquired, with a razor-like tongue.

"Forgive me…". James responded. "But I have not once stopped to consider it".

"Well son, let me tell ye, he was a different man before the last war. He had a wife… five children… more money than me, that's for sure".

Drying his eyes, as if his Aunt Deirdre's voice had materialised in his aching cranium, he could admit to being completely stunned by the news that Colm was once married. Easily the least entertaining man in all of Derry, with his mundane stories and monotone elocution the impression that was left upon people, the fact that he was once married with children was one that he'd not made room for in his thoughts. With all due respect to the man, without knowing what Joe was clearly about to tell him, he couldn't understand why any woman would marry him. That was before even thinking about the fact he'd fathered five children.

"What… what happened?"

"The last war…". Joe gave a reflective sigh, similar to one of those James gave minutes earlier. "The last war changed our Colm. We'd nearly made it all the way to the end of it when it happened…"

"Belgium?" Inquisitive, the Englishman was already attune to the setting.

"Aye… I can't remember the name of the wee village we were in but… the place was torn apart when got there… there wasn't so much as a building left untouched…".

The smell of death in the air that they'd walked into in that village so many years before, once again wafted through his nasal passages. Surviving the hardships of trench warfare without so much as a scratch, a remarkable feat when they were exposed to the awful conditions that they had been during the last war, that day was a turning point in the lives of both brothers.

Continuing on, Joe's voice grew quieter.

"We were makin' a push towards this big house, massive place, so it was. The Germans were runnin' back to their lines, but they'd ambushed some of our regiment, so we weren't goin' to let them get away with it. Colm… he fought with me… same regiment".

"I see… were many killed?"

"Aye, we lost four or five good friends". He spoke with sadness, yet fondness for those who were lost. "Eventually we had them pinned down, we thought, and our platoon leader led us forward to clear the place. Me and Colm were right in behind him, so we were. Couldn't see so much as a few feet in front of us from the smoke but… we knew they were in there alright, even if they had stopped firin'".

"They stopped?" A surprised James asked. "That is not the typical behaviour of the enemy".

"No, that's why we thought it was a trap, ye see, son. So about five us got right up to the door while the rest of the boys covered us. We had hand grenades… Christ, did I hate those things. Always made me nervous carryin' a feckin bomb around with me. The two of us used them, so we did, one in one window and one in another. The sound of those feckin' things going off… the damn ground was shakin'!"

Transporting himself back to that time when he was a serviceman, before his career as an agent for the British Government, the sounds were coming back as well as the smells for Joe. The grenades exploding on the other side of the wall, sending ripples rushing through their backs as they leant onto the outer wall of the building in cover. The shattering of glass too, from where the grenades blew the windows out after they'd been tossed in. It was all so fresh, yet it had happened so far in the distant past.

"We waited for a few seconds before headin' in behind our Sergeant. I went left with him to check the room I'd thrown mine into and Colm went right to check his… we were all on edge, ye know. I know ye'll know that feelin'… when yer in the middle of battle… that… that concentration but… but fear".

"The rush". James huffed. "I know it all too well… all too well…".

"Aye… well, anyway, we cleared our room out. The damn bastards must have taken off runnin'… wasn't a soul in the place… waste of a grenade really".

"And Colm's?"

"Colm's…"

He stopped himself, or rather the lump in the back of his throat stopped him. The room he'd thrown a grenade into must have been a storage room of sorts, with nothing in there other than papers and cabinets that were damaged by the explosion. It didn't tell them what sort of a building that it was, when various sorts of buildings and even some houses would have such rooms. Clues about what the building was used for were few and far between, the Germans hardly having advertised their uses of it to the advancing enemy. That was the danger of advancing into such a place where the enemy had been hidden. None of the Irishmen fighting that day realised what they were walking into.

Squinting for a moment longer, Joe restarted.

"The Germans… kraut bastards were usin' the place as a hospital, so they were. When we'd thrown the grenades there was so much noise from the artillery that… that we didn't hear anyone ye see. No one was shootin' at us but… but that didn't mean the place was empty…".

"Were there injured soldiers there, Joe? Did he inadvertently… kill them?"

The Irishman shook his head, still clearly emotional.

"The injured soldiers were lucky, so they were. Sat out in the back of the place, the prics… the grenades didn't so much as leave a bad whiff under their noses!"

"Then, what was wrong? I assume that there was something wrong?" Confused, James had to ask.

"Oh aye, there was James. There was. That room that Colm threw the grenade into it… there were women and children in there… babies… it was a maternity ward, so it was. They weren't just usin' the place for the soldiers… and Colm had to… he was the first to look in there. The first to see what we' done… what he'd done.

What they'd found as a unit beyond the small doorway that led into the room, shocked them all. He could remember himself seeing the desecrated bodies from where the grenade exploded, limbs having come off a couple of the mothers. Mercifully, if it could be considered a mercy, they'd all died instantly. There were no half dead mothers or babies that they would have to watch die in front of them, knowing that they were responsible. The most responsible of all though, did not see any mercies in front of him. If it were not for the support of the Englishman who he'd supported through his own story of past wrongdoing, Joe would have cried soundly at the memory.

"Good Lord…". James spoke, though his voice quickly trailed off.

"He… he lost his mind. I… I remember the look in his eyes, ye know, stood there hands shaking, his rifle on the floor. They were dead James, behind them I mean. Colm was there but… but he wasn't really, not… not properly.

"That is a feeling I feel I can relate to". Adding, James ran a hand through his hair again. "When I… I removed Aisling… I remember feeling this empty… soullessness. It… it is not pleasant".

"At least ye can talk about it though, James. Colm… he… he didn't say a word for weeks. He tried, bless his heart but… it broke him. He died with them that day I reckon, if ye can spare me the sentimentalism. The man that's lived here since, the man that ye know as my brother, isn't really my brother at all. He's not the fella that I grew up with".

"He… I… I would not have thought that his… demeanour… stemmed from such an incident. He couldn't have known though, could he?"

"That's what I've been tryin' to get ye to see too, James". Reaching a hand out, Joe grabbed the Englishman by the shoulder. "We couldn't hear the women over the sound of the guns… Colm couldn't have known they were in there but… he blamed himself and… lost his feckin' mind, so he did. They didn't let him come home for a couple of years ye know so he… he never got to see me at my lowest. I haven't spoken about that day to him or… or anyone in… twenty years or so, I suppose".

James wanted to say that he was glad that the Irishman shared it with him, which he was. Through the undertones of the tragic tale that Joe weaved to him, James was beginning to understand what the older man was trying to say. He might not have been as closely related to Joe as Colm was, but Joe was not prepared to allow another man to follow the same path as his brother. The problem for the Englishman though, was expressing that delight without sounding disrespectful or ignorant of the true devastation that occurred that day in Belgium. He wasn't even alive when that grenade detonated in the maternity ward, an explosive that's impact was still being felt to the very day they were talking on, for Colm and for Joe. The former did not hold the strength to revisit the worst moment of his life and the latter… Joe would never forget the scene he saw. It would join him in his grave.

"What happened to his wife and children?"

Asking the most heart-breaking question of them all, James reciprocated Joe's earlier gesture, placing a hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Were they taken away?"

"She left him, so she did. There were a lot of people, locally like, who thought ill of her for taking herself and the children away but… but he wasn't their Da anymore. His two youngest were scared of him, ye know. Their Da just wasn't… wasn't the same man as before he left. I understood why she took them away. It just… hurt him more, ye know".

"He hasn't seen them again, has he?" A knowing James, almost didn't need to ask.

"James, I don't even know if he remembers havin' a wife… or children. I think… I think he's… ach what's the word I'm lookin' for. Ye know… pushed away or…".

"Suppressed?"

"That's the one!" Joe answered spritely. "I reckon he's suppressed them. Before he did though, when he… when he did start talkin' again… he always kept talking about what could have happened. What we could have done differently… what might have happened if we weren't there".

"He was fixated about a situation he could not fix… he could not let it go until there was some sort of… justice".

"Does that remind ye of anyone, son?"

Him. It reminded him of himself. The ever-loving English gentleman that could not help but revisit the actions he'd taken in France as well as those in Italy. The past was not fixable, changes made irreversible. For a time, Colm was the exact same as him, only the damage stayed with the man. He was a boring man that could put a room to sleep, when for a time he'd been the exact opposite… so full of life. Joe just could not sit back when he could use his experience to help the wee English fella. There would be no repeat of the past.

"Thank you, Joe". James found the only words worth saying. "I know I cannot mend what I did to those people. Dead or alive, I… I was only doing what I needed to, to survive. The guilt… I cannot carry it all on my shoulders, especially if there is nothing for me to be guilty about".

"Good. I don't want to see ye end up like him, ye know. No man should have to lose their mind because of one mistake. Yer too well liked to follow him down that path, James".

Nothing further was needed to be said by either of them. The banker could appreciate that he had the love and understanding of others around him, realising how much of an error it would be to become another Colm. So devoid of energy in his life, Joe's brother might not have been disliked but there were so many who showered pity upon him. Even if those same people were more than happy to insult him in the next breath. He wouldn't become such an object of concentration for his family or the community around them. The man that he was going to be was not too dissimilar to the man he always had been. A gentleman with a heart of pure gold that looked out for those he loved, that was where his future was to be lived. Who that future included or how closely they featured in it was still to be worked out, but he did at least have a goal and a focus. Colm hadn't after that day in Belgium… and he'd lost everything because of it.

"Hmph…". Joe broke the silence again with a huff. "It looks like we might know those Yanks over there…".

Pointing to those who'd previously had their backs to the two of them, Joe was pointing out to James the figure of a man that he did not want to see. Lance was the reason why he was in the harbour talking to Joe not in the warmth of his cottage talking to Erin. The conversation was welcome in the end when he could learn from it, but it still didn't change how he felt about the American. Although they were a good few hundred metres away from each other, he could see the look of disdain upon Lance's face too when he realised that they were looking at him. That look bypassed Joe, a man he did not have any problem with. Not yet at least. The Englishman sat next to him was his enemy though, a major factor that could easily ruin his plans as well as make him lose his bet. No love was lost between either.

"It appears so…". James commented, eyes still trained on Lance.

"You just keep yerself around, James, ye understand?" Joe asked, looking away from the American, to the young man next to him. "There's something about the fella… somethin' not quite right. Just for my Erin's sake… keep an eye on him".

"Do not worry, Joe". He replied, voice low and gravelly. "To get to her, he will have to go through me first".

"Good. I don't want that shitesack anywhere near her if I can help it".

Joe's honesty about how he viewed Lance, was music to James' ears. Although he didn't wish to acknowledge it back openly, James knew that Joe saw him as the better choice. There was nothing egotistical about that belief; it was pure, genuine fact. Distrusting the American in a similar vein to his daughter, Joe knew who the better man for his granddaughter was, even if he would not force the choice upon her. Most of those with common sense could see that her and James would be perfect together, but from what she'd said to her family, it was not what she wanted. Her future was with Lance… she thought. He thought very differently.

"Speaking of shitesacks…". Joe dryly spoke up again. "There's Gerry's engine".

Coming into view from around one of the warehouses near the front, off to their North East, an engine carrying various beds of freight behind it steamed into view. One of the privileged few who got to operate the trains around the small dockyard railway, he was proud to be able to do what he did, even if the work was exhausting. Even more exhausting for Gerry was putting up with Joe's insults, but luckily for him that morning, he was too far away to hear them.

"Joe, I have been meaning to ask you something". James broke his concentration away from the train, their gazes meeting. "Who was Lyla Walsh? I know that she existed but… what happened to her? Why was my mother chosen to… to act as her?"

"Ach… I was beginnin' to think ye'd never ask". He sighed. "Lyla, well, she was a…"

SCREECH!

….

THUD!

….

THUD!

…

SPLASH!

Snapping their heads up immediately, the two of them caught onto what was happening before the first thud. Gerry's engine, roaring along past them, veered off course. There must have been some sort of issue with the track, because the screech of breaks to start with seemed to indicate that he and his crew were trying to avoid something on the line ahead of them. Whatever it was, must have been unavoidable, as all of a sudden, the engine along with its freight beds were tossed onto their sides, derailing right next to the harbour's edge. The thuds they'd heard were the impact of them smashing into the hard surface, which did not delay their momentum enough to prevent the worst scenario from occurring.

Both James and Joe were up and running without hesitation.

The engine containing Gerry and his colleagues, along with the first couple of freight beds, plunged into the cold waters of the River Foyle.

Immediately, dock workers from all around ran to the scene, along with the American sailors. They were the closest to the incident, Lance himself being almost the first on scene next to the freight beds that somehow hadn't managed to slide in with the rest of the train. Joe couldn't keep pace with James, his knees not being what they once were, leaving the Englishman to arrive alone, though keeping his distance from Lance. The first thing he did was look into the water, in the hope that all of the crew of the train had managed to get out safely. Three men were bobbing out in the water, rope used for mooring boats being thrown to them to drag them in, as fellow dock workers all around put their backs in to help pull the men out of the water.

There should have been four though. One man was missing.

Gerry.

"He's still down there!" One of them shouted.

"We need to get him!"

By the time they'd began to shout, Joe arrived on the scene too, albeit with hardly a breath left in him. He'd not ran that fast in years, and most curiously of all he'd sprinted across the harbour for Gerry. Subconsciously showing the affection that he truly held for his son in-law, beneath the layer of spiked armour that he normally wore, he wasn't going to stand around if he was in danger. Looking up to James as he caught his breath, blowing hard in the wind with his hands on his knees, he saw how the younger man was calculating his options. When he bent down to immediately untie his shoes, it became clear there was only one course of action that could be taken.

"There is nothing else possible… I am going to have to dive in".

"What? Are ye sure?" An alarmed Joe retorted. "I know it's not that deep but it's dangerous, James!"

The depth of the Foyle was not a problem, a quarter of the engine still being visible above the waterline, but it was the fact that Gerry hadn't got out of his own accord that worried James. He didn't have to be in the middle of the ocean to be able to drown, if he could not free himself should he be injured. There was absolutely no time to waste, and as soon as James' shoes were off, so was his jacket and the jacket of the suit he wore underneath, was practically thrown at a more than willing human coat hanger in Joe. Diving forward with grace, which was no surprise to anyone who knew him, James headed straight below, barely stopping for the extra breath of air that he required before he did so. Learning to swim underwater during a training exercise aboard the HMS Illustrious, it was well within his capabilities, not that Joe knew to be able to calm himself.

Unusually unflustered, Gerry's colleagues who were now climbing up the ladders back onto dry land, headed for Joe immediately. He wasn't quite sure what to do at first, until he regained his senses after a moment. Losing Gerry would be bad enough, but if James was lost trying to save him then he didn't know how his family would cope. However, the capable hands of the Englishman was where his trust was placed, which left him with the task of getting the word home to Mary. Home was not where his daughter was though, Joe knew, but fortunately, she was much closer, around the shops in town along with Erin and Anna. One of the other lads who worked at the docks, who he knew a little, volunteered himself to find them, rushing off to do so as the rest of them watched the waterline in desperation for James and Gerry to resurface.

Curiously though, there were two men stood doing nothing. Of the four American sailors that were originally stood around at the time of the incident, it appeared half of their number had gone for help. Stood with their hands in their pockets, barely interested, Lieutenant's Hamilton and Baker were an odd sight. And to Joe, an infuriating one. Storming over from where he was stood, he confronted them.

"OI! WHAT ARE THE PAIR OF YE STANDIN' THERE FOR!" He bellowed. "GERRY'S DROWNIN! AND YER JUST STOOD THERE!"

"Mr McCool…". Lance acknowledged him with a dip of the head, with anger in his voice. "… I thought you hated him. Why are you so damn interested in pullin' him out?"

"Ye think I'd see him die! What kind of a man do ye think I am, ye feckin' eejit!" Holding nothing back with Lance, the Irishman exploded. "That's yer Erin's, Da. What do ye think she'd say!?"

"I don-".

"What Lieutenant Hamilton is trying to say, Sir". Baker cut in to save his friend, just about retaining his diplomacy. "Is that this is not a matter for the United States Navy".

"Right… so ye'll just let the fella drown then because he doesn't wear yer uniform! Catch yerselves on, ye pair of feckless bastards! What about the other two that were with ye, haven't they gone for help!?"

Lance's fist was curled up ready to strike Joe, in what would have been a terrible move considering his connections, but for the second time in almost as many seconds, his friend saved him. Baker didn't like the Irishman much more either, though was far coyer to realise the situation that was unfolding around them. It might have meant sacrificing a chance to make the youngest Hamilton sibling pay up when Erin would never speak to him again should he assault her Grandfather, but it was worth it for prolonging the pain of his fellow Lieutenant having to pretend to love her. Baker stepped up to answer.

"They've gone to get the civil authorities, for a civil matter. It ain't our place to get involved, Sir… it ain't our country".

"Spinless pricks, the pair of ye! Ye should be divin' in there! Yer sailors, for feck's sake!"

Without a friend by his side to pull him away, Joe relied upon himself to do so when he could have just as easily gone for both of them. They were cowards for standing out of the way, leaving James alone to attempt to save his son in-law. It was to the Englishman that his thoughts went to next, rushing back to the edge of the harbour, calves burning. Joe was ignoring the aches and pains of his well-seasoned old carcass though; it was not as important as the lives of the two men that were fighting the River Foyle. Looking around, he couldn't see a head bobbing in the water, nor had he heard any of the men shouting that they could see them.

Knowing he'd already spent a good couple of minutes away since watching James dive under, his fears grew. The two of them couldn't die… not so soon after Clare and not at all. Too many hearts would be broken… his included.

Joe, along with the workers, resorted to shouts.

"JAMES!"

"JAMES!"

"GERRY!"

"JAMES!

"GERRY!"

The chorus of their names was sung loudly into the Derry air, but there was no response from the clear waters of the Foyle. It must have been three minutes since James went under… hope was running out… fast.

Eagle eyes watched the waterline.

For another few seconds there was nothing…

And another few more…

And… and then… then there was a noise. Then they saw a head pop up… and another.

A solitary cry of exultation was ripped from James' lungs, along with multiple sighs of relief from the harbourside. His heart, that must have leapt a mile, returned to Joe's chest.

"I HAVE HIM! I HAVE HIM!" James called out, before coughing. "THROW ME SOME ROPE!"

Oddly enough, when one of the workers obliged with the request and threw him the rope, James realised that it was the first time he'd handled rope since the night he'd tried to hang himself. He didn't have the time to reflect on the painful memories of his past though, not when he was pulling a barely conscious Gerry back to shore to save his future.

If he'd have taken any longer to free him from where he was trapped, then they would have most likely both have been dead.

"JAMES!" Joe called out, the loudest voice around. "IS HE BREATHIN'!?"

"YES! BUT I THINK HIS LEG IS BROKEN, JOE!"

Breaking one's leg gave Gerry a valid reason for not having been with his colleagues when they resurfaced. Trapped between twisted pieces of metal, he hadn't been able to free himself until the Englishman dived down to pull him out. James' immense upper body strength was put to the test, but he cared far too much for the man he was trying to save to not give everything in order to free him. The effort he made was worthwhile though, because he'd succeeded. If he hadn't have done, then not only could he have risked his own life, but his own future too if he survived. The guilt would have been unbearable. Thankfully, he managed to avoid yet more of it on his conscience.

Holding onto the rope as well as paddling some of the way himself, eventually James got both himself and Gerry to the bottom of one of the ladders. There was no way that Gerry would be able to walk up the ladder unaided with a broken leg, but after he'd shouted to Joe, the workers all made provisions to help him. A couple of them moved a little way down the ladder themselves, ready to take Gerry's weight whilst the rest of them stayed at the top of the ladder to take hold of him on the ground. It still required an effort from James to almost lift the Southerner up, but with all the strength he could muster he did so, raising the dazed Gerry up to a couple of awaiting hands.

"Have you got him!?" James called up as he bobbed in the water.

"A…aye…". One of them answered through gritted teeth as they held him. "Can ye give him a push from the bottom, English?"

"I can!"

"On three then… One! Two! Three!"

Heaving Gerry upward, James effectively pushed the leg that wasn't broken up with all of his strength. His combined push along with the two men dangling off the ladder, was enough to put Gerry into the crowd of awaiting arms above. Breathing out a sigh of relief as he watched Gerry being carried to safety, the banker waved away the offers of help from the two workers on the ladder, holding the bottom of it for a moment to allow the adrenaline that was built up inside of him to evaporate. Coughing out some of the water that had entered his lungs briefly under the water, relaxation was finally possible after five or so nervous minutes. Floating there, he heard the latest set of shouts from above.

"GERRY! GERRY!"

"DA!"

"DADDY!"

"GERRY!"

Mary, Erin and Anna were all racing across the harbour, having been found quickly. Hearing that her husband was under the water after his train was derailed, Mary took both her children by the hand as they ran. Erin was too old for such contact but did not reject it when her heart sank at the thought that her Da might die. Train derailments were not uncommon but ones that involved the train derailing into a river, were very much a rarity. She was only just recovering from losing one her best friends, she couldn't lose her Da too. Even Lance's return the day before, which for some reason was not quite so joyous for her as it should have been, couldn't help lift her spirits. The fella that came to tell them what happened said someone was in the water trying to help him, and whoever that fella was, would have her eternal gratitude when she saw a man being pulled from the water in the distance.

Standing guard almost in front of Gerry, who was put onto his side as he coughed up water, attended by his fellow dock workers, Joe stopped his family from diving onto his body. Mary and Erin that was. Smartly as ever, Anna held back, able to see her Da through the legs of some of the adults that crowded around him. He was safe, at least as safe as one could have been when they were seconds away from death.

"DA! IS HE… IS HE!?" A distraught Mary enquired.

"He's alive, love…". Joe confirmed, watching his daughter and granddaughters release held breaths. "He's got a nasty gash on his head and we think he's broken his leg but… he's alive, so he is. It's alright, love".

Offering open arms for his daughter, Mary leant forwards to fall into them before she was stopped by a sound just in front of her.

A whimpering.

"Mary…".

Calling for his wife, who he must have caught a glimpse of through the crowds, she thought, Gerry wanted her to be by his side. As he called for her, the sounds of sirens from an ambulance filled the air, having been hailed by the two American sailors who'd bothered to do something rather than their officers who had not.

"Gerry… Gerry! I'm here, love… I'm here!"

The workers parted to allow her through, wife rushing to the side of fallen husband to comfort him. When there was still most likely some water in his lungs, he was not out of danger just yet. With the appropriate care now available at his side, including a Doctor who'd jumped in with the crew of the ambulance, he was in the best hands. Gerry hadn't had many, if any, close scrapes with death, but he was just a matter of seconds away from not resurfacing. The Lord granted him a saviour though, the best possible man for the job of freeing an injured man trapped in an engine sized coffin beneath the otherwise tranquil waters of the River Foyle.

"What… what happened?" Anna nervously put the question to Joe, as she watched her parents come together.

"There must have been somethin' on the rails, love or… somethin' else, I don't know…". Joe tried to explain calmly, his emotions still high. "He must have been trapped because he didn't come up with others and then…".

"Who… who saved him?"

Already aware that one brave soul jumped into the waters to save her father, Erin wanted to thank the fella personally. Finding out the identity of the man was paramount, important enough to make her interrupt her Granda's explanation of the incident. Studying him for a half second, he made an odd facial expression that reflected a man that was both proud but uncertain of whether to tell her. For another half second it perplexed her, especially when his mouth was yet to open to reveal the man's name. Luckily for Joe, he was spared what he believed to be one of the most awkward answers he would have ever have to have given, by the appearance of the man himself.

Erin's attention flickered over to him the second she saw, wet, frizzy hair emerging from a ladder that went down into the water. Although he never wore it like that, she knew who that hair belonged to without having to think twice. A friend always recognised a friend after all.

Instantly, she gravitated towards him, into what was at the very least a jog if not a run. Joe had opened his mouth to give the answer he dreaded, but along with Anna could only watch to see the blonde darting off in the Englishman's direction. And smile… they could smile too, because for the two of them, the sight of Erin rushing to find comfort in James was a comfort in itself.

"James!"

Shouting his name, he looked up to find her, having taken a further step away from the ladder onto dry land, coughing up some more of the water in his own lungs. The look he gave her was one of the most incredible fondness.

Unable to focus on anything else, she was fixated upon him, still rushing towards him with little intention to stop short. Then again, the sight of James in a soaking wet white shirt, hugging the tight muscular features of his upper body was enough to block out the sun for most women in the city… and beyond. She would have needed rescuing herself on any other day, fainting at the sight of him stood there all wet and beautiful. It wasn't like she hadn't had the dream before, though whenever she thought of it and him, her cheeks always set themselves alight. Those sorts of dreams were meant to feature Lance, yet somehow they never did. Her own dignity was spared that day though, because James was stood there having rescued her Da from drowning and he needed to be thanked, rather than fawned over.

Just about having enough time to throw his arms out wide for her, Erin needed no invitation but to fall into them. She was starting to become a regular visitor to his chest, an encouraging sign for a hopeful young Englishman. But like how it was for her, it was not important for him compared to the act of saving Gerry's life that he'd performed that day. Regaining his perspective for a second, he knew how much she must have panicked upon hearing that her father's train had derailed into the River. Closing his salt infested eyes as she held him tightly, he could almost feel her heart beating against him, though it immediately started to slow upon their contact. He was holding her where she belonged… where she felt the safest, it seemed. Without any second thought, the woman he loved was seeking him out for comfort once more and he was once again becoming a calming presence in her hectic life.

"Thank ye…". She whispered into him, voice low but sincere. "Thank ye for savin' him, James. I… I don't know what we… what… what I… would do without ye".

For a moment he doubted whether he'd heard her correctly, but there was no mistaking what was said. She'd very much reclarified her initial thoughts. Fought back against what part of herself was saying, with the absolute truth. James couldn't get himself too carried away; any one of Gerry's family could have made the same comment and it would have been relevant. Yet coupled together with their return to a recognised friendship, which was showing signs of blossoming once more when they were spending more time with each other, he couldn't ignore how much of a step in the right direction it felt in his heart. She wanted him in her life again… the feelings they held for each other, quite clearly to him at least, were still there.

"Always, Erin". He replied back quietly too, gently running his fingers along the curve of her spine. "Always".

It was then, and only then, that he looked up, beyond the initial gaggle of dock workers who were still surrounding the seriously injured Gerry. He found a glare waiting for him back there, the wearer of it too far away to verbally intervene, letting his eyes do the work. The greatest fear that Lieutenant Lance Hamilton had about his plans, was unfolding before his very eyes. Erin, the perfect vessel for what he needed to satisfy himself before leaving for combat, was in the arms of the man who used to be her lover. His rival for her affections, a smarter, stronger and ultimately better man all round, he was not supposed to be so close to her. He'd tried to warn him, but clearly the message was not received.

James Maguire wasn't a man who would stoop to the levels of those who he identified as his enemy, but it did not mean he was not tempted too. It would have been easy for him to have placed a kiss onto her crown, knowing Erin would not chastise him for it when she did not know Lance was there. She'd ran past him without even realising he was present after all, which perhaps showed more about her relationship with him than anything else. He wouldn't dwell on that though, nor would he do anything more to provoke the Yank. All it would do, would alienate Erin from the both of them if they came to blows over her, potentially forcing her into a scenario of choosing one or the other. That was a path he was not willing to allow her to tread.

Instead, the fixed stare that he returned to the American, told Lance exactly where the two of them stood as men. James' face was offering a silent challenge, a psychological battleground being established between the two. He knew how to fight in such an arena, having tussled with the best in Kurt Van Der Heijden. With Erin in his arms and a look of defiance slapped across him, James made sure he was sending Lance a rather clear message about the future.

Lance, internally was absolutely furious, seething with rage.

But beneath that layer…

He was unnerved.